The Fallen One

As night falls, silver light washes over the world, painting the forest in shifting shadow. The wind moves through towering trees in slow rhythm, their ancient canopies swaying like silent watchers. Grasslands stretch beneath the moon's pale glow, trembling softly as if whispering secrets to the dark.

The wilderness breathes—alive, aware. Crickets chirp in rhythm. Distant howls echo. Predators slink between trees, their eyes glinting like scattered embers. It is a place shaped by survival, where beauty masks danger, and stillness is never truly safe.

To outsiders, this land may seem untouched, eternal. But those who know it understand the truth. There is no harmony here. Only hunger.

Man hunts. Beast retaliates. Some fight for food. Others for pride. A few, for the thrill of blood. But all—human and creature alike—obey the same rule: only the strong endure. Dominance isn't given. It's taken, and tonight, something stirs. A shift in the wind. A presence in the dark.

The hunt has begun.

SWOOSH!

A blur of motion carved through the tranquil night, the once-peaceful atmosphere ruptured by a force of raw desperation. Crashing through the underbrush, a towering beast—its breath laboured, its limbs streaked with wounds—pushed itself forward with every ounce of strength it had left.

A Wendigo.

A monstrous figure, its dark, matted fur merging with the gloom of the forest. At first glance, it resembled a stag, but that illusion faded the moment one saw its twisted, predatory form. Its elongated snout bore the sharp contours of a hyena's maw, its jagged teeth gleaming like daggers. Its falcon-like eyes flickered with both intelligence and fear—an animal's primal instinct warring with the cunning of a survivor.

Behind it, five hunters pursued with unwavering precision. They were not scattered or scrambling; they moved as a unit, their footsteps synchronised in the cadence of experience. Their presence cut through the trees like blades, each figure shadowing the Wendigo with deadly intent.

The creature knew them and it feared them, because this wasn't their first encounter.

It had once belonged to a pack, a proud alpha leading its kin through these mana-rich forests, unchallenged and unbroken. But now, it was alone, hunted, bleeding. The deep gash along its flank—still oozing thick rivulets of purple blood—was a cruel testament to its misfortune. Separated from its kin, ambushed, outmanoeuvred. And if it didn't turn the tide soon, it would die here.

Yet, even wounded, a B+ rank mana beast was no easy prey.

The Wendigo slammed its claws against the earth, launching itself into the treetops in a desperate attempt to escape. Its battered form twisted in the air, limbs snapping against branches, but before it could gain distance—

CLANG!

A flash of steel. A figure blocked its path, descending like a thunderbolt.

"You're fast," a deep voice rumbled. Captain Raga.

Tall, broad-shouldered, his muscular frame encased in black armour streaked with glowing blue veins of mana. A longsword hung in his grasp, tilted downward, its blade still slick with the Wendigo's blood. He stood firm between the beast and his comrades, a confident smirk carving into his face. His stance spoke volumes—this fight was already his.

The Wendigo skidded to a halt, its gaze locking onto the sword. It remembered that blade. The pain it had inflicted.

"Shush now, Raga," a sharp voice cut in.

Lady Dawn.

Her presence was less physically imposing than Raga's, but she carried a different kind of weight. She was a strategist, a fire mage, and the calm amidst chaos. The air around her shimmered with mana, the energy thick enough to taste. Her auburn eyes flicked toward the darkened treeline.

"We don't have time for theatrics. Please end this quickly," she ordered, her voice crisp, urgent.

"I share her views," came a second voice, smooth as silk.

A slender figure in dark, bluish robes stepped forward, his movements barely disturbing the leaves beneath him. Rey. His twin daggers reflected the moonlight like fangs bared in warning. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, but there was a predatory sharpness in his stance. His eyes never left the Wendigo.

"We should not prolong this," he murmured.

Raga exhaled, rolling his shoulders. Fine.

"Rey, Dawn—cover the rear," he commanded. "I'll lead the charge."

With a shift of his grip, his longsword ignited in a ghostly blue glow, mana rippling through the metal like a heartbeat. The Wendigo stiffened, its muscles coiling. It had no choice but to fight.

The second battle began.

Raga lunged first, the ground splitting beneath his momentum. The Wendigo met him head-on with a guttural roar, its massive antlers crashing against his blade. The impact sent a shockwave through the clearing, rippling the tall grass in waves. The sheer force threw Raga back several meters, but he barely stumbled—his feet dug into the earth, stabilising his stance.

The Wendigo didn't hesitate. It reared back, its claws slashing through the air—five transparent, spear-like mana arcs erupted from its strike, racing toward the hunters.

Raga's grip tightened.

"Crimson Ultima."

His voice resonated with power. The glow of his sword intensified, veins of deep red weaving through the blue. With a single horizontal slash, he unleashed a C-shaped arc of energy, the mana wave carving through the night like a burning crescent. The two forces collided mid-air—BOOM!—a deafening explosion of mana erupted, shaking the very trees.

A blur shot through the smoke. Rey.

The rogue moved like a ghost, twin daggers flashing as he sliced across the Wendigo's flank. A hiss of pain from the beast. But before it could retaliate, Rey was gone, vanishing into the thick of battle once more.

The Wendigo's nostrils flared. It was weakening. But still dangerous.

Dawn raised a hand.

"Mana Zone: Ignis Barrage."

The night lit up. Meteors of fire rained down from the sky, crashing into the Wendigo's body and sending flames rippling across the battlefield. The beast shrieked, thrashing wildly, its fur singed and smoking.

Raga saw his opening.

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With Crimson Ultima still pulsing in his hands, he charged into the inferno.

"Raga, WAIT!" Dawn roared.

Too late.

He leapt through the smokescreen, his sword raised for the final strike. His heart pounded—this is it, the finishing blow!

Then, his stomach twisted.

Something was wrong.

The Wendigo was too still.

Its mouth moved.

Raga's blood ran cold.

A low hum. Mana crackling. A blue glow formed between its fangs.

"A MANA BEAM!"

Time slowed.

The Wendigo lunged, a football-sized sphere of raw mana gathering in its mouth, the glow intensifying, ready to fire—

Raga's instincts screamed. His body shifted, sword twisting, but he wasn't fast enough—

The night erupted in light.

BOOOOM!

The night was torn apart by a violent detonation of mana.

At point-blank range, the Wendigo's mana beam slammed into Raga like a battering ram of pure destruction. The impact sent him hurtling hundreds of meters across the vast grasslands, his massive frame crashing through the air like a broken comet.

He hit the ground with a thunderous impact, tumbling violently through the underbrush before slamming into a cluster of trees. Splinters exploded in every direction. The force of his landing shook the earth.

For a brief moment, everything was still.

The Wendigo panted, its chest heaving, watching where Raga had fallen. It could feel its own body weakening—its mana reserves dangerously low, its wounds bleeding freely. It had bought itself seconds to recover, and it would take them.

But it had underestimated them.

SHING!

A blur of motion. Twin daggers whistled through the air.

Rey was already on the move, closing the distance like a shadow given form. He slid into the vanguard position, his strikes precise and relentless. Unlike Raga's overwhelming power, Rey's technique was a dance of death—each step measured, each attack landing where the beast least expected.

The Wendigo staggered, struggling to counter the sudden assault.

Then Dawn entered the fray.

With perfect synchronisation, she pressed the attack, her movements mirroring Rey's rhythm. Unlike him, however, she wielded more than just speed—she struck with both fire and foresight, weaving between openings, always predicting the Wendigo's next move.

Together, they were a storm.

A sudden realisation hit the Wendigo. It wasn't being fought anymore.

It was being hunted.

***

"Shit," Raga groaned, using Crimson Ultima as a crutch to push himself upright. His body screamed in protest, the lingering effects of the mana beam still burning through his veins.

That thing had nearly ripped his entire right arm off.

"And unnecessary," a soft, melodic voice chimed from behind.

A familiar presence.

She moved like a whisper, her silvery robes flowing around her like liquid moonlight. June.

Her delicate hands hovered just above his back, magic already crackling at her fingertips. A mischievous smile curled on her lips as she assessed his injuries, her amusement evident.

"You're lucky your dear old sword saved you," she mused. "If not, well… you'd be learning how to swing with your left arm from now on."

Raga exhaled through gritted teeth, irritation flickering across his face. "June. Heal me. Now."

June's smile widened.

"As you wish, Captain Big Back."

A warm glow enveloped his wounds, the pain ebbing away as her magic did its work. The raw cuts sealed, the bruises faded, and strength surged back into his limbs.

"Quickly," Raga said, rolling his shoulder as the last remnants of his injuries vanished. "The Wendigo is nearly finished. The final blow has to be mine."

June stifled a giggle.

Of course it does.

***

Rey moved like a ghost, his twin daggers flashing as they sliced through the beast's flesh.

Each strike was a pinpoint execution—bleeding the Wendigo out, severing tendons, limiting its movement. The creature tried to retaliate, but Rey was always one step ahead.

Yet, it was losing more than just blood.

It was losing time.

It felt its mana dwindling, its strength slipping. It had fought too long, endured too much. It could no longer escape.

And so… it made its choice.

The Wendigo stopped fighting Rey.

Instead, it turned, its burning eyes locked onto Dawn.

Then, it charged.

Rey's breath hitched.

No, no, NO!

He moved instantly, sprinting after the beast. But he already knew. He was fast—but the Wendigo was faster by a second's headstart.

Dawn's eyes widened.

She knew too.

"RETREAT!" he shouted. "A DISCH—!"

A glow.

The Wendigo's entire body began to radiate light.

A Sacrificial Mana Discharge.

A beast's final weapon.

A last-ditch explosion of everything left in its mana core, turning its own body into a walking bomb.

At this range?

Instant vaporisation.

Rey pushed forward, pouring everything into his speed.

But it wasn't enough.

The glow intensified.

The Wendigo was already detonating.

And then—

BOOOOOOOM!

Another explosion shattered the jungle's silence, sending a shockwave tearing through the dense foliage. The force rippled outward, rattling the towering trees, their leaves trembling like frightened hands.

Raga sprang into action, his instincts sharper than thought. The moment the blast subsided, he was already moving, his boots pounding against the earth. Unlike Rey, who had narrowly escaped the blast radius with his agility, Dawn hadn't been as fortunate.

She wasn't fast enough.

The realisation hit him like a hammer.

As he neared the blackened crater, his pulse thundered in his ears. The air was thick with lingering mana, yet something was wrong—he couldn't sense her mana signature.

A hollow feeling clawed at his chest.

"Dawwwnnn! Can you hear me?!"

His voice roared through the tangled canopy, desperation cutting through the aftermath of destruction. His eyes scanned the chaotic wreckage—splintered trees, scorched earth, a crater still smouldering.

Silence.

Then—

"Dawn!"

June's voice rang out, bright with relief. She stood at the edge of the clearing, her small frame framed by the jagged remains of an uprooted tree. She raised an arm, pointing wildly.

"Over there, Captain!"

Raga's gaze snapped toward the massive trunk where Dawn lay crumpled at its base.

His relief was instant. But so was the dread.

June rushed ahead, brushing away the tears threatening to spill as she knelt beside Dawn. Her healer's instincts took over, hands glowing as they hovered over the fallen comrade. Rey arrived seconds later, blade drawn, scanning their surroundings for any lurking threats.

Raga exhaled sharply, his fists clenched as he watched Dawn's chest rise and fall.

She was alive.

Barely.

"If she survived that," Raga muttered under his breath, "... Then the rumours are true."

Rey, still on high alert, cast him a sharp glance. "You're thinking about the Partial Discharge, aren't you?"

Raga didn't answer immediately. His mind whirled with the implications.

A Mana Discharge should have been a death sentence at that range. Yet, Dawn was here—battered, but breathing.

"A partial explosion," Raga finally murmured, his gaze distant. "Not enough to kill… just enough to cripple."

Rey scoffed, wiping sweat from his brow. "So it's real, then? I thought it was just some glorified myth."

For years, adventurers had whispered about it—a way to dampen the lethal blast of a Mana Discharge. If true, it could change everything. Yet, no one had ever confirmed its existence. No seasoned adventurer had witnessed it firsthand.

Until now.

And their enemy had used it first.

A low, ragged growl crawled through the humid air.

The Wendigo was still alive.

Barely.

It dragged its ruined body across the jungle floor, leaving behind a thick, blackened trail of blood. The Partial Discharge had spared its life, but at a cost. Its limbs trembled with every feeble movement, its once-burning mana signature reduced to flickering embers.

A heavy step crushed the grass behind it.

The creature's broken body froze.

It knew.

The hunter had arrived.

Raga didn't speak as he advanced, dragging his longsword through the dirt beside him. The sharp edge hissed against the earth.

The Wendigo clawed forward one last time.

It didn't make it far.

A weak, defiant roar left its throat, cut short by the clean, decisive slash of Raga's blade.

Silence.

June remained behind, brow furrowed in deep concentration as her healing magic wove around Dawn's unconscious form. The soft glow illuminated her face, the warmth of the spell casting shifting shadows against the towering jungle.

Nearby, Rey stood guard, his eyes scanning every flicker of movement in the foliage. They weren't safe yet. Not in this jungle.

The only sounds were the rustling wind through the trees and the soft, rhythmic hum of magic.

Then—

A slow, deliberate clapping broke the quiet.

Footsteps followed, each step measured and calculated, cutting through the tension like a blade.

Rey's fingers twitched toward his daggers, but then he recognised the approaching figure.

Clad in battle-worn armour, yet carrying herself with the poise of a seasoned warrior, Lady Sia, the final member, emerged from the shadows of the jungle.

"Well done, everyone."

Her voice was smooth, but the keen glint in her piercing crimson eyes held weight. Admiration, yes—but also something sharper.

Expectation.

Rey exhaled, loosening his grip on his weapons. "You had me worried for a second there, Lady Sia," he said, cracking a tired smirk.

Raga straightened his posture, his exhaustion buried beneath his usual stoic confidence.

"Thank you for your kind words, Lady Sia," he said, inclining his head slightly. "It's always reassuring to have a former BattleKnight watching our backs."

The corner of Sia's mouth twitched, a hint of amusement slipping through.

"Then let's finish the job," she said, glancing toward Dawn's unconscious form. The jungle still loomed around them, dangers still lurking just beyond the reach of their light.

"And get the hell out of here."