Tick Tock On The Clock [LITRPG Deckbuilding with Time Ticking down]

[04: 13: 17: 12]

~~~

The claws descended, a silent, deadly judgment from above.

!!!!

Cassian's world contracted—massive claws aimed at his spine, the remnants of [AKASHIC ECHO] screaming warnings his body couldn't heed. He was committed, overextended, and quite literally fucked.

Shit, shit, shit—gonna have to tank this one. Please don't hurt too much—

As Cassian braced for impact, instead of the sounds of claws meeting flesh, the sounds of claws meeting metal resounded, and Cassian was pushed out of the way as he saw Arin saved his skin.

Phew~ Thanks bro…

The spear-tip erupted with a golden hue as it intercepted the strike, aura flaring so bright it painted harsh shadows across the corpse-strewn battlefield. The collision sent shockwaves through both warriors—Arin staggered, his perfect form cracking under the raw power.

Cassian, while off balance, tuned in to the feelings and experience flooding from the legendary card into his as he changed his grip and threw his sword, which soared and found its mark.

Steel punched through the hide of the demonic werewolf between the third and fourth rib. [Toxic Conductor] activated on contact, flooding the wound with virulent poison that hissed and bubbled against demonic blood.

« DECK CARD [TOXIC CONDUCTOR] TRIGGERED, DEALT MASSIVE TOXIC INFESTATION ONTO THE ENEMY | 2% HP LOSS/SECOND FOR 10 SECONDS»

Nice! Didn't know it could do that!

«[DECK CARD] LIFESTEAL TRIGGERED—124 HP AND 2 ESSENCE PLUNDERED»

System also show me just my HP and essence stats in logs.

[DING! AFFIRMATIVE]

"Thanks for the save," Cassian whispered, regulating his breath as he focused on the new enemy. "Though I had that totally under control."

"Right. And I'm stupid."

"I do not doubt it…"

Arin backed away from their opponent's retaliatory swipe, golden light still wreathing his spear. He looked at Cassian, frowning, "Sure, and I'm the one who threw my only weapon away."

Cassian waved and brought out «sindivinty», the dark dagger pulsing hungrily in his grip. "I've got backup plans."

But before either could say more, their opponent straightened to his full height, and Cassian felt his smart remarks die in his throat.

"Seems like you hairless pups still have some decent ones left… Hehehe Come show me what you got!"

This wasn't like the mindless beasts they'd been cutting through. This one was different. Easily nine feet of scarred muscle and predatory intelligence towered before them, ritual markings forming intricate patterns across his hide—each one glowing with inner fire that spoke of battles won and enemies devoured.

Trophies hung from leather straps across his massive chest: human teeth, elven ears, what looked suspiciously like pieces of dragon scale.

But it was the eyes that made Cassian's blood chill. They held none of the mindless hunger he'd seen in the lesser Lycans.

"Well, shit," Cassian muttered, studying their new opponent. "And here I was hoping the ugly ones would stay stupid."

The Alpha's lips pulled back in what might have been a grin, revealing fangs like curved daggers. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of command despite the bestial growl underlying each word.

"Fascinating. Truly fascinating."

"Clever whelps. You fight with coordination, use terrain to your advantage, exploit openings with precision."

The Alpha tilted his massive head, studying them like a scholar examining interesting specimens.

"Tell me, which of you designed that lovely little ambush with the ceiling collapse? The timing was exquisite."

Oh, fantastic. The murder-beast wants to have a conversation.

"You seem quite chatty," Cassian said, raising Sindivinity in a mock salute, "for an oversized mutt."

The Alpha threw back his head and laughed—a sound like boulders grinding together, but unmistakably delighted. "Spirit! I do so appreciate prey with backbone. Makes the hunt infinitely more satisfying."

He straightened with the fluid grace of a born killer, one clawed hand resting casually on his hip like a general addressing his troops. "Allow me to introduce myself properly—I am Graath'mor the Render, Fourth Alpha of the Southern Hunt, Breaker of the Iron Gates, and Bane of the Crimson Company."

He paused, yellow eyes gleaming. "And you two have just provided me with the most entertainment I've had in decades."

[DING! "The Wild One" cackles: "Oh, this one's got style! Both claws AND brains!"]

[DING! "The Wild One" cheers: "Go Graath'mor! Show these pups what real war looks like!"]

Hey! Which team are you on?

"Fourth Alpha," Arin repeated, his knuckles white on his spear shaft. "How many Alphas are there?"

"In the Southern Hunt? Seven, currently. Though that number does fluctuate depending on... politics." Graath'mor's grin widened. "I do hope you're not planning to work your way up the ladder. Most tedious for everyone involved."

This guy's having way too much fun.

"Try not to die fast, whelps."

As if summoned by some unseen signal, howls erupted from multiple directions—not the chaotic noise of earlier, but coordinated calls. Graath'mor hadn't come alone, and his pack was cutting off our every escape route.

This will be a blood bath… Fuck the restrictions, wish I had my OG preset!

[DING! "The Wild One": "Wolves never fight alone, Cassian."]

"Arin," Cassian said slowly, watching shadows shift in the peripheral tunnels. "Things are about to get significantly worse."

"That's the beauty of combat!" Arin's aura began to build around his frame, casting dancing light across his determined features. "The moment when everything goes to hell—that's when you find out who you really are!"

"Also, die in one piece would be a pain if I have to assemble you amidst the battlefield littered with remains!"

"Oh wow! That's quite undignified for a noble Arin!"

"Not impossible odds. My brother, we just need to win!"

"'Not impossible.' Your optimism is inspiring. Arin"

Graath'mor raised one clawed hand. The approaching howls shifted direction immediately, taking up flanking positions rather than charging blindly forward.

"Excellent instincts," the Alpha commented, lowering his hand with obvious satisfaction. "You recognize the hopelessness of your situation, yet you prepare to fight regardless. I've commanded armies full of so-called 'heroes' with less spine."

"Former armies, I'm guessing," Cassian quipped, though his mind was racing through their options. Limited essence, exhausted bodies, and facing a superior enemy with numerical superiority.

Time to get creative.

"Indeed. The Iron Gates campaign was particularly brutal—three human kingdoms thought they could bottle up the Hunt behind their precious walls. Took us four months to crack them open." Graath'mor's expression grew distant, almost nostalgic. "The look on their commander's face when he realized his 'impregnable fortress' had become his tomb... priceless.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Jesus Christ, this guy's a war criminal with a philosophy degree.

"[Expedite]," Cassian muttered, feeling the world sharpen to supernatural clarity.

[DING! RUN CARD «EXPEDITE(DESTRUCTION SORCERY)» USED, CONSUMED 1 POINT OF ESSENCE | CHARGES: 8/25]

"Ready, Cassian?"

"Born ready."

Golden aura began to build around Arin's frame, casting dancing shadows across his blood-streaked features.

Graath'mor's grin turned feral. "Oh, I do like you two. Very well—let's see if your coordination holds under pressure."

He tilted back his massive head and released a howl that shook dust from the tunnel walls.

"Kill them. But leave the clever ones alive long enough for me to study their technique."

The pack struck from four directions simultaneously—a perfectly coordinated assault that should have overwhelmed any defense. But Cassian and Arin had been fighting together for hours, their partnership forged in blood and desperation.

"Left flank!" Arin's spear swept in a wide arc, his aura trailing golden fire that forced two Lycans back while Cassian ducked under a third's claws and drove his poisoned blade up through its ribcage.

[DING! YOU HAVE KILLED A DEMONIC WEREWOLF (LESSER)]

« [DECK CARD] Lifesteal triggered—67 HP and 1 essence plundered »

The first werewolf lunged, claws extended. Cassian didn't dodge—Cuz where would he even dodge? He was surrounded! For fucks sake.

Damn it.

He drove Sindivinity straight up into its throat, the blade sliding through fur and sinew like butter. Blood sprayed across his face, hot and metallic, the taste of copper flooding his mouth.

[DING! YOU HAVE KILLED A DEMONIC WEREWOLF (LESSER)]

«DECK CARD LIFESTEAL TRIGGERED—67 HP AND 1 ESSENCE PLUNDERED»

Fuuu…

He ripped the dagger free and spun, already moving toward the next target. A massive gray beast swept its claws toward his ribs. Instead of backing away, Cassian stepped into the strike, letting the talons rake across his side as he buried Sindi to the hilt in the creature's eye socket. The blade punched through bone with a wet crunch.

[DING! YOU HAVE KILLED A DEMONIC WEREWOLF (LESSER)]

«HP: 789/919»

«DECK CARD LIFESTEAL TRIGGERED—89 HP AND 2 ESSENCE PLUNDERED»

«HP: 878/919»

The pain was fire lancing through his nerves, but the stolen life was ecstasy. Each wound fed the blade, each kill made him stronger. Blood ran down his side in warm rivulets, but he was already moving, already hunting.

[DING! YOU HAVE KILLED A DEMONIC WEREWOLF (LESSER)]

[DING! YOU HAVE KILLED A DEMONIC WEREWOLF (LESSER)]

[DING! YOU HAVE KILLED A DEMONIC WEREWOLF (LESSER)]

Throughout it all, Graath'mor's voice resounded throughout the battlefield, yet he was nowhere to be seen.

"Fascinating! You use pain—accepting minor wounds to create killing opportunities. Crude, but effective against inferior opponents."

"Notice how they communicate without words? The slight shift in stance, the adjustment of grip—they're sharing information faster than speech allows."

Is this bastard giving a running commentary on our fight?

"Cassian, you're fighting like a madman!" Arin shouted, his spear spinning in golden arcs as he held his own against three snarling beasts.

[DING! YOU HAVE KILLED A DEMONIC WEREWOLF (LESSER)]

"That's the idea!" Cassian laughed, blood running down his chin like war paint. "Don't worry about me, focus on keeping your head attached to your body."

"Excellent adaptation to available resources. Though I notice—" Graath'mor paused as Cassian's dagger found another throat, "—your blade thirsts for more than blood, doesn't it? Soul-drink. Haven't seen one of those in decades."

[DING! YOU HAVE KILLED A DEMONIC WEREWOLF (LESSER)]

[DING! YOU HAVE KILLED A DEMONIC WEREWOLF (LESSER)]

[DING! YOU HAVE KILLED A DEMONIC WEREWOLF (LESSER)]

Cassian's breath came in ragged gasps as stolen vitality surged through his system. "You seem to know a lot about cursed weapons."

And where in fuck are you!

"I've commanded armies for three centuries, boy. You learn to recognize the tools of war." Graath'mor's tone remained conversational even as his pack continued their assault. "That particular vintage usually drives its wielder mad within months. How long have you carried it?"

"Long enough," Cassian panted, opening another beast's throat in a spray of arterial blood.

"I see, destruction courses through you as well… how surprising"

"Evasive. Wise, given the circumstances."

"And you, young knight—The most dangerous one here… holder of purity with such mastery…"

Arin's spear blazed like a falling star as he thrust through a werewolf's chest. "Then stop hiding and come get a taste of purity yourself."

The air filled with savage growls and the clash of steel—each second a gamble between survival and death. Blood sprayed like rain from every wound; the stench of iron and fur hung heavy in the dungeon air. Two werewolves charged him simultaneously, foam dripping from their maws.

[DING! YOU HAVE KILLED A DEMONIC WEREWOLF (LESSER)]

[DING! YOU HAVE KILLED A DEMONIC WEREWOLF (LESSER)]

[DING! YOU HAVE KILLED A DEMONIC WEREWOLF (LESSER)]

Cassian met another head-on, dagger weaving between snapping jaws that could crush his skull. The beast's claws found his shoulder, tearing deep gouges through leather and flesh. He didn't flinch.

Pain was fuel now. Instead, he drove his knee up into its gut, feeling ribs crack, then slashed Sindi across its throat in a crimson arc that painted the dungeon walls.

[DING! YOU HAVE KILLED A DEMONIC WEREWOLF (LESSER)]

[DING! YOU HAVE KILLED A DEMONIC WEREWOLF (LESSER)]

«HP: 823/919»

«DECK CARD LIFESTEAL TRIGGERED—71 HP AND 1 ESSENCE PLUNDERED»

«HP: 894/919»

This is insane. This is perfect—

A werewolf lunged from his right, jaws snapping just inches from his face—he barely dodged, countering with a spinning slash that cut through sinew and muscle. Pain exploded along his ribs as fresh claws found their mark, but the stolen life surged in return, fueling his relentless assault.

[DING! YOU HAVE KILLED A DEMONIC WEREWOLF (LESSER)]

"Behind you!" Arin's warning cracked through the chaos like thunder.

Cassian spun just as massive jaws snapped where his head had been, sulfurous breath washing over him. He rolled low, came up with his dagger already moving, and opened the beast's belly from sternum to pelvis. Entrails spilled steaming onto the stone like obscene ribbons.

[DING! YOU HAVE KILLED A DEMONIC WEREWOLF (LESSER)]

Arin's spear danced through the melee, deflecting brutal strikes with shield and blade, golden light flaring with each impact. "Hold the line!" he grunted through gritted teeth, even as fresh wounds bled through cracked armor.

[DING! YOU HAVE KILLED A DEMONIC WEREWOLF (LESSER)]

[DING! YOU HAVE KILLED A DEMONIC WEREWOLF (LESSER)]

But there were so many. Too many.

A claw raked his back, opening parallel gashes that burned like molten metal. Another tore at his leg, nearly taking him down. Cassian staggered, blood loss finally starting to tell despite the lifesteal. His vision blurred for a heartbeat—

And that's when Graath'mor, who had quietly disappeared, struck, and everything changed.

Where the lesser werewolves moved with bestial fury, Graath'mor flowed like liquid death. His first strike materialized from shadows that shouldn't have existed—claws wreathed in dark fire, slashing across Cassian's chest before he even registered the attack.

«HP: 651/919»

Fuck!

"Speed and coordination," Graath'mor's voice was silk over broken glass, each word dripping with predatory satisfaction. "Your primary advantages. Remove one, and the other becomes a liability."

The wounds burned with unnatural cold that spread through his veins like poison. Cassian could feel something wrong—curse, toxin, something that made his stolen vitality sluggish and weak. His lifesteal felt muted, distant.

"Cassian!" Arin's spear blazed like a falling star as he thrust at Graath'mor's back, but the Alpha simply... wasn't there anymore. The golden point pierced empty air where death had stood a moment before.

Claws erupted from empty air again, this time aimed at Arin's exposed flank. The young knight twisted desperately, but wouldn't make it in time—

Shit!

Cassian moved without thinking. He grabbed the nearest werewolf corpse—this one missing its head, black blood still pumping from the stump—and launched it spinning through the air. The headless body slammed into Graath'mor just as his claws were about to part Arin's ribs from his lungs.

"Stay sharp, Arin." Cassian panted, tasting copper.

Arin flashed him a grin through the blood streaking his face. "Hmm, you too, stay close."

But Graath'mor was already gone again, melting back into the press of smaller werewolves like smoke dispersing in the wind. The other beasts seemed to part for him, creating corridors of shadow he moved through like a ghost.

Where is he? Where—

Pain exploded across Cassian's back as claws raked spine-deep gouges. He spun, slashing wildly with Sindi, but caught only air.

«HP: 498/919»

"Your fighting style intrigues me," the Alpha continued, his voice conversational despite the violence. "Raw hunger, crude appetite, but no formal training. Street-taught, I'd wager. Probably because you recently learned how to actually fight?"

Another strike from nowhere, this one across Cassian's thigh. The wounds felt wrong—too deep, too cold, carrying something that made his stolen vitality sluggish.

«HP: 421/919»

"Self-taught warriors are either brilliant or dead. You've survived this long, so clearly brilliant. But brilliance without discipline..." Graath'mor's chuckle was dark silk. "Well, that's just elaborate suicide."

Arin swept his spear in a protective arc around them both, golden light flaring like a beacon. "Stay close!"

But even as he spoke, claws found the gaps in his defense. Graath'mor's strike opened Arin's side from hip to shoulder, sending him stumbling with a grunt of pain. Blood seeped through the tears in his armor like dark wine.

This isn't working. He's picking us apart.

Think, you idiot. He's faster, stronger, and more experienced. What do we have that he doesn't?

Cassian's breath came in ragged gasps. The lifesteal and Sindi's plundering were keeping him alive, but barely. Each time Graath'mor struck, the wounds carried something that made healing slower, weaker. Like his very life force was being drained away.

I need... I need something else.

The answer came from the [AKASHIC ECHO], whispers of ancient wisdom cutting through the chaos: Stop fighting like an animal. Start fighting like a warrior.

No time to think—just act. Slash. Spin. Leap. Strike. Burn. Kill.

Another werewolf lunged from the pack. Cassian didn't even see it clearly—just moved on pure instinct, Sindi finding its throat in a spray of arterial blood. The lifesteal surge felt distant, muffled.

[DING! YOU HAVE KILLED A DEMONIC WEREWOLF (LESSER)]

«DECK CARD LIFESTEAL TRIGGERED—43 HP AND 1 ESSENCE PLUNDERED»

«HP: 464/919»

Not enough. The corruption… is getting worse.

[DING! YOU HAVE KILLED A DEMONIC WEREWOLF (LESSER)]

[DING! YOU HAVE KILLED A DEMONIC WEREWOLF (LESSER)]

[DING! YOU HAVE KILLED A DEMONIC WEREWOLF (LESSER)]

[DING! YOU HAVE KILLED A DEMONIC WEREWOLF (LESSER)]

Cassian closed his eyes for a heartbeat, even as werewolves snarled around them like a living wall of fangs and fury. He let his breath steady despite the immediate terror of claws and teeth. Let his mind expand beyond the desperate scramble for survival.

Feel the battlefield. Don't just see it.

When he opened his eyes, something had shifted. The world felt... bigger. More connected. He could sense the werewolves' positions through vibrations in stone, displacement of air, and the heat radiating from their bodies.

And there—circling like a predatory shark through shadows that clung to him like living things—Graath'mor.

"Ah," the Alpha's voice carried a note of recognition. "You're learning. Expanding your awareness beyond immediate threats. Excellent adaptation under pressure."

A silver shimmer began to build around Cassian—invisible to watching eyes but more real than the stone beneath their feet.

There.

Graath'mor's muscles coiled like steel cables. The Alpha is prepared to lunge, to end this dance of death once and for all.

And Cassian was ready.

The moment Graath'mor materialized from shadow—a blur of death with claws reaching for Cassian's throat—the silver aura exploded outward. Not visible to watching eyes, but real. More real than the stone beneath their feet, more solid than the air they breathed.

Cassian moved like liquid lightning, Sindivinity singing through the air in an arc that seemed to bend reality around it. The dagger met Graath'mor's claws in a shower of sparks that illuminated the dungeon like fallen stars, but this time, Cassian didn't give ground.

This time, he advanced.

"My turn," Cassian whispered.

[DING! YOU HAVE REALIZED THE INHERENT POWER OF "AURA"]

"Aura?" Graath'mor sounded genuinely surprised for the first time. "Two purity users. Unless..." His analytical tone sharpened. "Unless this is my glorious promise!"

"Tonight," Cassian snarled, pressing his advantage as the silver aura blazed around him like armor made of starlight, "the hunt will end."

~~~