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Cultivating Ink 6
🕑 Added 2025-04-13 06:35:32 +0000 UTCAlaric rolled toward the nearest tree before the beast could recover from its earlier rush, ignoring every instinct of his body shouting for him to run away. He had already seen the speed the beasts moved. The moment he turned his back, he would meet his end.
An end that he only avoided because of the injury at the leg of the shade beast …, and the fact that it was daytime.
He didn’t know a lot about the monster beasts, but it didn’t mean he knew nothing. Learning was inevitable, as living in the slums meant it was not entirely a rare encounter. He needed to know enough to pick the best path to escape.
It was the first time he saw a shade beast acting during the day, which was good news, and bad news. The good news was the beast was nowhere near its full strength, limited by the impact of the strong sunlight. The bad news was that the fact that it was active during the day. It showed a certain level of desperation.
And, as a young man who survived many situations through the power of desperation, Alaric was very much aware of the risks.
He hid behind the tree, carefully watching its approach. The dash seemed to take a lot from it, as it didn’t attack immediately. Instead, it circled around the tree, trying to find an angle. Alaric turned with it until he was looking at the nearest tree, then moved just as quick.
The wolf pup growled in frustration even as he rushed forward, his eyes glowing with an eerie luminance. Alaric tightened his grip on his club, ready to lash out. As for his tiny blade, he didn’t even try to remove it. It was barely a weapon against a human. Against a shade beast, it wouldn’t matter even the slightest.
But, unlike what he expected, the beast didn’t rush him immediately, but positioned himself between him and the city. “Damn,” Alaric growled as he realized the beast was smarter than he expected. He had listened to enough tales from the hunters to know that some beasts were smart enough to give them trouble, but they rarely attacked the city, knowing that the risks were too significant.
It looked like the wounds it had forced him to act. Alaric gulped even as he decided to move at an angle, hoping to arrive at the city. As for shooting for help, he didn’t dare to in the wilderness, as it was likelier to attract another beast to him first.
Especially since not many people reacted to desperate cries in the wilderness. At least, not before it was the time to pick the remains.
Instead, Alaric started to play the second most dangerous game of tag of his life, the honor of victory still earned by the earlier adventure. He wondered if it was some kind of curse from the mysterious old man. Considering how he managed to stay invisible despite standing next to him, it didn’t seem to be impossible.
“What’s my life coming to,” Alaric muttered even as he dodged between the trees, happy that the adolescent shade wolf was unable to maneuver properly thanks to his wounded front leg. “You would have made an excellent painting,” Alaric found himself murmuring even as he dashed between the trees, slowly — far too slowly for his taste — getting closer to the city.
The wolf realized the problem soon after, and instead of trying to corner him, it started to get closer and closer.
It all took Alaric to miscalculate once for it to have a direct line of attack. It lunged without warning, jaws snapping. Alaric sidestepped awkwardly, feeling the rush of air as the creature's teeth clamped shut inches from his leg. It wouldn’t have been deadly, but it didn’t have to be.
He wouldn’t survive a battle of endurance. He swung his club as hard as he could manage, connecting with the wolf's shoulder. The beast yelped but quickly recovered, showing that even his full might didn’t matter against the beast.
Still, it was enough for him to retreat behind the tree, his heart pounding in his chest.
He observed the injured front leg of the wolf, wondering if he could take advantage of it. The moment he looked, the wounded leg trembled, leaving vulnerability. Alaric didn’t dare to rush forward.
He didn’t like the glint of intelligence he could see behind those dark eyes. Instead, he retreated as fast as he could. The wolf soon followed, the leg showing its earlier performance.
“Just how smart are you,” Alaric growled in frustration even as he changed his path once again, frustrated by his lack of progress, but ready to waste the rest of the day to return to the city if necessary. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the burning in his limbs as he pushed himself hard for the second time during the day.
But, just as he was hoping that he would survive, a howl reached his ear, one that sent shivers through his spine. A second beast meant certain death.
Just as he prepared himself to a certain death, determined to go down swinging, he noticed the reaction of the wolf. It wasn’t the happiness of finding an ally. No, it was pure terror. Then, the beast jumped into the opening.
A jackal. A mad one, with patches of its furs missing, exposing raw, sinewy flesh. Its jaws were distorted, while its eyes glowed with a sickly yellow light. Alaric cursed. A mad beast was not good news.
Shade beasts were dangerous, but at least they hunted for sustenance. Mad beast were different. They didn’t kill for food, but for pleasure, to satiate their warped minds. They were rarer compared to the other beasts, but the devastation they brought on was unmatched.
All of it was important, because it meant, even if he turned to escape, the jackal would have enough time to deal with the wolf, then catch up with him. He didn’t trust the adolescent and already hurt the wolf to deal with him.
In desperation, he did something stupid. “Come stand next to me if you want to survive,” he called the wolf. He wasn’t sure if he read the expression of the shock correctly, but the fact that it actually dashed next to him confirmed it.
Alaric couldn’t help but chuckle, though his own voice sounded as mad as the jackal.
The jackal paused for a moment, and only to determine who would make the better target. Then, its misshapen jaws parted, and it rushed toward the wolf. Alaric was ready. He might not be strong, but he was accurate enough to slam the club right at the open jaws of the jackal.
The interrupted yelp of the mad beast might be the most beautiful voice he had ever heard in his life. It tried to retreat, but Alaric was aware that it was his only chance. Without dropping the club, he moved behind the jackal, and climbed on top, pulling the club with both hands. Maybe it was the madness that drove the beast, but instead of letting it go, it bit harder as if it was trying to break through the club.
Unfortunately, from the way the club crackled, it looked like a viable strategy. The wolf paused, its expression showing shock. “What are you waiting for,” Alaric growled. “Bite!”
His warning was enough, as shade wolf rushed forward, clamping on the exposed neck of the jackal. That triggered the most absurd wrestling match of Alaric’s life, wrestling with a monster that could kill a team of hunters with ease, cooperating with a shade wolf smart enough to understand his words.
It was an intense rush of activity. When he felt something crack, he was under the impression that he had broken a rib, but he wasn’t able to pay much attention. He was lost in the scuffle until the jackal gave out one last gurgled snarl, and collapsed.
Alaric wanted to run away, but he was utterly spent, unable to lift even an arm, hurting everywhere. The wolf didn’t seem to be sharing the same problem, as it appeared on top of him, its scary teeth dripping blood.
It had to be a scary moment, but he trusted his ability to read. And the wolf didn’t seem to be willing to finish the job. “You’re not going to kill me, right, buddy?” Alaric muttered. When the wolf opened its mouth, it seemed like he was wrong.
Then, the wolf licked his face with his bloody tongue once before it turned away, sank its teeth into the mad jackal, and dragged it away. Alaric watched the wolf disappear behind the bushes, realizing that, despite the sheer absurdity of the idea, he had been pranked by the wolf.
He started snickering. He couldn’t help it, not with the way he was feeling…
Then, he remembered the crack he had felt, what he thought to be a broken rib, but there was no pain. He touched the location, his good humor evaporating immediately. It was not a rib that had been broken.
It was his brush.
He would have preferred to break a rib.
