The aura got tense, four undead surrounded a lone boy. All at once, as if coordinating in a non-verbal way, the undead moved. His escape paths lessened by the moment.

  There! Mercel came just in time. He took one of the undead’s arm in his wide muzzle, dragging the helpless corpse to the side. Perytos let out a quick breath of relief, he just needed to hold his own against three opponents. He could do this.

  His strength swelled just in time to dodge an incoming pounce. The first undead landed squarely on the ground. He sent a quick kick its way, hopefully shattering a few bones.

  The other two slowly circled him, instinctively aware their prey had no easy means of escape. Two, for now. Mercel was pulling his weight, he was already helping him; his claws and fangs savagely ravaged the undead a few feet from him.

  “AAAGH!”

  Perytos' scream of pain permeated the land around them. The two decided to engage at the same time. Their teeth sunk deep in his shoulder and arm. Squirming in pain, he tried to push them off. It didn't work, they were too heavy. They just slid in place on the hard ground.

  He panted heavily in disgust and shock. In the corner of his eye he saw the first one getting up, its moves uncertain. Fuck that hurts, I have to move!

  His arm bled profusely, shaking from blood loss and strain.

  He twisted suddenly, pivoting on his right foot back. He was hoping to catch them off guard.

  It worked, the bait was taken. The undead were a few inches in front of him- They missed him. This was enough space for him. It was his turn.

  Perytos head butted the one in front of him, the one that got his shoulder. A head was knocked back, yellow teeth rattled loudly.

  With an angry growl he began tearing into his prey. Who was the beast right now was undecided.

  He bit his nails deep into the enemy’s face, drawing long streams of black pus. His arms twisted; his legs heaved. Bending breaking, even biting; everything to make his prey suffer.

  When he was done, the corpse had just little pieces of flesh keeping it together. It was a morbid piece of art. A testament to savagery.

  He used the reprieve to arm himself; the small knife laughingly small in the face of his opponents. Perytos didn’t care.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  He swung; the blade flashed, the rays of the suns blinding the next target at just the right moment. It shook, not realizing it had a knife in its eye. Falling to the ground, it kicked up a small cloud of dust; never to stand up again. Two down, one to go.

  He was breathing heavily; his wounds were not bleeding anymore, but it did nothing for the pain.

  With an exaggerated sight, he punched the undead with the broken ribs. The hit was perfect; his whole body a tightly coiled machine made for one goal. The body sailed in the air for just a minute moment, until gravity reasserted itself.

  He stomped down, hoping to get this over as quickly as possible. The skull under his foot crunched. The undead bit his toes, getting through his foot.

  He screamed once more, tired of the pain. Thankfully Mercel bailed him out of the gregarious situation. He pierced the body with his paw, finishing off the undead with efficiency born in pain and struggle.

  Perytos’ wounds stung horribly, but he couldn't help but be impressed. Mercel took care of the same amount of opponents, uninjured and seemingly unfazed. His approach was slow and methodical. The lykani took openings when they came, not rushing but systematically bring any opponent down.

  He's was controlling the entire fight. A little shove or nudge at the right time allowed the wolf to make the creatures loose balance- Where they were exposed to his natural weapons.

  It was obvious who was the better fighter. Perytos’ brutal pummeling was a result of desperation, not logic. Even though Perytos took on more enemies at once, it didn’t matter in the end. Mercel clearly was the more experience fighter.

  When the last undead unavoidable had its throat slit, they both didn't move. Perytos was busy remembering how his partner fought, committing the controlled way of fighting to memory.

  No words were said, but they both knew the battle had been close. Perytos fell down, his chest coming up and down in quick succession. He let out a small groan. I need to rest.

  “What the hell was that! Four at once?! Mercel can you take watch for a minute, I need to look at my notifications.”

  In response, the wolf just sat down as well, scanning the tree line with a steady gaze.

  With the hard-won battle ended he willed the jingling boxes to show his gains.

  Your skill(Oath resonance) has reached level 9-11.

  Thank god, it reached the first threshold. He had been worried the fight wasn't enough to push it but evidently it was enough, he might have even overdone it.

  Now that it reached level ten he could improve it. When he was little his father used to tell him all about the system, at least what the common people knew at least. They had no money for expensive grimoires or teachers. At least the way skills worked was widely known.

  Perytos recalled his father's teachings. His father’s warm smile and kind face tried to wrench him into a dark spiral. His words were like a lullaby he would never wake up from.

  Perytos resisted. There was nothing he could do now. He could only accept the truth. His dad was dead. The world was a terrible place. He almost died, again and again. But... such was life. To live meant to suffer, but also to love, to care. To have people you could cherish. He couldn’t imagine not living- His mind just wasn’t compatible with the idea.

  No matter what, in the end, it was all worth it.

  When the words he heard in his mind nourished him instead of poisoning; he delved deep into them. Into the legacy those two brave people that cared for him left behind.