For a couple of minutes, it continued this way.
As soon as he defeated one creature, another would appear, drawn to the commotion—or perhaps to his mana itself. The forest housed hundreds of beasts, and it was night; he couldn’t quite escape from them.
A six-legged wolf-like beast with luminous fur. A swarm of finger-sized flying insects with metallic wings that cut like razors. A plant that uprooted itself and attacked with vine-like tentacles.
Each battle left him more exhausted than the last. With each battle he was becoming disorganised. And if it wasn’t for his injuries, he probably wouldn’t have become like this.
A razor-wing insect had sliced a deep gash in his right forearm that wouldn’t stop bleeding. His clothes were torn, and his body was covered in cuts and bruises. Even his surplus of mana couldn’t compensate for his physical condition and lack of combat training.
By midnight, Jorghan stood in a small clearing, panting heavily.
The bodies of several hundred beasts lay scattered around him. His right arm hung limply at his side, blood dripping from his fingertips. His left hand glowed faintly with what little mana he could still summon.
"Kael’var, son of a bitch!! If I ever step foot on those islands again, I will make you regret ever messing with me," he swore to himself, staring towards the sky.
Then suddenly, again, he felt a new presence approaching—something different from the beasts he’d fought so far. This time it was giving him off a very negative energy vibe, and the dread he could feel as the presence was making its way towards him. He could tell that whatever was coming, it was far more dangerous than what he had faced until now.
Something worse. Something sinister.
The feeling of dread washed over him seconds before the creature appeared—a massive black shape moving with liquid grace through the underbrush.
It was feline in form, like a leopard but much larger, with a body the size of two bulls. Two curved horns sprouted from its skull, and a long, whip-like tail lashed behind it. Its eyes glowed golden in the darkness, fixed on Jorghan with predatory intelligence.
"No," Jorghan whispered. He recognized this creature from Sigora’s lessons—a Velugorra, one of the most dangerous predators of the forest.
The beast circled him slowly, its movements silent despite its size. Jorghan tried to summon more mana, but his reserves were dangerously low. The wound on his arm throbbed, and dizziness threatened to overwhelm him.
"I won’t be easy prey," he said, his voice trembling slightly as he raised his good hand.
The Velugorra lunged—not a direct attack, but a feint to test his reactions. Jorghan deflected with a weak shield that shattered on impact, sending him stumbling backward.
The beast seemed almost to smile, recognizing his weakness. It circled again, tail lashing with anticipation.
Jorghan knew he couldn’t survive this. Sigora had never taught him healing spells or ways to rejuvenate his energy. As gifted as he was with mana, his body was still developing, unable to fully access or control the mana that flowed through him.
The Velugorra pounced for real this time, a black blur of muscle and claw. Jorghan managed to deflect its initial attack with the last of his strength, but the impact sent him sprawling to the ground. He rolled over, expecting to feel teeth tearing into his flesh at any moment.
Instead, a deafening crack split the night air.
The Velugorra howled in pain, rearing back as something struck its shoulder.
Another crack sounded, and another, each impact leaving a glowing wound in the beast’s dark hide.
A figure leapt into the clearing—human-shaped but moving with inhuman speed.
In each hand, they held what looked like guns, but unlike any Jorghan had ever seen.
Each weapon pulsed with mana, channelling power through metallic barrels.
The Velugorra turned its attention to this new threat, growling low in its throat. It lunged at the newcomer, who sidestepped with practiced ease and fired both weapons directly into the beast’s flank.
The creature shrieked, its body convulsing as mana-infused projectiles tore through it. It made one last desperate lunge, jaws snapping at the figure’s arm, but another barrage of shots caught it mid-leap. The Velugorra collapsed to the ground, its golden eyes dimming as life faded from its massive body.
Silence fell over the clearing.
Jorghan remained on the ground, too weak to stand, watching as the figure approached the fallen beast and checked to confirm it was dead.
Only then did his rescuer turn toward him.
It was a woman—human like him, not Nor’vack.
She appeared to be in her thirties, with dark hair pulled back in a tight braid and sharp features hardened by years in the wilderness. Her clothing was unlike anything worn on the Nor’vack islands���practical leather armour reinforced with metal plates, adorned with pouches and holsters. The mana-guns were now strapped to her thighs.
"What were you doing in these woods, kid?" she asked, her voice husky and accented in a way Jorghan had never heard before.
She approached him cautiously, eyes scanning his injuries. "You are injured, severely," she noted. She was surprised that he was still alive with all those injuries.
Jorghan tried to speak, but exhaustion and blood loss had taken their toll. The world spun around him, darkness creeping in at the edges of his vision.
The last thing he saw before consciousness slipped away was the woman kneeling beside him, her face drawn in concern as she examined his wounds.
"Hang on, kid," she said, pulling supplies from a pouch at her belt.
Then darkness claimed him completely.