John sat still for a few hours, his mind racing as he tried to form a plan. He knew he could not defeat the werewolf in a straight-up battle. His only hope was to trap Jones and buy enough time to run for the castle. He checked on Elena's shoulder again. The wound seemed stable for now, but he had no way of knowing if his blood had fully neutralized the venom or if it was still killing her slowly from within. He could not wait here to find out; if he stayed, his friend would surely die.
John felt incredibly weak. The repeated cutting of his own wrist to feed Elena had drained his reserves. He looked over at the plastic bottle he had left for her, but his heart sank. It was crushed flat. In the chaos of the bear attack, the plastic had been stomped, and the precious blood had leaked out into the dirt.
He was running on empty, and he desperately needed a source of energy.
His gaze shifted to the massive bear corpse lying in the center of the cave. An idea, grotesque yet practical, occurred to him. "Why don't I just eat this thing? I am part werewolf, right? I can drink its blood while I'm at it," he thought.
Struggling against his own lightheadedness, John managed to push himself off the ground. He stumbled toward the dead grizzly. He pulled his fixed-blade knife and began to saw through the bear's thick, matted hide. Once he pulled back the skin, he did not hesitate; he began to devour the raw, bloody flesh.
The strange thing was that the raw meat did not taste awful. In fact, it was the opposite. To his hybrid senses, it tasted delicious, rich, and potent. John tore into the bear's flesh and drank the blood leaking from the carcass like a man who had been starving for weeks. The effect was almost immediate. As he ate his fill, he felt the vital energy surge back into his system. His body absorbed the nutrients it had been craving, and his strength returned in a powerful, steady wave.
He could not waste another second.
With his strength fully restored, John checked on Elena one last time. He hurried to the river, filled one of his empty bottles with fresh water, and returned to her side. He carefully poured the water over her wounds, washing away the gore, and used strips cut from his own ruined hoodie to clean and cover the mauling injuries. Elena remained unconscious, her body limp and showing no reaction to his gentle care.
John took a last, resolute look at her before picking up the primitive shovel he had fashioned earlier. He exited the cave and plunged into the thick woods.
He began searching for the perfect location to set a booby trap for Jones. To increase his success rate, he knew the trap needed to be placed on an established animal trail, a route Jones would instinctively follow, and in an area where John himself could easily run without any hindrances once the trap was sprung.
However, John knew he could not simply wait for Jones to stumble into the pit on his own; that would take too long, and Elena was still in mortal danger. He had to lure the werewolf into the trap.
In John's mind, this was the only viable plan: he would complete the pit trap, allow Jones to get close enough to see him, and then run, making Jones chase him into the waiting hole. A desperate sprint to the castle could only follow this necessary distraction, because he did not know if Elena would live through another day.
John started by gathering his materials. He collected a large number of long sticks, some thin and pliable, others thick and short, suitable for different parts of his structure. He then used his fixed-blade knife to painstakingly remove the bark from each one, smoothing them out. Next, he carved rough, sharp points onto the ends of the thinner sticks. It was his first time performing this kind of strenuous, detailed work, and the points were not perfectly uniform, but they were sharp enough to get the job done.
He set the collection of sharpened stakes aside and began scouting for a bigger obstacle. As he walked, he spotted a medium-sized tree log and stared at it for a few seconds. "I think I can make use of this log," he thought. He used his newly restored strength to drag the heavy log to the designated spot for the trap hole.
His plan was to place the log right in front of the pit. He would use it as a hurdle to jump over when Jones was chasing him. Jones, running at high speed and focusing on his prey, would likely run over the log without noticing the sudden drop, ensuring a fatal fall. Although the log obstacle was clever, John knew it would not be enough to hold a werewolf for long, so he needed to add more danger.
He grabbed his primitive shovel and began to dig, scooping the wet sand and earth out with both the shovel and his hands. He continued digging until the hole was approximately seven feet deep. He then took his sharpened sticks and carefully planted them upright into the bottom of the pit, ensuring the points faced skyward.
Knowing the trap needed to be truly effective, he added an extra deterrent. With great difficulty, he dragged a large, heavy rock and positioned it right next to the hole, a weapon for a follow-up attack, should it be needed.
Afterward, he needed to camouflage the pit. He collected more long, thin sticks and wove them together with strips of cut cloth to create a fragile screen, placing it over the opening. Finally, he covered this structure with a meticulous layer of fallen dead leaves and large branches, making the ground look undisturbed. John had learned how to construct this basic hunter's trap from countless survival shows and videos he had watched on the internet. Now was the time to put that dormant knowledge to brutal use.
With the trap complete, John hurried back to the cave. His heart sank when he saw that Elena was again losing color. He did not hesitate; he carefully picked up her unconscious body and carried her to a new location, a few meters away from the trap. He ensured they had a quick and clear line of escape as soon as the werewolf fell.
Next, he needed to establish his bearings. He climbed the tallest tree he could find, ascending until he was high above the dense canopy. He scanned the distant horizon for a few seconds until he saw it: a huge castle sitting atop a distant mountain ridge.
"There it is," he whispered. Now he had a direction of flight.
John waited until the day got a little darker. He did not want Jones to see the trap or notice the slight disturbance in the soil. He needed a way to get the man's attention and bring him directly to the kill zone. The only viable idea was to make a fire; the smoke and the distinct smell of flame would attract the werewolf to his exact location.
He went a short distance away from his trap and used his remaining fire elemental stone to ignite a nearby tree. The initial whoosh of the fire and the sudden column of white smoke rising above the canopy was a visible declaration: I am here. Come and get me.
A thick column of smoke began to rise from the burning trees, slicing through the forest air. Some distance away, Jones, who was busy finishing off a freshly hunted rabbit, saw the dark plume against the pale sky. A cruel smile stretched across his face.
"I see you," Jones muttered, taking one final, large bite of the rabbit before dropping the carcass. He launched himself into a dead sprint toward the source of the thick smoke.
John had waited for about forty-five agonizing minutes, setting more trees ablaze, believing one fire was not a strong enough beacon. He then retrieved the Strength Potion and the Speed Potion from his storage ring. He waited just a little longer until he heard a sound—the snap of a branch that was too heavy for an ordinary animal.
A massive, intimidating figure stepped out from behind a thick oak.
"So, you decided to reveal yourself, kid?" Jones's voice was a deep, gravelly sneer. "Or are you expecting someone to come and save you? By the time anyone gets here, you will already be dead, and I will be long gone."
"I am not afraid of you anymore," John retorted, his voice trembling slightly but holding firm. He drank both potions he held in his hands. An immediate, powerful surge coursed through his body, making him temporarily stronger and faster. He beckoned Jones to come forward, a taunt which the werewolf happily obliged.
But the moment Jones started to move, John turned around and started running away. Jones was momentarily stunned. "Does this kid think this is a joke?" he growled, then grinned, a feral glint in his eye. "Fine. I like the chase."
He started chasing John, closing the distance instantly.
John ran straight to the location where he had set his trap, weaving in a zigzag pattern around the trees. He was moving with such speed, amplified by the potion, that he could barely believe his own eyes. He also ran straight through several thin trees, shattering them as he passed. Despite his incredible pace, John glanced back and saw Jones right on his tail.
"Fuck, he's gonna get me!" he thought, pushing even harder.
Jones was relentless, focused, and rapidly catching up, now only an arm's distance behind. In response, John's left eye turned red, the raw power flaring up and giving him a massive, temporary speed boost. This explosion of velocity shocked Jones for a split second, forcing the werewolf to pick up his own pace to keep from falling behind.
John saw the log looming ahead, the final marker. He knew that just beyond it lay the pit trap. All he had to do was maintain his momentum and launch over the obstacle. The velocity he was running at, combined with the potion effects, was more than enough to propel him over the trap and away. He looked back one last time; Jones was gaining again, but John remained confident.
He pushed everything into his legs, running even faster, and just as he was about to reach the log—
Thud.
John slammed into something that felt precisely like a brick wall. The impact shattered the last of the air in his lungs and sent him staggering backward. He could not believe his eyes. Jones was standing directly before him.
No, he was just behind me a few seconds ago! How did he get past me? John thought, utterly bewildered. He struggled to his feet, shaken and disoriented. In that instant, he looked past Jones and noticed they were only a few steps away from his perfect pit trap.
"Enough with the games!" Jones snarled. He closed the remaining distance instantly and slashed John across the face with his razor-sharp claws. Blood splattered, and deep, angry gashes appeared on John's cheek and forehead. Jones followed up with a brutal kick to the stomach, sending John stumbling backward and making him cough up blood. As John struggled to find his breath, Jones walked closer, the ominous crunching of dried branches beneath his massive boots announcing his approach.
"Wait, hold up," John wheezed, flashing his palm to stop the werewolf. Jones paused, a look of contempt on his face, watching John struggle to stand.
"Before you kill me... tell me your name."
"My name is Jones, kid, but it doesn't matter since you're going to die. I'll make this quick," the werewolf replied, bored with the delay.
"Wait," John insisted, his voice cracking through the blood in his throat. Jones stopped again, irritation flashing in his eyes. "What now, kid?"
"Did you know," John started, his hand subtly sliding into his storage ring. He gripped the Wind Elemental Stone, concealing the small, humming object in his palm. "Did you know that I am the Wind Master?"
Jones became instantly furious, done with the stalling. "Die!"
He coiled his muscles to dash forward, but before he could close the gap, a powerful, invisible force slammed into his chest like a freight train.
"John's Almighty Wind Push!"
John unleashed a sharp, violent gust of wind directly from his palm. Augmented by the elemental stone, the blast caught Jones completely off guard. It did not just push him; it launched him. The werewolf flew backward, his heels catching violently on the log hurdle. Expecting to hit solid earth, Jones instead plummeted into the darkness of the hidden pit.
The forest air was instantly filled with a sickening, wet thud followed by a drawn-out, agonizing scream that echoed through the trees. Several of the sharpened stakes had penetrated deep into Jones's back, neck, and legs.
John wasted no time. Every second counted. He scrambled to the large rock he had positioned earlier, bracing his shoulder against the cold stone and pushing with every ounce of his remaining strength.
Jones, roaring in primal agony, looked up from the bottom of the pit. His eyes blazed with a level of hatred that would have withered a normal man. He gritted his teeth, blood foaming at his mouth. "You... are... dead!"
John stood at the edge of the pit, looking down at the monster that had terrorized them. He did not offer a speech. He simply raised his middle finger. "Pussy," he spat.
With one final, powerful shove, he sent the massive rock tumbling over the edge. It crashed down into the hole, landing directly on the impaled werewolf with a bone-shattering thud.
John stood there for a few seconds, chest heaving, waiting for any sign of silence. "Is he dead?"
"You fucking cunt!" Jones's muffled, furious scream erupted from the pit. He was still alive, pinned beneath the rock and the spikes, but he was trapped.
"Time to go," John whispered.
He turned and sprinted back to the clearing where he had hidden Elena. He scooped up her unconscious body, a heavy, limp weight that tested his enhanced strength, and set his eyes on the horizon. With the castle in his sights and the screams of the werewolf fading behind him, John began the long run home.
John's vision blurred as he ran, the copper tang of his own blood mixing with the cold forest air. Droplets fell from the gashes on his face, staining Elena's pale skin as he held her tight. "Don't worry, Elena," he wheezed, his voice a ragged shadow of itself. "We are almost there."
He had run until his soul felt thin. The Speed Potion had long since burned out, leaving his muscles feeling like they were filled with lead. He finally collapsed against a tree, chest heaving, his adrenaline bottoming out into a terrifying void of exhaustion.
Thank you, Aunt Reina, he thought, clutching Elena to his chest. I would have died in the first mile without you.
He tried to push off, to find one more burst of strength, when a hand like an iron vice clamped onto the back of his neck. The sheer coldness of the grip froze the blood in his veins.
"Where are you going, boy?"
John did not even have time to scream. Jones swung a fist that moved like a blur of grey fur and muscle, connecting squarely with John's face. The sound of his nose shattering echoed through the trees. The world spun as John was ripped away from Elena and sent reeling through the dirt. He hit the ground hard, coughing up a mouthful of crimson.
Jones loomed over him, a mountain of shadow against the dimming light. "I have to congratulate you for surviving this long," the werewolf sneered, his voice vibrating with a predatory hum. "I did not want to kill you, kid. But you've wasted too much of my time."
Jones reached down, hauling John up by the throat until his feet dangled off the ground. He raised his other hand, claws extended like obsidian daggers, aimed directly at John's heart.
John felt the wind die down. He felt the world go quiet. He closed his eyes, drifting back to memories of Earth, of his parents, and the face of the girl now lying in the dirt beside him. Goodbye, Mom. Goodbye, Dad. Goodbye, Elena.
He waited for the cold steel of the claws. One second. Two.
Nothing.
The pressure on his throat vanished. John tumbled to the forest floor, gasping for air that finally came. He blinked, his blurred vision struggling to focus. He was not dead. He was standing, somehow, on his own two feet.
And he was not alone.
A figure stood between him and certain death. Dressed in midnight black, the stranger was a statue of lethal calm. He had caught Jones's massive, clawed wrist mid-swing, holding the werewolf's full power at a complete standstill with a single hand.
The stranger released his grip, and Jones stumbled back, his face a mask of shock and growing rage. The new figure did not chase him. Instead, he slowly turned his head. His eyes were a deep, ancient crimson, steady and cold as a winter grave.
"Who... who are you?" John stammered, his heart hammering against his ribs.
The man's voice was like velvet over stone. Simple. Absolute.
"I'm Caden."