Morning hurt.
Orin woke to the ache before he opened his eyes—shoulders tight, ribs sore, forearms buzzing with that deep, bruised throb only real training left behind. Not the sharp sting of fresh wounds, but the dull weight of having been hit, thrown, and corrected until his body learned faster than his pride.
He stretched on the bedroll, joints cracking in quiet protest. The little clearing Lyf had claimed as their current camp sat just beyond Hachi's outer grounds—a tangle of trees, root-crooked earth, and a sliver of sky that let in thin strips of light.
Kahn-Ra lay curled near Orin's feet in his bobcat form, tail flicking lazily, golden eyes half-lidded but not fooled. He felt the moment Orin tensed.
You survived the first day, Kahn-Ra's voice slid across Orin's mind. Congratulations. You only almost passed out three times. Progress.
Orin grunted and sat up. Every movement sent a flare of ache up his back and across his shoulders.
Then he noticed something.
He didn't hurt as much as he should.
Yesterday had been brutal—Lyf had thrown him, swept him, baited him into bad angles, then punished every mistake. Yet now, after a night's sleep, Orin felt… almost ready. Not fresh. But not broken either.
He turned his hands over, flexing his fingers. "I should be barely moving," he muttered.
"You're not normal," Kahn-Ra replied, the thought dry. We've been over this.
"Morning, monsters."
Lyf's voice drifted in from the edge of the clearing.
Orin looked up.
Lyf walked out of the trees with that easy, unhurried gait, hands hooked into the loose belt of his coat. Same gray-toned "human" skin, same long light-brown hair tied back, same misleadingly relaxed posture—as if nothing in the world could touch him unless he allowed it.
He looked Orin over once, from bedroll to face.
"You can still stand," Lyf said. "Good. Saves me from carrying you."
Orin pushed himself up. "Felt worse after some sparring with Vince."
Lyf snorted. "You're healing faster. That's the blood showing off. Don't get cocky about it." He jerked his chin toward the treeline. "Eat. Then we move."
"Back to forms?" Orin asked.
Lyf's smile sharpened. "No. Today's not drills."
Orin's stomach tightened.
Lyf tilted his head, almost pleased. "Today we hunt."
Kahn-Ra's tail twitched once. Finally, the tiger murmured. You get to chase something smaller than your mistakes.
Orin didn't answer him aloud. He chewed through a quick breakfast more out of obligation than hunger, then strapped on his gear—chest harness, utility straps—and settled the familiar weight of his dual cleaver-hatchets across his back in an X. Metal pressed against his spine like an old promise.
Lyf watched him fasten the last buckle. "Rule for today," he said. "You're fighting on your own."
Orin frowned. "So you're just… watching?"
"Evaluating," Lyf corrected. "I step in only if you're about to die. Not hurt. Not pinned. Die."
Orin's jaw tightened. "You could phrase that differently."
"I could," Lyf said. "But then you'd misunderstand the stakes."
His eyes glinted—not cruel, just certain. "This isn't to see what happens when you black out and turn the world into meat. I already know that version of you. I want to see what you do. The you that's awake. The one who chooses."
Kahn-Ra rose and stretched, spine bending in a slow arc. He's right, the tiger thought. The last time you showed your teeth, you weren't there to see it.
Orin exhaled through his nose. "And if… that other part tries to push through?"
Lyf shrugged. "You don't let it. You're not here to prove how dangerous you are. You're here to prove you can fight without turning into a walking massacre."
He nodded toward the trees. "Come on."
They left the clearing and walked into thicker forest, the kind that swallowed sound. Branches knitted overhead, filtering light into shifting patches. The ground dipped and rose in hidden ridges. It felt different from Beastland Forest—less wild, more watched—but the old weight was still there, the feeling that eyes existed even when you couldn't see them.
Orin matched Lyf's pace, Kahn-Ra trotting at his heel.
"So what am I fighting?" Orin asked.
"Three-star," Lyf said.
"That's it?"
"Strong enough to break you if you're careless. Weak enough that you don't need to cheat."
Orin muttered, "Comforting."
"Good." Lyf stopped near a hollow where the trees leaned inward, forming a loose bowl of earth and roots. "We'll work here."
Orin scanned automatically—roots that could catch a boot, branches he could use, lines of sight, blind spots. He didn't just look for the monster anymore. He looked at the field.
Lyf noticed. "Better," he said. "You're thinking in shapes, not just targets." He rolled his shoulders once. "Last rule: you do not try to force whatever you did against the Vrexus. No digging for rage. No trying to snap yourself. You stay in your skin."
"What if it comes on its own?" Orin asked quietly.
Lyf's shrug had steel under it. "Then you fight it same as you fight anything else. You don't let it decide what you do."
Kahn-Ra's thought brushed Orin's mind, low and even. If you start to slip, I will tell you. And if you ignore me, I will make you regret it later.
Orin huffed softly. "Comforting."
Lyf's smile flashed. "Oh no. This part isn't meant to be comforting."
He lifted one hand and snapped his fingers.
Power shifted.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a small, bored gesture that made the air feel like it had listened. Something distant answered. A tremor ran along the ground beneath Orin's boots, as if something heavy adjusted its stance.
Lyf shoved his hands back into his pockets. "Eyes up," he said. "Here we go."
At first, Orin heard only wind through leaves. Then—a scrape. Short, heavy breaths. The faint grind of stone plates brushing as something flexed.
It stepped into view between two trees.
The Rendmaw Gorgolin was low to the ground, thick-bodied, shaped like a panther forced to crawl on shorter, heavier limbs. Parts of it were wrapped in dull stone armor—overlapping ridges along its shoulders and spine, plates that caught the light without reflecting it. Its tail ended in a heavy knot of bone.
Its head was wide. The jaw squared and powerful, lined with teeth that weren't long but thick—built to crush. Misty breath rolled from its mouth, each exhale carrying a faint hiss. Dark eyes fixed on Orin and didn't blink.
Three-star. Not as fast as the Vrexus, maybe. But if it got a hold of him—
Orin rolled his shoulders once, dropped his weight, and reached back.
The cleavers slid into his hands with a familiar scrape. Short blades, thick enough to take punishment. He held them low, then raised one slightly as he circled.
The Gorgolin mirrored him. Muscles shifted under fur and stone plates. Its claws tore shallow grooves into the dirt.
Behind, Lyf stood with his arms folded, watching with the calm of someone observing weather.
"Any advice?" Orin muttered.
Lyf's voice drifted over, light. "Don't die."
Kahn-Ra's answer was drier. Try not to let it sit on you. They're heavy.
The distance between them snapped.
The Gorgolin lunged—short, brutal speed that kicked up dirt. Orin sidestepped, weight already moving. Its claws slashed through the space his chest had just occupied.
Orin brought one cleaver up in the same motion and carved at the seam between plates along its shoulder. The blade bit. Not deep. Enough to draw a line of dark blood.
The Gorgolin roared and twisted, snapping at him.
Orin rolled away, boots skidding. The tail whipped past his hip like a mace. He planted, pivoted, and cut low at its leg.
The cleaver scraped along armored hide. Sparks flicked.
"Angles," Lyf called lazily. "You saw the soft spots. Hit them harder."
Orin tightened his grip and forced his breathing steady. This wasn't the Vrexus. He had space. He had training. He didn't need to panic.
The beast came again. Orin didn't retreat straight back. He cut off-center, letting its bulk rush past while he slid along its flank. His left cleaver slashed across the seam behind its foreleg.
This time the wound opened deeper.
Hot blood splashed his hand.
The Gorgolin bellowed. It tried to twist, but its stone-plated shoulder resisted the turn. Claws raked Orin's arm as he darted away, scoring a burning line across his bicep.
Pain flared sharp and immediate.
Orin hissed, but kept moving.
He tracked its breathing now—the way the chest expanded, the slight stutter in its step as its wounded leg dragged. He feinted right.
The Gorgolin bit at the wrong angle.
Orin went left, cleaver flashing again, carving into the same weakened seam.
"That's it," Lyf called. "Small cuts, right places. You're not splitting boulders, you're prying them apart."
The praise was faint, almost careless, but it settled somewhere in Orin's chest anyway.
The Gorgolin adapted. It stopped lunging straight and began to circle, keeping its wounded side away, breathing deepening, shoulders rolling like stone under fur.
It charged again—this time controlled, not reckless.
Orin met it with a diagonal retreat, bringing one cleaver down toward its skull—
—and his boot hit loose ground.
His foot slid on crumbling dirt and small stones. Balance slipped for half a heartbeat.
It was all the beast needed.
The Gorgolin crashed into him.
Its shoulder slammed his ribs, knocking the breath from his lungs. The world spun—gray bark, dark fur, stone ridges. Orin hit the ground hard, back first, the impact punching a grunt out of him.
He tried to roll.
Too late.
Two front paws slammed down on his shoulders, pinning him. Claws dug in through cloth and armor, biting enough to make his bones ring. Weight pressed on his chest, crushing his lungs.
His cleavers flew from his hands, skidding across the dirt out of reach.
Hot breath poured over his face, heavy with copper and rot. The Gorgolin's jaw dipped closer, teeth parting. It pushed against his arms, testing how long his strength would hold.
Orin strained. Muscles burned. His arms trembled under the weight.
He couldn't get leverage. Couldn't push it off. His head was pressed hard into the ground. His lungs clawed for air that wouldn't come.
Images collided inside his skull.
Sonny falling.
Vince's body twitching.
Vice reaching toward him.
Lisa's blood.
Not again.
His vision tunneled. The Gorgolin's jaws loomed, teeth inching toward his throat.
Move—
He couldn't.
Kahn-Ra's presence flared at the edge of his mind, sharp as a shout. Do not go under. Stay awake. Think.
Orin's arms buckled another inch.
Think.
He couldn't throw it off. Couldn't reach his cleavers.
He could still move his head.
The Gorgolin's neck hovered near his cheek. Thick muscle. The join between jaw and shoulder was unarmored. He could feel the pulse through skin. Hot. Close.
He didn't decide.
His body simply moved.
Orin twisted his head and sank his teeth into the beast's neck.
The skin gave with wet resistance. Hot Monari blood flooded his mouth—thick, metallic, wrong, like drinking something that wasn't meant for anything human. His stomach lurched, but he bit down harder.
The Gorgolin screamed.
Its weight shifted reflexively as it tried to yank away from pain. Pressure eased a fraction.
Heat erupted through Orin.
It ran from his mouth down his throat like liquid fire, spreading fast enough to steal thought. His fingers curled. His spine arched. For a stunned heartbeat, all he could feel was that bright burn racing through his veins.
Then his muscles answered.
Strength flooded his limbs—not clean, not calm, but raw and immediate. Orin shoved up with force he hadn't had a breath ago. The Gorgolin's paws lifted slightly.
Orin ripped his head back, tearing loose.
Blood sprayed across his face. A strip of meat came with it, and he rolled, dirt grinding into his cheek. He didn't even realize he'd swallowed some until the taste stuck and refused to leave.
The Gorgolin thrashed, one foreleg buckling, claws tearing the earth where his chest had been.
Orin didn't think.
He moved.
He surged to his feet with speed that startled him. His ribs still screamed, but his body felt charged—light, sharpened. The world snapped into brutal clarity: the exact angle of the beast's head, the drag of its injured leg, the late swing of its tail.
He sprinted for the nearest cleaver.
The Gorgolin lunged after him, dragging its wounded foreleg, jaws snapping, misty breath hissing. It swiped; claws raked across Orin's back in a hot line, but he stayed upright, momentum carrying him forward.
His hand closed around the cleaver's handle.
He spun.
The beast barreled toward him, enraged now, less careful. Orin dropped low, legs coiling, and slid under its reaching jaws. As he passed beneath its head, he drove the cleaver upward into the soft flesh under its jawline.
The strike hit home.
The Gorgolin shrieked, head jerking back. Orin yanked the blade free in a spray and kept moving, riding the flare of power. He pivoted around its flank and carved a heavy line behind its wounded foreleg—deepening every cut he'd already placed there.
Hamstring.
The limb buckled fully. The beast sagged, trying to compensate, tail whipping in a clumsy arc. It swung like a club. Orin ducked under it, the knot of bone grazing the air where his skull had been.
"Don't stop now," Lyf called, voice still maddeningly calm.
Orin didn't.
The Gorgolin dropped lower, chest dipping, throat exposed for a breath as it sucked air in ragged pulls.
Orin stepped in and hacked once more at the soft underside of its jaw, driving the blade up and back.
The cleaver punched through.
The roar cut off mid-sound.
The beast spasmed, paws scrabbling at nothing, then slumped sideways. Its weight shook the ground as it hit. Dust puffed up. Blood pooled into the dirt in a slow, spreading stain.
For a moment, Orin stood over it, chest heaving.
His fingers were still clenched around the cleaver, knuckles white. Every sense burned—iron and musk sharp in his nose, the crackle of cooling blood in the air. His teeth ached.
He realized his jaw was still clenched, as if expecting something to be between his teeth.
The brightness at the edges of his vision throbbed, then dimmed. The flood of power receded, and the familiar ache in his shoulders and ribs returned like a debt.
He blinked hard.
"What did I just do?" he muttered.
"You won," Lyf said.
Orin twisted toward him. Lyf was already walking in from the edge of the hollow, boots unhurried, hands tucked in his coat pockets. His face looked amused, but his eyes were sharp—measuring.
Kahn-Ra padded in from the opposite side, tail low, gaze fixed on Orin rather than the dead beast.
Of course it would be blood, Kahn-Ra thought, edged with annoyance. Of all the ways your kind could wake, it had to be that.
Orin swallowed. The phantom taste didn't leave.
"I bit it," he said, as if the words didn't fit in his mouth. "I—"
Lyf crouched beside the Gorgolin and studied the torn bite mark at its neck, then the clean blade wounds elsewhere. "Before that," he said, "you were getting crushed."
"Thanks for the reminder," Orin muttered.
Lyf pointed with his chin toward Orin's shoulders. "You were about three heartbeats away from those claws going through you. No weapon. No leverage. And then—" his gaze flicked to the bite wound "—you used your head."
"It wasn't a plan," Orin said quietly. "I just… did it."
Lyf's eyes flicked to the side of Orin's mouth, where a smear of blood still clung. "And when did the strength hit?"
Orin replayed it—the crush, the slip, the teeth, the heat.
"When I bit down," he said slowly. "When the blood—" His throat tightened. "When it hit."
"Not when you got angry?" Lyf asked.
"I was already angry."
"Not when the claws dug in? Not when the memories hit?" Lyf pressed.
Orin shook his head. "No. It was after. Like something lit up."
Lyf nodded once, as if that confirmed something he'd already suspected.
Kahn-Ra's thought was a low growl in Orin's mind. You drank Monari blood and your power answered. That is not an accident.
Orin glanced between them. "What does that mean?"
Lyf rocked back on his heels and stood. "It means whatever lives in your blood doesn't only wake when you lose control." He tapped his temple. "It also pays attention to what you put in your mouth."
"That's disgusting," Orin muttered.
"You're the one who did it," Lyf said. Then, as if it were no more significant than a lesson in footwork, he nodded toward the carcass. "Help me move it. I'm not wasting a decent kill."
They dragged the Gorgolin off the main spot near a cluster of rocks. Lyf did the practical work quickly—checking the hide, cutting what mattered, leaving what didn't. Orin helped in silence, movements automatic. Each time his hand brushed the dead creature's fur, a shiver ran through him—faint familiarity, like touching something he now carried.
When Lyf finished the rough dressing, they built a small fire. Smoke curled up between the trees. Afternoon leaned toward evening; shadows lengthened, air cooling.
Orin sat a short distance from the flames, back against a tree, knees drawn up. His hands were clean, but his mouth didn't feel it. The taste lingered at the back of his throat, copper and heat.
He stared at his fingers. Flexed them. Tried to imagine claws where skin should be. Tried to remember exactly how his body had felt when the power surged.
He could still picture the Vrexus. The full transformation. The blackout.
He didn't want that.
But this…
He'd bitten a monster and gotten stronger.
What kind of person did that?
Kahn-Ra settled beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed. To anyone watching, it was just a bobcat choosing warmth. Orin could feel the weight of his attention.
"You're quiet," Lyf said from the far side of the fire as he turned a strip of meat on a flat stone.
"I bit a beast and liked what happened," Orin said. "What should I be? Chatty?"
Lyf glanced up, half-smile faint. "You liked the result," he said. "Nobody likes the taste. Relax. You're not about to start licking tree bark."
"That doesn't help," Orin muttered.
Lyf's eyes shifted past him toward Kahn-Ra.
They held there a heartbeat too long.
Orin couldn't hear what passed between them, but he felt Kahn-Ra's thoughts turn flint-hard.
Of course it is blood, Kahn-Ra sent, angled more for Lyf than Orin. His father's line always needed a medium. Flesh. Essence. Something to anchor the shift.
Lyf's answer was unspoken, carried more in expression than words—his gaze brightening, a subtle tilt of the mouth.
Concrete. Usable. A handle.
Aloud, Lyf only said, "Different rule for you, kid."
Orin looked up. "What now?"
"From this point on," Lyf said, "any time you feel that same flare—you stop and ask what triggered it. You don't just let it ride. You don't get to claim surprise anymore."
Orin let out a humorless breath. "You say that like I'm eager to repeat it."
"You will," Lyf said simply. "If it means saving someone. That's how you're wired." He flipped the meat again, the scent of cooking flesh mixing with the fading tang of spilled blood. "I'm not here to talk you out of that. I'm here to make sure you don't stumble into it blind."
Kahn-Ra's tail thumped once against Orin's leg. He's not wrong.
"So what am I?" Orin asked quietly. "A Blood Hunter that has to… eat what he fights?"
Lyf's eyes narrowed, but not unkindly. "You're Orin," he said. "A boy who survived a six-star Vrexus by becoming something it couldn't handle, then survived himself." His smirk returned, small and dangerous. "As for what your blood is? That answer's going to annoy a lot of important people when we get there."
"That's not reassuring."
"It's not meant to be," Lyf said. "Reassurance doesn't sharpen you." He nodded toward Orin without looking away from the fire. "For now, all you need to know is: your power answers to two things—rage you can't control and blood you take in. We're going to make sure you learn to use at least one of those without losing your mind."
Orin stared into the fire, the flames reflecting in his blue-silver eyes.
"And if both wake at the same time?" he asked.
Lyf's smile thinned. "Then you're going to need everything we're about to put you through."
Kahn-Ra's thought brushed Orin's mind, quieter now.
You are not just what you take in, the tiger said. You are also what you choose to become with it.
Orin didn't answer right away.
He looked down at his hands again, flexing them, trying to see them not as claws, not as weapons, but as something that might one day hold more than blood.
The taste of the Gorgolin still lingered.
He swallowed hard.
Whatever lived in his blood was awake now—not fully, not like it had been with the Vrexus—but enough to stir. Enough to listen.
And for the first time, he knew exactly what had called it.