The team instinctively shifted into defensive stances.
Two pairs of eyes betrayed fear—Rudra's and Arun's—but even so, neither backed down. Their grips tightened on their weapons, legs braced for impact.
Two others stood out for entirely different reasons.
Om's gaze was calm, unreadable, like he was studying the beast rather than fearing it. Ghato, on the other hand, looked like a man who had just been handed the perfect gift—his expression alight with excitement.
The wolf spat the arrow from its mouth, the shaft broken as though it had been chewed apart.
Its lips curled back in a low growl as it fixed its eyes on the team.
Om drew the sword he had received from Mark, the blade gleaming in the dappled forest light. The moment steel left scabbard, a faint whisper brushed against his mind—words he couldn't quite catch. He ignored it, eyes locking on the wolf.
The wolf ignored everyone else. Its gaze sharpened on Om, and for a single heartbeat, they stared directly into each other's eyes.
Om's instincts screamed—this was no ordinary wolf.
Ghato's voice broke the silence. "This one's in the Mortal Chakra stage."
The words made Rudra and Arun stiffen. Fear deepened, but they still raised their weapons.
Without warning, the wolf charged—straight at Om. It could have attacked anyone, but it chose him.
Its leap was impossibly fast. If Om hadn't endured the intense training sessions with Mark, he wouldn't have been able to react at all.
He began to execute the Slash Art—but Ghato moved faster.
The giant swung his gada in a brutal arc. The mace slammed into the wolf midair, sending it flying.
The beast crashed into a tree, snapping the trunk like a twig. It didn't stop there—its body smashed through two more trees before skidding to a halt.
Dust hung in the air.
For a moment, relief washed over the group. They looked at Ghato with newfound respect and began to approach the fallen beast.
The air was thick with grit, obscuring the scene. They couldn't see the wolf's body, but with the damage it had taken, surely it was dead.
Ghato didn't relax. His instincts told him otherwise. He moved ahead to check.
When the dust cleared, there was no body—only a trail of fresh blood and deep paw prints dragging away.
Ghato exhaled through his nose. "It's not dead. Its body's tough, but it's injured—badly. It won't last long. We should follow and finish it."
He tightened his grip on his gada, ready to track the trail.
Om raised a hand to stop him. "Wait. Wolves hunt in packs."
The words froze Ghato mid-step.
"We need to leave. Now," Om said firmly. "We don't know how many are nearby—"
He didn't get to finish.
Om's danger sense screamed. He dove into a roll just as the ground beneath him burst open.
A wolf's head shot out, jaws snapping where his torso had been a heartbeat before.
The group's eyes widened—but the shock lasted only a second.
The wolf climbed fully from the earth, dust coating its fur, its gaze once again locked on Om.
Before anyone could strike, it dove back underground.
Ghato reacted instantly, leaping to where it had vanished and slamming his gada into the ground. The impact left cracks spiderwebbing through the soil, but the wolf was already gone.
Om regained his footing, scanning for movement.
The warning came again—his danger sense flared hot.
He leapt backward just as the earth split and the wolf lunged upward.
This time, Om was ready. His sword flashed downward in a clean arc.
The beast tried to clamp its jaws on the blade—a fatal mistake.
The sword sliced through its mouth effortlessly, severing its jaw and continuing through its torso. The cut didn't stop until more than half its body had been split.
When the wolf finally emerged fully, it was already dead.
Ghato grinned, giving Om a thumbs-up. "Nice."
But Om didn't return the smile. He knelt beside the corpse, his expression darkening.
"This isn't the same wolf," he said.
The others blinked, their brief celebration cut short.
"There's no gada mark on its body," Om continued.
Understanding sank in.
Ghato scowled. "Then the first one's still out there. Let's find it—"
"No," Om interrupted. "It's too late. If it's part of a pack, it's already warned them. They'll be on their way."
His tone left no room for argument. "We leave now. And we erase our trail."
Ghato's jaw tightened, frustration in his eyes, but he nodded. Even he knew they wouldn't survive a full pack of chakra wolves—especially if their leader was strong.
Arun quickly accessed his watch and pulled up the beast's profile.
"This species usually lives in the danger zones. It shouldn't be here at all. Their leader's in the Essence Stage," he reported grimly. "If that one comes, we're done."
Om exhaled heavily and sheathed his sword. "Rudra—take the wolf's ear. It's proof we killed it. Arun, you're with me—clear the tracks. Ghato—check the surroundings. If you see anything moving, yell."
They moved fast, each taking their assigned task without hesitation. Within minutes, they were running, putting distance between themselves and the kill site, heading toward the direction of the school.
While they ran, Om spoke without looking back. "When we killed that wolf… did anyone else hear something? Like a voice trying to speak?"
All three shook their heads.
Om's eyes narrowed.
He had heard it—a strange, almost primal sound. It hadn't come from the wolf, but from his sword. The noise was alien yet familiar, resonating deep in his chest.
Glancing down at the blade as he ran, he noticed something he hadn't before—a faint symbol etched into the steel. He could swear it had glowed when he'd struck the killing blow, but now it was dormant.
The more he looked, the more certain he became—he could read it.
Almost without thinking, he whispered, "Sl—"
The word never finished.
A crushing wave of exhaustion slammed into him. His vision blurred, his legs faltered, and his body pitched forward.
The last thing he felt was the world spinning out of focus… and every drop of Nature Energy draining from his body.
Then—darkness.