Chapter 19: "Red Horn, No Mercy"

Chapter 19 – "Red Horn, No Mercy"

The blood was still fresh.

Leon crouched beside the fifth body, fingertips brushing the blackened edge of a deep scorch mark across the man’s chest.

’One hit. No scream. No struggle.’

He stood slowly, eyes following the trail.

Charred pawprints.

Big ones.

Each indentation in the dust was deeper, wider than anything he’d seen so far. Even the blue-horned variant hadn’t left a trail like this. Whatever made these... it wasn’t just bigger.

It was heavier. Hotter. Meaner.

And it had taken out five armed, candidates like they were scarecrows.

’This wasn’t a pack. Just one monster. Fire-aligned. Strong enough to kill before a second breath. And I’m alone.’

For the first time since stepping into this dungeon, Leon hesitated.

Not in his feet—but in his chest.

The kind of stillness that came when instinct stopped whispering and started screaming.

"I might not win this one."

He didn’t say it with fear.

Just fact.

Then—

A low, distant growl.

Not from behind.

Ahead.

’Already?’

He moved—instinct driving him to melt into the shadows, cloak fluttering around him. He took the left corridor, slipping behind a thick outcrop of stone, breath slow and shallow.

And then he saw it.

Red horn. Molten eyes.

The wolf was massive. Easily twice the size of the lightning variant. Muscles packed under ember-tipped fur, every breath steaming with heat. Flames danced faintly around its paws, leaving scorched prints wherever it stepped.

Its horn glowed a deep crimson. Like molten metal before the forge strike.

It turned—nose twitching—and looked directly at him.

’...No. Not at me.’

’At my Scent

Leon ran.

He didn’t think. Just pivoted, cloak snapping behind him, feet gliding over stone as he darted back through the corridor at full speed.

But it wasn’t enough.

Boom.

The ground shook.

The wolf had leapt—cleared twenty feet in a blink.

Leon felt the heat before the sound caught up, and when he glanced back, it was already there.

Snarling.

Charging.

He didn’t have a choice.

He skidded sideways, dove through a collapsed stone arch, and drew both daggers in one clean motion.

"Alright..." he muttered, chest rising and falling. "Let’s dance."

The wolf didn’t wait.

It charged with fire underfoot, horn glowing like a burning blade.

The first clash hit like a siege ram.

Steel met flame.

Leon was launched backward, barely managing to twist mid-air and land in a crouch. His boots skidded against molten-slick stone, and smoke curled from the hem of his cloak.

This fight was different.

The blue one had been fast.

But this?

This was brutal.

Leon struck low. Quick slice to the ankle.

Blocked.

The wolf spun, flames bursting from its side.

He barely rolled clear.

The second wave came faster. A horn swipe—dodged. Claws raking wide—parried. But the air was fire, and the room was shrinking.

Sweat poured down Leon’s back. His ring flared—once, twice—as new burns seared across his arms.

One wound refused to close completely.

Too deep.

Too hot.

Even his treasure was starting to buckle.

’Shit. I’m not healing fast enough. One mistake, and I’m cooked.’

But he didn’t stop.

He circled.

Waited.

Watched.

There—a ridge. A broken platform. Jagged above. Slippery below.

A plan formed.

Risky.

But it was all he had.

Leon baited the wolf—faked a limp. Slowed his pace.

The beast took it.

It lunged.

He leapt backward, landing on the raised platform.

It climbed up—unstable footing—and just as it launched to strike, he dashed to the side.

Crack.

The platform gave way.

The wolf dropped a foot.

And in that exact moment, Leon drove both daggers toward its heart.

Slash.

The strike connected. Deep. Final.

But the wolf howled—not in pain, but warning.

Flames burst from its core, a detonation of raw mana that caught Leon mid-air and threw him like a rag doll across the chamber.

He crashed into a wall. Hard.

Stone cracked.

Burns seared across his ribs and arms.

His daggers clattered beside him.

And darkness nipped at the edge of his vision.

He wasn’t unconscious.

But he was close.

The fight was still on.

But he was out of time.

’’’’’

Smoke curled off his body. Ash clung to his skin. The impact had split the stone behind him, but—

’I’m still breathing.’

Leon groaned as he pushed himself off the stone, body trembling, cloak half-charred but still intact.

His arms ached. Burns stung. The air felt like breathing smoke.

But he was alive.

Barely.

’The cloak... it ate most of the blast. If I didn’t have it...’

He didn’t finish the thought.

He reached for his daggers—one still gripped tight, the other a foot away—and staggered toward the collapsed beast.

The red-horned wolf lay in a pool of scorched blood, chest barely rising.

Not dead. Not yet.

Leon grit his teeth, wiped sweat from his brow, and forced his legs to move.

"I’m ending this."

His dagger rose—

Thud.

A sound. Distant. Sharp.

No.

Not one. Many.

The air shifted. A low rumble rolled through the dungeon floor like thunder on the ceiling of hell.

Leon froze.

Then he heard it—fast, synchronized footsteps, too many for comfort, and too light to be human.

’That howl. It wasn’t a warning.’

’It was a call.’

He turned.

From the far tunnel, shadows streaked forward—five wolves, each smaller than the red-horned one but just as deadly in their own right. Lightning licked around their paws. Their horns sparkled with blue-white energy.

Not fire. Lightning.

Not just variants.

Kill squad.

Leon’s heart dropped.

And his instincts screamed.

’If they surround me, I’m dead.’

No posturing. No theatrics.

Just primal, pure fear.

"—Nope."

He ran.

Not because he wanted to.

But because this wasn’t a fight.

This was execution.

The wolves were fast—too fast.

Their paws barely touched the stone, arcs of lightning flashing behind them like streaks from a stormcloud. They blurred through the dungeon, splitting off, trying to flank.

Leon didn’t bother with stealth. He didn’t care about silence. He threw his cloak into storage, forced his burning legs to sprint harder.

’Keep going. Don’t stop. Don’t think.’

Then—his eyes caught it.

A crack in the wall.

A jagged seam just beneath a collapsed statue—too narrow for normal sight, but Leon’s gaze was sharp, trained. He darted toward it, kicked aside loose rubble, and slammed his shoulder against the stone.

It gave way.

A hidden gap.

No time to hesitate.

Leon slipped inside—and instantly lost footing.

The ground vanished.

He tumbled downward, down a narrow stone chute, slick with dust and old magic. No light. No handholds. Just a sloped descent that stole all control.

"—Shit—!"

The sound of the wolves above faded.

And Leon kept falling—arms tucked in, daggers clenched tight, as the dark swallowed him whole.

But in the distance—

A glow.

Not sunlight.

Not fire.

A cold, faint blue.

’What the hell...?’

He didn’t have time to question.

Only to brace.

Whatever lay below?

He just hoped it wasn’t worse than what was hunting him now.