Spinning out the way of a clawed strike, Brock bit back with his uninfused dagger, the tip proceeding to skitter off the beast’s fur harmlessly. He wasn’t given any time to lament on it as a beam of red energy blew through the place he was standing seconds prior, searing the air with its immense heat.

Get over here.

Kicking the next Pontiac aside as it reared up for an attack, Brock let his chain knife fly, yanking it back with the force of two hands when it entered the chest of his ranged opponent, their belly already beginning to fill up with more energy. Snarling in rage, it was forcibly pulled forward, only to meet a rigid elbow strike as it smashed into the end of its snout.

A spray of blood accompanied Brock’s attack as he grabbed the embedded blade and tore it out messily, goring the injured beast even further.

He spared no time in the dance of combat as he avoided an overhead chomp and delivered an uppercut to the creature’s exposed stomach, earning a trio of gashes across his chest during the opening he left behind. Wincing, Brock’s leg snaked out, catching the beast in the chin as it prepared a follow-up, before he skipped back and created some distance between him and the group of three.

Brock had been searching among the crimson jungle for over five days now, and he was still yet to find the big bad boss known as West. In the time he’d been here, the office worker had found himself embroiled in several brawls against the aggressive Pontiacs, earning him a slew of wounds and combat experience alike.

The current pack he was fighting were sitting at a respectable average of level 20, and while Brock had originally found even level 18 packs somewhat difficult, ease of combat wasn’t only a side effect of high Stats, but also one of pure skill. And Brock had been able to hone both his reactions and brutality in battle over his continued fights, allowing him to weave through the scrimmages, a mere spectre of blood and death.

Lately, he hadn’t even been using his Augment as to better understand the limits of his body.

He was forced to use it, however, when the beasts changed up their approach to hunting the elusive human they were preying upon. Dodging another, albeit weaker beam of light, Brock quickly discovered himself restrained by a set of teeth crunching down on his ankle.

Growling in pain, he prepared to bring his knife down through the Pontiac’s skull but instead opened his eyes in shock as the final beast leapt at his face, its toothy maws stretching open to terrifying proportions.

Oh fuck…

Gritting his teeth, Brock aborted his prior plans of attack and rapidly extended his knife with a blade of red-hot energy. Without waiting for it to finish, he whipped it across in the direction of the wolf that was almost upon him. Its razor-edged claws carved into his shoulders as the knife met it directly, severing the top half of its head and splattering Brock’s face with charred brain matter.

Gagging at the stench, he wasted no time in spinning the blade around in his grip and letting it enter the forehead of the Pontiac gnawing on his ankle, killing it outright. All that was left was the special wolf spitting streams of superheated energy at him, and it was promptly killed as the glowing chain knife landed between its eyes.

Panting and wiping at the blood that oozed from cuts all over his body, Brock slumped to the ground and cracked his stiff neck. That fight had been the toughest yet, though the addition of his Augment to the mix had ended it quickly. The main reason he had been deliberately neglecting to use it was actually two-fold: to better understand what he was capable of and to further hone his fighting style.

It came as mid-fight inspiration, but Brock had begun to think of combat as a dance, one of brutality and carnage. He thought himself the harbinger of nature’s primordial wrath, forcing the beasts into his own weaving tempo. Nature didn’t concede, it demanded. One could not fight against the monster known as mother nature, only react desperately to the furious onslaught she called life.

He became that onslaught, and his opponent the feeble lamb trapped within the bounds of the trees.

And so far, that subtle shift in mentality had done wonders for his efficacy in combat. Over half a dozen pitched battles, Brock had slowly refined the true purpose of his strikes and style, as well as the intricacies, both hidden and apparent, and it had really helped flesh out the parts in combat which he was lacking, if only a little.

For comparison, without his inspiration and fresh take on combat, even with his Augment, Brock doubted he’d have such a decisive victory against the pack he’d just fought. So many more attacks would have landed, and so many opportunities to strike would have been lost had he remained on the defensive like he usually did.

“Fuck that hurts though…” Although, it was a lapse in judgement as Brock allowed his style to get the better of him and he left such a divot in his attention that the Pontiac had been able to chomp down on him and pave the way for a joint attack. He had to give it to the beasts though, it was rather innovative.

Not daring to touch the fleshy mess that his ankle was now rendered to, Brock limped over and pulled a bottle of vodka from the backpack he had thrown aside when the fight had begun. During his trek through the red, the survivor had both obtained a new, albeit slightly smaller, backpack, as well as a new stockpile of medical items and foodstuffs.

Maintaining his mandate on the potential of germs, Brock gritted his teeth as he poured a few shots worth of vodka over his grisly wound, wincing as it stung like a motherfucker, though admittedly far less than he remembered it to. Afterwards, he stripped out of his newly created rags and poured the rest over his head, pinching his nose and grunting as the fluid washed over him and made a whole lot of hurt as it dug into his myriad of cuts and grazes.

Luckily, there was a decent-sized puddle nearby, and Brock was soon washed and outfitted in a new suit, although it was paired with a more flexible pair of sneakers instead of the usual leather shoes. He didn’t like the red tie it came with either, but beggars can’t be choosers, especially when they looked as good as he did.

Getting back on the road, Brock considered his current location in conjunction with the path he had taken, and after some deliberation, pinned himself to be near the centre of the domain. That was different than the centre of the city, though. Not as dangerous overall, with the presence of the Alpha being the only reason it was a tough place to be.

Where are you, Mr West…

Brock had sworn he’d seen every part of this jungle by now, though he knew it was an over-exaggeration. South and East had been flukes, but he had found North easily enough since the beast took the initiative on that part. He didn’t forget to thank him for the time saved afterwards.

The only key indication that Brock was getting closer was the more and more common appearances of rustic wolf packs, something that also happened to be delaying him more and more. It was almost like the jungle was trying to slow Brock down, stall for something. So, in his usual spiteful fashion, he had sped himself up.

And finally, it had paid off.

Cleaning his blade of the blood of his latest kill on his once more stained pant leg, Brock happened upon an area of flattened earth hours later, the buildings that resided there prior erased without so much as a trace. In fact, he vaguely remembered that there was supposed to be a Starbucks right across from where he was standing.

Replacing all that, however, was a simple temple, its entrance held aloft by pillars of woven roots, the interior within hidden by darkness beyond the exceptionally large entryway. Oddly, Brock found it reminiscent of ancient Greek temples, albeit being a florally remixed version.

Outside of it, a pack of six stone wolves sat unmoving upon small pedestals, akin to statues as they showed not even the slimmest sign of movement. Three sat on either side of the short stairway leading up to the mouth of the temple, and Brock noted that their greyish bodies quite literally appeared to be made of stone, albeit with faint veins of red flowing through their pebbled coat.

To Brock, there appeared to be no sign of the Alpha anywhere, not even an idle presence or residue of its previous existence. There was merely just an ominous black hole of energy hidden within the depths of the temple, slowly sucking the ambient energy from the surroundings inside, at least from what Brock’s burgeoning energy senses could tell.

His best bet was that the Alpha was hidden inside, though he had no idea what it could have been doing. Conflicted, Brock debated whether it was best to take out the pack now while the big boss seemed to be occupied or to just wait until all the known factors were in place and there was nothing left to speculation.

Minutes later, he came to a decision. He was going to attack the pack now. He had a few injuries littered across his body, but they were all relatively superficial and did nothing to impair his combat prowess. He figured it was better to strike now with the chance of an advantage than to let that chance slip away. Taking a deep breath, the office worker brandished his dagger and held it at the ready, slowly creeping up to the temple.

The wolves might have had their eyes closed in what appeared to be slumber, but he knew it was foolish to assume that they had no way to sense his approach, and therefore maintained extreme caution.

Eventually, once Brock got close enough, he was awestruck to find that the names of the beasts appeared above them, despite that it had only been shown to occur while he was mutually engaged in battle with another.

[F] Gargoyle (LVL 23)

All of the Gargoyles he checked were around that level, the highest being 27 and the lowest 22. Initially, Brock had thought the Alpha to be in the realm of the high twenties, but now the chances of that becoming true were looking slim. It seemed like he was gearing up to fight a beast in the 30s.

Forgetting all that for a second, Brock squinted his eyes as he focused on something. His close proximity not only allowed him to see their names and levels, but it also let Brock notice that while there were six Gargoyles, there were seven pedestals, with the final and unoccupied one being stationed right in front of the stairway.

Wait…

Brock’s eyes widened abruptly as a realisation hit him. He could see the names of the beast’s because he was in combat. Spinning around, he was barely given the time to react as a drooling Gargoyle landed atop him, shoving him to the ground effortlessly with the sheer weight its body commanded.

Brock cursed as claws of blunt stone tore through the flesh of his chest painfully, and he had to desperately move his head out of the way as its maw of rock chomped down at him, narrowly avoiding having the side of his face shaved off.

Feeling the sensation of energy flooding through his pathways, Brock carved his heated blade downward toward his raving opponent, the weak angle of the swing only enough to cut out a sizeable gouge from the stone, otherwise leaving the beast uninjured.

Letting go of his knife for the moment, Brock put his decent pool of 56 Strength to the test and grasped the sides of the monster’s head as it tried to chomp his limbs off, its claws burrowing deeper and deeper inside of him as the seconds passed by.

Veins began to appear on his arms as he trembled with exertion, finally managing to control the head of the beast. With a loud grunt, he threw it off of him and took the brief respite to pant as he got to his feet. A quick glance over showed that none of the other Gargoyles were yet to react, and Brock wondered if it was due to distance, or some other hidden factor.

Facing his opponent once more as its mouth frothed viciously, he noticed that the wound he had inflicted had actually drawn a minuscule amount of blood. Oddly enough, it was of silver complexion and appeared far thicker than normal blood, oozing out with the consistency of mud.

Confident that this beast was at least killable, Brock commanded the knife to retreat to the bracer and caught the handle on the way back, infusing it with his Augment of Sparks once more.

As he looked to the blade of swirling orange, Brock felt like he was on the cusp of realisation regarding the true nature of his Augment, yet it seemed so far away. He wasn’t exactly sure about what the strange feeling meant, but he didn’t really have the time to think about it anyway.

Snarling with a strangely animated face despite its stone nature, the Gargoyle bounded forward and pounced. Brock took a deep breath out and pivoted around the monster’s body, blunt talons clawing through the air without effect. Rearing his knife back, the human smashed its edge down on the spine of the beast, watching with a grimace as his blade only sunk partway through its body before stopping dead in its tracks.

Quickly, Brock dismissed his heated edge and tore the blade free before the beast could drag his weapon along with it. Readying himself, he charged the monster as it landed, blade meeting claw and outputting a weak shockwave. Ultimately, Brock won out, and his blade sliced cleanly through the Gargoyle’s main weapon, disarming it partially.

“Yeah, didn’t like that did you? Little shit.” Brock spat. The beast took one glance at its newly trimmed claws and growled at its opponent with renewed vigour.

Barely, Brock managed to roll out the way of its follow up attack and promptly countered with a slash of his own, scoring a shallow hit across the monster’s backside, and drawing a small sputter of its glimmering blood. Cursing again, the office worker dashed backward and created some more distance between them.

How the hell am I meant to beat this thing? Its outside is a literal fucking rock. He clicked his tongue and hissed out a breath. A chisel maybe?

Brock met the beasts’ eyes as it turned to face him once more. They were perfectly normal, unaffected by the stone theme of the creature’s body, gazing at him with slitted, glowing red pupils.

Wait… its outsides are rock. But its insides aren’t. The thing bleeds for fucks sake.

Willing to put his theory to the test despite the gamble it was, a concept Brock was intimately familiar with, he let the beast’s next pounce land, driving him to the ground as he barely staved off its single set of claws with the flat of his blade. Snarling in what it seemed to think was victory, the monster loomed over him, maws opened wide and eager to feast.

Letting go of his blade with one hand, Brock swore pre-emptively and shoved an opened palm into the beast’s mouth, causing it to stall with shock for a brief second. The rampaging flow of blazing energies filled his pathways, and Brock squinted his eyes as the Gargoyle’s mouth was bathed in radiant fire. He strained his mind as he continued to maintain the stream of fire the best he could, but ultimately, it flickered out and died.

It had done its job perfectly though, as the molten corpse of the Gargoyle fell off of him limply, its body collapsing off to the side into a puddle of both semi-liquid rock and gooey innards. Sighing, Brock assumed a seated position. He wasn’t given much time to recover, however, as one of the Gargoyles on the bottom of the stairs shook itself to life and began bounding toward him, its teeth barred with rage.

Unlike the level of the last Gargoyle, this one was a single level higher than the 21 of his prior opponent.

…It’s wave combat? Damn, lasting long has never been my strong suit…