Beastbound: Awakening the Hunter

A dark shape rapidly approached from the horizon, drawing the attention of everyone on the battlefield. As it drew closer, Oliver finally saw it for what it truly was.

A middle-aged man riding atop a flying skeleton.

Around his neck hung a silver serpent, draped like a scarf. His entire presence exuded a sharp, chilling aura, like a blade carved from ice, radiating a sense of death and menace. He was none other than the Venomous Fang Priest of the Silver Circle Cult.

"Venomous Fang Priest," Hector's voice rang out, low and grave. "According to our intel, he's a red-tier necromancer, but as a senior priest of the Silver Circle Cult, he's far more dangerous than Lord Avery. Avery was a mere newcomer to necromancy. This man, however, has centuries of experience."

Violanda and Andre nodded grimly, their faces dark with concern.

"Didn't expect the Venomous Fang to show up so quickly," Violanda murmured, eyeing the incoming threat. "The Silver Circle Cult's influence in the Glensorne region must be far greater than we anticipated."

At that moment, the battlefield was a scene of chaos. The servants and slaves of Lord Avery’s estate had either fled or perished, their bodies littering the charred remains of the manor, which now served as the perfect battleground.

"You worthless fools," the Venomous Fang spat, his voice dripping with malice. "You dare interfere with the Silver Circle Cult’s plans? Now that the wraiths are gone, let’s use your magical cores to complete the ritual!"

With an eerie laugh, the Venomous Fang Priest descended on them, riding his skeletal mount, which let out a terrifying roar. The mount was a grotesque creature, its body entirely made of bone, draped in a black magical cloak. Its aura was just as chilling as its rider, and Oliver could tell it was no mere undead creature—it was powerful, rivaling a red-tier wizard.

The moment the priest appeared, the atmosphere shifted. The tension in the air became almost unbearable, and Oliver, Hector, and the others instinctively tightened their grips on their weapons. They were facing a true threat.

"You want our magical cores?" Hector growled, his voice a rasp of defiance as he faced the Venomous Fang. His knuckles tightened around his wand.With a swift and practiced motion, he raised the wand high, summoning the radiant holy blades. They flared into existence, blinding beams of pure, burning light, as though the very heavens had opened to strike down the darkness. The blades rained down on the Venomous Fang with the fury of a storm, each one leaving a shimmering trail through the air as they shot forward.

The Venomous Fang’s eyes flickered with recognition, but there was no fear—only contempt. "A damn light mage," he sneered, his lips curling into a smirk. Without hesitation, he lifted his staff, adorned with miniature skulls that rattled and whispered as if alive. He muttered a dark incantation, his voice low and cold, and in an instant, the air around them seemed to grow heavier, suffused with a palpable sense of death. From the depths of the necrotic energy he commanded, a wave of skeletal warriors surged forth like an unstoppable tide. Their bones clattered and scraped together, an eerie symphony of the damned.

The clash was immediate, violent, and deafening. Hector’s radiant holy blades tore into the first wave of skeletal warriors, cutting them down with dazzling precision. But even as one fell, another took its place. The skeletons were relentless, their glowing eyes fixed on the intruders. The light of Hector’s magic clashed with the oppressive darkness of the Venomous Fang’s necromantic power, creating a battlefield where holy radiance and death’s shadows tangled and swirled.

Andre, the towering knight, threw himself into the fray. His iron-clad gauntlets swung in wide arcs, striking with the force of a mountain’s fall. Each blow sent a skeleton flying, its brittle bones shattering on impact. His strength was unmatched, but even his imposing frame was beginning to falter as the numbers swelled. For every one he felled, two more seemed to emerge from the shadows. The skeletal warriors did not tire, did not hesitate. They were endless.

Behind him, the red-haired shield knight, Eamon, was doing all he could to defend the group. His massive shield, battered and bloodied, absorbed the onslaught of skeletal arrows that rained down from the heights, each impact sending tremors through his body. He held it up with a grim determination, but the weight of the attack was beginning to take its toll. Sweat dripped down his face, his muscles burning with exertion, and his every breath was labored.

Eamon’s voice was strained as he gritted his teeth, holding his ground. "They’re everywhere..." The skeletal archers, perched on the periphery, loosed another volley of arrows, and Eamon barely managed to deflect them. His shield groaned under the pressure, but it wasn’t enough. The shield knight staggered, his defenses beginning to crack.

Violanda stood at the rear, her hands moving swiftly as she cast healing spells and protective wards. She focused on the front lines, her magic weaving in and out of the chaos, keeping her comrades on their feet. But her face was pale with strain, and the glow of her spells grew dimmer with each passing second. Her power was running low, and the battle was only intensifying. Her mind raced, knowing that they couldn't last much longer, but she pressed on.

Then there was Oliver. The fire of his arcane magic had already been spent, drained from his body by the colossal force of the Destruction Serpent. His limbs felt like lead, his vision was blurred, and his mind foggy. All he could do now was stay back, his fingers fumbling through scrolls and vials, desperately trying to restore his spent mana.

He watched helplessly as the battle raged on.

The Venomous Fang’s army seemed endless. Every time they thought they had gained ground, more skeletal warriors appeared, as if summoned from the very earth itself. The air was thick with the stench of death, and the sounds of clashing steel and scraping bones filled the air. The undead had no fear, no hesitation. They only had the will to destroy.

"NO!" Hector shouted, his voice rising above the chaos. But the reality was undeniable—they were losing.

"We can’t hold out much longer!" Hector yelled, desperation creeping into his voice. His holy light was fading.

The Venomous Fang’s laughter rang through the battlefield, cold and mocking. "It’s over. The wraiths have fallen, and now your lives will feed the ritual!"

Hector’s heart sank. The tide had turned. They were no longer on the offensive. "We need to retreat now. Get Oliver and Violanda to the nearby town. Find Arcanus. The rest of us will hold them off."

But Oliver’s voice, firm and unyielding, broke through the despair. "I’m not leaving." His gaze was resolute, and his eyes blazed with determination. "I’m staying. I still have one more card to play."

"Oliver, do you have a plan?" The others stared, stunned. How could he still have a solution? They’d thrown everything they had at the death mage and still found no way through.

Oliver raised his hand to his lips and let out a sharp, piercing whistle. The sound echoed through the trees, and in response, two massive figures emerged from the forest’s edge. The ground trembled beneath their feet as they came into view.