Chapter 8: Mini Boss

  Killian lunged forward, his rapier piercing the Mossmane Zebra’s side again and again. Each wound erupted into a burst of flowers, the creature’s regeneration knitting flesh together with vines and petals. But with every strike, its healing slowed. Finally, a welcomed notification flashed before his eyes.

  [Mossmane Zebra – Lvl 9 Slain]

  Killian panting looked down at his newest creation.

  [Rosewood Rapier (Common, Well Crafted)]

  A rapier whose beauty matches its deadliness. Crafted by a talented woodworker who found grace in simplicity. +7 Agility, +2 Endurance.

  While he hadn’t managed to create something better than common yet he’d had jumped two levels in the quality department. Jenny had made him craft and practice with different weapons over the past two weeks, drilling into him that strength wasn’t just about stats—it was about skill. And despite the bruises and exhaustion, he had come to enjoy the grind.

  Jenny, leaning lazily against a tree, gave him an appraising look. “Your footwork’s improving. Still sucks, but hey, at least you don’t look like a newborn deer anymore.” She smirked before nodding to herself. “Yeah. I think you’re ready.”

  Killian wiped sweat from his brow. “Ready for what?”

  “For a boss fight. Well a mini-boss.”

  A rush of excitement filled him—then just as quickly, cold reality settled in. He knew what she meant. He was fighting it alone.

  He frowned. “What kind of boss fight?”

  Jenny’s smirk grew. “The kind with loot.”

  The gained his attention. “Alright, now I’m interested.” Then, narrowing his eyes, he asked, “Wait. You already know what it is? And how do you even know where to find it?”

  She simply wagged a finger at him. “Ah, ah. No spoilers.”

  Without another word, she led him down a familiar path, one they had traveled countless times. The towering cliffs loomed on one side, a massive lake stretching out on the other. Normally, they turned right, toward the river and the lush land surrounding it. Today, they turned left.

  Killian’s unease grew as they approached the base of the cliffs, where a thick mist churned like a living thing, swallowing the ground ahead. A deep silence hung in the air.

  “Jenny, where exactly are we—”

  “Good luck!” she called out cheerfully.

  Before he could react, she shoved him hard.

  Killian barely had time to curse before he tumbled backward, swallowed whole by the mist.

  Killian hit the ground hard, his breath ripping from his lungs as he rolled across the rocky terrain. Pain jolted up his side, but he forced himself to his feet, rapier clutched tight in his grip.

  Thick mist swirled around him, suffocating and cold. He could barely see beyond a few feet, the dense fog twisting unnaturally as if alive.

  Then he heard it.

  A low, guttural growl. Deep and reverberating. It came from everywhere and nowhere at once, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Killian’s heart pounded. He turned in slow circles, trying to pierce the unnatural fog with his eyes. The ground beneath him was uneven, damp from the mist. He forced himself to stay calm, scanning for any movement, any shift in the swirling gray.

  Another sound. This time, the crunch of gravel beneath heavy footsteps.

  Something was watching him.

  A shape flickered in the mist, just at the edge of his vision—hulking, massive. It disappeared before he could get a good look.

  His grip on the rapier tightened.

  Then silence.

  The stillness stretched, tension coiling in his chest like a drawn bowstring. He held his breath.

  Then the world exploded.

  A massive form burst from the mist, moving faster than anything that size had any right to. A blur of silver fur and burning gold eyes—the Mistfang Alpha.

  [Mistfang Alpha – Lvl ???]

  Killian barely dodged in time, the beast’s claws whistling past his face. A wave of force followed, sending pebbles flying as it carved deep gashes into the earth where he had stood a second ago.

  Killian staggered back, his pulse a drumbeat in his ears.

  The Mistfang landed lightly, its massive form shifting as if half-melded with the mist. Its fur was the fog—tendrils of mist curling off its body, shifting and warping as it moved.

  It vanished again, melting into the haze.

  Killian cursed under his breath. It wasn’t just fast—it could phase in and out of the mist at will. His eyes darted side to side, scanning, but the fog was too thick. He could barely tell what was real and what wasn’t.

  Then, a whisper of movement behind him.

  Instinct took over.

  He spun, parrying just in time. Claws met steel in a screech of metal, the force behind the blow nearly wrenching his weapon from his grip. Killian skidded back, his boots scraping against the rocky ground.

  It was playing with him.

  Another growl, this time from his left. He pivoted too slowly. A flash of silver, then pain ripped across his side as the Mistfang raked its claws through his leather armor.

  His health bar plummeted by a third.

  Killian gritted his teeth against the burning pain. He had to focus. He couldn’t react to where the creature was —he had to predict where it would be.

  He closed his eyes, listening. There were sound of shifting mist, the subtle crunch of gravel. The air itself felt like it was moving unnaturally.

  There!

  Instead of dodging, he surged forward into the attack.

  The Mistfang materialized mid-lunge, expecting to catch him off guard—only to meet the tip of Killian’s rapier. A burst of black mist sprayed from the wound. The beast howled, stumbling back.

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  Killian didn’t let up. He pressed forward, slashing again and again, each strike cutting through its shifting form. The Mistfang flickered, glitching in and out of existence, struggling to keep its form.

  For the first time—it looked mortal.

  It snarled, then dissolved entirely into the mist.

  Killian froze. The battlefield went eerily still.

  Where is it?

  He turned slowly, sweat dripping down his back. He couldn’t hear anything. Couldn’t see anything. His fingers twitched around his rapier.

  Then, a shiver ran down his spine. A shadow loomed above him.

  He barely threw himself aside in time.

  The Mistfang came crashing down from above, its claws digging deep into the ground, sending rock and debris flying. Killian hit the ground hard, gasping as pain lanced through his bruised ribs.

  He coughed, struggling to push himself up. Too slow.

  The beast was already on him, golden eyes burning with hunger. It lunged, fangs bared.

  Killian did the only thing he could. He dropped his rapier. And caught the Mistfang’s jaws with his bare hands.

  The force of it nearly shattered his arms. The creature’s fangs were inches from his throat, its breath hot and rancid against his face.

  He could feel his muscles straining, his strength draining fast. He couldn’t hold it off much longer.

  ‘Think, Killian!’

  His gaze darted to his side—his rapier, lying just out of reach.

  With a roar of effort, he twisted, letting the creature’s weight carry it forward. The moment it stumbled, he lunged for his weapon, fingers closing around the hilt.

  And drove it straight through the Mistfang’s skull.

  The beast let out a piercing howl, its body convulsing violently. Then, slowly, the Mistfang began to unravel, its form dissolving into pure mist.

  Silence.

  Killian collapsed to his knees, his breath ragged. His entire body ached, his health bar barely a sliver. But he had done it. A notification flashed before his eyes.

  [Mistfang Alpha Lvl:19 Slain!]

  And another.

  [Congratulations! You have obtained: Miststep Cloak (Rare)]

  Before Killian could even catch his breath, the mist around him stirred.

  Then came the howls.

  Not just one, but dozens. Low, guttural, and filled with rage.

  The victory in his chest faded as glowing gold eyes began to ignite in the mist, surrounding him like a sea of embers in the dark. Shadows twisted, forming shapes—more Mistfangs.

  Each one stepped forward with slow, deliberate movements, their claws flexing, their growls rolling through the air like an oncoming storm. Their leader had fallen, and now, they wanted revenge.

  Killian’s pulse hammered. He staggered to his feet, gripping his rapier, though his limbs trembled with exhaustion. His health bar was still low. His breath was still ragged. He couldn’t take all of them—not like this.

  Think. There’s a way out. There has to be—

  Then the mist shifted again.

  Something else was forming.

  Not an animal.

  A figure.

  The mist coiled and twisted, swirling into the shape of a humanoid form—tall, imposing, and utterly inhuman. A deep, unnatural chill settled over the battlefield as it fully materialized.

  Killian felt his body lock up, every instinct screaming at him to run. A pair of piercing silver eyes gleamed from the fog-woven face. Then, in a voice that slithered through the air like smoke, the figure spoke.

  "I see you killed my pet."

  The Mistfangs didn’t move. They only watched. Waiting. Killian tightened his grip on his weapon, but a cold sweat ran down his spine. This wasn’t just another monster. This… this was something far worse.

  And it was looking directly at him.

  Killian swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep his stance firm. The figure before him stood motionless, silver eyes glowing like twin moons in the swirling fog. He wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse.

  “You look tense.” The voice was smooth, almost amused. It came from everywhere at once, as if the mist itself whispered to him. “Did you think the Mistfang Alpha was the true threat?”

  Killian’s grip on his rapier tightened. “I don’t know what the hell you are, but I’m not dying here.”

  The mist-woven figure chuckled—a sound like dry leaves rustling in the wind.

  “Oh, you misunderstand.” It moved, gliding toward him without disturbing the ground, the mist shifting unnaturally with each step. “I have no intention of killing you. Not yet, at least.”

  It stopped just a few paces away, close enough that Killian could make out the faint outlines of armor beneath the fog—intricate plates of silver and black, shifting like smoke with each movement. A sword rested at its hip, its hilt wrapped in something that looked eerily like living tendrils.

  Killian forced himself to breathe evenly. If this thing wanted to attack, it would’ve done so already.

  “What do you want?”

  The being tilted its head. “To see if you’re worth my time.”

  Then it struck.

  The mist lurched forward like a living force, wrapping around Killian’s limbs as if trying to pull him under. He barely had time to react, twisting and slicing with his rapier. The blade cut through the fog, but it didn’t disperse, it simply reformed, tendrils snaking back toward him like grasping fingers.

  Killian jumped back, but the instant his foot touched the ground the figure was already there.

  A bladed arm shot toward him, faster than anything he had fought before. He barely managed to parry, the impact rattling his bones. The force sent him sliding back, his boots skidding across the damp earth.

  Killian didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward, aiming for the figure’s core, but his blade passed straight through. The mist swirled where the strike landed, reforming effortlessly.

  A sharp laugh. “Predictable.”

  Before Killian could react, something slammed into his stomach. A crushing force, like a steel gauntlet, sent him sprawling. He hit the ground hard, rolling through the dirt before skidding to a stop. His chest burned. His vision blurred.

  He barely dodged the next attack.

  Instinct screamed at him to move, and he rolled just as a blade plunged into the spot he had just occupied. The mist-wielder didn’t even seem rushed—it was toying with him.

  Killian gritted his teeth, rising shakily to his feet. His health was dangerously low.

  The Mistfangs still hadn’t moved. They were waiting for the outcome.

  Killian exhaled slowly. He wouldn’t win by fighting this thing like a normal enemy. It wasn’t normal.

  He needed a plan. And he needed one fast.

  Killian’s breathing was ragged, his vision sharp despite the mist pressing in around him. The figure—no, the thing—before him exuded a presence that made the air itself feel heavy. The Mistfangs still watched in eerie silence, their glowing eyes reflecting hunger, vengeance.

  His muscles screamed from the previous blows, but he tightened his grip on his Rosewood Rapier, knuckles turning white. There was no room for weakness. Not now.

  The figure took another step forward, mist curling from its form like living tendrils. "You're still standing. Good."

  Killian spat blood to the side. “You talk too much.”

  Then he moved.

  He lunged, a flicker of motion, his rapier thrusting straight for the figure’s core. The mist parted around his blade, swirling unnaturally—but Killian anticipated it this time.

  The instant the sword passed through, he twisted his wrist, changing the angle and slashing sideways. If he couldn’t stab this thing, maybe he could disrupt it.

  A shockwave rippled through the mist-form. The figure staggered—not much, but enough. Enough to prove it wasn’t untouchable.

  Killian grinned. "Not so invincible after all, huh?"

  The mist-wielder’s glowing eyes narrowed.

  The world twisted.

  Mist exploded outward, blinding him completely. His instincts screamed, and he barely managed to throw himself backward as something ripped through the space where his throat had been.

  Too fast.

  The next attack came from behind. A sharp force slammed into his back, sending him sprawling forward. He rolled with the impact, barely dodging a follow-up slash that carved through the ground.

  He had no time to breathe.

  Another strike. He ducked. The air hissed as the mist-wielder’s sword sliced past his ear. He spun, rapier flashing—but his opponent was already gone.

  A whisper from the fog. “You learn quickly.”

  Then pain. A line of burning cold traced across his arm as the mist-wielder’s blade connected. Killian hissed, jumping back, pressing a hand to the wound. It was deep. Blood dripped onto the damp ground, staining the mist beneath his feet.

  The enemy was toying with him. Testing him.

  Killian’s mind raced. If attacking directly wouldn’t work, he needed to think.

  The Mistfangs weren’t moving. Why? They were hunters, predators, and yet they waited. That meant something.

  And then it clicked.

  This wasn’t just a test.

  It was a trial.

  Killian steadied his breathing, forcing himself into a defensive stance. His body screamed for him to run, to dodge, but he fought the instinct down. If he was right…

  The mist-wielder lunged.

  Killian didn’t move.

  The sword arced toward him, cutting through the air like a reaper’s scythe—but he didn’t react. The blade stopped.

  A fraction of an inch from his throat, frozen in place. The figure’s glowing eyes locked onto him, expression unreadable.

  Then—slowly—it pulled the blade back.

  Silence stretched between them. The Mistfangs remained still, watching.

  A slow chuckle escaped the mist-wielder’s lips. “Clever.”

  The fog around them shifted, retreating just slightly. The pressure in the air eased.

  "You recognize the rules of the wild." The voice was softer now, almost... approving. "Only a fool fights without understanding their place in the hunt."

  Killian let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

  He had gambled—and won.

  The Mistfangs weren’t attacking because he had already passed the real test. Killing the Alpha had earned him the right to be here. The fight wasn’t about survival. It was about proving himself.

  The mist-wielder gave a final nod, then turned. The fog swirled around its form, dissolving into nothingness.

  “Survive, little hunter. The real hunt has yet to begin.”

  Then, just as suddenly as they had appeared, the Mistfangs melted into the mist.

  Killian was alone.

  His rapier trembled slightly in his grip as he exhaled, adrenaline still pounding through his veins. His body ached, his wounds burned, but he was alive.

  And something told him this wouldn’t be the last time he encountered the Master of the Mist.