Chapter 41: Chapter 37 — When the Ground Stops Obeying

John was tired.

Not the clean exhaustion that came after a successful hunt. Not the steady ache that followed growth or progress. This was something uglier—deeper. The kind of fatigue that crawled into his bones and refused to leave. Every beat of his wings felt heavier than the last, as if the air itself had grown dense, hostile.

Below him, the forest was gone.

Not damaged. Not scarred.

Gone.

What had once been thick woodland, tangled roots, and layered canopies was now a ruined basin of shattered stone, scorched earth, and drifting ash. Cracks split the ground in jagged lines that glowed faintly with unstable mana. Broken trees lay flattened or burned into blackened husks. Even the air smelled wrong—burnt sap, blood, and raw mana clinging to every breath.

John hovered above it all, wings trembling despite his effort to steady them.

And at the center of the devastation—

The monster still stood.

John stared at it, chest rising and falling as he fought to keep his breathing even.

“…You’re still standing,” he muttered.

The Level 10 monster loomed like a living catastrophe. Its massive body bore the evidence of the battle—deep gashes carved into its flank, one shoulder torn open and leaking thick, dark blood that sizzled when it hit the ground. One wing dragged uselessly behind it, the membrane ripped apart by a desperate, final strike from a Level 9.

But its posture hadn’t collapsed.

Its eyes hadn’t dimmed.

They were still sharp. Still focused.

Still locked onto him.

John swallowed, his throat dry.

Around the monster lay bodies.

Too many to count at first glance.

A Level 8 lay crushed beneath a slab of stone, its skull split open like rotten fruit. Another had been torn in half, ribs scattered across the battlefield. The remains of a Level 9 were half-buried beneath rubble, its horn snapped clean off, its chest caved inward as if something had driven straight through it.

John forced himself not to look too long.

*This is what I dragged it into,* he thought grimly.

The plan had worked. Mostly. The other monsters had slowed it, wounded it, forced it to expend mana and strength. But the cost was written into the land itself, and the thing he needed dead was still breathing.

A deep, furious roar rolled across the battlefield.

Not clean. Not dominant.

Angry.

The monster slammed a claw into the ground. Stone fractured like brittle glass, a violent pulse of mana ripping outward. Loose debris shot into the air, pelting the surrounding ruins.

The pressure hit John square in the chest.

He hissed, muscles tightening instinctively as his wings flared to stabilize him.

“…Yeah,” he muttered. “You’re mad.”

The monster’s gaze snapped upward.

Straight at him.

John felt it—something cold and heavy settling over him. The unmistakable sensation of being targeted by something that could end him with a single mistake.

“Still tracking me,” he muttered under his breath. “That’s unfair.”

The monster leapt.

Not a jump.

A launch.

The earth beneath it exploded as its massive body shot upward, claws reaching, jaws snapping shut where John had been a heartbeat earlier.

John twisted hard, wings folding just enough to let the strike miss him by inches. The pressure tore past him, scales scraping against raw force.

Too close.

His heart slammed against his ribs as he shot higher, wings beating hard. Pain flared down his sides, hot and sharp.

“Don’t—don’t do that again,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

The monster didn’t answer.

It followed.

Not by flying, but by abusing the terrain—slamming into broken cliffs, launching itself again and again with terrifying momentum. Every movement was violent, inefficient, but relentless.

John dodged another swipe, feeling the air ripple where claws passed.

*It’s learning,* he realized suddenly.

The thought chilled him more than the roar.

A surge of mana built behind him.

John didn’t look back. He didn’t need to.

*One…*

*Two…*

*Three—*

The breath attack fired.

John folded his wings and dropped hard, diving straight down. The beam carved through the air above him, tearing through a distant ridgeline and turning it into molten rubble.

The shockwave still caught him.

Pain exploded along his back as he was thrown sideways. John tumbled, barely managing to right himself before slamming into the ground. He skidded across broken stone, claws screeching as he dug them in, chest heaving.

Blood dripped down his side, dark against his scales.

“…That was close,” he muttered hoarsely.

He pushed himself upright, legs shaking. His mana felt thin now—stretched, frayed. The warmth that usually followed damage was weaker, slower.

*Healing’s slowing down,* he realized. *That’s bad.*

The monster landed heavily nearby, cracking the ground again. It turned its massive head slowly, eyes glowing brighter as they focused on him.

Then something moved to its side.

The last Level 9.

Barely standing.

One eye was gone. Its breathing was ragged, uneven. Blood soaked into the ground beneath it.

It hesitated.

John watched it for a long moment, then looked back at the Level 10.

“…You don’t have to,” he murmured, even though he knew it couldn’t understand him.

The Level 10 charged.

The Level 9 roared back and met it.

The collision was brutal.

Stone shattered. Mana detonated. The Level 9 drove its horn deep into the monster’s wounded shoulder, drawing a furious scream—but it didn’t last. The Level 10 grabbed it by the throat and slammed it into the ground once.

Twice.

A third time.

When it let go, the Level 9 didn’t move again.

Silence followed.

John’s claws tightened until stone cracked beneath them.

“…That’s it,” he said softly. “You’re alone now.”

The monster turned back toward him.

Breathing hard.

Bleeding.

Still terrifying.

John didn’t rush.

He waited.

Watched the way the monster shifted its weight. The slight lag in its injured wing. The uneven rhythm of its breathing.

*You’re slowing down,* he thought. *You don’t want to admit it—but you are.*

Then he moved.

He dropped low, suppressing his mana, using smoke and drifting dust as cover. His wings barely beat as he closed the distance.

The monster noticed too late.

John slammed into its wounded flank, claws tearing into cracked scales. He felt resistance—thick, dense—but it gave way. He poured everything into the strike, muscles screaming, then ripped free before the jaws could snap shut on him.

The scream that followed shook the ground.

John twisted midair and fired a condensed burst of mana straight into the exposed wound.

The monster staggered.

John retreated immediately, heart hammering, wings burning.

A breath attack charged—but too fast.

The beam fired crooked, carving an uneven trench through the battlefield instead of a clean line.

John’s eyes narrowed.

“…You rushed it,” he whispered. “You’re slipping.”

The monster roared again, louder, angrier—but there was strain now. Mana flared wildly around its body, uncontrolled.

John felt it.

The air grew heavy, oppressive.

“…You’re forcing yourself,” he muttered. “That’s not going to end well.”

The monster slammed its claws into the ground, pressure surging outward. What little remained of the forest flattened instantly, trees snapping like twigs.

John staggered back, wings flaring to keep his balance.

*If it loses control completely…*

There wouldn’t be anything left.

He took a breath, steadying himself.

“I don’t need to kill you,” he said quietly. “Just need you to fall.”

He descended again—closer this time. Riskier.

The monster snapped at him, claws swinging, but John stayed just out of reach, baiting it.

Another breath charged.

*One.*

*Two.*

*Three—*

John dove *toward* it.

The beam fired overhead as he slipped beneath it, heat scorching his back. He slammed into the monster’s chest with everything he had left, targeting its stance, its balance.

The ground cracked.

The monster stumbled.

Just one step.

But the injured wing failed.

Its massive body crashed sideways into unstable terrain, triggering a landslide that swallowed half its form in stone and earth.

John pulled back immediately, collapsing onto a distant outcrop. His legs gave out. His chest burned. His vision swam.

He didn’t celebrate.

He watched.

The dust settled slowly.

The monster thrashed beneath the rubble, roaring, clawing—but it was pinned. Injured. Furious.

Still alive.

John stared at it, blood dripping from his scales, wings trembling uncontrollably.

“…Not done,” he whispered. “Not you. Not me.”

This wasn’t over.

Not yet.

—

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