“Captain!” the heavy gunner roared, shoving herself up from the tangle of bodies and shattered debris where she, Rhea, and the silver-haired lancer had crashed.

The werewolf turned, its remaining blue eye burning with feral intelligence as it fixed on its next target.

Jagger dragged in a sharp breath and tried to rise. Pain tore through him instantly. His ribs felt split open, his neck burned, and every muscle in his body felt hollowed out, drained by blood loss, exhaustion, and everything he had already burned through just to stay alive.

He saw the squad leader crumpled in the ruins of the bus stop, broken glass glittering around her like scattered ice. He saw Rhea barely managing to push herself up beside the other two Valkyries, one hand pressed to her wounded abdomen.

He saw Jung, Abdul, and Nico getting back onto their feet behind him, disoriented, the blast’s shockwave still humming in their ears. They were bruised, battered, and hopelessly outmatched if that monster turned its full attention on them.

And he made a choice.

Jagger looked down at his hands. They were shaking, not from fear, but from the sheer strain of holding himself together. He did not have enough left for a proper fight. Not enough mana for another clean burst of power. Not enough stamina to gamble on Corrupted Surge or Frenzy without risking collapse. All he had left was pain, instinct, and desperation.

He forced himself onto one knee, teeth grinding together as his vision swam. One leg nearly gave out beneath him, but Jung was there, catching him by the shoulder.

“Hyeong-nim-“

“The bombs,” Jagger cut him off, his voice low and rough.

Jung froze for half a second, then his eyes sharpened with understanding. “The orbs?” he asked quickly.

Jagger gave a tight nod, his breath ragged. “How many?”

Nico’s face tightened with panic. “It fell out of my hand during the explosion,” he said. “I’m sorry. It’s gone.”

Abdul stretched out his hand. Resting on his palm was a single Gutbomb, its unstable green light pulsing faintly in the dark.

“I have one.”

Jagger looked at it for a second, then reached out and took the orb. His fingers closed around it slowly as he lifted his gaze toward the street.

The werewolf was already moving again.

The squad leader had forced herself onto one knee in the shattered remains of the bus stop, one hand braced against twisted metal while the other still gripped her rifle. “Fuck that hurt.” Blood ran down the side of her face beneath the edge of her tactical helm. “This is what a feral-ranked monster is.”

Nearby, the heavy gunner dragged Rhea backward across the scorched pavement. “Rhea, stay with me, girl.” While the silver-haired lancer pushed herself up with sharp, economical movements, her weapon rising even as debris and broken glass shifted beneath her boots.

The Herald’s chest heaved.

Black blood poured from the wounds the Valkyries had burned through its body, but even as Jagger watched, those wounds began to change. The flesh twitched. Muscle tightened. The torn edges dragged themselves together as if some savage force inside it refused to let it die. The exposed meat along its shoulder shuddered beneath the fur, alive with furious regeneration. Thick strands of tar-black ichor streamed from its ruined eye socket and ran down its muzzle.

It was healing.

“Shit,” Jagger muttered.

Abdul finally managed to straighten fully, though his breathing was still uneven. “What are you planning?” he asked.

Nico took an anxious step back, his voice rising. “Nah, man, those women are strong enough to handle that thing. We should run.”

Jagger didn’t answer.

He pushed himself off Jung’s shoulder and limped forward, every step uneven, every movement dragging pain through his body. The Gutbomb hung low at his side, its green glow pulsing against his bloodstained hand.

Inside his head, Ophilia’s voice cut through the chaos with unusual sharpness.

‘Do not activate Corrupted Surge.’

Jagger’s breathing hitched, and for a moment his leg nearly buckled beneath him.

‘Your body is already hanging by a thread. If you force Corrupted Surge now, you could tip yourself over the edge.’

He lifted his head.

His jaw tightened.

Then the system flared across his vision.

[Second Wind has been activated.]

–

[Second Wind: Once near the point of exhaustion or death, your body may receive a burst of strength and stamina. Can only trigger once per 24 hours.]

–

A sudden rush tore through him.

It was not healing. It was not relief.

It was fuel.

A savage, fleeting burst of strength and stamina surged through his exhausted body like cold fire through dead coals. His spine straightened. His lungs filled more deeply. The haze clouding his thoughts thinned just enough for him to focus again.

Ophilia felt it too.

‘That skill bought you moments. Nothing more.’

Jagger tightened his grip around the Gutbomb until his knuckles whitened.

“That’s enough.”

He inhaled once, sharp and steady.

“Corrupted Surge.”

Dark energy slammed through him.

Not like before.

This time, it felt unstable. Ragged. Hungry.

Black-red veins pulsed beneath his skin in violent waves, spreading through his arms, his neck, his chest. His vision sharpened and narrowed all at once, the world around him snapping into brutal clarity even as pain intensified in places his body could no longer protect. His heartbeat battered against his ribs like something trying to break free.

Ophilia’s voice came cold and furious.

‘Idiot.’

A burst of speed tore him off the pavement, not graceful, not clean, but brutally fast. He sprinted low through smoke and debris, boots slipping once on blood-slick asphalt before he corrected. Every step, spraying blood from his wounds, but he ignored all of it.

[Warning: Host’s health is critically low.]

[Pain resistance has levelled up! 7↑]

The werewolf’s remaining eye snapped toward him.

It saw him.

Even through the smoke, even through the crossfire and the chaos of ruined glass and burning storefronts, it noticed the single blood-soaked figure rushing straight at it with a pulsing green orb in hand. Its lips peeled back from its serrated teeth, a guttural snarl building in its chest as it shifted its weight to intercept.

Then a blue beam punched through its foot.

The shot came low and precise.

The silver-haired Valkyrie had dropped to one knee amidst the rubble, her long rifle humming as ringed coils screamed with compressed energy. The beam tore into the werewolf’s planted foot and blasted through the asphalt beneath it, shredding fur, flesh, and bone in a spray of black blood.

The beast lurched.

A second shot followed instantly.

The squad leader, half-risen from the shattered bus stop, fired from a crouched position with cold, brutal accuracy. Her azure beam slammed into the werewolf’s upper torso, driving across its side and forcing its body to twist off-line.

That opening was all Jagger needed.

He came in hard.

The Gutbomb burned bright in his hand as he closed the last few meters, boots pounding over broken pavement, blood running down his neck and chest in hot streams. The werewolf roared and lashed out anyway, one massive claw scything across the air with enough force to split him in half.

Jagger threw himself into the motion and hurled the orb.

The claw struck first.

It raked across his side and shoulder, not a full hit, but enough.

Pain exploded through him as the impact spun him off balance and sent him skidding sideways across the road. Flesh tore. His breath vanished. The Gutbomb left his hand in a wobbling arc, green light pulsing wildly as it flew straight toward the werewolf’s chest.

The beast barely had time to register it.

The orb hit.

And detonated.

A violent bloom of corrosive green acid erupted point-blank across the werewolf’s torso and ruined leg. The explosion tore outward in a wet, hissing burst, splashing over fur, muscle, and exposed bone. The Herald staggered back with a deafening howl as acid ate into it in thick, steaming waves, ripping through already-damaged flesh and exposing more of the black-red meat beneath.

Jagger hit the pavement hard and slid.

His body scraped across the asphalt, leaving a streak of blood behind him as Corrupted Surge flickered violently beneath his skin. The black-red veins throbbed once, twice, then dimmed.

[Corrupted Surge has been deactivated.]

The strength left him all at once.

His limbs went heavy.

His fingers twitched uselessly against the ground as momentum finally died and he came to a stop on his back, chest heaving, vision shaking.

The werewolf was still standing.

Barely.

Half its chest had been melted open. One leg buckled beneath it, acid hissing through tendons and muscle. Black blood poured in thick ropes down its body, steaming where it touched the road. It turned with a broken, murderous snarl, dragging itself toward Jagger anyway.

The squad leader moved.

No wasted motion. No hesitation.

She came off the shattered remains of the bus stop in a blur of black cape and silver armor, rifle already shifting in her hands. The werewolf dragged itself toward Jagger with murder still burning in its one good eye, its ruined leg scraping uselessly against the asphalt, acid still chewing through its chest. It was still dangerous.

But now, it was slow.

Easy.

Her boots slammed against the road once, twice, and then she was there.

She drove the reinforced stock of her rifle into the side of its jaw.

CRACK.

The beast’s head snapped sideways, its bite stopping a breath away from lunging again. Before it could recover, she pivoted cleanly and fired point-blank into its right knee.

The azure beam tore through the joint.

Bone, fur, and black blood burst outward as the leg vanished below the knee. The werewolf collapsed harder onto one side with a furious, choking snarl, claws scraping uselessly against the pavement as it tried to push itself back up.

She did not let it.

A second shot took the other arm at the elbow.

The beam punched through with brutal precision, severing the limb in a spray of black ichor and charred flesh. The clawed forearm hit the street and skidded away, still twitching.

The werewolf roared.

Or tried to.

The sound came out broken, wet, full of pain and disbelief. It twisted its head toward her, jaws parting wide, one last savage bite building in its throat.

The squad leader stepped into its space, calm as death itself, and pressed the barrel of her rifle beneath its chin.

“Die.”

The beast’s jaws twitched.

Its body jerked once.

Then stopped.

All the rage, all the violence, all the stubborn hunger inside it simply drained away as the Herald went limp, collapsing in a steaming heap of fur, acid-burned flesh, and ruined muscle.

But before she could pull the trigger, blue light flared across Jagger’s vision.

A system panel unfolded in front of him, bright and impossible against the dark street.

–

[Herald of Collapse has been slain.]

[Congratulations! You have killed an Elite threat-level, Feral Rank, Werewolf.]

[Pain resistance has levelled up! 8↑]

–

For a second, Jagger just stared at it.

Then he laughed.

It came out ragged and half-delirious, shaking through his chest. Blood slipped from the corner of his mouth and ran down his cheek as he lay there on the cold asphalt, barely able to breathe.

“Did… did that seriously just…” Jagger coughed, the pain flaring instantly as the laughter broke. “Heh… heh heh… fuck my life…”

He closed his eyes, but there was no darkness. He opened his eyes to see the golden pillar of light in the sky fall towards him.

“Shit.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep