Chapter 69: Come on you bastard

Meanwhile, Jelo saw the Dabba charging at him and immediately took off running.

His body moved on pure instinct, adrenaline overriding the pain that was pounding through his skull. His feet pounded against the cracked earth as he sprinted away from the creature, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps.

The sound of the Dabba’s pursuit thundered behind him, heavy footfalls that shook the ground with each step, accompanied by guttural snarls that sent shivers down his spine.

Jelo moved very quickly, activating his Wing Burst ability to increase the distance between himself and the Dabba. The familiar surge of power flooded through his legs, propelling him forward with explosive speed. For a moment, just a brief, hopeful moment, he thought he might actually be able to outrun it.

But it proved futile.

The Dabba was surprisingly fast for its size, covering a lot of ground with each stride of its massive, deformed legs. Its body might have looked hulking and cumbersome, but it moved with a predatory efficiency that belied its appearance. So no matter what Jelo did, no matter how fast he pushed himself, the gap between them continued to shrink.

Jelo risked a glance over his shoulder and immediately regretted it. The creature was closer than he’d thought, close enough that he could see the individual scars crisscrossing its mutated flesh, close enough to see the rage burning in those sickly yellow eyes. Its claws dug into the ground with each step, tearing up chunks of earth and rock as it pursued him relentlessly.

He realized that the Dabba, while it looked sluggish and cumbersome, was deceptively fast. That bulk wasn’t a weakness, it was power, pure and simple.

Every ounce of muscle in that grotesque body was working in perfect synchronization to close the distance between them.

Damn it, Jelo thought, his lungs burning as he pushed himself even harder. if he didn’t figure something out fast, he was going to die.

Jelo kept running, his eyes scanning the terrain ahead for anything he could use, a place to hide, a narrow passage the Dabba couldn’t fit through, anything.

The ruins around him offered little help. Most of the structures were too damaged to provide real cover, and the few that looked intact would probably just trap him inside with nowhere to escape.

Then, suddenly, Jelo saw something that made his blood run cold.

A cliff ahead, there was no more ground to escape to.

The earth simply dropped away about fifty meters in front of him, plunging down into darkness. From this distance, Jelo couldn’t see the bottom. It could be ten meters down. It could be a hundred. Either way, it was a dead end in the most literal sense.

Panic flared in his chest, but Jelo forced himself to think. He had seconds, maybe less, to make a decision.

If he reached the cliff, he would be done for. Either the Dabba would catch up and fight him there, killing him with his back against nothingness, or it would simply push him over the edge. Either way, he’d be dead.

But if he fought now, while he still had some room to maneuver, he might have a chance. Especially if he could find a way to turn the situation to his advantage. Especially if he could somehow turn the Dabba toward the cliff instead of himself.

The idea formed in his mind quickly, born of desperation and the rapidly shrinking distance between him and certain death. He could use the cliff to his advantage.

He could run to its edge and stop at the last possible moment, hoping the Dabba’s momentum would carry it over the edge when it couldn’t stop in time.

It was risky. Incredibly risky. One wrong move and he’d be the one going over that cliff instead.

But as the plan took shape, Jelo immediately saw the problem with it. It wasn’t ideal. Not even close.

He needed to eat the Dabba’s heart.

That was the entire reason he’d come here in the first place. His body was demanding it, the headache pounding in his skull a constant reminder that he needed to feed.

And although this mutated Dabba was very strong, stronger than any Dabba he’d encountered before, it would be difficult to kill, yes, but it was still a Dabba. It still had what he needed.

And more than that, Jelo felt a growing obsession to eat this particular Dabba’s heart.

It wasn’t just hunger anymore. It was something else, something deeper and more primal. The moment he’d laid eyes on the creature, something inside him had recognized it as prey. As something valuable. As something he needed to possess.

It was the Draconic Hoard instinct, he realized with a flash of irritation. That damned system feature that made him covetous of powerful things, that made him want to claim and consume anything that could make him stronger.

He cursed the system silently, even as his body continued to carry him toward the cliff. Of all the times for that particular instinct to kick in, why now? Why when he was running for his life from a creature that could tear him apart?

But the obsession was there, undeniable and insistent. He couldn’t just let this Dabba fall to its death. He couldn’t let it escape. He needed it. He needed to kill it, to claim it, to devour its heart and take its strength for his own.

Even as his head hurt with that relentless, throbbing pain, Jelo made his decision.

He stopped running and turned to face the charging Dabba.

His feet skidded against the loose gravel as he came to a halt, his body tensed and ready. The cliff was still behind him, close enough that he could probably reach it in three or four good strides. But he wasn’t running anymore. He was done running.

The Dabba immediately ground to a halt, using all its strength to stop its running motion as it saw that Jelo had suddenly stopped.

The creature’s claws scraped against the ground, digging deep furrows as it fought against its own momentum. Its massive body swayed slightly as it came to a full stop about ten meters away from Jelo, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from its mutated flesh.

For a moment, the Dabba seemed hesitant and suspicious, unsure why Jelo had stopped. Its head tilted slightly, those glowing yellow eyes fixed on him with an intelligence that was disturbing in a creature that should have been nothing more than a mindless beast. It did not want to advance.

After a while, the Dabba’s feral instincts kicked in. Whatever caution or suspicion it had felt evaporated, replaced by pure predatory rage. Its lips pulled back from those serrated teeth, and it roared again, a sound so loud and primal that it seemed to shake the very air around them.

Then, the Dabba started to advance toward Jelo. Not running this time, but moving with deliberate, measured steps. Each footfall was heavy, purposeful. Its claws flexed, scraping against the ground. Its body lowered slightly, coiling like a spring ready to unleash.

It was preparing to fight.

The headache was still there, still pounding away at his skull, but Jelo pushed it to the back of his mind. He couldn’t afford to be distracted right now. He couldn’t afford to be weak.

“Come on, you bastard,” Jelo muttered through gritted teeth, his voice barely audible over the sound of the Dabba’s growling. His eyes were locked on the creature, watching every movement, every twitch of muscle beneath that scarred skin.

Jelo felt his lips pull back in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “That’s right,” he said, louder this time. “Come on and attack me!”

The Dabba roared in response, and then it charged.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

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