Hybrid Animals: The Creator's Last Patch

Chapter 50 – Into the Howling Gale



Chapter 50 – Into the Howling Gale

The forest of Yandi stood quiet in the early morning haze, its usual cacophony of birds and insects replaced by a solemn stillness. Tyler walked beneath the canopy with slow, heavy steps. His armour clinked faintly with each movement, and the steel felt colder than usual against his skin.

The soft crunch of leaves beneath his boots reminded him of another journey. One not so long ago. One where a cheerful voice always walked beside him, talking about berries and art and how his painting skills would one day surpass Michelangelo’s. Tyler didn’t speak aloud, but Milo’s voice still echoed in his mind.

Each step felt like it took him further from the past. From Milo.

As the trees thinned near the northern edge of the forest, Tyler noticed something unusual—a buzzing swarm of wasps circling low to the ground, surrounding a small, hunched figure who was frantically swatting at them.

[Enemies Identified: Wasp, Level 6 x11]

For a split second, Tyler’s breath hitched. The hunched posture, the shape of the figure—it triggered something visceral. His heart pounded as a familiar face flashed in his mind.

“Milo…?” he breathed, eyes wide.

The illusion shattered the moment the child turned. The resemblance was uncanny, but this was someone else—a turtle hybrid, with a cracked shell and trembling limbs.

The wasps closed in, and instinct took over. Tyler’s expression hardened. Without hesitation, he leapt into action, activating [Sprint].

He tore through the swarm with a flurry of sword strikes, slicing the air with precision. Every buzzing creature that dared approach was shredded mid-air. The wasps retaliated, a few stinging his exposed arms, but Tyler didn’t flinch.

His eyes, for that moment, were burning—not with rage, but with something deeper. A fierce, protective instinct. He wouldn’t let anyone else get hurt—not ever again.

“Not again,” he whispered as he slashed. “Never again.”

He moved with surgical fury. His mind burned with the memory of Milo’s last breath, and this child—this helpless boy—was a second chance he refused to squander.

With one final spin, he decimated the remainder of the swarm. The buzzing ceased. The child collapsed to his knees, gasping.

Tyler rushed to him, dropping to one knee. “Are you okay?”

The boy looked up, eyes glassy and stunned. “You… you saved me.”

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Tyler knelt silently for a moment, studying the boy’s face again. It wasn’t Milo, but it could’ve been. The resemblance stirred something hollow in his chest.

“I thought you were someone else,” Tyler murmured.

“I’m Kelmo,” the child said, weakly. “They took my dad… the Arena people. He was captured. They said they needed ‘entertainment.’ I escaped when they were asleep, but… I got lost. I was hungry, so I looked for berries. Then those wasps…”

Tyler clenched his jaw. His hand rested gently on Kelmo’s shoulder.

“No one’s going to hurt you again,” he said, voice firm. “Come on.”

He carried Kelmo carefully, every step deliberate. The boy shivered in his arms, but eventually rested his head against Tyler’s shoulder, comforted.

Tyler delivered him to Shooba’s tent. His eyes widened as he recognized the grim expression on Tyler’s face.

“This is Kelmo,” Tyler said. “Keep him safe. I’ll be back soon.”

“You promise?” Kelmo asked, looking up.

Tyler stared into his eyes. “I’ll try,” he whispered.

---

The Windy Mountains loomed ahead like a spine of jagged steel piercing the sky. The gusts were stronger than ever, howling like ancient beasts echoing from the peaks.

Tyler’s boots crunched into the snow as he began his climb. The winds struck like open palms, biting into his skin through layers of cloth and armour.

He pressed forward, one gruelling step at a time.

Every ledge was slick. Every foothold unsure. Snow lashed at his face, coating his hair and lashes in frost. He squinted against the flurries, the whiteout obscuring even the nearest cliff face.

The air was razor-thin, each breath laborious. He stumbled multiple times, catching himself only by stabbing his sword into the icy ground. He grunted with effort, muttering under his breath.

“I’ve done this before… it wasn’t like this before…”

His foot slipped. He slammed into the snow, gasping. He pulled himself back up, bruised but undeterred.

Higher and higher. The blizzard thickened. Snowstorms turned the world into a colourless void.

Then, faint laughter.

Tyler jerked his head up. “Milo?”

There, just ahead, a familiar silhouette stood atop a ledge. It turned, waving playfully.

“Milo!”

Tyler dashed forward—only to pass through the illusion. Snow whirled in the empty space.

He collapsed, panting.

“It’s not him… he’s gone,” Tyler whispered.

He lay there for a moment, face down in the snow. Cold seeped into his bones. Guilt gnawed at his resolve.

“Milo told me not to use that skill…” he muttered. “I didn’t listen. And now…”

But something stirred within him. He growled, forcing himself up.

“I’m not going to let that be the end of our story.”

The final ascent was a battle between man and nature. Tyler clung to the mountain like a stubborn weed defying a hurricane. His hands were raw. His lips cracked. The wind howled past him, dragging flurries across his armour like whips.

He climbed through frost and ice, his breath a ghost in the air. Every step bled determination.

Finally, at the edge of exhaustion, he saw it—the broken columns, the shattered spires.

[Entering Sanctuary: Skyreach Monastery]

He stepped forward, breath ragged.

Then a blast of force struck him like a freight train. He flew backward, tumbling down a snowy slope, rolling until he slammed against a snow-capped boulder.

He coughed violently, pulling himself upright.

Above, floating with a crown of swirling wind and eyes cold as the storm, was Zephryn.

[Zephryn, Warden of the Whispering Winds] [Level 96]

“You again,” she said, her voice an echo on the wind. “Leave. Now.”

Tyler rose slowly, his breath fogging the air.

“I came to—”

Another [Forcepush] hurled him backward, cutting his words off. The snow absorbed the impact, but his pride stung worse. New ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄhapters are published on novel•fire.net

Lying in the snow, gazing at the howling grey sky, Tyler muttered through clenched teeth.

“I’m not leaving. Not until I’ve made things right.”

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