Runebound Reverse Tower of The Dead

"Because it won’t be too fun then."

Kael said it plainly, with no effort to make himself sound threatening. That was what made it worse. He was not bragging in the way young climbers sometimes did when fear needed a loud mask. He was not trying to intimidate them either. He simply answered the question as if the reason should have been obvious.

The young man’s expression changed.

The amusement left him first. Then the curiosity sharpened into wariness. His red eyes moved across Kael’s stance, his gauntlets, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the absence of wounds after being chased through a forest by six transformed werewolves. Around the clearing, the wolves lowered their bodies slightly. Their claws dug deeper into the soil. The hunt had been fun until the prey admitted he had been holding back to preserve it.

"You think you’re that strong?" the young man asked.

"I believe I am, yes."

The answer did not carry arrogance either. It was worse than arrogance. Arrogance could be mocked, baited, punished. Kael’s confidence sat on him like something tested too many times to need decoration. The young man stared for another breath, then smiled slowly and moved aside, one hand gesturing toward the forest beyond him.

"Good," he said. "Please continue as you were. We’ll pick up the pace a bit more."

Kael rolled his shoulders and glanced at the six werewolves waiting at the edges of the clearing. "Good then. I hope you don’t dislike it when I also become a bit more serious."

"That would be even better," the young man replied, and this time his smile showed too many teeth. "A prey that fights back is far more thrilling."

Kael moved forward.

The six werewolves howled together.

The sound struck the clearing like a signal. Moonlight gathered over their fur, and strands of white hair began pushing through the dark coats along their shoulders, backs, and forearms. Their bodies inflated slightly, not in a grotesque burst, but in a tightening, strengthening swell, as if the moon had poured power beneath their skin and made every muscle remember what it was made for. Their claws lengthened by a finger’s width. Their spines arched. Their red eyes brightened until the clearing seemed ringed by coals.

Kael watched the change with interest.

Then he rushed out of the clearing.

The forest swallowed him again.

This time the red dots moved immediately.

The difference was obvious. The werewolves that had been fast before became absurdly faster. They did not merely follow. They surged, cutting through trees and brush with such direct aggression that the forest itself seemed less like an obstacle to them and more like something briefly in the way. Kael sprinted forward, no longer pretending the pace was casual. His boots struck the ground harder, his body leaning into the run, arms moving in controlled rhythm. The fastest of the six closed the distance so quickly that he could almost feel the heat of its breath against his back.

The minimap flashed the angle a blink before the attack came.

Kael veered sideways and used a tree as a barrier.

The werewolf did not go around it.

It tore through.

The trunk burst apart under its claws and shoulder, splinters flying through the moonlight like thrown knives. Kael’s eyes widened by a fraction as he slid away from the debris. Surprise touched his face, but the smile remained, sharper now. So they were serious. The previous chase had only been play. The white-streaked fur, the swelling muscles, the way the creature had ripped through a tree without caring about slowing down, all of it made that clear.

He should reciprocate.

The next attack came from the front.

A werewolf burst between two trunks with both arms wide, claws crossing toward Kael’s chest in a scissoring strike. This time, Kael did not dodge aside. He lowered his center of gravity, letting the claws pass above his shoulders, then rose from the crouch in a tight, brutal uppercut.

His fist drove into the werewolf’s ribs.

The impact did not explode the creature. It did not splatter or collapse into fragments the way weaker monsters had under his training-strikes. But Kael heard the crack. Several ribs broke under the force, the sound distinct even beneath the snarls and pounding feet. The werewolf’s body lifted off the ground, folded awkwardly, and flew backward into a tree hard enough to shake loose leaves from the branches above. It hit the soil with a whimpering growl, claws scraping lines into the dirt as it tried to rise.

Fear did not spread through the pack.

Excitement did.

The wolves howled again, louder this time, not in warning but delight. The injured one dragged itself back up with broken ribs and madness in its eyes. The others tightened their pursuit, their bodies low, their movements more eager than cautious. Kael had given them the proof they wanted. This was not helpless prey. This was something that could hurt them, and that made the hunt richer.

Kael glanced back.

All six were closer now.

"Seems like I’ll keep slowing down the more I fight," he muttered. Then he turned forward, eyes narrowing beneath the helmet. "So, let’s pick up the pace."

He ran.

Not jogged.

Ran.

The forest became a shifting maze of trunks, shadows, roots, and white moonlight, but his basilisk eyes cut through the terrain with unnatural clarity. Every branch ahead, every dip in the soil, every raised root waiting to catch a careless foot, all of it stood clear in his sight. He did not need torches. He did not need moonlight. His gaze caught the world as if the dark had forgotten how to hide.

The werewolves came again.

Two this time.

One from the front, one from the side.

If he punched the first, the second would use the delay. If he kicked the second, the one in front would catch his landing. Kael chose neither. He twisted his body mid-stride, turning his shoulder just enough for the frontal claws to pass beside him, then continued the rotation into a narrow spin that carried him out of the side attacker’s reach. The two wolves crossed paths behind him, snapping at empty air, forced to recover before resuming the chase.

Kael gained several steps.

Not enough to matter.

Enough to test something.

He skidded hard, boots carving dark lines through damp soil, and turned with his right hand already lowered. His fist slammed into the ground.

Fire erupted.

A wave of flame rushed backward through the undergrowth toward the pursuing werewolves, widening as it moved. Dry leaves curled and vanished. Grass blackened. The first line of fire struck the nearest wolf’s legs and climbed its fur for half a heartbeat.

Then the flame died.

Not extinguished.

Evaporated.

The moment the fire touched the white-streaked fur, steam-like vapor hissed upward and the flame vanished as if it had met ice colder than winter stone. The wave continued for another breath and broke against the rest of the pack with the same result. Heat met their moon-chilled bodies and failed to take. No fur caught. No skin burned. No panic spread.

The werewolves walked through the fading fire.

Kael’s eyebrows rose slightly.

"Seems that won’t stop ’em."

He turned and ran again before they could capitalize on the failed test.

Fire was not useless, but it was not enough. Not against their moon-state, at least. Their bodies were carrying something cold enough or mana-laced enough to reject heat on contact. That made sense, in an irritating way. Werewolves under a full moon, white fur, cold light, hunting floor reward tied to Frost. The Tower enjoyed putting clues in danger and then laughing when people noticed too late.

Kael pushed forward, faster still.

They would not catch him at this rate.

That should have been enough.

It was not.

Something felt wrong.

The young man, the Hunter, had been too confident. Not the confidence of someone who thought Kael was weak. That illusion had already cracked. This was different. He had agreed to a reward. He had allowed Kael to continue. He had sent the wolves harder, but not desperately. And if the hunt truly ended at the forest’s edge, then the map now showed Kael had nearly won.

The trees began thinning ahead.

Beyond them, the terrain opened into a pale stretch of grass and rock where the forest ended. The boundary was not marked by a gate or a glowing line, but the minimap made the shape obvious. A wide edge. An exit condition. The end of the hunt, at least according to the deal.

Most of the werewolves were behind him now.

Nearly all twenty red dots had joined the chase at some distance, strung through the forest in a loose crescent. The first six remained closest, snapping at angles and trying to force mistakes. Others moved through side routes, too far to catch him before the edge unless something changed. Kael could feel the Tower’s pressure around the objective, that subtle tightening that came when a win condition entered reach.

Then he saw it.

A clearing before the edge of the forest.

And in the middle of that clearing, a red dot stood still.

Not rushing toward him.

Not circling.

Waiting.

Kael slowed by a fraction, enough to keep control without losing momentum. His eyes narrowed as the trees opened ahead. Moonlight poured into the clearing, bright and cold, silvering the grass and the low stones scattered through it. The red dot remained in place, larger than the others on the minimap, steady in a way that made the rest of the pack’s movement feel noisy and immature.

A figure stood between him and the forest’s edge.

Kael could not yet make out every detail, but he saw enough.

One eye glowed red beneath the moon.

The other was gone.

Kael’s smile faded.

"So that’s the catch," he said.