Realm Lord

The monster charged once more, its movements now a disturbing blend of bestial and humanoid. Arthur braced himself for the familiar pattern—expecting the creature to lunge forward with its gaping maw as it had done repeatedly.

But this time was different.

At the last possible second, the beast rose up onto its misshapen hind legs—the grotesque approximations of human limbs straightening with a series of wet pops as joints realigned. In that horrifying moment of transformation, Arthur realized the creature was adapting, learning from its failed attacks.

The monster raised its remaining arm—the clawed fingers splayed wide—and slashed downward toward Arthur's face in a wickedly fast arc.

Arthur possessed no formal sword techniques to counter such an attack. His time at the Academy had yielded little in terms of bladework skills. No parries, no counters, no fancy footwork that might save him now.

So instead, he did the only thing that felt natural in that moment of absolute terror—he closed his eyes, ducked his head slightly, and swung the odachi downward with desperate force, hoping it might intercept the incoming claws.

One second, Arthur was certain of his impending death, eyes squeezed shut against the inevitable. The next, he heard the unmistakable sound of blade parting flesh—a wet, sucking noise followed by the solid impact of metal against bone.

When no pain followed, Arthur cautiously opened his eyes. The monster was no longer in front of him. Instead, a severed gray limb lay by his feet, fingers still twitching with residual nerve impulses, black ichor pooling beneath it on the stone floor.

Arthur spun around, the odachi trailing an arc of dark fluid through the air. The creature had somehow ended up behind him—either through its own momentum or some unseen movement that Arthur's closed eyes had missed. It was hunched over, the stump where its arm had been pressed against its torso as if trying to stem the flow of viscous blood.