Chapter 6: Broken hunter

The air shifted—an imperceptible change, like a ripple in still water.

Vorynxis did not move.

He didn't need to.

He had long since felt the presence lurking in the shadows, circling him like a predator stalking wounded prey. Yet, they didn't strike immediately. No, they were calculating, waiting for the perfect moment. That meant they were intelligent.

That meant they understood the nature of fear.

But they had made a mistake.

They thought he was the prey.

A blur of black lunged from the trees.

A night-stalker.

It moved too fast, a streak of obsidian fur and gleaming fangs cutting through the darkness. It wasn't simply speed—it was momentum, an overwhelming force meant to rip apart its prey before they had time to react.

But the moment its claws breached the air around Vorynxis—everything stopped.

A thin thread of black fire flickered around him. It wasn't flame in the traditional sense—it did not flicker, it did not burn. Instead, it devoured, erasing the very force of movement itself.

The beast froze midair.

Not by will.

Not by magic.

But because motion itself had ceased to exist the moment it entered his domain.

Its body trembled, a flickering paradox of motion and stillness, before the effect snapped—momentum returning in an uncontrolled burst. The creature crashed to the ground, its graceful leap now a disjointed tumble, its limbs twisting unnaturally as it landed.

Vorynxis caught his first clear glimpse of it.

A night-stalker.

Sleek, obsidian-black fur that drank the light. Golden eyes, intelligent yet filled with bloodlust. A beast that had lived hunting men, thriving on their fear.

But now…

It knew fear itself.

And it was not alone.

Another one.

Faster.

Smarter.

It didn't lunge blindly like the first. It anticipated his power, adjusted its approach—rushing in low, keeping its body flat to the ground, reducing the time its limbs spent in the air.

A clever trick.

Vorynxis let it come.

The beast's claws swiped toward his throat.

He raised his hand—not to block, not to counter.

To rewrite.

His fingers twitched, and the Ice Ember responded.

Not fire. Not heat. But a void of movement itself.

The moment the claws reached him—they ceased to move.

A half-second of absolute stillness.

The beast's golden eyes widened. It realized something was wrong.

And then—the backlash struck.

CRACK.

The force of its own attack rebounded upon itself.

Its shoulder snapped backward, muscles twisting against their natural limit. The sheer momentum reversal sent it collapsing onto itself, body contorted by its own strength.

It hit the dirt hard, gasping, limbs twitching.

In one second, it had gone from predator to broken prey.

Silence.

Then—a third presence.

Vorynxis' eyes flicked up.

This one had remained unseen, moving so quietly that even he had barely perceived it until now. It had been watching. Calculating.

A leader.

Not bound by instinct alone.

For the first time, it made its move.

Unlike the others, this one did not rush blindly.

It vanished.

A blur of black disappeared into the trees. Not retreating—circling.

It was testing him, probing for weakness.

Vorynxis stood still.

His fire flickered at his fingertips, the cold heat of absence devouring the space around him. But he did not act—not yet.

Instead, he listened.

The rustling leaves. The whisper of disturbed air. The faintest tremor of displaced earth.

He counted.

Three.

The beast was moving at speeds beyond mortal perception, shifting through the shadows, masking itself perfectly—but nothing was absolute.

Two.

The air shivered behind him.

A feint.

It wasn't going for the kill—it was trying to force him to react, to burn through his power. But he had lived among schemers before. He had been executed by them.

There was no hesitation.

One.

The real attack came from above.

A blur of fangs and death, descending like a meteor from the branches—aimed directly for his skull.

Too fast. Too direct. Too certain.

The creature had no doubts that this was the finishing blow.

And that—was its failure.

Vorynxis didn't dodge.

He reached up.

His fingers met the beast's descending maw—

And then he seized the concept of its attack itself.

The Ice Ember flared.

For a single moment, time itself fractured.

The beast froze midair, its body locked in its killing strike.

Not because it had been stopped—

But because its own future had been rewritten.

Vorynxis exhaled.

And then he crushed it.

The moment shattered.

The beast screamed, its own motion snapping back upon itself. The force of its own leap rebounded, hurling it downward in a brutal, uncontrollable impact.

BOOM.

The ground shattered, dirt exploding as the beast's body slammed into it with enough force to fracture its own bones. A sickening crack echoed through the forest.

Silence.

Then, a pained whimper.

It was still alive.

Barely.

Its golden eyes trembled as they locked onto him. No more defiance. No more bloodlust.

Only understanding.

It was over.

Vorynxis lowered his hand.

"You have two choices," he murmured, voice calm against the stillness of death.

"Run."

The beast shuddered.

"Or submit."

The silence stretched.

The night air stilled.

And then—

It bowed.

A quiet, deliberate motion, its head lowering to the ground.

Vorynxis gazed down at the broken hunter.

A slow breath left him.

This was how it would be.

He was no longer the hunted.

He was the one who devoured.

And this… was only the beginning.