First Adversary (2)

The manticore prowled around me in a steady rhythm, its golden eyes locked onto mine.

I could hear its slow, beastly breath over the whisper of the desert wind. It wasn't just watching—it was toying with me.

And then—

It moved.

A blur.

BAM!

A searing pain exploded through my chest before I even registered what had happened.

My ribs caved in. Blood burst out like a ruptured dam. My vision flickered, my body folded inward, and the world spun as I crashed into the sand.

I wheezed, feeling the air leave my lungs.

But the next strike didn't come.

The bastard had stepped back.

For a brief second, I was too stunned to understand why. Then, through the haze of pain, I noticed it watching.

It was waiting.

I swore I heard a chuckle.

The son of a bitch was playing with me.

I wanted to tear it apart.

Rip into its flesh. Burn it to a crisp. Reduce it to nothing but ash.

But—I was weak.

Pathetic.

The realization sent a wave of disgust through me.

For a few minutes, nothing happened. The manticore just stood there, tail idly twitching, its gaze locked onto me while my body did its work—slowly pulling itself back together.

I could heal, sure.

Didn't mean it didn't hurt.

Every torn muscle, every shattered bone—I felt it all.

By the time my wounds had fully closed, I made a decision.

I didn't move.

I played dead.

The manticore was patient. It waited.

Then, slowly, it padded forward. Its massive paw pressed into the sand, stopping just inches from my head.

I didn't breathe.

For a moment, I thought it would lose interest.

Then—its claws raked across my chest.

A fresh wound.

This time, it stayed.

Watching.

Testing.

Its golden eyes gleamed with something I could only describe as satisfaction.

And then—

CRUNCH.

Its fangs ripped my arm clean off.

Agony.

White-hot, blinding agony.

A guttural, instinctive scream tore out of me.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

Blood gushed from my shoulder, splattering across the sand in thick, steaming pools.

Before the pain could even settle—

WHOOSH.

I was launched into the air.

The world flipped. The sky blurred. My severed limb fell somewhere far below, blood raining from the open wound.

The manticore unfurled its wings.

With a single, powerful flap, the force of the wind rattled my bones.

It moved so fast.

Before I could even react—

BOOM.

It was already in front of me.

Mid-air.

And then—

I was slammed into the ground.

Bones shattered.

Flesh twisted.

Pain.

Pure. Unfiltered. Pain.

I could barely move. My vision blurred. My body was broken beyond recognition.

The manticore loomed over me, its smirk widening.

Mocking me.

Enjoying this.

I wanted to curse.

To scream.

To fight back.

But my body wouldn't listen.

"So... this is it, huh?"

The thought sent bile up my throat.

I hadn't learned a single damn thing about magic yet.

And my first real enemy was this flying, overgrown piece of shit.

Why?

Just why?!

I didn't want to die.

Not like this.

Not while I was still weak.

Not while I was still a pathetic, useless piece of garbage.

I should have trained more.

I should have prepared.

I took this life for granted.

And now, I was paying the price.

I laughed.

A bitter, hollow laugh in my mind.

"Hah… of course."

This was my punishment.

The manticore stared down at me for a long moment.

Then—it simply turned away.

It left me bleeding out in the sand.

And deep down, I knew—it would return.

That bastard was saving me.

Like a prized meal.

Something to savor.

To devour slowly.

To enjoy.

...

By the time I was fully healed, I still couldn't move.

Not out of injury—

Out of rage.

I lay there, staring at the sky, my mind blank.

Replaying the worst few hours of my life.

Of both my lives.

Kill. Kill. Kill.

I wanted to gut that thing.

Rip its tendons out.

Gouge its smug golden eyes from its fucking skull.

Burn it. Pulverize it.

Make it suffer.

Pain? Broken bones? Torn flesh?

None of that mattered.

There was only one goal in my mind.

Kill that flying bastard.

Unfortunately, wanting something didn't mean shit.

I wasn't strong enough.

Yet.

"I have to get stronger."

There was no other way.

Faster. Harder. No hesitation.

No pain, no fractures, no torn flesh would stop me.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

And the best part?

I knew exactly how to do it.

A slow, dark grin stretched across my face.

"Time to commit genocide."