Chapter 18: The Shrouded Howl

Chapter 35: Fangs in the Fog

The Wastes of Korvak vanished behind them.

Ash hung low across the land as Jumong and his beasts made their way toward the edge of the Lurkmire Basin. A place where fog never lifted, even beneath the midday sun. The kind of place where bones disappeared in shallow water, and whispers floated on the mist.

Stonegrip trudged with a limp, but his spirit never faltered. Barkhide's flanks were still scratched raw from the Gravehowl Warden's claws. Ashwing, ever alert, flew short bursts ahead, his wingbeats leaving flickers of ember behind.

Jumong's gaze swept the murky terrain. Gnarled trees curled like claws, and the air stank of stagnant magic.

"This place..." he murmured. "I've read about it."

He pulled out a thin leather journal, its pages weathered by time and travel. An old entry, likely from a Hunter long gone:

'Lurkmire—beware the vapors. Class B creatures stalk beneath the surface, often unseen until the bite. Use fire. Don't stay after nightfall.'

He closed it. "We move careful. Real careful."

Suddenly, a splash. Not far off. Then another—closer.

Barkhide's tusks scraped the ground. Stonegrip snorted, turning his bulk toward the fog.

"Fan out!" Jumong ordered. He strung an arrow to his bow.

The surface of a nearby bog bulged.

Then burst.

From it rose a mass of glistening tendrils and snapping maws.

Hunter's Beastiary & Class Index

Name: Miremaw Hydra

Classification: Class B Swamp Aberration

Known Traits: Regenerating Heads, Acidic Blood, Hypnotic Fog Aura

Threat Tier: Territory-Level Threat

It hissed, one of its heads snarling, "Shhhaaa...huntersss..."

Ashwing shrieked a warning from above.

Jumong barely dodged as a tendril whipped toward him. It struck a tree, dissolving bark with sizzling venom.

He hit the mud, rolled, and fired. [Emberburst] — the arrow ignited in the air and struck one of the hydra's heads, burning through scale.

Stonegrip charged the flanks, bashing one of the rising limbs with enough force to crack it sideways. Barkhide took point, holding the hydra at bay.

Each move was slower, harder. Jumong knew they weren't ready for another full-on fight like the last. They needed a plan, not brute force.

He ducked under another lash. "We can't kill it head-on. Ashwing! Target the water! Boil it!"

The ember hawk circled and loosed a volley of burning feathers into the swamp. Steam rose.

The hydra screamed. "SKKREEEEEHHH!"

Jumong turned to Barkhide. "Drive it back! Force it into shallow ground!"

The armored boar rammed forward. Stonegrip moved beside him, pushing the beast's lower body.

Head by head, the hydra tried to regenerate—but Ashwing's fire disrupted the process. The fog cleared slightly.

They were slowly gaining ground.

Jumong fired another shot, hitting the hydra in its central neck.

Then something else rose in the mist.

Not a monster. A ruin.

Crumbled stone. Vines draped like curtains. A statue, broken at the head—something ancient.

A half-buried flame-shaped crest.

Jumong paused, even as chaos reigned behind him. Something about the ruin pulled at his senses.

Not fate. Not destiny.

Just... history.

Ashwing circled back. Barkhide and Stonegrip had pushed the hydra to the shallows. Its regeneration slowed. It reared with a final roar.

Jumong loosed his last arrow.

It struck.

And the swamp went quiet again.

The hydra slid under the muck. Dead—or dormant.

Jumong fell to his knees.

"I'm not ready for what's ahead," he muttered. "But I'll keep walking."

Behind him, the ruin watched silently.

A new chapter waited in the stone.

The mist deepened like a woolen curtain cast over the earth. Cold droplets clung to Jumong's cloak, and the whispering silence of the Shademurk Hollow settled around him. Each breath he exhaled turned into vapor, his eyes narrowed, scanning the fog.

Stonegrip snorted beside him, nostrils flaring. The beast's dark fur bristled at the unseen. Barkhide was just behind, pawing the moss-covered earth with its hoof-like claws. Ashwing circled overhead, a flicker of feathers and wind.

Jumong crouched, his bow drawn. The trail had led them into a basin thick with ferns and fallen trunks. They'd followed the wounded Graveback Warden into this fog-laced hollow, but something was wrong.

"Too quiet," Jumong muttered.

Snap.

A branch cracked somewhere to his left. Stonegrip growled low in its throat, lips curled back to reveal thick, crushing teeth. Ashwing shrieked above, a sharp warning call.

Then it came.

A hulking shape exploded from the fog with a guttural growl that sounded like wet stone grinding—KRUUAAAK!—and the Graveback Warden, bloodied and savage, burst forth. A pale gash split across its bark-armor chest, leaking blackish sap-like blood. Its mossy mane whipped in the air as it charged straight for Jumong.

"Now!" Jumong yelled.

Barkhide surged forward like a boulder on hooves, intercepting the beast. The two clashed in a quake of muscle and growl, Barkhide's antlers locking with the Warden's tusks. Stonegrip lunged from the side, its clawed forearms slamming into the beast's flanks, drawing more of that thick, tar-like blood.

Jumong nocked an arrow and activated [Seeker's Eye]—his vision sharpened, allowing him to track the flickers of movement through the fog. He spotted the weak point—the wound he'd struck earlier with his ember-tipped bolt.

Twang!

The arrow soared. The Graveback Warden twisted at the last second, causing the shot to graze its shoulder. Not enough.

It bellowed again—RAUUGHH!—and flung Barkhide aside, the boar crashing into a rotten log with a snort. Ashwing dove, talons outstretched, raking the creature's face. The distraction was enough. Jumong loaded another arrow, this time igniting it with a faint ember.

He exhaled slowly, recalling his recent Embercraft lessons.

"Flame follows will. Let it burn only what you aim for."

The arrow lit with a dull orange glow.

He loosed.

Thunk.

The ember arrow struck deep into the beast's exposed wound. The Warden howled, rearing back, its form shrouded in mist as steam hissed from its wound.

Stonegrip didn't hesitate. With a roar of his own, the beast lunged upward and delivered a punishing bite to the Warden's throat, dragging it down.

Ashwing and Barkhide joined in a flurry of movement.

The Warden let out one final, spine-shivering growl—Krrrraaaaaaagh!—before falling still.

Jumong stood, bow lowered, panting. The fog curled around him like ghosts fading from the battlefield.

He walked slowly to the fallen beast, placing a hand on Stonegrip's shoulder.

"Good work. All of you."

Ashwing landed nearby, wings folding, watching silently. Barkhide groaned, but rose to its feet.

Jumong gazed down at the corpse of the Graveback Warden. A Class A beast. One that should have torn him to shreds. It had, in a way. His cloak was torn, knuckles bloodied, and his beasts bore marks of the hard-fought victory.

But they had done it. Together.

He knelt and whispered a hunter's prayer over the Warden's corpse. Not out of mercy, but out of respect. It had fought with the fury of the wild, and lost as all things did.

Then, from the edge of the hollow, the fog stirred unnaturally. Not wind. Not beast.

Eyes watched him again. But not the kind of eyes that belonged to enemies.

Not yet.

---

Hunter's Beastiary and Class Index Update:

Graveback Warden – Class A. A territorial guardian of sacred or cursed groves. Highly durable, difficult to kill without coordinated attacks.

Threats faced beyond Jumong's current solo capability. Victory achieved with aid of all three tamed beasts and tactical application of Embercraft.