NOVEL NEXT 11. Dances with Wolfbears
Seven massive beasts surrounded me. I miscalculated the incline of my mountain. And by that, I meant my guessing game was way off. I thought I would get maybe one or two bears a second at the top. Three at the most. There was no way seven could converge on me at once. I called cheating. Foul play bears. Foul play.
The cheaters played to their advantage. Tempered by smoke, they've silenced their manic desire for feasting... No, that wasn't it. My smoke screen was working. They knew my general vicinity but couldn't locate me. So maybe they weren't the cheaters I accused them of being. They heckled, growled, and coughed as they slowly made their way, closing their circle and my escape. I grab three more Freeze Bangs—name pending—and throw them around me. In a wave of exploding mana, the seven wolfbears froze. Thirty seconds. I discarded my claymore, freezing it to the back of my wolf pelt, and summoned a war hammer. Ice Breaker, though not a named weapon, earned its name for the one task at which it excelled. I lined up the closest chunk of ice and swung the hammer as hard as possible.
Ice and frozen flesh shattered in a disgusting discard of death and violence. I added to the disturbing detritus with another mighty swing. There was no form to my attack. It was simple and destructive. See ice, smash ice. One by one, I hammered through the circle of beasts. By the time I was done, the bear I had frozen in my first bear bang… bear blast had recovered and was charging me. I stood at the edge of the hill. All it took was a simple pull on ice to my left to whip me away from the beast's charge. The silly beast swiped, missed, tripped, and slid down the mini-mountain, face-plowing ice. I had a moment of reprieve to summon Snowpiecer and shoot an arrow into the cowering monster's hindquarters. The frozen, then thawed wolfbear froze once more, forever more.
My poetic victory over Frosty the Bear was short-lived. Another wave of beasts was at my back and front. I prepared four more Freeze Bombs and threw them around me at my attackers. Ice Breaker was in my hand the next second, and I began my second round of smashing frozen beasts. The inglorious act left me breathless and heaving in pain. I slew ten beasts, only to have another dozen replace them. I could freeze them and repeat my massacre, but I needed to be more aggressive and take advantage of the smoke screen.
A dozen bears converged on my location. I kept my presence small and slipped away. I sped down the hill, my feet being pulled by an anchor towards the bottom of my hill. Icebreaker was on my back, Snowpiercer was in my ring, and I held my unnamed ice claymore in a two-handed grip. Despite the iciness of everything, my palms were sweating.
Damn the man.
I freaking forgot to make myself gloves. All the prep time in the world, and I didn't do the one thing I was supposed to do—use collected hides to make gloves. Hides collected… yep. Smoke house smokey? Yup. Add carpet to a house about to get blown… sure. Ice bombs, of course. Bear hide cloak… absolutely. It was an essential fashion for slaughtering wolfbears. Make gloves so clammy hands don't get clammy when sliding down a hill at fast speeds and need a good grip on your sword made of ice? Nope. Can't be bothered.
The claymore froze to my hands, forcing me to trade dexterity for security. I slashed through the open mouth of a predator. The beast was dead, but the impact jolted my direction. I spun on the ice, and my back turned to the climbing beast. It took every bit of effort to keep my balance and control. I completed my turn as the next wolfbear struck. My target slipped, and I had to redirect my spinning backslash to land my attack. My rigid motion was graceless, and my blade was stuck in the dead beast's back. I underestimated the thick muscles.
I ripped the sword from my hands, leaving the corpse and blade behind. The sword was a silly idea that I blame entirely on internal fantasy. One day, I'd be a sword lord. It wouldn't be today or, rather, tonight. My anchor was reset, pulling me across the hill instead of down. The pack of predators was too thick below, and I was confident I could last long. Instead of a sword, I created an ice lance and froze it to my grip.
I raced across the ice hill at inhuman speeds. My lance lowered, and I skewered and discarded beast after beast. Some I could toss by flinging my lance; others required me to break my weapon and re-summon the tip. The ice was my killing ground, and I used every inch, navigating out of danger and into my enemies. My body was being pushed to the extreme. Even using mana for movement still required my effort to keep my center firm and balanced. My calves were on fire, and I had little movement out of my dead arms. My strength was improving. I'd be sore today, but I'd be stronger tomorrow. My biggest concern was mana fatigue. I had plenty of mana to burn, but my channels and core were wearing down. I would last the night, but not another day, at least not like this.
The only light in the endless slaughter was that I was no longer the primary target of the spirit beasts. Some would engage if I got too close, but most settled for the free meals I left in my path. All things considered, this had been a productive night.
I'd all but collapsed when the moon retired, and the sun started its shift. I push beyond the realm of exhaustion, spending the entire morning devoted to slaying. It was gross. I felt gross. No matter how many times I washed away the blood and gore, I never felt clean. One consolation from the endless fighting was that my channeled mana worked passively to heal me. The unexpected blessing came after I fought for hours with a nasty claw gash on my back. It was nothing like the instant healing power life cultivators had. I didn't care. My back healed, and I might learn to heal faster in time.
The wolfbears never stopped coming. It didn't matter how many I killed; two or three seemed to take its place. It was unnatural. The Bloodwoods was a large forest… sure. I didn't see how it sustained such a large population of what I assumed to be the apex predator. Maybe they were omnivores in secret and were just trying to maintain an image. Pack mentality had a tendency to create that kind of chauvinistic culture. What better way to assert your dominance than eating your guest—like a cult, but more feral... or less... It depended on the cult.
There was no denying the massive beasts' display of dominance over what I once called my pseudo-domain. Some sprawled out on the ice bellied up, soaking in the warmth of a noon sun. Others were lapping up the melted ice mixed with pools of blood. Most were still eating the dead, which was becoming quite the problem and was a major kink in my plan. Consumption was a beast's path to power. Consuming cores, in particular, increased their growth. Initially, I planned for this when I baited the monsters with the dead. I did not plan for the endless wave of beasts that would eventually ignore me in their pursuit of power. Offense and nervousness nipped at my pride.