MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

Chapter 177: Rylis Swiftclaw

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving only a twilight haze that draped the forest like a shroud.

The trees, ancient sentinels whose gnarled branches twisted toward the heavens, whispered in the cold night wind.

Their silhouettes were faint against the thick, swirling mist that choked the ground, a fog so dense that even the faintest ray of moonlight struggled to pierce it.

Rylis Swiftclaw moved through the mist as though he were part of it, blending seamlessly into the shadowed world around him.

His fur, a blend of black and blue, rippled with each calculated step, his long, fox-like tail swishing silently behind him.

His ears twitched at every sound, the subtle crack of a branch, the rustle of leaves, the shift of breath on the wind, and his eyes, deep pools of amber, cut through the mist with predatory focus.

His claws, sharp as daggers and as flexible as the wind itself, flexed with anticipation.

His instincts, honed through years of training, screamed that something was wrong.

The damp air seemed to vibrate with an unseen tension, a cold that sank into his bones and whispered of danger.

They were here.

The sounds of footsteps crunching softly against the forest floor broke the silence.

Not one, but several.

They moved with purpose, their gait too heavy, their presence too bold.

They thought they were hunting him, but they were mistaken.

Rylis was the hunter, and the forest, his domain, would swallow them whole.

He crouched low, his body blending into the underbrush, muscles coiled like a spring, waiting for the right moment to strike.

His breath came in slow, deliberate cycles, each exhale mingling with the mist, masking his scent, his presence.

His fox-like instincts, paired with the enhanced senses of a demi-human, allowed him to read the subtle movements of his prey.

He could hear their hearts beating in their chests, the subtle quiver of their muscles as they neared. Continue reading on m_v--NovelBin.net

A sharp scent caught his nose.

Blood.

Fresh blood.

Rylis' amber eyes flicked toward the clearing ahead, his gaze locking onto his prey.

Four figures, cloaked in dark, tattered garments, advanced with grim determination.

Their weapons, crude yet sharp, glinted ominously in the pale light of the moon.

They had been hunting him for days, and now, they were within striking distance.

But they would never know what hit them.

With a burst of speed, Rylis shot forward, his claws unsheathing in an instant, cutting through the air with the sharpness of a scythe.

The first of the attackers, a hulking figure with a thick beard and rusted blade, turned too late.

Rylis was already upon him, his claws raking across his chest with a wet, satisfying tear.

Blood sprayed into the air, a crimson arc painting the fog, as the man stumbled back in shock.

His eyes widened, but the life drained from them too quickly.

Rylis spun, his claws already seeking their next target.

The second man, shorter but more agile, tried to retaliate with a slash of his own.

But Rylis was already gone, a blur of black and blue, his claws curving through the air like the winds themselves.

He was behind the man in an instant, a flash of movement as he severed the artery in the attacker's neck with a single swipe.

The blood poured freely, staining the earth beneath them as the man collapsed, gurgling, his body twitching in a final, futile attempt to survive.

The third and fourth attackers fared no better.

One attempted to raise his weapon, a jagged sword, to defend himself, but Rylis' clawed hands moved with such speed and precision that the sword was shattered in an instant.

Before the man could even process his defeat, Rylis' claws were at his throat, sinking deep into flesh, severing the windpipe in one clean motion.

The last man, the smallest of them all, backed away, terror written all over his face.

His breath was ragged, his weapon trembling in his hands.

But Rylis only approached slowly, methodically, his every step a whisper in the mist.

The man's heart pounded in his chest, his body frozen in place by fear, as Rylis' amber eyes fixed on him with an almost predatory intensity.

With a final, swift movement, Rylis closed the gap, his claws sinking deep into the man's chest.

The blood flowed freely, pooling around his feet as he collapsed to the ground in a heap.

Rylis stood over him for a moment, his chest heaving with exertion, the fog swirling around him like an ethereal cloak.

The forest was quiet once more, the only sound the faint whisper of wind through the trees and the soft drip of blood onto the forest floor.

He stood there, surveying his work, his tail flicking once in satisfaction.

These men had dared to hunt him, but they had underestimated his speed, his precision, and the deadly power of his claws.

Rylis Swiftclaw was not to be trifled with.

And in the forest, where shadows danced and the wind whispered secrets, no one was safe.

-------------------------

In the shadow of towering cliffs, Rylis stood with his father, the wind tugging at his fur and whipping his cloak around him.

The training grounds stretched before him, a vast expanse of rugged terrain, scattered with rocks and jagged outcroppings.

The wind howled fiercely through the peaks, a constant reminder that the world outside would offer no mercy.

His father, a mirror of his own form, furry ears, swift claws, and sharp amber eyes, moved before him with a fluidity that defied his size.

He was a beast in his own right, his presence a force of nature, yet his movements were as graceful as the wind itself.

Like his son, he bore the markings of a demi-human, his fur a deep shade of midnight black, streaked with streaks of silver, as though the moon itself had kissed him.

His amber eyes, intense and focused, fixed upon Rylis with the weight of years of experience.

"Faster"

His father growled, his voice carrying the weight of command.

"Faster than the wind. Faster than your enemies. You think you have time to think? Think again"

Rylis felt the heat of the challenge stir within his chest, a fire igniting with each word his father uttered.

Every syllable, every command was not just a lesson, but a trial, a test of his mettle, his resolve.

His father's presence loomed over him like the wind itself, a force impossible to ignore.

The sharp sting of the biting wind pierced through his fur, tugging at his senses, as though the very elements were conspiring to push him beyond his limits.

His father, swift as the fox he resembled, lunged forward with unparalleled speed, his claws gleaming under the pale moonlight.

In that fleeting moment, Rylis' instincts surged to the forefront, a primal force that guided his every move.

His claws, honed to perfection, sliced through the air with a precision born of years of training.

The gust that followed his strike rattled the very atmosphere, a testament to the sheer power behind it.

Yet, in the brief, heart-stopping silence that followed, he realized the space he had attacked was already empty.

His father was gone.

Rylis' eyes darted, scanning the cliffs, every shadow now a potential threat.

His senses were heightened, the wind whispering secrets in his ears, the scent of the earth mingling with the remnants of his father's presence.

The sound of footsteps, the rustle of movement, it was all gone.

All that remained was the biting cold and the silence of the night.

He braced himself, feeling the weight of his father's expectations heavy on his shoulders.

There was no room for hesitation, no time for doubt.

He had to remain vigilant, had to anticipate the next strike before it even came.

Every moment was a test, every movement a challenge.

"No time to rest"

His father's voice boomed from above, deep and commanding, carrying with it the weight of years of experience.

"You think you've mastered your instincts, boy?"

The words cut through the night air like the crack of thunder, vibrating the very ground beneath Rylis' feet.

"Your enemy won't wait for you to catch your breath or listen to your instincts then react"

Rylis shot forward, every muscle in his body responding to the commands of his father's voice.

He could feel the wind pulling at him, the very earth beneath his feet seeming to tremble with the pressure of the fight.

Every strike was a dance, every move a step in the endless battle between man, beast, and nature itself.

With each strike, Rylis pushed himself further, his body aching, his mind focused.

He was the wind, the shadow, the fox. And his father, his mirror, was the same.

They clashed again and again, their claws scraping against each other, their bodies moving with the fluidity of predators in the wild.

Rylis felt the sting of fatigue, but it only fueled his determination.

His father's voice was constant, urging him on, pushing him beyond his limits.

"Faster, Rylis. Your enemies will strike before you can think. You have to react before you even realize it"