The ground still vibrated, a bestial rumble echoing deep into his bones. Dylan took a deep breath, his lungs flooded with the humid, fetid air. The blade already felt too heavy, but he gripped it tighter, refusing to let it slip from his hands, slick with sweat and dried blood.
"Three against one. Not the worst odds I've faced… but it's damn close."
The first creature lunged, its maw frothing, fangs glistening with black slaver. Dylan pivoted to the side, the burning memory of Julius's barking still in his head: *'Dodge first, heal later!'* His feet slipped in the mud, but he held his ground, and his blade described an awkward arc that sliced into the creature's chitinous shoulder. Unfortunately, not deep enough. It roared, furious, more wounded in its pride than its flesh.
"I've known country butchers with more style than you, kid!" Julius called out, leaning nonchalantly on his staff as if watching a play.
