The Extra Wants Control

The primal howl erupted from the undergrowth, sending shivers down Azrael's spine. Sunlight, dappled through the dense canopy, illuminated a pair of eyes unlike any he'd encountered during the combat assessments. Glowing a menacing violet, they held an intelligence and ferocity that made Azrael's breath catch in his throat. These weren't the nerfed monsters of the Academy's Combat Assessment.

These were the real deal.

Behind those eyes stood a monstrous creature, easily twice the size of the wolves Azrael had faced previously. Its pelt, a swirling storm of grey and black, crackled with an unseen energy. Razor-sharp fangs glinted in the half-light, dripping with saliva. Not alone, it stood flank-to-flank with another equally imposing wolf, their violet eyes locking on Azrael with a predatory glint.

Pseudo-Seven Star Storm Wolves, the Alphas of the pack.

He cursed himself for getting drawn towards the alluring beacon of light that had erupted earlier. Time wasted, curiosity punished. The howl echoed again, a rallying cry. From the surrounding trees, a wave of grey fur surged forth – a pack of twenty-seven Five-Star Storm Wolves, their eyes glowing with feral hunger.

Azrael reacted instinctively. He wasn't naive. He knew the danger a pack of wild, unchained wild wolves posed. They weren't mindless beasts; they fought with coordinated savagery, utilizing tactics honed by generations of hunting. Three hours. Three grueling hours of relentless combat had worn him down.

Cuts marred his flesh, his muscles screamed in protest, his mana reserves were far from full.

But surrender wasn't an option. With a snarl that mirrored the wolves', he ignited his aura. A swirling vortex of crimson fire erupted from him, pushing back the surging tide of fur. His hands blazed with an unholy light, the power of both fire and light magic coursing through him.

The wolves, momentarily stunned, recoiled. This wasn't a weak student anymore. This was a predator in his own right. But the Alphas, veterans of countless battles, weren't so easily deterred. They charged, a whirlwind of teeth and claws.

Azrael roared, his voice a primal counterpoint to the wolves' howls. He leaped, bringing his burning blade down with the force of a hurricane. Light magic, interwoven with the fiery attack, created a blinding flash that momentarily scorched the wolves' vision. Their coordinated attack faltered, a single step of hesitation proving fatal.

A lesser wolf, caught squarely in the path of Azrael's fiery descent, met a horrific demise. The blade passed through flesh and bone like a hot knife through butter, unleashing a torrent of sizzling fur and burnt meat. The pack yowled in rage, the scent of their kin further fueling their frenzy.

Azrael fought like a possessed man. His blade became a blur, carving a bloody swathe through the wolves. Fire erupted from his fingertips, incinerating those who dared get too close. Light magic, used strategically, blinded and disoriented them, disrupting their coordinated attacks.

But the sheer number of wolves began to tell. Bites raked across his arm, a sharp pain lancing through him. One managed to latch onto his leg, its powerful jaws tearing at muscle. Adrenaline surged, pushing him past the pain, fueling his desperate dance of death.

He dispatched the wolf with a brutal kick, feeling a sickening crack in its spine. But two more took its place, their fangs snapping at his exposed flank. With a grunt of exertion, he slammed his flaming hand against the ground, a wave of fire surging outwards.

The wolves yelped in pain as the flames licked at their fur. The Alphas, however, remained untouched. With their superior agility, they danced around the inferno, their violet eyes burning with an unyielding hunger. They lunged, one feinting left, the other right.

Azrael, momentarily caught off guard, felt a searing pain erupt in his shoulder. The Alpha's teeth had sunk deep, tearing flesh. He roared, adrenaline masking the agonizing bite. With a surge of desperate strength, he slammed his elbow into the wolf's snout, sending it reeling backwards.

But the other Alpha seized its moment. It leaped, a monstrous blur of grey and black, jaws agape. For a fleeting moment, Azrael met its gaze. It wasn't just hunger he saw, but a cunning intelligence, assessing his fatigue, his weakening defense.

The Alpha's jaws snapped shut, not on flesh, but on empty air. Azrael, in a display of pure willpower, had twisted his body mid-air, the impact sending him crashing to the forest floor. He landed hard, the breath knocked out of him. 'Stars' danced in his vision, pain screaming through his injuries.

The Alpha, a whirlwind of storm-grey fur crackling with chaotic energy, paced like a caged beast. Its violet eyes blazed with a predatory hunger. Hours of relentless combat had pushed them both to their limits. The clearing reeked of burnt fur and viscera, a testament to their brutal dance.

The Alpha snarled, its voice a deep rumble that vibrated in Azrael's chest. Then, in a flash of coordinated savagery, it lunged. Aiming for his exposed flank, it snapped its jaws, an inferno of gnashing teeth and razor-sharp fangs.

Azrael, fueled by a primal instinct for survival, reacted with lightning speed. He threw himself back, barely dodging the attack. The wind from the Alpha's snapping jaws ruffled his hair, a chilling reminder of what could have been.

Landing hard on the blood-soaked ground, Azrael lunged forward, not towards the Alpha, but past it. The beast, caught off guard, stumbled momentarily, its powerful back momentarily exposed.

That was his chance.

With a surge of remaining strength, Azrael channeled his dwindling mana reserves. A brilliant spear of white-hot light erupted from his palm, crackling with power. It was a desperate gamble, a technique he hadn't mastered, a Hail Mary fueled by sheer will.

The Alpha, sensing the danger, whipped around, a primal scream tearing from its throat. But it was too late. The spear of light slammed into its side, searing a hole through its thick pelt and muscle. It howled, a sound of pain and fury that echoed through the forest.

The force of the attack propelled the Alpha forward, sending it crashing against a massive oak. It lay there, twitching, a low gurgle escaping its throat as it tried to suck in air. Azrael, his vision swimming, approached, his hand trembling as he held his flickering blade.

The Alpha looked up, its violet eyes clouded with pain and something more – a flicker of defiance as if not wanting to die. Then, with a final, shuddering breath, the Alpha went still. Its life force dulling away, leaving behind a silence heavier than the roar of battle.

Azrael sank to his knees, his body screaming in protest. He had won, but the fight had taken its toll, leaving him battered and bruised. He had stared death in the face and blinked, but the cost was high.

Looking at the fallen Alpha, Azrael knew this wasn't over. The remaining Alpha wolves had scattered, but they would return with reinforcements, fueled by vengeance. And somewhere out there, the other Alpha, his counterpart in this savage dance, watched and waited, as if plotting its revenge.

Azrael slumped against the rough bark of the tree, his ragged breaths echoing in the heavy silence. The battle had drained him, leaving him a trembling mess of exhaustion and pain. His potions, nestled in pouches across his armor, lay shattered on the blood-soaked ground – victims of the wolves' savage yet strategic swipes.

A rustle in the undergrowth ripped him from his pained haze. His hand shot to his sword, fingers trembling not with fear, but with fatigue and the raw throb of his injuries. With a final dredge of his depleted mana, he began conjuring a volley of fireballs, the flames flickering weakly in his shaking grip.

Relief washed over him like a tidal wave when a familiar shock of blonde hair emerged from the foliage. Vera. Her face, usually brimming with mischievous energy, was a mask of shock and worry.

"My god..." she gasped, taking in the battlefield before him. Scorched earth, shattered trees, and the gruesome remnants of the wolf pack littered the clearing – a macabre testament to the brutal fight. Blood spattered the ground, and Azrael's own body bore the marks of the battle – torn flesh, burnt skin and crimson lines tracing down his arms.

Vera rushed over, her initial shock morphing into a fierce protectiveness. "Azrael, are you okay? What happened?!"

He could offer little more than a weak nod, the pain stealing his breath. With surprising gentleness, she helped him lower himself fully onto the forest floor, a whirlwind of activity thereafter. Her movements were practiced, efficient. She fished out a potion from her own satchel, her brow furrowed in worry.

"Here, take this," she urged, the concern in her voice undeniable.

As Azrael gulped down the potion, a warm sensation spread through him, mending the wounds and replenishing his depleted mana. Vera didn't stop there. Holding her hands outstretched, a soft, white light emanated from her palms, bathing him in its restorative warmth.

Minutes ticked by, and slowly, Azrael felt strength returning to his limbs. He pushed himself upright, newfound vitality coursing through him. "Glad I followed your carved signs," Vera said, wiping a non-existent bead of sweat from her brow. "But they stopped after a while, so I had to search the whole area. Worried something had happened to you."

Azrael managed a weak chuckle. "Haha… Thanks." He scratched his cheek awkwardly, feeling a pang of gratefulness he couldn't quite express.

"Why you… sigh… never mind," she began, then stopped herself with another sigh. "Were you heading for the… er… tomb erection site?"

Azrael blinked. "You mean the light? Yes, but… I didn't know it was a tomb."

A spark of excitement lit up Vera's face. "Tombs are goldmines, Azrael! Artifacts, techniques, inheritances… the possibilities are endless. Of course, there are usually challenges to overcome, but that's half the fun! They're so rare and sought-after that people have made a whole career out of it – Tomb Raiders!"

Azrael frowned. "Tombs... do they have corpses? I don't know, Vera. Desecrating a grave doesn't sit right with me."

Vera chuckled. "Not desecration if the owner wanted it that way, right? Tombs only appear when someone wants to leave a legacy behind, to share their knowledge or possessions with worthy challengers. Besides, the dead are gone, they know nothing. Why should we worry about disturbing them?"

Azrael considered this, his discomfort softening slightly. "If you say so…"

"I do say so!" she declared, a mischievous glint returning to her eyes. "Let's go! It takes some time for tombs to fully form and accept challengers. We should be good timing-wise."

Azrael hesitated for a moment longer, then a wry smile touched his lips. "Sure, sure. Lead the way, Tomb Raider Vera."