Fear must first ask our permission to be invited in. Do not give it.

  - UWO Command Sergeant Major Delora -

  The storm rages as the large fox bounds with me on its back. A steady trail of blue blood behind it. How much longer until it falls? Why does it continue to fight? My side aches from my own wound. What a strange pair we make. A fox who refuses to run from a fight, and a man who refuses to stay dead. The steady breaths restore the calm. We move through the wind at tremendous speeds. Clipping low branches from trees with gnarled limbs that look like they will never bear fruit.

  How can this fox keep such a pace with his injuries? I wonder what level he is. Soon to be was…

  A roar shakes the air, one that causes my body to tremble past the shivering. It’s a fear debuff, like the Lich used. The Wyvern is close. The fox suddenly stops, turning its head at me and growling, unhappy with my lack of resolve no doubt. My eyes close, this isn’t as bad as when I stood before the Lich. Get a grip. My hands tighten in the thick white fur, and my eyes open. Resolve returning to me with each breath.

  The fox bounds forward, straight through a patch of trees freshly turned to kindling. Many trees are smoldering and adding smoke to the already hard-to-parse wind. The fox seems to know where he is going, even though I can’t see even a pace in front of us. Leaning down close, it takes all of the strength in my hands to hold on.

  Everything is a blur as it runs in earnest now. The snow is less thick in this area, as though it has been melted. The storm does not abate though. Where is the…

  My eyes widen as the fox leaps into the air. I can’t see where we are going, but I feel the thud as we land on something. It races forward, clawing upward at incredible speed. Looking down, my eyes widen further, scales. Thick as a shield, bright red scales. Moving in rhythm to the body that holds it. The fox rolls its shoulder forward sending me flying over it, losing the grip. Sliding across the massive scales, my numb fingers try to hold on, but they can’t. Wincing, I see one of them bending sideways for trying. Fuck. One of my nails peels off, blood oozing out across my fingers. Then finally, I find grip in a large gash on the Wyvern’s back. I groan as my body comes to a halt. Then the strangest feeling hits me, like the ground is shifting. The Wyvern turns its body fast, making me hang sideways in the air… mark it… I can’t hold on.

  Blue flames erupt from my hands, flowing past the cracks in the scales. A roar resounds around us, my eardrums ringing from it.

  The Wyvern leaps upward, and I feel my organs lurching from it, pinning me against its back. Wind slaps the air, pluming the smoke away from us as its colossal wings flap. I can finally see more than ten paces with the smoke cleared, and I wish that I couldn’t. The Wyvern tries to fly higher, but its wings are torn, ruby red blood falls in puddles as it tries. It is much bigger than its aura suggested… much bigger. Its head turns toward me on its back. I push the last of the Brands of Withering into it. Its mouth opens, fire looming. Shit.

  My fingers let go, and I push off the Wyvern’s back. Free falling. The massive flame erupts from its mouth. I can feel the heat from here. If I didn’t let go, I’d be dead. My body is spinning in the air. Almost no sense of direction. They tell you to relax while falling… how the fuck do you relax while falling? My hands move to cover my face. Less than a second later my body slams into the ground at an angle, sending me rolling down the side of a mountain or hill through the snow like a ragdoll. Everything screams in pain. My forearm breaks as I hit something jutting out from the ground. Next, my leg crunches, the pain focusing me. I’m sliding down the hill, at least the fall wasn’t straight on. My ribs feel cracked. Breath won’t come. A sharp twang to my head and… darkness.

  ***

  Something soft brushes against my cheek. My face feels swollen. My breaths are ragged, multiple ribs are broken. My body is so cold, it's not shivering anymore. Eyes flitting open, the storm has begun to die down. The wind is slowing. The snow is less thick. There’s a whimpering sound next to me. The baby fox. It pulls at my pant leg with its tiny teeth. My heart sinks as I see why. It's trying to pull me toward its father. Lying in front of me. Barely moving, soaked in blood. Looking around, we are just outside the cave, maybe ten paces off. The father fox, it must have carried me here.

  The ground tremors, I don’t have enough mana to activate triage. But I know what comes. I can feel the brands upon its body coming closer. The Wyvern. We didn’t win. My eyes fall low. Only one of my brands has activated. I’m only missing the feeling from one. I don’t know how long I was out. But the activation chance must be stupidly low if they haven’t all gone off.

  What class will I get next? What skill will I keep this time? I don’t even know how it works yet. The whimpering from the little fox grows louder with each tremor. Fraying at my nerves. I wasn’t enough this time. Next time… I need to be enough.

  The storm’s wind is nearly gone now. The light from the sun pierces the clouds more. I can see the outline of the enormous Wyvern. When it comes closer into view, I see it’s limping.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  The large father fox lets out a weak growl. Trying to struggle to its feet, even now, on the edge of death it does not give in. Then neither can I. This life isn’t gone yet. There is still a chance to win. The quest clears if I kill the Wyvern. Judging by the hundreds of gashes on it, it is very wounded. Will the charges that I used be enough? They have to be.

  My eyes widen, somehow against all the odds the father fox stands again. Staring down the Wyvern as it approaches. The wind is scarcely blowing now. The fox takes a step forward, then another. The baby fox tries to follow, but I grab it gently. Covering its warm body in my arms. It cries out, but the father does not turn. It steps again and again. The Wyvern looks down on it, waiting for it to approach. Its breath heavy too. With the clearing air, I see the deep claw marks across its scales more clearly, finding purchase in its flesh. One of its eyes is clawed out. Both of its wings are ruined.

  The fox stares up defiantly at the Wyvern. Unafraid. Unyielding.

  The Wyvern stares back with its one good eye, crimson like its scales. Its mouth opens slowly, steam billowing from it. Still, the fox does not move. Even as the flicker of flame builds. My eyes close as it comes. The heat singeing my hair even from here.

  [ 1 x Wither Charge Gained ]

  The baby fox cries out again, trying to run toward the charred remains of its father. I hold it closely. Trying to push myself toward the cave in the distance. I can’t use my good arm to crawl, not with it holding the baby fox.

  Stay alive long enough for the brands to activate. That’s the only play. One of my arms and legs are broken, ribs cracked. I couldn’t even stand if I wanted to. Memories flash in my mind—not my own, but the father fox’s.

  In the memory, I see thousands of eyes like its. Small foxes play around the ankles of their parents in great numbers. Large forests with tall canopies, flora I’ve never seen before. Lush landscapes brimming with trees, and animals, endless prairies. It’s wondrous, yet there’s sadness mixed with it. Deep and profound sadness.

  A tremor shakes the ground again. The Wyvern is stepping closer, slowly.

  More memories play. Smoke on the horizon. Massive gates bring endless waves of goblins and other creatures. Wyverns soar through the skies, scorching the lands until barren. Hundreds of Wyverns. The armies are like a plague upon the land. It’s heartbreaking. Hopeless. Yet they stood, at the end of their world they stood. Until they were all that was left. I see now why the foxes did not run. There was nowhere left to go. All the lands are burned. This was their last stand. Their last defiance.

  Another tremor.

  The system… these gates. They ruin worlds. For what purpose? To cause suffering? It’s all a game to it. Suffering. Death. Rinse. Repeat. Endlessly. My teeth grind. My broken arm tries to press me up from the ground. It’s useless, but I still try.

  Then suddenly, something strange happens. A feeling, like a whisper of thoughts between me and the brands on the Wyvern. I look up into its crimson eye. The diamond pupil expands, shaking back and forth. Its face twitching. Something is changing… suddenly it whips its head to the side, jumping backward, falling over itself. Screeching loudly. It runs forward, the breeze from it knocking me back, I wrap myself tightly around the squirming fox baby.

  An earth-shattering vibration ripples through the ground. The Wyvern slams against the cliff that holds the cave. Its eye rolling side to side as it bashes its head again and again… the passive… I can feel it. One of the brands is glowing brighter than the others.

  Whispering decay… it actually activated.

  Blood streams from the Wyvern’s head. It roars, and howls in frustration and fear as it throws itself against the cliffside. Stones from above come toppling down, landing hard on its back. Still, it struggles, more boulders cleave as a large crack rockets up the side of the rock face. My eyes blink as I see a bus-sized rock falling… until it connects. Right on the Wyvern’s spine.

  The brands begin activating one by one. Crackles of blue flame rupture the scales, turning them to ash in large patches. It’s working… it’s actually working.

  The brand that glowed now activates, the Wyvern groans, puffs of fire coming from its mouth weakly. It’s dying. But it’s not dead. My good leg pushes me toward it… I still have one more brand. The father’s Wither Charge.

  It can barely move when I reach it, weak, dying, it doesn’t try to fight like the father fox did. Its eyes tremble at the void that awaits it. Fear pulses from it. My hand touches its scales. The blue fire connects, sinking past the surface, and entwining around its heart. It isn’t much… but it’s all I can give the foxes, I carried their ember, their torch.

  In clearing skies above, I see more Wyvern. Twenty of them, flying in formation. The baby fox slides from my grasp for a moment. Biting at the scales of the Wyvern, pain written in its eyes.

  “Don’t worry little one, your dad will finish the rest,” I say, pulling us up with a groan to lean my back against the dying Wyvern.

  Screeches and roars from the sky tell me they see what has happened.

  Minutes pass, and the brand still hasn’t activated. The Wyvern’s eyes are starting to glass over though. Soon it should be dead. What will happen to the baby fox though? I clutch it tightly. It looks into my eyes, searching me for answers. I can’t just leave it here. Will the system let me take it with me though? Or will it leave it… fuck. Even if I finish the quest, this poor fox. It has lost everything. What will they do to it? Kill it? Enslave it? My eyes fall low again, pulling it tighter. Afraid to let it go.

  Gusts of wind thrash as Wyverns land, carrying riders. All of them with immense pressure around them, like the mana in the air is quivering in reverence to their power. Ten atop red Wyverns. Each wearing uniquely styled armor.

  There are two more in the center of the ten red Wvyerns. One rider atop a silver one. But it’s different, it’s not a Wyvern. It has four legs… it’s a dragon. Next to the silver one, an even larger dragon, red with streaks of black in its scales. Eyes that pierce the soul. The rider on top of it stands, and in a single movement leaps toward me. Shit.

  A crater forms where their feet land. The rider wears red and black armor, matching the style of its dragon. The face is covered by a strange mask that ebbs with dark mist around it. Crimson eyes like the Lich’s peer from the slits in the mask. They walk by me, inspecting the Wyvern, paying me no attention.

  Another lands next to them, the one from the silver dragon. Black form-fitting armor with silver etchings across it. Body in the shape of a well-endowed woman. They hold an intricately carved obsidian-colored bow in their hand, hundreds of glyphs ripple on the edge of it. Strangely, there is no string on the bow. The woman in the silver-etched armor tilts her head at me curiously as she approaches. Looming over me now as I sit against the dying Wyvern. I can't see the woman's face, nor her eyes in the darkness beyond her helmet.

  The last brand still hasn’t activated.

  “Well, shit,” I mutter.

  [ Rolling for Rising Stars Genre List... Success ]

  [ Rolling for Rising Stars All List... Success ]

  [ Rolling for Rising Stars Top Ten... Success ]

  [ Rolling for Rising Stars Top Five... Success ]

  [ Rolling for Rising Stars Top Three... Success ]

  [ Rolling for Rising Stars Number Two... Success ]

  [ Rolling for Rising Stars Number One... Success ]

  [ Rolling for Popular This Week front page... Pending ]

  [ System's humble recommendations... Please follow, favorite, and rate / review. ]

  [ Thank you for reading! ]