Novel Full Chapter 185: Stormlings
Chapter 185: Stormlings
"There’s a trail. Keep low. I can spot three or four bodies. Moving west to east. Don’t think it’s cinderback."
Liora joined him, brace clicking softly against stone.
She crouched and studied the sign.
"Skarn?"
"No claw lines."
"Glassmaw?"
"Too light."
Veska glanced down from the upper shelf.
"Stormlings."
Everyone went still.
Rohan did not know that word.
He hated how everyone else reacted to it.
"Can anyone care to give me an explanation?" he asked.
Maerin was already signalling the harvesters to secure the tubes.
"They’re small pack beasts drawn to fresh storm-silver. They’re extremely fast. Their bite carries electic charge, so be wary of that."
"Of course it does."
"They hunt by pulse sense."
"Which means?"
"Do not let your heart race too loudly."
Rohan stared at her.
"How on earth are we supposed to counter that!?"
"Learn quickly."
The first stormling appeared on the opposite shelf.
It was smaller than a skarn, perhaps the size of a lean fox, with a body made of pale ash, black sinew, and thin silver filaments that glowed under its skin. Its head was narrow, split by two vertical sensory ridges instead of eyes. Every few seconds, those ridges flickered with faint light.
Another appeared beside it.
Then another.
Then six more shapes moved in the ash below.
"Harvesters move back," Maerin ordered. "Shields forward. Archers mark the upper two."
The formation shifted instantly.
Rohan moved to the left flank without being told.
His heartbeat had already picked up.
He forced it down.
That was not easy. Telling someone not to panic because the monsters could hear panic was, in
Rohan’s opinion, one of the least helpful survival instructions ever devised. But he breathed slowly through the cloth mask, grounding himself in familiar details.
Spear grip.
Left foot angled.
Ash wind from the east.
Jorren three steps right.
Liora behind and above with a crossbow.
Maerin central.
’Best not overuse Molten Assimilation near storm-silver.’
That last thought arrived just as the first stormling leapt.
It crossed the gap between shelves in a blur of pale ash and silver light.
Jorren intercepted it with his shield.
The impact cracked like static thunder. Blue-white sparks crawled over the shield face and down Jorren’s arm. He grunted, but held. Maerin’s blade flashed, cutting across the creature’s side before it could rebound.
An arrow took the second stormling mid-leap.
It twisted in the air, landed badly, then skittered sideways with horrifying speed.
The rest of the pack surged up the terrace.
Rohan thrust at the first one that came within reach.
It dodged.
Not like a skarn, which flowed through ash, but with a sharp, twitching movement that reminded him of lightning choosing a path. His spear struck stone. The stormling darted under the shaft, sensory ridges flaring.
Rohan felt the pulse before it hit.
A pressure against his chest.
It was sensing his heartbeat.
"Unpleasant," he muttered.
The stormling lunged.
Rohan pivoted and let it pass, then snapped the butt of the spear into its side. The strike connected, but the moment the metal-capped shaft touched its body, a jolt shot up his arms.
His muscles seized.
Only for a fraction of a second.
Enough.
The stormling twisted back toward his throat.
Rohan released the spear with one hand and drove his ash-coated forearm into its mouth.
Electric pain ripped through him.
Molten Assimilation flared on instinct, pulling ash from his sleeve, the stone, the air, compacting it into a dense layer between his skin and the creature’s charged bite. The stormling’s teeth scraped against the ash-bracer rather than flesh, but the charge still burned through.
Rohan clenched his jaw and slammed the creature against the slab.
Once.
Twice.
It tried to pulse again.
This time, he was ready.
He shoved a burst of dead ash into its sensory ridges.
The effect was immediate. The silver filaments under its skin flickered wildly. Its body spasmed, pulse sense disrupted. Rohan grabbed the spear with both hands and drove the blade through its neck into the stone.
The stormling died.
Death essence surged into him.
Not hot like the cinderback.
Sharp.
Bright.
For one terrifying second, he tasted metal and lightning.
[Beast Slain: Stormling]
[Death Essence Absorbed]
[Attribute Resonance Detected: Molten]
[Rank Progress Increased]
Rohan did not have time to process that.
Another stormling came up the terrace.
Liora shot it through one sensory ridge, but it kept moving. Rohan stepped in and finished it with a downward thrust. Less essence entered him this time, divided by contribution, but enough to add another flash of metallic sharpness beneath his ribs.
The fight lasted less than a minute.
It felt longer.
When it ended, three stormlings lay dead on the shelves, four had fled, and one harvester had a charged bite through his boot but no missing toes, which everyone agreed was a good result. Jorren’s shield smoked faintly. Maerin’s left sleeve was singed. Liora looked exhilarated in a way that suggested she had been born with poor instincts regarding danger.
Rohan leaned on his spear, breathing hard.
His arms trembled from the stormling shock.
Veska peered at him.
"You pulled dead ash over live charge."
Rohan looked up.
"I did what?"
"That was dead ash. Old grey. No storm memory. You used it to smother the pulse."
"I was trying not to have my arm bitten off."
"Good method."
"Thank you?"
Veska nodded, apparently satisfied, and returned to watching the sky.
Rohan looked at Maerin.
"Is she always like that?"
"Yes."
"Good. I was worried it was me."
The harvest resumed, faster now.
Rohan’s reward share from the stormlings and storm-silver harvest was the largest he had earned so far. More importantly, the death essence from the stormlings pushed him close to another rank.
He could feel it, though the Great System did not show exact numbers unless he focused hard enough to make the panel expand.
That was another thing he had learned.
The system responded to intent.
Not words, necessarily.
Focus.
When he wanted a broad status, it gave one. When he wanted details, it sometimes unfolded them.
When he wanted answers he had not earned, it remained silent in a way that felt almost smug.