Apocalypse Healer - Path of Death

No time was wasted. They weaved through the narrow side alleys and emerged at Arc's outskirts. Melach rushed ahead, his robe fluttering as he clutched the Mage Wand tightly. Torb appeared next to David as they followed the Elf's hurried strides.

"Was it really necessary to mention his family?" Torb asked.

David shook his head. "It wasn't necessary, but it seemed like the easiest way to convince Melach to leave at once."

"And now I'm headed to the southern Riftwith a bunch of idiots. Perfect," Torb grumbled into his beard.

They were heading toward one of the three Common Rifts instead of the odd Demon-type Rift. It wasn't the most dangerous per se, but the fewest fighters were heading toward the southern Rift. Only ten people, including their team of three, were headed that way, while more than twenty teams were attacking the Demon-type Rift.

Melach led the way, leaving Arc's safety behind and accelerating as they reached the highway connecting to the city. The southern Rift wasn't located in the city but had materialized close to its outskirts near a small forest. Since the highway was mostly intact and nearly void of Infected, it only took them ten minutes to reach it. Along the way, Melach released a lesser version of [Arcane Blast] to eliminate a few pesky Infected.

Melach barely slowed as they neared the Rift, his intense focus locked on the swirling vortex ahead. David followed his example, fixing his gaze on the vortex, which swirled in vivid purples—unnatural hues clashing violently with the lush green of the surrounding land.

At first glance, David couldn't see much more than the vortex hovering several meters above a grassy field beside the highway. Behind it, the forest was alive with yellowish-glowing eyes.

The vortex raged and shifted colors, expanding and deflating as it spat out gray-furred creatures. They walked on four legs, with long snouts, razor-sharp fangs, and extensive claws that dug deep into the wet soil. Their predatory eyes locked onto the prey that had come willingly to them. A cacophony of growls resounded, and the yellow slits blending with the forest began to move.

The time to hide had ended.

May the hunt begin.

"Wolves. Dozens of them," David murmured, unsheathing his sword.

Torb groaned. "We call them Fangs. The Aether fueling their bodies strengthens their senses and muscles, giving them more speed and strength than regular wolves."

The Fangs were larger than average wolves, if only by ten to twenty centimeters. Their weapons—their fangs and claws—looked dangerous, and they showed no fear of confrontation. The newly spawned Fangs turned to Melach as the Elf released an [Arcane Blast], breaking the neck of one of them. Meanwhile, other Fangs charged out of the forest in unison. Acting as one, they stepped onto the highway and circled their prey.

Only twenty Fangs dashed toward David and his group, but nobody complained, not even David.

His heart raced as he observed the Fangs. Their entire being exuded the terrifying essence of apex predators. They were fast, strong, and intelligent, working together to wear down their enemies and eliminate them cleanly.

Their bloodlust filled David's mind—or was it something else? He felt as though he could sense their intent, their primal hunger. Every nerve in his body screamed warnings, amplifying both fear and awe at the apex predators closing in on him.

The signs were enough for anyone to fight defensively, eliminating one Fang at a time—but David acted as he pleased.

He charged ahead, activating [Bless] on himself, Melach, and Torb. The range of [Bless] didn't reach the others, or he would have included them. But that was fine. He would get to them soon enough.

A blur of blue—a mana projectile—whisked past David's head, its shocking velocity leaving him stunned for a split second before it smashed into a Fang's face. The monster wasn't dead but yelped in pain and was about to fall back when David appeared before it. The injured Fang's companions jumped to help, but so did Torb. The Dwarf's shield smashed into one Fang's face before his mace followed, breaking its neck.

David's longsword cut deep into the injured Fang's chest. Without waiting for the kill notification, he yanked the blade free and twisted to evade the pounce of another Fang. Its claws grazed him, but the injury wasn't deep. David spun around, ignoring the wound, and beheaded the Fang in a single move.

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Blood splattered everywhere—a sight that would have horrified him a week ago. Now, it barely registered, though his heartbeat accelerated. The blood's warmth on his skin and the cacophony of pained yelps, terrified screams, and metal slicing through flesh stirred something within him. It didn't change him forever, but it affected him. Just for a moment.

The scent of blood and death overwhelmed David, who suddenly began to move with more precision. He kicked off the ground and leaped forward. Someone shouted behind him—maybe Melach, whose [Arcane Blast] shot past and shattered a Fang's skull—but David couldn't make out the words.

He moved through the battlefield, ignoring the Fangs pouncing on him, and focused only on one or two at a time. His shoulders burned as a monster's fangs sank deep into them, but the weight was torn away when Torb's mace smashed the creature's head to smithereens. David killed a few more Fangs in the following seconds. The creatures tried to wear him down, inflicting cuts and wounds across his body, but they didn't succeed.

Another [Arcane Blast] nearly struck David but instead smashed into the Fang that had pounced on his back, breaking its spine. Torb's mace followed, whizzing past David—always missing him by a beat but never the target.

Only seconds had passed since David dashed forward, yet more than a dozen Fangs lay dead. Though his body was covered in wounds, a single use of [Cure Wounds] was enough to stop the bleeding.

Leveling up [Cure Wounds] was worth it.

He smiled faintly as he activated the Skill Rune again. The faintest claw marks disappeared immediately, while deeper wounds tormenting him knitted together rapidly.

"Is everyone alright?" David asked, his grin widening almost involuntarily.

"You look like a fucking lunatic," Torb said, shaking his head.

Melach snorted. "He doesn't just look like one. He is one!"

David smirked. "I'll take that as a yes."

Nearby Fangs hesitated, probably considering another attack. But when Melach conjured a fireball in his hand, their last shred of confidence shattered. They fled with their tails tucked firmly between their legs.

David turned his attention to the other group. Blood soaked the ground as they struggled to hold back the relentless Fangs. Their wounds went untreated, forcing them to retreat in desperation.

About a quarter of the Fangs had died to [Mana Bullets], arrows, or a Warrior's [Slash], but the rest of the pack remained unscathed. The surviving creatures circled the Protectors, striking whenever one of them let their guard down. With every attack, they created openings for their brethren, retreating just as quickly to regroup.

Their teamwork was impeccable, catching David off guard.

"Why didn't they fight like this against us?" he murmured as Torb rushed past him, shaking his head.

"They tried to," Torb replied. "But it didn't work. Who can blame them? Their prey was a crazy idiot, after all."

Torb accelerated, reaching the pack in no time. He greeted them with his shield, crashing into their ranks and stunning one Fang while his vibrating mace descended on another.

Melach strode past David, mumbling something in an unfamiliar language. Several small, blue masses appeared above his outstretched hand.

The blue trails streaked through the air, slamming into three Fangs with devastating force. Despite their size, the projectiles tore through the Fangs with brutal precision. Eyes burst, throats exploded, and two out of the three collapsed dead. The third took an arrow to the neck and fell moments later.

David clicked his tongue. "Don't take all the fun!"

He charged into the fray, cleaving through several Fangs as he made his way to the inner circle. The ground was slick with blood as he reached the injured group—a mix of humans, two Elves, and a warrior from a race David didn't recognize.

"Hey there," David said, smiling as his hands glowed with healing magic. "I heard you could use some help."

As two Fangs pounced toward him, David spun around, his blade slicing cleanly through their lower bellies in one sweeping strike. Without missing a beat, he turned back to the injured.

"The bloody Cleric at your service!" He exclaimed.

The Rift crackled loudly behind him, drawing his attention. He turned to see it expanding. His smile cracked as three massive wolves, and an even larger beast emerged from the vortex, their presence suffocating.

The Rift Boss and its underlings had arrived.

David barely registered the hulking forms before one of the great wolves blurred. A Mini-Boss disappeared and reappeared in the Protectors' circle. Its claws swept through the crowd, tearing through a heavily armed Warrior as if he were paper.

David's eyes widened in horror as blood and body parts sprayed everywhere. He caught the Warrior's wide, terrified expression the instant before it was obliterated. Swallowing hard, his stomach twisted in dread.

Didn't Torb say their idiot of a Warrior was already at the Bronze Rank?

David's gaze lingered on the remains, his lips pursed.

Not anymore.

He didn't know how strong the Warrior had been, but one thing was clear:

If the Mini-Bosses were this powerful, the Rift Boss had to be a monstrosity!