The sound of gunfire cracked behind them like thunderclaps tearing through the air. Elisa flinched with each shot, still a stranger to such chaos, but quickly pulled herself together when Dylan took the lead, already shouldering his rifle with calm precision.
In the distance, Maggie was backing away—step by steady step—her shots keeping the envious bitches at bay. The creatures weren't used to that kind of noise. Panic rippled through their ranks as a few dropped from her bullets, their bodies twitching on the ground.
Some began to consider fleeing, their nerve fraying at the edges. But others, enticed by the scent of the fresh corpses, deemed it worth the risk. After all, Maggie was alone. Surrounded.
But whatever fragile hope they clung to shattered in an instant.
A new sound exploded through the trees—more gunfire, but from the front this time. Clear. Precise.
And Maggie... still had her eyes on them.
Which meant—
She wasn't alone.
---
Dylan had opened fire, each bullet placed with surgical intent to carve a path through the chaos. He moved forward without glancing back, trusting Elisa to guide him through the underbrush with sharp directions murmured between clenched teeth.
Those ahead of him had already begun to fall back, skittering into the trees, unsettled by his sudden assault. All that remained was for Maggie to catch up.
Behind them, the forest echoed with snarls and confusion—hyenas torn between instinct and fear. Dylan didn't slow. His breathing was sharp, his focus razor-thin, the weight of the anima gems pressing against his chest like a second heartbeat.
"Left!" Elisa shouted, her voice cracking slightly.
He obeyed without hesitation, pivoting and firing again—short bursts, clean and brutal.
All they needed now was time. Just a few seconds more.
Just enough for Maggie to break through.
---
They hadn't gone far. Just far enough to feel safe from the hyenas.
But when it came to Maggie… even through the trees, Dylan could still see her — cornered.
She was surrounded by the beasts.
Despite her shots, which dropped or pushed back several of them, they kept coming.
They still believed in their numbers.
Dylan wanted to shoot from where he stood, but the distance was too great.
He'd lack precision, and Maggie might get hurt because of him.
He bit his lip, exchanged a glance with the young elf, then handed her his pistol, keeping his rifle.
"You just need to press here if you're attacked," he said, pointing to the trigger. "I need to help the commander."
Without waiting for a reply, he dashed back the way they came.
His body suddenly felt lighter.
He pushed his speed to the max, not holding back.
Weapon in hand, muscles tense, he ran straight toward Maggie.
In the distance, she was still there. Still standing. Still surrounded.
The hyenas, unfazed by the death of their packmates, only saw her now: the predator.
The one they thought wanted all the prey for herself.
Which, of course, wasn't true.
Maggie just wanted to get away.
But they had been too many.
Too fast.
And they had surrounded her before she could react.
Her bullets were already running low.
She changed magazines.
The last one.
She fired in a circle. No need to aim. They were everywhere.
Her bullets hit.
The beasts dropped like rain.
But it wasn't enough.
She pulled the trigger again — a dry click.
Nothing.
Her eyes widened.
A hyena lunged for her face.
She raised her now-useless weapon and drove it into the creature's throat with all her strength.
One down. Just one.
But the others weren't distracted.
They all rushed her.
Claws tore into her back.
Maggie screamed in pain.
But she didn't give in. Not yet.
She grabbed her military war axe from her belt.
Her body burned. Blood streamed down her sides.
She gritted her teeth.
First swing.
She was surprised by her own strength.
The axe split the beast's skull in one blow, but got stuck in the bone.
She yanked it free, growling, and kept going.
Blinded by pain, Maggie kept swinging. Again. And again.
She held back her cries, even as teeth sank into her, even as claws dug into her flesh.
But she — she was a beast too.
Maybe it was the adrenaline.
Maybe the fury.
But she felt strong. Alive.
Her blood still ran hot, even as she bled out.
She struck with purpose.
Aimed for vital spots.
Crushed skulls. One after the other.
She used her whole body — kicks, shoulders, elbows. Her hands turned to stone. And her axe… she wielded it like never before.
She wasn't a commander anymore. Not a woman from some civilized world.
She was a survivor. A wild warrior.
A fury.
But no matter her will, no matter her rage —
She was still alone.
And they… they were still too many.