Cain's body spiraled through open sky, arms tucked in tight, gliding no longer an option.
Yet panic couldn't be seen in his eyes.
His fall was deliberate — reckless but calculated.
The birds glided along with him, watching his descent with sharp eyes and sharper instincts.
He twisted midair, arms angled awkwardly to appear vulnerable. Sure enough, one of the bolder ones dove in.
Cain didn't resist.
He let it take him.
The moment its claws tightened around his right leg, Cain yanked it inward and snapped his left leg up — locking it around the bird's neck in a tight, twisting hold.
The creature flailed, wings beating hard, its two-meter span fluttering wildly as air was choked from its lungs.
Cain gritted his teeth, every muscle straining to hold it. The other birds screeched above, growing wary, circling but hesitant to get close.
With a sharp grunt, Cain shifted.
The moment the bird's body went limp, he twisted and kicked — launching himself off its fading mass like a springboard.
The burst of force shot him slightly upward, bought him another few seconds of control.
But the reprieve was short.
The flock regrouped fast. More agile in the air, they darted in from all angles. Wings sliced the wind. Beaks snapped at his limbs.
Cain holstered his gun mid-tumble, fingers swift and steady.
He slid the left short sword back into its sheath and clipped both blades to the heavy-duty harness hook strapped across his belt.
Then, after a breath to steady himself, he drew them again. Losing gear this early in the run wasn't an option.
[Altitude: 2,601 Meters]
The winds screamed past Cain's ears as his descent stabilized, but the danger had only just begun.
With keen instinct, the mutated black-winged predators closed in, forming a deadly cage around him — above, below, left and right.
These weren't mindless beasts — they smelled youth, sensed vulnerability.
A lone human child midair was prey.
Cain glanced at the speedometer flashing in his terminal.
[Speed: 410 km/h]
No time to hesitate.
With a twist of his core, he coiled his body, then snapped into a full aerial spin — blades drawn in both hands, forming a deadly whirling axis. Just like in his wind tunnel drills, only this time, failure meant death.
He spun five full revolutions, the momentum blurring his form like a top in freefall. Steel flashed — sharp, deliberate strikes amid the blur.
His right blade connected first, tearing through the wing of the left-flanking bird.
The creature shrieked as it spiraled downward, black feathers scattering like shrapnel.
Mid-spin, Cain caught a rising updraft and instinctively opened his arms, letting it lift him just enough.
In that brief ascent, he twisted again — his blade meeting the belly of the bird above. With a wet tear, digested sludge, blood, and gut matter exploded outward, painting the air in a grotesque arc.
The predator faltered, its organs spilling as it fought to maintain lift, wounded but not yet downed.
Cain's rotation slowed, and he regained posture, breath thrilled.
'Beating up these birds is so thrilling. I better not be too immersed.'
His glide path had slowed, but he got what he needed.
With a fierce look, the birds flinched, hesitating — this wasn't just prey.
This was a blade-dancer plummeting through the skies.
[Altitude: 2,398 Meters]
Seeing their larger kin fall, the smaller birds surged forward to reclaim dominance.
A dozen of them flanked Cain from all directions, their younger bodies leaner, faster, and more erratic.
Their formation tightened — each sweep brought them a meter closer.
They weren't just following instinct anymore. They were testing him, seeking to prove themselves worthy of the flock's lost pride.
Cain tracked their rhythm.
'Ten meters. Nine. Eight.'
Their spiral narrowed around him.
The birds adapted.
Cain could tell by the way their formation shifted, wings flaring in perfect synchronization.
They weren't gambling on a close approach anymore — knowing he'd spun through them once, cleaving their ranks.
That lesson had been learned.
This time, they sped past him, angling upward before snapping back down with razor-sharp precision. Their beaks didn't glow — not like their leader that could harness primal energy.
But something else dripped from their maws.
A slick, caustic green fluid glimmered in the sunlight, trailing thin strings of vapor as it spilled into the wind.
A single drop splattered onto his clothes, hissing against the basic enchantment barrier. Tiny plumes of steam curled from the surface, sizzling and popping like rain on a hot plate.
Cain's eyes flickered wide.
'Acidic Spit?'
Not magical, but potent enough to burn through reinforced material if given time.
They weren't just pecking him to death. They were trying to melt him.
Cain's pulse quickened, his body tensing as the birds wheeled around for another pass.
He didn't wait for them to get clever.
He let birds spit it out — twelve bursts of green phlegm, each globule the size of a clenched fist.
They arced through the air with disturbing accuracy, trailing thin strands of vapor.
Cain twisted midair, the wind snapping at his wingsuit as he dipped and rolled, weaving between the shots with sharp, precise movements.
One shot whizzed past his helmet, its heat releasing a fine mist that spread like micro-aerosols, seeping through the vents and corroding one of the air filters inside.
Cain grimaced, thinking fast.
'I couldn't just let that much acid go to waste.'
With a simple telekinetic manipulation — he caught the floating globules and swirling them into one large blob.
With a quick pistol drawing, a plasma burst spell shot ripped through the slimy mass.
A single shot — the caustic liquid instantly vaporized into a fine, noxious haze.
It sprayed backward, catching the flock off guard. Some veered off, screeching and flapping wildly, others spiraled momentarily blinded, shaking their heads to clear their eyes and nostrils.
Cain cracked his neck, re-centering his glide.
Cain's eyes darted to his terminal.
[Altitude: 1,917 Meters]
The ground was minutes away now, the rocky terrain rushing to greet him faster than he liked.
And the birds? They weren't giving up at all.
Even with acid burning through their feathers, the flock still pursued him.
He scanned the terrain, eyes narrowed, searching for any advantage he could seize.
Then he saw it.
'Those ugly trees might work.'
Hundreds of meters tall, black and gnarled like warped steel, their trunks formed a jagged canopy.
He'd read about them — dense bark that could resist artillery.
They grew near the borders, some rumored to eat flesh, but Cain didn't care.
He had a plan.
He tightened his limbs and angled into a steeper dive.
The cold wind misting through his helmet.
The birds followed, no one had an advantage — he knew every bird could maneuver tight spaces at high speed.
'We'll see who's better then.'
Once inside the old forest, he'd use the rope, the trees, and sheer madness to lose them.
He dove harder.
Faster.
But so did they.
Especially the leader — the massive one, four meters wide and coated in armored feathers.
It didn't hesitate, matching his dive perfectly.
Side by side, their bodies whistled through the air — a near-perfect 90-degree dive.
'A little more push.'
Two more spells were manually cast — Heaviness and Airstream.
Cain's speed overtook the massive bird.
'I need to maintain air superiority through velocity and maneuverability. If I lose either, it'll peck me apart long before my magicules run dry.'
"Terminal report speed and altitude."
[Speed: 556 km/h]
[Altitude: 1,691 Meters]