Spark stood near the corpse of the Dire Bison. Observing the almost headless carcass with slight regret. None of the head part could be salvaged.
He knelt. Taking out a large, wicked-looking hunting knife. Time to harvest.
Lilith had also dismounted and approached. Pulling on sturdy gloves. She opened one of the packs. Retrieving smaller, specialized tools. And material bags.
She worked efficiently. Cutting away hide. Separating muscle and organ with practiced ease.
Spark handled the heavier work. Using his brute strength to reposition the carcass. Or cleave through thick bone. He wasn't squeamish. Efficiency was key. Death was a simple fact of this world. And his previous one.
They worked in relative silence. The only sounds were the rip of hide, the slicing of blades, and the occasional grunt of effort. It was a routine born from necessity.
It was not Spark's first hunt. He had done this before. Smaller target though. And in much safer locations.
They had retrieved most of the valuable materials when the air shifted. Not the wind. Something else. Spark felt it first. A subtle tremor in the earth. Light. Too light to be a rhino-horse.
He straightened. His hunting knife still in hand. His eyes were scanning the tall grass.
Lilith also stopped her cutting. Her head snapped up. Her eyes were sharp and alert. She wasn't just a secretary. She was a trained killer. She was trained to recognize danger.
A rustling sound. Too rapid. Yet too large for a small animal. Two. One came from the north. Then another from the east. Fast. Approaching.
Two shapes burst from the grass, moving with alarming speed.
Bladed Hares.
They weren't hares in the common sense. They were huge. Easily the size of large wolves. With powerful hind legs that propelled them in terrifying leaps.
Their forelimbs ended not in paws. But long, curved, bone-like blades. Wickedly sharp blades. Their fur was thick and grey. Their eyes red and feral.
They were pack hunters, usually. Two wasn't a full pack. But it was enough to be dangerous. Especially when their preys were knee-deep in a fresh kill.
The hares stopped. Their bladed forelimbs scraping the earth. Red eyes fixed on Spark and Lilith. On the scent of blood.
Okay. Time for the next test.
Spark held up a hand. Signaling Lilith to stay back.
She didn't argue. She drew a cool looking handgun from the void. Its runes were pulsing faintly. She was prepared to defend herself if needed. But understanding this was his test.
Spark dropped his hunting knife. He didn't need steel. He needed magic.
His left arm throbbed faintly. It was where Honey, his Arcane Fairy dwelt. The source of his Soulcraft power.
He focused. Drawing on the innate mana. Shaping it with his will. The symbol on the back of his hand, the hazard-like tattoo that was his Soulcraft Crest, pulsed with light.
Mana flowed from the crest. Up his arm. And gathered around his fists. It coated his skin. Dense and visible. Like a thick, glowing mist.
Arcane Coating. His first tier Soulcraft magic. Simple. But effective.
The mist solidified slightly. Clinging to his skin. Giving his fists an unnatural, hazy glow. He flexed his fingers inside the coating. It felt like a second skin. Responsive to his thoughts.
The Bladed Hares attacked simultaneously. Closing the distance in a series of blurring bounds. One aimed a raking blow at his chest. The other slashed low at his legs.
Spark sidestepped the low slash. And met the high one head-on. He raised his fist. Coating it in the misty energy. And punched.
His fist met the hare's bone-blade with a sharp sound. It wasn't the sound of flesh hitting bone. Or steel hitting steel. It was a resonant thud. Like steel striking dense, resilient stone.
The Arcane Coating absorbed the impact. The blade scraped against the coating. Failing to cut through. He felt the force transfer. But his fist remained intact. His arm felt the pain. But it didn't break.
He didn't just block. He used the coating offensively.
The first hare was momentarily unbalanced by the failed strike. Spark shifted the mana in his other fist.
The misty coating flowed. Elongating and sharpening. Turning into a short, glowing blade. Extending from his knuckles.
He lashed out. A brutal punch aimed at the hare's flank. The mana-blade sliced through the air. It connected. Not with the clean cut of steel. But a tearing, burning impact.
The hare shrieked. Scrambling back as the raw magic seared its thick fur and tough hide.
The second hare was already circling. Preparing another lunge. Spark retracted the blade from his right fist. Re-shaping the coating into different form.
This time, he focused the energy into a sharp point. Like a spear-tip. Extending from his knuckles.
The hare lunged. Spark met it with a short, powerful thrust. The mana-point struck the hare's shoulder. It wasn't deep. But the concentrated force and magic sent the beast staggering. Yelping in pain.
He was getting the hang of it. Arcane Coating wasn't just for defense. It could be shaped. Bladed for cutting. Pointed for piercing. Blunt and dense for blocking or blunt force impact. It was versatile. Useful.
He blocked another flurry of swipes from the first hare. The coating on his fists absorbing the blows. He kicked out. Connecting with the hare's jaw. It recoiled. Shaking its head.
This was good practice. Testing the limits of the coating. The mana expenditure. The physical strain.
He felt the fatigue starting in his left arm. The cost of maintaining and shaping the mana. His Soulcraft still needed work. Needed efficiency.
But testing wasn't meant to be easy. And he had one more ability to try.
He took a deep breath. Centering himself. The Bladed Hares were circling him. A low, vicious growl rumbling in their throats.
"Right!" Spark grunted. "Enough of that."
He dropped his stance. Letting the Arcane Coating dissipate from his fists. The mana retreated back to his crest.
He needed more power. Something primal. Something that bypassed the technical complexity of Soulcraft or Technomind. He needed... Framepath.
He internally reached for the core of his Framepath talent. He connected to the deep, instinctual wells of power. And unleashed the transformation.
The change didn't happen instantly. But it was fast. Brutal. His body surged, his muscles rippling and expanding beneath his clothes. Ripping some parts apart.
His bones thickened. Shifted. Dark fur erupted across his skin. Thick and black. His jaw elongated. Teeth sharpening into fangs.
His hands and feet twisted. Claws extending from his fingers and toes. His eyes flared with a predatory amber light. A tail, thick and powerful, ripped through the back of his trousers.
In seconds, Spark Nighthawk was gone. Replaced by the Mighty Werelion. A creature of muscle and instinct. Towering over the Bladed Hares.
A low, guttural growl vibrating in his chest. The heat of the transformation subsided. Replaced by raw, focused power.
The Bladed Hares reacted with instinctive terror. They saw not the man. But a top-tier predator. They hesitated for a fraction of a second.
That was all the Werelion needed.
He lunged. Covering the distance in a single bound. The first hare tried to scramble away. But the Werelion's claws were faster.
He swiped. Not with the finesse of Arcane Coating. But with sheer, overwhelming force. The foot-long claws tore through hide, muscle, and bone. The hare was ripped apart. Its shriek cut short.
The second hare was driven by panic and pain. It tried to leap at the Werelion's flank. Its blades flashing.
The Werelion twisted his body. Faster than his size should have allowed. He met the attack not with a block. But with a crushing bite.
His powerful jaws clamped down on the hare's bladed forelimb. There was a sickening crunch of bone and sinew. The hare screamed. A high, painful sound.
The Werelion didn't let go. He shook his massive head. Simply ripping the limb away from the hare's body.
The creature fell. Bleeding profusely. Its frantic scrabbling was useless with only one functional forelimb.
Spark finished it with a single, brutal stomp. Crushing its head.
The transformation faded as quickly as it came. The fur receding. Bones shifting back, claws retracting. Spark stood there, half naked and sweating. Amidst the gore of the two Bladed Hares.
His clothes were in tatters. Lilith, who had watched silently, approached. Carrying a bag of spare clothing from the supply pack.
He took it. The raw power of the Werelion form was immense. Decimating. It required no complex thought. Just pure, physical dominance. Effective for overwhelming threats quickly.
He looked at the dead hares. Then back at the carcass of the Dire Bison. He flexed his hands. Feeling the faint ache from overusing the Arcane Coating. His shoulder also still throbbed from the rifle recoil.
The tests were complete.
The Power Rifle needed refinement. But its sheer destructive force was undeniable. The range was good.
The Arcane Coating from his Soulcraft Crest was versatile. For both defense and offense. He needed more practice controlling the mana flow, increasing the efficiency and duration. But the core function was sound.
The Framepath Fusion, the Mighty Werelion form, was raw power personified. A brutal, decisive transformation for close combat. Costly in terms of energy and physical strain. But devastating.
It ruined his clothes once he used it though. Quite inconvenient when he had to act in public. Perhaps, he could create a runic outfit or armor. One that could adjust itself during transformation.
Each power system worked. Each had its strengths and weaknesses. Each needed further training. Further development. But the fundamentals were solid. They performed as expected.
He felt a grim satisfaction settle over him. He had prepared. He had trained. And his preparations were paying off.
Fate, or whoever it was, had thrown him into this body. Given him these chances. He wouldn't waste them. He would master these powers. He would become untouchable.