Chapter 88 – Frost and Fire

  The Scratching in the Night

  It began as a whisper—

  a low, deliberate scrape along the outpost’s outer wall. Metal on wood.

  Seven’s eyes snapped open.

  The heating coils hummed softly in the dark, casting a faint orange glow across the room. He swung his legs off the cot, rifle already in his hands. The sound came again—slow, rhythmic, as if something was testing the barrier.

  From the adjoining office-turned-infirmary came a hoarse voice.

  “…What’s that noise?” Kael rasped, ears twitching.

  Seven moved to the frost-fogged window, brushing away the thin layer of ice with his sleeve. “The Frost Stag... again,” he murmured.

  Kael struggled upright. “Again?”

  “Yeah.” Seven’s tone stayed even, but his grip tightened on the rifle. “I should’ve dealt with it days ago. If it gets bold enough to ram these walls, this place comes down.”

  He exhaled, breath clouding the glass. Beyond the treeline, a massive silhouette moved—antlers like branching spears catching the moonlight.

  “Or I wait for it to get hungrier,” he added. “And I don’t like waiting.”

  Kael winced, his expression revealing the decision. “You’re going after it.”

  Seven slid a mana cell into the chamber with a click. “Try to rest. Lock the door and pray it’s not smart enough to use the handle.”

  The predawn air cut like glass. Snow muffled everything—the crunch of Seven’s boots, the steady hum of his bionic arm, the faint pulse of mana through the rifle.

  The Frost Stag waited in the clearing, framed between two collapsed warehouses. Taller than any horse, its hide shimmered with pale crystalline plates. Frost coiled around its hooves; every step left a ring of rime that spread like smoke.

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  Seven took position behind a half-buried supply wagon. The beast’s breath fogged in great plumes, each exhale spiking the air temperature.

  “Why do I always get the strong ones?” he muttered, forcing a smirk. His arm whirred as sigils crawled over the plating. Enchanted Combat—low surge. Veins of light ignited beneath his skin, and his pulse slowed to a calm, heavy rhythm.

  He shouldered the Nameless Wing Rifle for the first time in months. The weight felt right—balanced, familiar. He fed mana into the cell; the weapon answered with a soft whine, hungry after its long silence.

  Seven steadied his breathing. One squeeze.

  The first shot cracked through the dawn. A streak of crimson light tore across the clearing—

  —and shattered harmlessly against a translucent dome that flared around the stag’s body.

  The beast bellowed, lowering its head. Frost spiraled outward as it charged.

  Seven dove sideways, rolling to his feet. The impact of its hooves rattled the ground. Splinters of ice shot past him like knives.

  “Of course you’ve got a barrier,” he grunted, chambering another round.

  The stag stomped angrily, and unexpectedly, jagged ice spires shot up from the ground, racing toward him like razor-sharp teeth. Seven leaped backward, steadying the rifle against his shoulder with purpose.

  "Looks like Lola wasn’t joking about the old days,” he muttered, deftly dodging another spike. Beasts learned to create barriers when humans started using firearms—nature’s evolution has its quirks.

  He fired again, this time aiming for a shoulder shot. The barrier shimmered defiantly, but he noticed faint cracks beginning to spiderweb across the dome.

  “Come on,” he hissed, frustration flickering in his expression. He opened the rifle, reloaded the chamber with precision, and shut it with an assuring metallic clack. His mana was dwindling, yet he remembered the countless hours of Ripper's drills—endless training in mana control, stamina, and weapon forms had gifted him a newfound discipline.

  Finding his center, he channeled just the right amount of mana into the cell. The sigils on the barrel flared brightly, crimson weaving into the familiar blue glow.

  With focus, he fired again. The barrier flickered but held. His resolve strengthening, he took another shot, watching the cracks deepen. The stag lowered its head, charging fiercely, frost billowing behind it like a storm.

  “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got!” Seven growled, determination setting his teeth on edge. Instead of switching ammunition, he poured mana into the cell, each round hitting harder and faster. The recoil jolted his shoulder, yet his bionic arm swiftly compensated for it. The barrier trembled, splintered, and then finally collapsed entirely.

  The final round pierced through the stag’s chest, causing it to stumble before it fell, its antlers gouging into the snow with a resounding thud.

  Steam hissed from the wound as it lay there, its mana dissipating into the cold air.

  Seven stood over the fallen beast, steam rising from his shoulders. His breath came in heavy clouds. The rifle smoked, its mana lines fading from bright red to dull amber.

  He wiped frost from his eyelashes and activated his token.

  A soft chime: +26 points. Total: 68.

  “Still not enough,” he muttered. “But you won’t be circling my walls again.”

  He crouched briefly, running a gloved hand over the creature’s antlers—solid mana crystal, old and pure. A pity he couldn’t haul it; too heavy, too far.

  By the time he returned to the outpost, dawn had begun to bleed across the treetops. Pale light spilled through the cracked shutters, painting the interior in soft gold.

  Kael dozed fitfully on the cot, bandages clean and dry. The generator hummed steadily, warmth holding back the cold’s bite.

  Seven set the rifle against the wall and flexed his arm. Black frost veined across the plating where the corrupted crystal’s influence had spread further. He rubbed at it, but the stain didn’t fade.

  “Later,” he muttered, forcing the fingers to clench and unclench. “One problem at a time.”

  He sank into the chair beside the heater, eyes closing for the first time in hours. Outside, the wind picked up again, carrying the scent of ice and blood through the ruins.

  The fourth day of the trial had begun—

  and somewhere in the far distance, another flare was waiting to rise.