Seeing the slight opening, the wolf charged with a palm.
Cain tried to parry with his elbow, imbued with fortification and sharpness magic, aiming to inflict pain on the wolf's hand.
The beast shifted mid-strike — what began as a palm thrust dipped low, twisting into a sweeping kick aimed at Cain's midsection.
Cain caught it with both arms, blocking high.
The impact made him skid half a dozen meters away — dirt kicked up around his boots.
His bones rang — but Cain's will didn't crack.
He launched himself forward, going in for another flurry — left, right, low hook, and a rising elbow.
Each move an attempt to break rhythm, to disrupt the wolf's perfect counters.
Yet the beast's martial arts flow through him like water.
Always slipping, and always redirecting — however, Cain felt it.
The wolf was repeating patterns.
A loop — its speed, perfection, and precision was a cage.
Cain took the next hit deliberately, just a graze across the ribs — but enough to retaliate.
Cain's foot connected hard.
The moment of impact echoed through his shin and reverberated into the wolf's limbs, sending the beastman airborne like a snapped cable.
He landed with a rough roll, gauntlet scraping across broken stone, feet skidding until momentum bled dry.
Cain didn't follow up the hit — he was handing the wolf a way out.
The wolf rose slower than before.
Despite being a beast, his twin arms, once guarded like swords, now trembled faintly, shallow lines torn through the fur, bruises blooming dark and bluish across the joints.
The damage wasn't fatal, not even close — but it was starting to pile.
Cain could tell the wolf noticed it too. His posture held, but his breathing hitched.
That thin edge of confidence was still there — but it was thinning.
Cain narrowed his eyes beneath the visor.
The wolf's gaze darted, scanning his own injuries before flicking toward the lion — still clawing through the three giants adversaries.
For a second, Cain caught it — that glint of hatred, not toward him, but toward his comrade, the lion.
The wolf wasn't stupid, he had realized it — the co-pack wasn't just slain, he was used as lure.
Bait for the giants — another sacrifice for the money.
Cain saw the moment it snapped together behind the beast's eyes — rage meeting clarity.
Without hesitation, the wolf reached for his belt and unlatched two canisters — one painted a matte, chilling blue, the other stained like rot and ash.
The canine made a mask clung to his snout without delay — a hiss followed, the blue can began to freeze the air itself, dropping mist and crystals across the cracked concrete.
Then the white one burst open, vomiting a harsh, throat-clawing smoke that burned the senses even through Cain's reinforced filters.
Cain instinctively stepped back, suit alarms blinking red for atmospheric disruption.
'Those are custom made spell grenades... I wonder where he'd get it.'
He could barely track the wolf's figure anymore — only flickers of fur and shadow weaving through the smoke.
He raised his pistols and fired.
One shot. Two. Four more.
The bullets were met mid-air — reflected, redirected, parried out of the air with unnatural precision.
The wolf was throwing his knives not to kill, but to defend — shattering the path between him and the boy.
"Let him be then... I need to at least... Recompose myself..."
Gasping for air, Cain breath fogged the inside of his visor.
The clash had cracked his helmet's systems, and now the suit was hungry for magicules.
He held back, in battle, energy wasn't safety — it was survival.
Cain adjusted for pursuit, legs tensing — but he stopped himself.
His limbs were already burning from constant exertion and bruised all over.
If the wolf wanted a death match, he would've stayed.
But no one wanted that — the bastard had chosen to live.
Cain didn't chase — not with that gas.
Instead, he lowered the rifle, took the tablet on his bag, and operated it.
With a flicker, he utilized the wasps — already out across the ceiling beams and half-collapsed scaffoldings, and purging surveillance of the beastmen with interference.
One camera caught movement — south side, ruined corridor, the wolf vanishing into the mist, never once looking back.
'I guess he'll be plotting for the demise of the lion? Maybe report to his pack leader... For now I can relax.'
Cain slowly exhaled a breath of relief, as he did so, he changed his pistol back to it's rifle setup.
He didn't need to look while he fixed up his equipment — he surveyed the surroundings just in case his position got compromised.
"What is that?"
A faint shimmer near the debris caught his eye — the unmistakable glint of crystal.
Cain didn't approach right away.
Instead, he tossed a rock over the glinting stone — wary it might be booby-trapped.
After a few attempts, he walked over, knelt, and picked it up.
"A shardling core..."
Cold and radiant in his hand.
"Well, at least that's something."
Cain moved through the dissipating gas with slow deliberate steps.
The battlefield hadn't cooled, not truly — but he needed the pause.
Among the disturbed gravel and broken rebar, something faint shimmered underfoot.
His visor adjusted — another shardling core.
Small, dim, still pulsing, but barely.
He crouched and picked it up.
'Maybe the wolf dropped these by accident while fleeing.'
Cain looked ahead, following the trail where the wolf had vanished.
Another glint, tucked near a fallen beam.
Smaller than the last — its radiant radiance was already a dying light.
He checked the wasp drone feedback for more, tapping through live scans on his tablet.
A few minutes of searching ended in a fruitless harvest.
Even combined, the three cores were worth just a gold and a quarter.
The new pricing charts from the Syndicate were etched into his memory, line for line — he'd made sure.
His own investment flashed in his thoughts like a ledger spike.
'Two short swords, despite being generic brand were four gold a blade. I'd paid five just to be here. And for what? A losing business! I should get myself a job soon... Adventuring isn't really for me.'
He shook his head, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth.
What would the old man say? Probably laugh.
Worse than that — Uncle J would chew him out for risking his life over some shardling.
'I knew it was a stupid idea to join this unverified team. But this is too much...'
No time for guilt.
Cain lifted his eyes back toward the fray.
The rhino stood in place — not charging nor retreating.
Its posture had shifted, tower shields tilted slightly at every crunch of rubble — alert and nervous yet blinded by the fog.
Flat on its back, the rat kept singing — voice cracked and dry, coughing globs of blood through a mouth that couldn't stop producing music.
"I'm gonna swing from the chandelier! From the chandelier! I'm gonna...'
Cain's lips curled into a wry smile.
'I used to think Uncle J's stories about people getting high and doing insane things were just myths. Turns out, they were dead on.'
If they weren't fighting for money anymore — maybe he'd let them go.
"But..."