SSS-Awakening: I Have Infinite Talents

"It is better to die on your feet than to live on your knees." — Emiliano Zapata.

– – –

They came from everywhere.

Hundreds of heavily mutated wolves poured out of the shattered windows and collapsed alleyways.

They swarmed across the rooftops, pushed through the broken doorways, and squeezed through the gaps in the rubble.

The ruined street became a killing ground, enclosed on all sides by glowing amber eyes.

The squad formed a tight defensive circle without being told.

They pressed their backs against one another with their blades drawn. The sheer number of beasts was staggering.

The wolves packed the street so densely that there was no gap between their bodies.

Thomas swore under his breath. His iron blade was raised, but his eyes were darting between the hundreds of wolves surrounding them.

The math was ugly. Five recruits against hundreds of mutants was not a fight. It was a feeding frenzy.

Myra’s blades were steady, but her breathing had changed.

The slow, controlled rhythm she maintained during patrol had been replaced by short, sharp inhales that came faster with every second. Her green eyes were calculating distances and escape routes, and finding none.

Then the pack parted.

It wasn’t random. The wolves moved with disciplined, military-like precision, creating a clear path through the center of the horde.

They stepped aside the way soldiers stepped aside for a commanding officer. Their bodies lowered and their amber eyes averted.

The respect was instinctive. The obedience was absolute.

Through the gap stepped something that brought the entire street to a standstill.

It was twice the height of the largest wolf in the pack, and three times the width. Its body was covered in thick, dark silver fur that was scarred across the chest and shoulders.

The old wounds had healed into thick, raised tissue. They were trophies from years of fighting and killing.

But the heads were the worst part.

There were two of them. One on the left and one on the right, both attached to the same thick, muscular neck.

The eyes on both heads were bright, burning gold, and they carried an intelligence that was immediately unsettling.

This was not a mindless beast. This was a creature that had been hunting, learning, and evolving for years.

Its paws cracked the concrete pavement with every step. The weight behind each stride was enough to leave deep impressions in the stone.

Beast Analysis fired instantly.

[Twin-Headed Dire Wolf Alpha - Level 15]

Stats: Very High Strength, High Vitality, High Agility, Moderate Spirit.

Abilities: [Dual Command], [Alpha Howl], [Flux Surge]

Flux Equivalent: 65%.

Pack Size: 300+ confirmed.

Behavioral Pattern: Apex Pack Leader, Highly Intelligent, Coordinates Pack With Military-Level Strategy.

Tasha’s breath hitched. It was quiet and barely noticeable, but in the silence of the street, everyone heard it.

Her twin daggers were trembling in her hands. Not from fear exactly, but from the overwhelming reality of what she was looking at.

Three hundred wolves. One Alpha. Five recruits.

They were completely cut off from any Astralis reinforcements. The outpost was kilometers away.

In short, nobody was coming to save them.

Dexter took a step backward. His boot scraped the concrete, and the sound was loud enough to make the nearest wolves snap their heads toward him.

"We’re all going to die."

Micah moved fast.

He grabbed Dexter by the shoulder and shoved him back into formation. The push was hard enough to make Dexter stumble, and the noble’s eyes went wide as Micah’s hand stayed on his shoulder, holding him in place.

"Nobody is dying," Micah said. His voice cut through the silence. It was loud enough for every member of the squad to hear.

"Hold the perimeter. Tasha, left side. Myra, right side. Thomas, rear. Dexter, you stay in the center and you do not move unless I tell you to."

He released Dexter’s shoulder and stepped forward. Out of the circle. Into the open space between the squad and the Alpha.

The wolves nearest to him snarled and snapped.

He ignored them. His eyes were locked on the Alpha, and the twin golden gazes of both heads were locked on him.

Micah drew the Widow’s Wail. The blade sang as it left the scabbard.

The micro-vibration edge hummed at forty thousand cycles per second. Its pitch-black steel seemed to absorb the faint light around it.

"No one goes after the alpha apart from me. I’ll handle the Alpha," he said. "Keep the pack off me."

Tasha looked at Micah’s back and then shifted into her combat stance and faced the left side of the perimeter.

Myra did the same on the right. Thomas held the rear. Dexter stayed in the center with his broadsword raised.

The Alpha studied Micah for three long seconds. Both heads tilted slightly, and the golden eyes read him the way a predator reads its prey.

It was assessing him. Measuring his size, his stance, his weapon, his energy. Calculating whether he was a threat or a meal.

Then both heads threw back and howled simultaneously.

The sound hit like a physical wall. It was a dual-pitched shriek that carried a Flux-charged shockwave across the entire street.

The windows that were still intact shattered. Loose rubble was thrown into the air. The squad staggered with their hands going to their ears.

VROOM!!

The pack charged.

Three hundred wolves launched themselves at the defensive circle in a coordinated wave.

The first row came in low, aiming for legs. The second row came in high, aiming for throats. The third row leaped over the first two, using their pack mates as springboards to reach the center of the formation.

Micah activated the Phantom Carapace. The suit tightened against his body beneath his uniform, and its kinetic diffusion layer engaged at full capacity.

He stepped into the charging horde and met the first wave head-on.

The Widow’s Wail moved.

The blade cut through the first wolf so cleanly that the creature didn’t register it was dead until its top half separated from its bottom half.

The micro-vibrating edge didn’t slow down as it passed through muscle and bone. It just went through, and Micah was already swinging at the next one.

He moved like a ninja in the dark through the pack.

The Shadow Step Boots fired in short, precise bursts that carried him between wolves faster than they could track.

A lateral dash to the left. A diagonal cut to the right. A spinning slash that took two wolves at once. The Widow’s Wail hummed as it severed limbs and shattered skulls. Blood sprayed across the concrete in every direction.

The first wave hit him with enough force to drive his feet into the ground. Bodies piled up at his feet, and the wolves behind them stumbled over their fallen pack mates.

The pile created a momentary gap in the assault.

But the pack was too dense. There were too many bodies and too many jaws.

For every wolf he cut down, two more took its place.

The sheer volume of the assault made evading every strike impossible. A wolf clipped his left arm with its claws.

The claws tore through his uniform sleeve and left three shallow cuts across his bicep. Another wolf lunged at his back, and only the Phantom Carapace’s kinetic diffusion saved him from a serious wound.

The suit absorbed the impact and spread it across his body, but the force still pushed him forward two steps.

He was killing them faster than they could replace their numbers, but the pack didn’t care. They kept coming. Three hundred wolves, and each one was willing to die if it meant creating an opening for the next one.

Then Micah saw a wolf break through the left side of the perimeter. It was smaller than the others, but much faster. He turned toward it, but another wolf crashed into him from the front, forcing him to brace against the impact.

That split second was enough.

The smaller wolf closed the distance before Micah could recover. Its fangs sank into his armored thigh. The Phantom Carapace absorbed most of the force, but the wolf’s bite still punched through the suit’s diffusion layer at the joint, where the protection was thinnest.

A sharp pain shot through his leg as the fangs drew a shallow streak of blood.

The bite was minor. It was a surface wound, not deep enough to cripple and not serious enough to slow him down. But it was exactly what he needed.

[Ding!]

[Physical injury detected. Source: Mutant Gray-Fang Wolf, pack assault.]

[Injury severity: Minor. Superficial laceration on left thigh.]

[Low-tier Gacha pull granted.]

Micah killed the wolf with a downward stab through its skull. The Widow’s Wail punched through the bone and into the brain, and the creature went limp.

Its jaws loosened from his thigh and it dropped to the ground.

The low-tier pull was nice, but it wasn’t what he was looking for. A minor injury gave a minor reward. He needed something bigger. Something that could turn the tide of this fight.

He needed a bigger injury.

The Alpha was still standing at the far end of the street. Both heads were watching him with golden eyes that tracked every move. It hadn’t engaged yet.

It was letting its pack soften the prey before committing itself.

Micah gritted his teeth and looked at the wall of wolves between him and the Alpha. Hundreds of beasts were still charging, still snarling, and still trying to kill him.

He needed to get to the Alpha. And he needed to take a real hit along the way.

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