Crabby

Steven pressed into the cliff caves, the damp chill seeping through his tunic as he clutched the Wyrmling Hunt flyer, its 3-silver lure pulling him onward. The tunnel snaked ahead, dim and dripping, shadows flickering across wet stone. His bronze D-rank card weighed in his pocket, but the wyrmling wasn’t his first foe—lesser creatures lurked in the gloom, eager to test him.

Bats struck first—a swarm of fist-sized pests screeched from the ceiling, wings beating a chaotic storm. Steven ignited Fists of Holy Fury, golden flames wreathing his gloves. He swung wide, fists a blur of light—each punch cracked skulls and scorched wings, dropping a dozen in a flurry of radiant jabs, their charred bodies tumbling to the floor. Next came crabs—large, palm-sized critters with snapping claws, scuttling from crevices. He shifted tactics, sparking Feet of Holy Fury, boots ablaze. He danced through their ranks, stomping hard—shells shattered under glowing heels, fifteen crushed in a rhythm of fiery kicks, their innards oozing across the stone.

The passage widened, and a monstrous shadow loomed—a King Crab, its shell a towering six-foot dome, claws like reaping blades. Steven grinned, reigniting Feet of Holy Fury. He leapt, flipping mid-air, and slammed a blazing downward kick into its shell—crack—the chitin fissured, a jagged split spidering out. The crab wailed, its bubbly clicks erupting into a rage-filled chorus as its massive pincer swung. Steven rolled aside, the claw gouging the wall. He spun, a 360-degree fist smashing its left eye into a pulpy mess—green goo sprayed. Combo locked, he vaulted up, forward-flipping, and drove a radiant punch into the cracked shell—SPLAT—crab juice burst everywhere, splattering the cave. The beast shimmered and vanished, leaving five slabs of King Crab Chitin in its wake, glinting faintly. He stashed them in his 5-slot bag.

Silence settled, his boots crunching shale as he trekked on, the air growing heavier. Then—a hiss, sharp and primal. The tunnel yawned into a cavern, and there it coiled: the wyrmling. Ten feet of sinewy menace, scales a mottled green-black, spines bristling down its back. Its yellow eyes glowed, venom gleaming on dagger-long fangs, tail twitching like a lash. Steven cracked his knuckles, golden flickers sparking. “Let’s dance, you ugly fuck,” he growled, charging with Fists of Holy Fury ablaze.

The wyrmling lunged, jaws snapping—Steven dodged, but its tail whipped around—crack—slamming his ribs. Pain flared, a bruise pulsing as he staggered. He countered, a radiant fist crashing into its snout—scales split, blood trickled—but it snarled, claws slashing. A deep gash tore his forearm, venom burning like acid. He grit his teeth, casting Holy Magic, golden light stitching the wound slow but steady, dulling the sting. He dove back in, ducking a claw swipe, landing a blazing uppercut—its head rocked, dazed.

It recoiled, tail lashing again—thwack—raking his thigh, ripping flesh and cloth. Blood welled, and Steven hissed, healing once more, light sealing the cut as he shook off the ache. The wyrmling roared, lunging—fangs bared—but he sparked Feet of Holy Fury, spinning into a radiant kick that smashed its jaw—crunch—teeth broke loose. It reared, shrieking, and Steven surged—fists pummeling its skull, scales shattering under holy fire. He leapt, Saiyan Fury igniting—his whole body blazed gold, speed and power spiking as he drove both fists down. The wyrmling’s head buckled, a wet snap resounding as it collapsed, dead.

Steven stood, chest heaving, flames fading. Two heals, two scars—victory hard-won. The wyrmling shimmered, dissolving, loot sure to follow. His D-rank grit had prevailed, but the cave’s shadows hinted at more.