Chaper 20 : Hector’s First Fight

Hector's heart pounded in his chest as he faced the werewolf. The beast's eyes glowed with a menacing hunger, and its snarls echoed through the empty street. The full moon cast an eerie glow on the scene, making the werewolf's fur shimmer like silver. Every muscle in Hector's body tensed with anticipation. The weight of the dragonhide gloves on his hands, a gift from his mother moments before, reminded him of the seriousness of this fight.

He tightened his grip on the sword, feeling the cool metal against his palm. He glanced at his father, Henry, who was locked in a brutal but one-sided battle with three werewolves and was also keeping an eye on him-watching. His mother, Diana, stood nearby, her face a mix of concern and pride. Hector knew they believed in him, but this was his fight to win.

The werewolf lunged, and Hector's training kicked in. He sidestepped the attack, swinging his sword in a wide arc. The blade connected with the werewolf's arm, cutting through fur and flesh. Blood sprayed, and the werewolf howled in pain. Hector felt a surge of adrenaline. He could do this. He had to do this.

His mind raced with memories of his training. Samrat Saenchai's voice echoed in his head, reminding him of the importance of precision and control. His father's lessons on body magic, the countless hours of practice, all led to this moment. He couldn't let them down.

The werewolf recovered quickly, its eyes burning with rage. It charged again, and Hector met the attack head-on. Their clash was a blur of motion, steel against claws, determination against primal fury. Hector's movements were fluid, each strike deliberate. He landed a few more cuts on the werewolf, drawing blood and weakening it.

But the beast was relentless. It swiped at Hector with its massive claws, and despite his best efforts, he felt the sharp pain as they raked across his side. He staggered back, gasping, but within moments, his body began to heal. The warmth of his regenerative powers spread through him, dulling the pain and knitting the wounds back together.

Hector took a deep breath, focusing on the werewolf. He couldn't let his guard down. He pressed the attack, driving the werewolf back with a series of rapid strikes. The beast snarled and snapped, but Hector was relentless. He moved with a newfound agility, his muscles fueled by adrenaline and magic.

He landed a solid blow on the werewolf's thigh, and the creature stumbled. Hector saw his chance and lunged, driving his sword into the werewolf's leg. The blade sank deep, and the werewolf howled in agony. But as Hector tried to pull the sword free, he found it stuck fast. Panic surged through him. He was weaponless.

The werewolf, sensing his vulnerability, charged with renewed fury. Hector dodged the first swipe, but the second caught him across the chest, tearing through his shirt and leaving deep gashes. He staggered, the pain blinding, but his body began to heal almost immediately. The pain was intense, but it reminded him of his strength, his ability to endure.

Desperation and adrenaline coursed through him. He had to rely on his training, on the lessons his father and Samrat Saenchai had drilled into him. He dropped into a fighting stance, his hands raised, ready to meet the werewolf's next attack.

The werewolf lunged, and Hector reacted instinctively. He sidestepped, landing a solid punch to the werewolf's side. The impact reverberated through his arm, but he didn't hesitate. He followed up with a series of rapid strikes, each blow fueled by his magic-infused strength.

The werewolf growled and snapped, its claws slashing through the air. Hector ducked and weaved, avoiding the worst of the attacks. He landed a powerful kick to the werewolf's knee, causing it to stumble. He pressed the advantage, raining down blows on the creature.

But the werewolf was resilient. It recovered quickly, swiping at Hector with its claws. He blocked the attack with his forearm, feeling the impact jar through his bones. He countered with a punch to the werewolf's jaw, the force of the blow snapping its head back.

Hector's thoughts raced. He couldn't keep this up forever. He needed to end the fight, and fast. He remembered his father's words: "Fight smart, not just hard." He needed to find a way to disable the werewolf, to take it down before it could wear him out.

He scanned the area, his eyes landing on a nearby lamppost. An idea formed in his mind, and he moved quickly, drawing the werewolf towards it. He dodged another swipe, landing a punch to the werewolf's ribs, then another to its jaw. He could see the creature was tiring, its movements becoming sluggish.

With a final burst of speed, Hector spun around the lamppost, using it as leverage to deliver a powerful kick to the werewolf's head. The creature stumbled, dazed. Hector didn't waste a second. He lunged forward, grabbing the werewolf by the neck and slamming it against the lamppost.

The werewolf snarled, struggling to break free, but Hector held on tight. He channeled his magic, feeling it surge through his muscles, giving him the strength he needed. He squeezed harder, cutting off the werewolf's air supply. The creature's struggles grew weaker, its snarls turning to whimpers.

But the fight was far from over. The werewolf, driven by desperation, managed to twist its body and swiped its claws and took out a chunk of his left hand. The pain was excruciating, but Hector refused to let go. He gritted his teeth, using his other hand to punch the werewolf repeatedly in the head.

Each punch was fueled by a mix of rage and determination. He could feel the bones in the werewolf's skull crack under the force of his blows. Finally, with a tremendous effort, he pried the werewolf's jaws open, freeing his arm. Blood poured from the wound, but his body's regenerative abilities kicked in, slowing the bleeding and beginning the healing process.

Hector staggered back, his vision blurred with pain and exhaustion. The werewolf was on its last legs, but it wasn't giving up. It lunged again, but this time Hector was ready. He sidestepped, grabbing the werewolf by the scruff of its neck and using its momentum to slam it into the ground.

The impact stunned the creature, and Hector took advantage. He channeled his magic into his fists, feeling the power surge through him. He landed a series of rapid punches, each one driving the werewolf further into the ground. The creature's growls turned to whimpers, and finally, it lay still.

Hector didn't stop. He couldn't afford to. He knew he had to make sure the werewolf was dead. He grabbed the creature by its head, feeling the rough fur and the slickness of blood under his fingers. With a final, desperate effort, he twisted, feeling the vertebrae snap under his grip.

The werewolf's body went limp, its eyes glazing over. Hector held on for a moment longer, making sure it was truly dead, before letting go. He stumbled back, gasping for air. His chest heaved, the pain from his wounds sharp and insistent. But he had done it. He had killed the werewolf.

He looked up, seeing his father and mother watching him, their expressions a mix of pride and relief. Henry's face was a mask of pride, his eyes reflecting the strength he saw in his son. Diana's face was filled with relief, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Hector wiped the sweat from his brow, feeling the adrenaline start to fade. His body ached, his wounds throbbed, but he was alive. He had faced his first real battle and come out victorious. He looked down at the werewolf's lifeless body, a sense of satisfaction filling him.

He tried to walk over to his parents, but his legs felt like lead. Each step was a struggle, his vision swimming. He felt the world tilt, and then everything went black. The last thing he heard was his mother's voice, filled with worry and pride, calling his name.

He awoke sometime later, his body feeling heavy and sluggish. He was lying on a soft bed, his wounds bandaged. His mother sat beside him, her hand gently stroking his hair. His father stood at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed, a look of pride on his face.

"You did well, Hector," Henry said, his voice filled with pride. "You fought bravely."

Diana smiled, her eyes filled with love. "I'm so proud of you, Hector," she whispered.

Hector nodded, feeling a swell of emotion. He had proven himself tonight, not just to his parents, but to himself. He had faced his fears, fought with everything he had, and come out victorious. He knew there would be more battles ahead, more challenges to face, but tonight he had taken his first step towards becoming the warrior he was meant to be.

As he lay there, recovering from his ordeal, he felt a sense of determination settle over him. He was ready for whatever came next.