Tier Five.

The radiant emanation emitted by the brass knuckle possessed an inconspicuous luminosity. Instead of a straightforward glow, it resembled more of a rhythmic pulsation.

Simultaneously, Maxwell could perceive the vibrant surge of energy coursing from the weapon into his being, triggering the activation of various cells within his body. As this transformative process unfolded, Maxwell's resolve to engage in combat burgeoned significantly. It was as if an erasure of all the latent fear within him had occurred.

Concurrently, the activation of the beast's weapon did not escape the notice of two specific individuals deeply embroiled in their ongoing skirmish.

Affixed to the wrists of both Silver and Dart, there resided a timepiece-like apparatus that commenced emitting a series of audible beeps precisely at that moment.

"What could this be?" Dart grappled with the challenging task of retrieving the axe from the dog's tenacious jaws while attempting to divert his attention to the unexpected commotion emanating from his wrist. Nevertheless, he succeeded in casting a curious glance towards it, as such abrupt beeping from his wristwatch-like device was an unusual occurrence.

As the watch emitted a resounding beep, a conspicuous digital numeral promptly materialized on its illuminated display, and that numeral was none other than the profound numeral five.

In the wake of perceiving the enigmatic numeral five on the watch's luminescent screen, Dart's heart was seized by an overwhelming trepidation, as he grappled with the ominous implications that loomed ahead. Could it signify the existence of a formidable five-tier beast? Dart pondered, his mind awash with uncertainty. However, his apprehension was soon dispelled when he realized that this numerical display did not pertain to the hierarchical status of a creature but rather denoted the potency of a weapon.

In that very moment, an anguished cry reverberated through the air, emanating from the exuberant figure of Maxwell, who was brimming with boundless vitality as he launched an audacious charge toward the rat.

Witnessing this daring move, Dart experienced a sudden epiphany, comprehending the true purpose of the enigmatic watch that adorned both his and Silver's wrists. It was, in fact, a sophisticated apparatus that every seasoned beast hunter wielded, especially during high-stakes missions such as this one. Its primary function lay in quantifying the ethereal aura of nearby creatures, thus elucidating their relative strength.

It was worth noting that certain advanced iterations of these devices not only possessed the capacity to gauge the power levels of creatures but also had the uncanny ability to assess the strength of beast-enhanced weaponry in close proximity, all based on the distinctive auras they emitted.

Naturally, like any technological marvel, these devices were not infallible in their assessments. Occasionally, they erred in their judgments, mistakenly assigning incorrect power levels to beasts or their weaponry, resulting in misleading and, at times, potentially hazardous feedback.

Upon glimpsing the numeral five elegantly displayed upon his wristwatch, Dart harbored a fervent desire to entertain the notion that such was indeed the veracity of the situation. It proved exceedingly incredulous for him to fathom that an individual of Maxwell's caliber could be in possession of a weapon graded at a superior tier, surpassing his own.

Beastly armaments, it should be known, are meticulously crafted from creatures of the wilderness, and their categorization invariably hinges upon the hierarchical ranking of the beast from which they originate. A comprehensive understanding of this fact unveils the existence of nine distinct tiers to which both the beasts and their corresponding weapons are meticulously tethered.

The potency of a given beast is irrefutably predicated on its designated tier, thus signifying that a beast of the second tier would inherently wield greater strength when juxtaposed with its first-tier counterpart. This, by logical extension, postulates that weapons derived from second-tier beasts invariably manifest as mightier artifacts.

Nonetheless, it is incumbent to acknowledge the occasional deviation from this norm. Scholars who have fervently devoted themselves to the study of earthbound creatures have discerned an intriguing phenomenon wherein a disparity in tier does not incontrovertibly denote a difference in might.

Instances have been meticulously documented wherein a humble first-tier beast astonishingly emerged victorious against its second-tier adversary. Such anomalies might be attributed to the possession of unique traits or abilities by the first-tier contender, thereby conferring upon it an unforeseen advantage within the context of a second-tier confrontation.

As Dart's mind teetered on the brink of drifting into trivial thoughts at this very moment, the dog-like creature exerted a mighty force, ultimately wresting the axe from Dart's grasp and flinging it to the side.

Now, bereft of his weapon, Dart didn't succumb to panic; instead, he remained composed and offered a faint smile. 'I possess means to reclaim it,' he pondered.

One of his digits emitted a brilliant radiance, and the axe, which had been discarded near the creature, promptly returned to Dart's grip, just in the nick of time to fend off the beast's impending assault.

He deftly swung the axe, striking the dog-like entity on its cheek. It became abundantly clear that the creature harbored a fervent desire to seize the weapon once more, but Dart was determined not to allow a repeat of that scenario.

Meanwhile, Silver, it seemed, had reached her limit, eventually relinquishing her sword, though not before imbuing her feet with a surge of power, launching herself into a graceful leap over the cat and landing gracefully behind it.

Her finger, aglow with an eerie luminescence, hovered in suspense. The grasp of the sword quivered with an almost frantic intensity, its struggle evident as it fought to break free from the cat's tenacious maw.

In time, it did break loose, returning to Silver's waiting palm. Fatigue weighed heavily upon her, to be perfectly honest, yet the gravity of the situation demanded her unwavering resolve.

Observing Silver's escape from its clutches, the feline emitted a plaintive meow, its eyes scanning the surroundings in search of her. Yet, with swift precision, she materialized before it, poised with her sword held at the ready, prepared to thrust.

However, the sword met only empty air, for the cat had gracefully sidestepped her attack. Nature's inherent grace and agility, intrinsic to feline creatures, now magnified in this mutated form, added a dangerous element of speed to the equation.

In that very instant, Silver's entire form tensed as if she awaited an imminent lightning strike. But it wasn't thunder that struck her; it was the razor-sharp claws of the cat.

--5

However, she spun around and swung her sword instinctively in the direction she felt like it was coming. Hitting the beast's claws away, she advanced forward thrusting the beast's weapon at the cat.

Luckily this time, it stabbed into its neck but didn't go so deep. Nevertheless, the blow was leather. At least that's what she thought till the wound started to seal up like any other she had inflicted so far.

She was kicked, but used the sword to block the attack, though her foot couldn't help but be pushed back. That was until Silver noticed some significant changes in the cat.

'Why does it seem like it's getting smaller to me,' she thought, however, something had clicked in her mind. 'That's it, they are using their body to heal themselves,'

The logic made sense. For something to heal itself, they need nutrients or a medical check-up, but this beast was getting none of that as the fight went on yet they were able to heal from any wound.

It would have made sense if they consumed sustenance and subsequently experienced a rejuvenation, yet none of these anticipated occurrences came to fruition. The sole rationale that seemed plausible was either the gradual depletion of their bodily vitality in exchange for recovery or the existence of some external aid in their recuperation.

However, it appeared that neither of these scenarios held true, as the observed consequence was a diminishing of their physical proportions.

'Shrinking their physical stature? Could this peculiar transformation also impede their physical prowess?' Silver couldn't definitively ascertain. In order to validate her conjectures, she resolved to investigate firsthand.

Her grasp around the sword grew firmer as she propelled herself forward.

Meanwhile, from the assortment of combat postures available for confronting a formidable creature, Maxwell opted for a pugilistic stance. This decision stemmed from his belief that he stood a better chance in this stance than any other. Given that his weapon leaned toward close-quarters melee combat, he perceived it as his sole viable option.

The rat, having swiftly recovered from its prior agony, charged ahead and assumed a bipedal posture, reminiscent of a humanoid form. In this towering stance, it loomed over Maxwell like an imposing monolith.

The rat swung its claw towards Maxwell. Just as Maxwell was about to move away from the claws, he felt his hand being tugged towards the incoming strike. Their two hands met, and there was a clear winner in this clash.

The rat quickly pulled back its arm in pain and turned around, swaying its tail and aiming it at Maxwell once more.

Desiring to evade the attack, Maxwell attempted a punch instead. Due to the tail's spinning motion before the strike, it had become significantly stronger than before. Maxwell's fist paled in comparison to the tail's might.

When the two forces collided, the rat emitted another painful screech, while Maxwell was forcefully pushed back several meters away from it. Even the imprint of his foot, as it skidded across the green grass garden, was clearly visible in a straight line.

"Goodness... I thought having you with me was a good thing, but here you are, leading me towards my demise," Maxwell exclaimed in frustration at his brass knuckles.

He had made several futile attempts to distance himself from the menacing creature, yet the brass knuckle persistently lured him into each encounter, as if it possessed a mind of its own.

Maxwell couldn't help but ponder, "It's becoming clear why that elderly man was so eager to part with you."

Despite the recklessness the weapon seemed to imbue him with, Maxwell begrudgingly acknowledged its formidable might. The sheer force of its tail alone could have easily cleaved through him, yet he managed to fend it off with minimal resistance.

At this moment, Maxwell found himself contemplating two options: should he allow the weapon to act autonomously, or should he attempt to assert control over it, assuming such a feat was possible?

Just as he wrestled with this dilemma, the tiny mouse stirred, not heading toward Maxwell, but instead, making its way toward the staircase leading into the house. Simultaneously, the other beast mirrored the movement, positioning itself beside Rocky, who had emerged from the house, dragging a lifeless body in tow.

Rocky's piercing gaze locked onto Maxwell as he declared, "I see... You're the one who's been assaulting my companions."

*****

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*****

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