Atticus’s Odyssey: Reincarnated Into A Playground

Honestly, Atticus wanted to get involved with them. He had no idea how many nights he would spend in this trial, so to him, the best strategy was to figure them out on the first night and avoid them in the rest.

The silver glow of the moon bathed the hill, highlighting Atticus as he stared down at the mist.

His gaze narrowed as the rumbling of the ground intensified, his guard raised to the absolute peak.

'They're coming.'

He could feel their presence drawing closer, the atmosphere thickening with an oppressive weight.

'They're strong,' Atticus noted. Yet something felt off, it was difficult to get an accurate assessment of their power, as though the mist itself acted like a cloak.

The rumbling abruptly stopped. The mist parted in multiple spots at the base of the hill.

Atticus's gaze sharpened, his battle intent peaking.

He waited, ready to confront whatever had been chasing him. But nothing appeared in his vision.

Step. Step.

'What?' Atticus's eyes widened.

The sound was faint, very faint, but he could hear it. The unmistakable sound of multiple footsteps approaching. Yet, that wasn't what shocked him.

He could see the marks they left in the sand as they walked. He could hear the echo of their movements. But that was all.

The steps were numerous, overwhelming, but…

'They're invisible.'

The realization sent a shiver down his spine. He couldn't see them. No eyes. No forms. Nothing.

The steps stopped.

An eerie silence fell, oppressive and suffocating, broken only by the faint whistle of the wind.

Then came the howls.

A cacophony of feral, sharp cries tore through the desert, vibrating through the very air. The footsteps pressed harder into the sand, the ground cracking under their weight.

And then, they lunged.

'They're fast!'

Atticus's mana surged violently, his instincts screaming at him to act. He reached out to form a weapon with his mana, but then he felt it.

Something was wrong.

The mana refused to respond.

"What…" he whispered, his cold gaze narrowing as another wave of footprints appeared in the sand, closer this time.

The invisible forms were more than halfway up the hill now, closing in at an alarming speed.

He had no elements. No spiritual energy. No weapons.

Yet Atticus's gaze only grew colder.

He entered a stance, his breathing slowing as he achieved a state of utter and complete focus.

His muscles coiled, mana surging through every fiber of his body, amplifying his strength and speed. His vision sharpened, the world around him slowing as his senses heightened to an extreme.

He could hear it, the faint rustle of sand disturbed by invisible paws. The subtle whistle of wind as their forms cut through the air. The primal energy radiating from them.

And then he saw it.

The air rippled faintly, parting slightly as the beasts moved. Though they were invisible, they still had form. Their presence disturbed the air around them, creating faint distortions that Atticus locked onto.

From the nature of the footprints, Atticus formed an accurate picture in his mind. Four footprints per beast. Wolf-like creatures.

A third set of footprints appeared in the sand, just meters away.

The world stilled.

Atticus exhaled, his glowing blue eyes narrowing as his focus peaked. Every step, every ripple, every breath, he noted it all.

'Three first.'

He moved.

A burst of speed left afterimages streaking behind him. The air screamed as his body cut through it, and his fingers shot forward, straight as steel, striking where he calculated the neck of the first beast to be.

The creature let out a low whimper, its invisible body crumpling to the ground. For a brief moment, its form flickered into view as it died, a massive, wolf-like creature with jagged fangs and sinewy limbs.

But Atticus didn't pause.

Another beast lunged, its claws slicing through the air. Atticus twisted, his arms moving like blurs, striking down with the force of a battering ram. Sonic booms echoed as his movements shattered the air.

Another fell.

And another.

They came faster now, closing in from all sides.

'They're trying to surround me.'

The hill was wide, and the invisible beasts had started running in a semi-circle the instant the battle began. Atticus could see their strategy, they were trying to box him in.

'I can't let that happen.'

Atticus zipped across the width of the hill, his strikes methodical and relentless. Blue streaks trailed his movements as beasts collapsed around him, their invisible forms briefly outlined in the sand.

But the tide didn't stop.

The beasts adapted, using the fallen as platforms to leap higher, their claws swiping down at Atticus from above.

He lost the advantage of tracking their footprints.

Still, there was no hesitation.

His focus shifted, locking onto the faint distortions in the air. His strikes became sharper, his movements tighter, minimizing every wasted motion.

Beast after beast fell, their bodies piling up in invisible heaps.

But Atticus felt it, something was wrong.

His strikes slowed for a fraction of a second as his mind raced. 'They're not strong. But they're endless.'

His gaze flickered to the spirit floating beside him, calm and composed despite the chaos.

"Tell me everything about them," Atticus demanded, his movements not pausing.

The spirit nodded. "Finally, you ask," he said.

"These beasts are called Whisperfangs. They hunt only at night and are attracted to sound, any sound you make, even your breathing."

Atticus's eyes narrowed. "How do I escape them?"

"If they can't hear you, they can't find you. They're drawn to the sounds you make, not their own. But…" The spirit's voice grew more serious. "Those that have gotten close enough to smell you have already marked you. They will follow that scent."

The information slammed into Atticus's mind like a thunderbolt.

He processed it instantly.

No sound. No scent. That was the key.

Without hesitation, he pivoted, mana surging within him. He turned toward the peak of the hill, his body low to the ground.

And then he leapt.

A flash of movement as Atticus soared through the air, descending rapidly toward the desert below. The Whisperfangs roared behind him, their invisible forms scrambling to follow.

He hit the sand with a roll, his momentum carrying him forward.

His breathing slowed, controlled, every sound suppressed. Silent.

Atticus moved like a shadow, swift and quiet.

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