The gem, extracted from the shattered skull of the boar-bear by Maggie with the tip of her blade, was small, murky, a dull brown streaked with reddish veins. It fit in the hollow of her palm, warm and pulsating. A bitter disillusionment painted itself on her face, still taut from the adrenaline.
"Second rank," she muttered, rolling the stone between her blood-stained fingers. "Fucking second rank." Frustration rasped in her rough voice. They had nearly died—Dylan had almost been gutted—by a creature real hunters or warriors would've likely taken down with far less trouble.
The monster's sheer size and blind fury had made them feel like they were fighting for their lives against a third-rank calamity. This cruel world toyed with their nerves, distorted their sense of danger. They'd been lucky against other threats before, but second-rank beasts… they remained a deadly challenge—especially for the poorly armed and inexperienced like them.
