Before the wolves could launch their attack, before they could close the distance and unleash their fury, Julia acted. She raised her hands, her fingers pointed towards the two smaller wolves flanking the lead predator, her stance firm, her expression focused, a conduit of raw power.
"Magic missile!" she whispered, her voice low but clear, carrying an undeniable authority.
Two streaks of brilliant blue-white light shot from her fingertips, leaving trails of shimmering energy in their wake, like miniature comets streaking across the twilight sky. They moved with incredible speed, guided by an unseen force, striking the two wolves with pinpoint accuracy, their lethal precision a breathtaking spectacle. The impact was immediate and devastating.
The wolves yelped, their bodies convulsing as the magical missiles slammed into them. Deep wounds glowed with that same eerie light, searing their flesh and disrupting their muscles, shattering bone. They staggered back, whimpering in pain, their movements clumsy and uncoordinated. They weren't dead, but they were severely injured, effectively taken out of the fight, at least for now, thanks to Julia's swift and decisive action.
William stared in awe, his mouth agape, his mind struggling to comprehend the reality of the scene before him. The concept of "magic missile," a term he'd encountered in his fantasy-reading days, had leapt from fiction into reality. This magic was real, and it was terrifyingly effective, a force of nature unleashed with just a whisper and a gesture.
“Did I really just see that?” he thought, disbelief mingling with awe as his heart raced. The adrenaline of the moment brought him back to the casino, where he had read the subtle cues from the players. Only now, the stakes were life and death.
Edward wasted no time. With a roar, an earth-shattering battle cry that echoed through the clearing, he charged towards the lead wolf, his lightning-wreathed sword held high. The wolf, momentarily stunned by Julia's display of magical power, reacted a split second too late.
As the lead wolf prepared to tackle Edward, he swung his sword in a wide arc, a move that looked straightforward but predictable. The wolf sensed the danger, leaping backward just as the blade sliced through the air above it, narrowly avoiding the strike. But the movement was a feint, a carefully calculated deception. As the wolf landed, its weight shifting and muscles tensing for a counterattack, Edward pivoted on his left foot, shifting his weight with surprising agility.
With a swift motion, he brought his sword up in an underhand slash, a move both unexpected and devastating. The lightning-charged blade connected with the wolf’s exposed belly, slicing through fur and flesh with ease.
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A sickening crackle filled the air as the lightning arced into the creature’s body. The wolf let out a high-pitched yelp, a scream of pain and surprise, its body convulsing violently, its muscles spasming uncontrollably, its eyes rolling back in its head. Smoke rose from the seared flesh, the smell of burnt fur and ozone filling the air.
Edward didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, his face grim, devoid of emotion, and plunged his sword into the wolf's skull, ending its suffering with a swift, merciful blow, a necessary act in a brutal reality.
The final, uninjured wolf, witnessing its pack decimated in mere seconds, seemed to lose its nerve. It hesitated, eyes darting between Edward, Julia, and the fallen bodies of its companions, primal instincts battling with fear. Then, with a frustrated snarl that sounded more like a whimper, it turned and bolted, disappearing into the shadows of the forest, choosing survival over aggression.
William’s mind, which had been frozen in a mix of awe and terror, suddenly kicked into overdrive. He had to act fast. The wolf, in its retreat from Edward, was heading in his direction.
He quickly analysed the situation, running through his options at lightning speed, just as he had at the casino, just as he had when crafting his algorithm, sifting through data, calculating probabilities, searching for the optimal solution.
Option 1: Run. He could try to flee, to put distance between himself and the charging wolf. But his injured leg would slow him down by at least 60%. The wolf was faster, more agile, even in its current state. Probability of success: Low. Very low.
Option 2: Fight. He could stand his ground, using the dagger Edward had given him. He remembered the goblin, how he had hesitated, how he had almost died. He couldn't afford to do that again. If he waited for the wolf to lunge, he had a 50% chance to aim and hit a vital organ, a killing blow. Probability of success: Moderate. Probability of injury: High due to the impact from the lunging wolf.
Option 3: Throw. He could throw the dagger. While it was small and poorly balanced for throwing, it was his only ranged option. If he hit, he calculated at 40% chance, he could injure the wolf, slow it down, maybe even disable it. Even a miss at 60% chance might buy Julia or Edward time to intervene. But if he missed… he would be unarmed and completely defenceless. Probability of success: Uncertain, but with a high potential payoff. Probability of injury: Low, at least in the short term.
William could feel the weight of the moment, the pulsing resolve of his heartbeat. In that critical instant, he recalled the chill of the poker table, the rush of calculated risks. His decision was made in a fraction of a second, an instantaneous calculation based on instinct, logic, and a desperate will to survive. Option 3.
With a deep breath, he steadied himself, hoping his instincts and a touch of luck would see him through. He cursed at himself, “I can’t believe I’m going with an option with such a low success rate, this is so not me… But it is all or nothing now! Here we go!” He gripped the dagger tightly, fingers burning where the blade’s cold metal met his skin. Just like at the tables, he had to gamble on himself.
