My Werewolf System

Chapter 1666: Real Pain

Right after being stabbed by the sharp claws, Gary staggered back and placed a hand over his abdomen. The wounds were deep, but for a Werewolf, they weren’t the type of injury that instantly ended a fight. If anything, the pain sharpened his mind, forcing him to focus, forcing him to stop guessing and start reading what was right in front of him.

Still, even as the blood soaked into his clothes, his thoughts went somewhere else entirely.

‘I thought, because of his size, he might be a protector type... like Marie. Big body, built to tank hits, built to hold the line and strengthen the defence of others,’ Gary thought, watching the way Claw stood and shifted his weight. ‘But those nails... those nails are like Olivia’s. Like a hunter class. So what is he?’

That was the first mistake Gary had made in this fight, thinking he understood Claw from a distance.

The second mistake was listening to the words that came next, because they weren’t empty threats. Gary could see it in the sneer on Claw’s face, in the way his eyes narrowed, in the raw resentment that rolled off him like heat.

Claw hated him. Truly hated him.

And Claw wasn’t here to prove something or win points. He was here to end it.

‘He meant what he said,’ Gary realised. ‘He’s really going to try to kill me. If he goes for my throat, or anywhere vital, I could actually die.’

The system’s warning burned in the back of his mind. This wasn’t a spar. This wasn’t training. If he died here, then one would truly die.

Gary’s instinct was to turn his head and look back at Steve. Originally, Steve had whispered that it might be best for Gary to lose. Gary had been willing to comply. He wasn’t even sure he could win cleanly against someone Jack trusted enough to put forward.

But how could he “lose” now?

What if Claw didn’t stop? What if Gary went down and Claw kept striking anyway, driven by anger and the belief that Gary had betrayed them? Honour didn’t mean much when someone thought you deserved to die.

Gary didn’t get the chance to look back.

Claw jumped, and with both nails elongated now, he crashed forward with his full weight. The impact pushed Gary back hard. Gary reacted on instinct, reaching for Claw’s wrist, trying to control the limb the way he would have in a real fight, but Claw shook him off with brute force and twisted him sideways.

Gary tumbled across the ground. He didn’t tumble because he was helpless, he tumbled because he wanted to disperse the energy, to keep the hit from rattling his skull, to keep his footing from being completely stolen.

He rolled, planted a hand, and got back up quickly, shoulders rising and falling as he breathed.

When Claw got too close again, Gary lifted his leg and kicked him straight in the stomach. It was clean, hard, and it forced Claw to pause, if only for a moment.

‘Kai isn’t the only one who knows how to fight,’ Gary reminded himself. ‘I studied AFC fighters my whole life. I was in the AFC myself. Heck, I even beat the champion... even if it wasn’t alone.’

The memory wasn’t just pride. It was a reminder that technique mattered. Timing mattered. Angles mattered. And right now, being suppressed by the system meant raw power wasn’t going to carry him through.

Claw swiped again, a wild swing that passed over Gary’s head, and Gary took the opening. He drove a tight, compact punch into Claw’s stomach, no wasted motion, just a clean shot.

In his head, Gary apologised to Steve.

Because he knew it now, he couldn’t lose this fight anymore. That swipe hadn’t been random. It was aimed for his neck. If it landed, it could have ended everything.

But even as Gary’s fist sank into Claw’s stomach, he felt something was off.

The blow landed, but it didn’t fold Claw the way it should have. Gary’s eyes widened slightly as he realised why. Claw had expected it.

If someone had great Qi control, they could reinforce specific areas, pinpoint it. Strengthen the stomach, the ribs, the core, the exact place they knew a hit was coming. The same way others poured Qi into their fists to strike harder, or into their feet to move faster, Claw had poured it into his midsection and braced.

Claw used that moment, the moment Gary thought he’d created space, and stabbed for Gary’s head.

It was fast.

Gary reacted just in time, lifting his forearm. The nails dug through his hide and into his skin. Blood ran down his arm immediately. It burned, not just from the cut, but from the shock of how close it had been.

A split second later and those nails would have been in his skull.

Gary gritted his teeth, refusing to flinch. He twisted his arm, trying to pull the strike away, but Claw was relentless. He didn’t back off, he pressed in.

From the side, Lupus’ voice cut through the tension.

“It looks like he’s trying to kill him,” Lupus said, low and sharp. “Are we going to step in to stop that from happening?”

“If we do that,” Kai replied, just as low, “then the whole of Jack’s pack will jump in, and that will be certain death. The second fight was always going to be much harder once they realised not to underestimate us, and in general Claw is a harder opponent to deal with than Steeler.”

Gary didn’t have time to listen to much else. The world narrowed down to claws, breath, and movement.

He tried to shift away, tried to create a gap, but Claw forced him back in close again. Gary’s lifted arm stopped one line of attack, but that left his body open, and Claw took advantage of it.

It looked like the next strike was going for Gary’s neck, Gary saw it, felt it, braced for it,

But instead, Claw’s nails dug into Gary’s stomach again. Pain flashed through Gary’s body.

His breath caught.

Then Claw pulled both hands out, and without hesitation, started stabbing rapidly into the same area again and again, fast enough that it didn’t look real. Nails punching in, withdrawing, punching in again, each time dragging more blood free.

Gary’s shirt darkened. Blood ran down his torso and dripped to the ground. His knees threatened to buckle, not because he was weak, but because his body was trying to respond to damage that severe.

For a moment, it looked like the fight might actually end there. Like Gary might fall, and if he fell, Claw might not stop.

But then Gary moved. Not backwards. Forwards.

He shifted his weight, planted his feet, and drove power up through his legs, through his hips, through his shoulder, then threw a heavy punch that crashed into Claw’s face.

It wasn’t neat. It wasn’t pretty.

It was survival.

The hit was powerful enough to send Claw flying back. He hit the ground hard, rolling, scraping across the dirt before coming to a stop.

The crowd reacted, some with shocked silence, others with a surge of noise, but Gary barely heard any of it. His heartbeat was too loud. His breathing too rough.

Claw’s face twisted as pain flared across it, but he still pushed himself up. Even with the hit, even with his pride bruised, he rose like he couldn’t imagine staying down.

Gary stood there, wounds covering his body, blood still dripping, his eyes locked on Claw’s.

He didn’t look calm. He looked focused.

Because now he understood the truth: Claw wasn’t going to give him an out. There would be no “fake loss.” No safe surrender. No gentle ending.

So Gary straightened his posture, ignoring the way his stomach screamed, ignoring the warm wetness spreading beneath his hand.

“If there’s one thing I’ve been in,” Gary said, voice steady despite everything, “it’s a lot of life and death situations. If you think you’re going to take my life... it’s not going to be easy!”

And then Gary charged forward, despite the wounds on his body, refusing to slow, refusing to let fear decide the outcome.

***

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