The carnage of its two companions didn't break the final Dire Wolf's resolve.
On the contrary, seeing James's back exposed triggered a desperate, predatory fuse. The wolf launched itself, bridging the gap in a single, high-stakes leap aimed squarely at James's shoulders.
As it slammed into his back, the wolf's claws dug deep into his fur to anchor its weight. Before James could shake it off, the wolf opened its jaws and clamped down hard on his left shoulder.
A Dire Wolf's skull was heavier and more robust than that of a modern Gray Wolf, and its bite force was devastating. James felt a searing surge of pain as the fangs sank in. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed the beast was locked on like a tick.
Unfortunately, a Smilodon's heavy, muscular build didn't allow for a quick over-the-shoulder throw.
But James had his own brand of physics. He bucked his body violently and went into a hard side-roll. The sudden shift in momentum tore the wolf from its perch and slammed it into the dirt. James, despite his bulk, scrambled to his feet with feline fluidity and instantly pinned the dazed wolf under his weight.
The wolf snarled, snapping its jaws in a final, frantic attempt to bite back. But the weight and strength difference was too great. James used his forelimbs to lock the wolf's head down and lunged for the spine.
CRACK!
The sound of the vertebrae snapping was sharp and sickening. The wolf's thrashing stopped instantly. It lay paralyzed, its eyes glazing over as consciousness faded. It wasn't dead yet, but the fight was over.
James didn't take chances. He delivered the finishing blow to all three wolves before inspecting his shoulder. Fortunately, because the wolf hadn't been able to plant its feet, the bite had been shallow—a painful flesh wound that hadn't reached the bone.
This was James's first real clash with Dire Wolves. He had initially thought they would be as easy to push around as hyenas, but their sheer grit and pack loyalty made them a far more dangerous problem.
Compared to the Gray Wolves of the future, these ancient hunters were stockier and more robust. Their shoulders were broad, their heads heavy, and their jaws were built for crushing power. They lacked the speed and high intelligence of their descendants, but they made up for it with raw, bone-snapping force. Even a prime Smilodon or an American Lion had to respect a full pack of these Wolves.
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[DING! Host killed a Dire Wolf. Gene Points +35.] x 3
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The tally was a significant boost to his reserves, though no new gene replication was triggered. James dragged the three carcasses far away from his den; he wasn't about to leave a pile of bait right outside his front door.
Once the area was clear, he retrieved the infant monkey carcass and retreated into his burrow to sleep.
In the dead of night, ravens watched from the branches. As soon as James vanished, they descended with excited caws to pick at the wolf remains.
"A-OOO!"
Before the birds could take a bite, a long, haunting howl cut through the trees. A dozen pairs of glowing green eyes emerged from the brush like ghost fires. The ravens took flight, screaming in protest.
A large pack of Dire Wolves stepped into the clearing. The Alpha sniffed the bodies. He could tell these weren't his pack mates—likely wanderers or outcasts. He could also see the unmistakable mark of a Smilodon's sabers in the wounds.
"A new Sabertooth has moved in."
This was a critical signal for the Alpha. Any new apex predator was a threat to his pack's food supply. However, they didn't eat their own kind. Under the Alpha's command, several wolves began to dig a shallow pit, dragging the three wanderers into the earth and covering them.
With a final howl of warning to the darkness, the pack vanished back into the night.
The next morning, James headed back to his parents' territory, carrying the two monkey carcasses as gifts. He took a wide, sweeping detour to ensure he didn't accidentally stumble into the Xenosmilus pair's eastern half of the land.
By noon, the familiar, jagged peaks of home came into view.
"I wonder if Mom and Dad are awake yet? With this food, we won't even need to hunt today."
A strange rustling sound erupted behind him. James spun around, but the forest seemed empty. The wind stirred the grass, nothing more.
"Was it just my Imagination?"
James kept moving but stayed alert. Moments later, the sound returned—a soft, rhythmic padding that felt like a needle in his back. He was being hunted.
"Who has the nerve to stalk a Smilodon on its own turf?"
James didn't wait to find out. He broke into a sprint, picked a massive tree, and scrambled up the trunk with three powerful bounds. From his high perch, he looked back.
The stalker emerged from the shadows, her eyes burning with hatred. It was the female Xenosmilus.
Her mate was nowhere to be seen, but her motive was clear. She wasn't here for a territory dispute. She was here for blood. She wanted the cat that had murdered her sons.
"Relentless... but I guess I'd feel the same if the roles were reversed."
James didn't try to be brave. He knew he could survive her in a direct fight, but what if the male Xenosmilus was lurking nearby? And the look in her eyes said it all—she was ready to kill him, even if it cost her life. He wasn't going to take that risk. He hooked the monkey carcasses over a high branch and gave a thunderous roar—a clear distress signal to Mom and Dad that an intruder was in the house.
The female Xenosmilus glared up at him. Climbing was a difficult, energy-draining task for her stocky build. Hearing the answering roars of James's parents in the distance, she gnashed her teeth in fury. She knew her window had closed. She turned and vanished back into the forest as quickly as she had appeared.