"YURRR!!"
The Jefferson's Ground Sloth erupted in a panicked howl. It didn't just sit there and take it; the beast spun its massive frame with a desperate, heavy momentum, trying to shake James from its spine.
James dug his claws deeper, his muscles bunching as he anchored himself to the leathery hide. He was like a rider on a bucking bronco made of pure muscle and rage. He didn't let go. He couldn't.
"Hah, what a stingy bastard—can't you let this Dracula taste your blood peacefully?"
"ROAR—"
James knew he couldn't suppress a one-ton animal by weight alone. He shifted his grip, raking his claws through the sloth's back, inching his way toward the thick column of its neck.
"Yurrr~~"
In its death-throes, the sloth displayed a sudden, lethal cunning. It didn't spin; it sprinted toward a massive spruce tree. At the last second, it pivoted, slamming its entire weight backward—using the trunk as a giant hammer with James as the nail.
CRACK—
The impact was thunderous. The spruce shuddered, needles raining down like green hail. James, however, had felt the shift in weight. He released his grip a fraction of a second before the collision, rolling off the sloth's back and into the dirt.
He scrambled to his feet instantly, his lungs burning but his gaze cold. "Nice move, Mr.Tank. But the round isn't over."
The sloth stood on its hind legs, towering over James. Its small, bead-like eyes were red with fury. Crimson rivers flowed down its back where James's claws had turned its hide into ribbons. It was no longer a docile leaf-eater; it looks like a cornered titan.
The sloth swung a massive forelimb, its 15cm claws whistling through the air like a guillotines. James danced back, the tips of the talons missing his nose by an inch.
The sloth huffed, its breath sounding like a steam engine as it waved those curved blades in a rhythmic, defensive arc. It looked like a medieval warrior wielding three scimitars in each hand. The dermal armor under its skin had protected it from a quick kill, but the blood loss was starting to tell.
The commotion sent the other sloths into a frantic retreat. Lacking the intelligence to defend their kin, they followed the scent of the predator and shuffled away as fast as their lumbering gait would allow.
James was glad. A one-on-one fight was a chess match; a one-on-three was a funeral.
"ROAR!!"
James reset his breathing. He didn't charge the front. He used his Agility to circle the beast, a blur of golden-brown fur against the green brush.
He waited for a stutter in the sloth's movement. Then, he lunged. He didn't go for the back this time; he dove low, targeting the sloth's thick hamstrings.
RIP—
His sabers acted like twin razors, slicing through the heavy hide of the leg. With a violent wrench of his neck, he tore away a chunk of muscle.
"YURRR!! YURRR!!"
The sloth thrashed, but James was already gone, circling again. He was using a bleeding tactic—the same way the gray wolves had taken down the ox. He was a scalpel, methodically deconstructing the mountain of flesh.
After several rounds of these hit-and-run strikes, the sloth's left leg was a shredded mess. The white of the bone peeked through the scarlet ruin.
THUD.
The sloth collapsed onto all fours. It could no longer support its weight in a tripod stance. It looked at James with eyes filled with a hollow, terminal dread.
James remained calm, a silent operator. He moved in for the finish. He didn't rush into the path of the claws; he waited for the sloth to overextend a swipe, then he pounced, his entire mass bearing down on the creature's shoulders.
CRUNCH.
The sloth's weight gave way. It slammed into the mud, pinning its own limbs. James didn't waste the opening. He opened his jaws wide, his sabers finding the softest part of the throat.
A modern lion would have had to choke the beast for twenty minutes. But a Smilodon was built for the quick end. James drove his sabers deep, the serrated edges of his teeth shredding the carotid artery and windpipe with a single, massive shear.
Blood erupted, warm and metallic. The sloth gave a final, agonizing kick, its limbs thrashing against the earth in a rhythmic, dying beat. James held on, his muscles locked, until the last tremor faded and the forest went quiet.
---
[DING! Host killed a Jefferson's Ground Sloth. Gene Points +150.]
---
The notification was a welcome sound, but James was too exhausted to celebrate. He released the neck, his muzzle caked in blood.
That had been a high-stakes gamble. One unlucky swipe from those 40cm claws could have ended his story right there. But as he looked down at the ton of fresh meat at his feet, he felt a surge of predatory satisfaction.
He wasn't just a survivor anymore. He was a solo king. He had taken down a fortress of flesh and bone on his own terms.
"Sustainable development indeed," James thought, breathing hard. "But man, I am going to need a very long nap before I start the butchery."
The first solo hunt was a success. James had officially arrived at the top of the food chain on Mount Elbert.