Seven weeks later, Alastor returned to the arena carrying a Hammer.
It rested across his shoulders as though it had always belonged there.
The head was dark steel, broad on both sides and slightly heavier toward the striking face.
Reinforcing bands ran down the upper third of the wooden handle.
Four textures divided the grip, each positioned so Alastor could tell where his hands rested without looking.
No explosives.
No hidden blades.
No magical ammunition.
Not yet.
Zestial had called it the first functional version.
Aldren had called it acceptable.
Scout had called it inadequately tested.
Alastor called it beautiful.
The arena surrounded him beneath a cloudless sky.
High stone walls.
Iron gates.
Sand marked by old claw tracks.
The supply chest waited behind him.
Four stars had been carved into the slab above the gates.
The first remained lit.
The second glowed faintly around its edges, waiting for the hunts within it to be cleared.
Alastor placed the Hammer’s head against the sand.
It had entered with him.
That mattered more than he wanted to admit.
The first time he stood here, he had been alone.
Now his brother’s work rested between his hands.
Alastor closed his eyes and felt for the connection.
The physical Hammer remained in Magnolia.
Zestial had placed it across Alastor’s sleeping body before the arena entry.
The weapon inside the mindscape was a magical projection synchronized to his transformation magic.
Same balance.
Same grip.
Same imperfections.
If this version failed, Zestial would know where.
Alastor opened his eyes.
“Try not to break,” he told it.
The Hammer didn’t answer.
That already made it more agreeable than Scout.
He opened the supply chest.
The arena had provided a limited loadout.
Three first-aid medicines.
Two rations.
One flash bomb.
A coil of rope.
No trap.
No armor.
Alastor placed the medicine and ration pouches at his waist.
The flash bomb went into a separate loop so he would not grab it accidentally.
He lifted the Hammer.
Its weight pulled against his shoulders.
Good.
Heavy meant honest.
A weapon this large did not pretend a mistake would be harmless.
The black slab changed.
Golden letters burned beneath the second star.
HUNT: GREAT MACCAO
One gate unlocked.
Chains tightened behind the wall.
Alastor rolled his shoulders and adjusted his grip.
Great Jaggi answered his magic.
Scales spread over his arms, shoulders, and legs.
His feet reshaped against the sand, and a balancing tail extended behind him.
One coherent hybrid.
No Arzuros arm attached to Great Jaggi legs.
No borrowed Nargacuga eyes.
No shortcuts.
The gate began to rise.
Green-and-red feathers appeared beneath it.
Two powerful legs stepped into the arena.
Great Maccao ducked under the bars and lifted its head.
It was larger than Alastor remembered.
That kept happening.
Games had made monsters fit inside screens.
The arena returned their proper size.
Great Maccao’s crest rose as it examined him.
Its long tail dragged through the sand, ending in a thick cluster of spikes.
The monster looked at the Hammer.
Then at Alastor.
It barked once.
Alastor lowered the weapon.
“Round two.”
Great Maccao attacked.
It crossed the arena in a series of bounding steps.
Alastor began charging the Hammer.
One breath.
The weight settled behind him.
Two.
Magic moved through the synchronized weapon, but the Hammer didn’t become lighter.
Zestial had refused to build anything that concealed its momentum from the user.
The Great Maccao jumped.
Alastor released the charge.
He swung too early.
The Hammer passed beneath the monster.
Great Maccao’s foot struck Alastor’s chest.
The Great Jaggi hybrid absorbed part of the impact.
The rest threw him backward.
He kept hold of the Hammer.
That was a mistake.
Its momentum pulled his shoulder around as he fell, and the handle twisted against his palms.
The raised band struck his smallest finger.
Wrong grip.
Release.
Alastor opened both hands.
The Hammer hit the sand beside him instead of dragging his shoulder from its socket.
Zestial had been right.
Alastor hated when that happened.
Great Maccao landed and turned.
Alastor rolled toward the Hammer.
The monster pecked at the place his head had occupied.
He grabbed the lower grip and pulled the weapon toward himself.
Great Maccao kicked.
Alastor raised the handle.
The foot struck the reinforced section.
The weapon held.
His arms shook.
He pushed the attack aside and rolled to his feet.
The Great Maccao retreated three steps.
Not fleeing.
Creating distance.
It lowered its tail.
Alastor remembered the pattern.
The monster shifted backward onto the thick end of its tail and balanced there, both legs raised.
In the game, it had looked ridiculous.
Here, the posture placed every muscle in its legs directly toward him.
Great Maccao launched itself.
Alastor changed his grip and stepped sideways.
Not far enough.
One foot clipped his shoulder.
The second missed.
The Hammer nearly left his hands again, but the textured leather beneath his palm told him where the lower grip remained.
Alastor turned with the impact.
Great Maccao landed behind him.
He used the Hammer’s momentum to continue the rotation.
The head struck the monster’s flank.
Not the skull.
Not a weak point.
But the impact landed.
Great Maccao stumbled.
Alastor grinned.
“There you are.”
The monster’s crest flattened.
Its bark became harsher.
It charged without retreating.
Alastor raised the Hammer for another swing.
Great Maccao stopped before entering range.
Its beak snapped toward his face.
Alastor jerked back.
The monster followed with a short kick that caught his thigh.
His leg folded.
Great Maccao struck him with its shoulder and drove him into the sand.
The Hammer landed several feet away.
Alastor tried to rise.
The monster’s tail swept across his ribs.
Pain rolled him over.
The arena didn’t reduce damage to numbers.
It didn’t provide a bar telling him how much punishment remained.
He had to judge that himself. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
Breathing hurt.
One leg responded slowly.
Great Maccao paced between him and the Hammer.
Alastor’s first instinct was to transform into Arzuros.
More strength.
More protection.
A direct answer.
He stopped himself.
The Great Jaggi form wasn’t failing.
He was using it badly.
Great Jaggi gave him mobility, balance, and fast changes in direction.
None of that mattered if he planted his feet and traded blows.
The Hammer did not require him to stand still.
It required him to know when to commit.
Great Maccao rushed him.
Alastor moved without the weapon.
He darted left.
The monster adjusted.
Alastor changed direction again.
Great Jaggi feet cut through the sand, and his tail corrected his balance before his human instincts caught up.
Great Maccao’s kick passed behind him.
Alastor reached the Hammer.
He did not swing.
He lifted it and kept moving.
The monster turned.
Alastor circled.
Great Maccao followed, forcing him toward the wall.
His arms tired under the Hammer’s weight.
His breath became shorter.
The monster had not forgotten the weapon.
Every time Alastor began raising it, Great Maccao shifted outside the arc.
Smart.
Good.
Annoying.
Alastor let the Hammer’s head drag briefly through the sand.
Great Maccao approached.
It expected fatigue.
It was correct.
Alastor was also waiting.
The monster entered striking range.
He pulled the Hammer upward in a fast rising swing.
Great Maccao jumped back.
The head missed its chest but struck beneath the tail.
The monster barked sharply.
It landed badly.
Alastor followed.
One overhead strike.
Great Maccao moved.
The Hammer hit sand.
The impact traveled up Alastor’s arms.
He recovered too slowly.
The monster kicked him in the side.
Alastor released the Hammer before the twisted grip damaged his wrist.
He hit the ground near the wall.
Great Maccao backed away and raised itself onto its tail again.
Alastor’s hand moved toward the flash bomb.
He stopped.
One flash.
One opportunity.
He could use it now.
The monster was facing him.
Its eyes were open.
The arena wall would reflect the light.
But using the item simply because he was hurt would waste the opening.
Great Maccao sprang from its tail.
Alastor rolled toward it.
The kick passed over him.
He came up beneath the monster’s body and struck with both Great Jaggi shoulders.
The collision knocked neither of them far.
It changed Great Maccao’s landing.
One foot struck the wall.
Its claws scraped stone.
The tail hit at an angle and failed to support its weight.
The monster fell.
Alastor ran for the Hammer.
Great Maccao recovered before he reached it.
Its tail swept low.
Alastor jumped.
The Great Jaggi legs carried him over the attack.
He landed beside the weapon, lifted it, and began charging immediately.
One breath.
Great Maccao turned.
Two.
The monster rushed him.
Three.
The Hammer’s weight gathered through his hips and shoulders.
Alastor released.
The charged upswing struck beneath Great Maccao’s jaw.
The impact lifted its head.
The monster staggered past him.
Alastor didn’t chase.
He returned the Hammer to a ready position and watched.
Great Maccao shook its head.
Its steps crossed.
A blunt weapon did more than break bone.
Enough strikes to the head disrupted balance and stunned the monster.
Alastor needed another clean hit.
Great Maccao recovered and roared.
Its crest rose fully.
The muscles along its legs tightened.
It became faster.
Enraged.
The monster attacked with a series of short leaps.
Alastor dodged the first.
The second forced him toward the center.
The third ended in a sweeping kick that struck the Hammer’s head and sent it sideways.
His grip held.
Correct position.
No numbness.
No warning from the raised band.
Alastor rotated with the force instead of opposing it.
The Hammer circled behind him.
Great Maccao pecked.
Alastor ducked and released the returning swing.
The steel head struck the monster’s skull.
Great Maccao collapsed.
Not defeated.
Stunned.
Golden marks flickered around its head as it struggled against the sand.
Alastor stepped closer.
He could attack immediately.
One strike.
Then another.
Hammer users in the game had called it the Big Bang combination.
Repeated blows, each carrying more commitment than the last.
But Alastor’s Great Jaggi arms were already trembling.
The later strikes would require more strength than the form could provide safely.
He dismissed it.
For one second, he stood human.
The Hammer became almost too heavy to lift.
Then Arzuros answered.
His body broadened.
Brown fur spread across his shoulders and torso.
Both arms thickened together.
His spine, chest, and hips changed to support their weight.
The Hammer’s grip expanded.
Leather shifted.
The release channel opened enough to admit thicker claws.
Zestial’s design adapted.
Alastor raised the weapon.
First strike.
The Hammer hit Great Maccao’s head.
He lifted it again.
Second strike.
The monster’s claws tore lines through the sand.
Third.
The Hammer came down harder.
Great Maccao tried to rise.
Alastor stepped into the next blow.
The fourth strike landed with every part of the Arzuros hybrid behind it.
The arena shook.
Great Maccao’s body struck the ground and dissolved into golden light.
Alastor stood over the empty sand with the Hammer lowered.
The light circled him. The source of this chapter is g.com.
It entered his chest without heat or pain.
A new presence appeared among his forms.
Long legs.
Powerful balance.
A tail built to carry and release force.
Great Maccao.
Earned.
The second star brightened.
Not completely.
One section burned gold.
Several others remained dark.
Alastor dismissed the Arzuros form.
The Hammer nearly fell from his human hands.
He lowered it carefully.
His shoulders ached.
His ribs remembered every kick.
But his vision remained clear.
No afterimages.
No red trails.
No Nargacuga.
He had won without it.
The supply chest opened by itself.
Inside, one of the first-aid medicines had gained a golden outline.
A reward for completing the hunt.
Alastor took it and drank.
The pain in his ribs diminished.
It didn’t vanish.
Monster Hunter had always expected the hunter to carry damage forward until the quest ended.
The slab above the gates changed.
HUNT COMPLETE
A second message appeared beneath it.
RETURN?
Two symbols formed in the air.
One resembled an open doorway.
The other resembled a Hammer.
During the past seven weeks, Alastor had entered the arena four times under supervision.
He hadn’t fought.
Makarov made him practice only one thing.
Leaving.
The first attempt took six minutes.
The second took three.
The third required less than one.
On the fourth, Alastor opened the exit before the arena finished forming.
Now he could leave.
He looked toward the unlit sections of the second star.
Bulldrome remained somewhere behind those gates.
So did Velocidrome.
Great Wroggi.
Their packs.
Alastor wanted to continue.
His hands tightened around the Hammer.
The textured grip pressed beneath his fingers.
His arms trembled.
The weapon told him what his pride didn’t want to admit.
Enough.
Alastor selected the doorway.
The arena faded.
He woke in Fairy Tail’s infirmary.
The physical Hammer lay across his body.
Zestial sat on one side of the bed with his notebook open.
Makarov occupied the other.
Porlyusica stood near Alastor’s head, one hand already pressed against his forehead.
Scout sat on the Hammer’s metal head.
“How long?” Alastor asked.
“Thirty-eight minutes,” Zestial said.
It had felt like hours.
“Did you clear it?” Scout asked.
“Great Maccao.”
Zestial’s shoulders lowered.
Only slightly.
“The Hammer?”
Alastor lifted it.
The shallow dent that marked one side of the face in the projected weapon was missing from the real thing.
The grip remained intact.
“Worked.”
Zestial examined the release channel.
“Any catches?”
“None.”
“Numbness?”
“Not in my hands.”
“Wrong grip?”
“Twice.
I released both times.”
Makarov nodded.
That approval mattered more than Alastor expected.
Porlyusica moved a finger before his eyes.
“Follow it.”
He did.
One finger.
No delay.
No doubled image.
“No Nargacuga?” she asked.
“No.”
“Mixed forms?”
“No.
Great Jaggi first.
Arzuros for the finishing sequence.”
“You changed completely between them?”
“Yes.”
Porlyusica checked his pulse.
“Pain?”
“Ribs.
Shoulder.
Left thigh.”
She examined each area.
No bruises marked his skin, but the muscles tightened beneath her touch.
“Your body remembers the impacts.”
“So does Great Maccao.”
Porlyusica pressed harder against his ribs.
Alastor winced.
“Arrogance remains untreated.”
Makarov looked at the Hammer.
“You chose to leave.”
Alastor glanced toward the weapon.
“I could’ve continued.”
“That was not what I asked.”
The difference settled over him.
He had entered the arena.
Won.
Taken a new form.
Then left while he still possessed enough strength to make the choice.
“I left,” Alastor said.
Makarov smiled.
“Yes.”
Zestial ran one finger over the shifted reinforcement band.
“I need to change this.”
Alastor looked at him.
“It survived.”
Zestial was already reworking the design.
Aldren’s lessons had infected him beyond recovery.
Alastor leaned back.
“When will it be ready again?”
Zestial looked at Makarov.
Makarov looked at Porlyusica.
Porlyusica looked at Alastor as though considering how many days of bed rest would cause the most suffering.
“Three days,” she said.
Alastor smiled.
“Bulldrome next.”
Scout stood on the Hammer.
“After repairs, recovery, and review.”
“Yes.”
“And planning.”
“Yes.”
“And equipment inspection.”
“Yes.”
“And—”
“Scout.”
The Palico stopped.
Alastor rested one hand on the Hammer’s textured grip.
The first hunt was complete.
One form had been earned.
One section of the second star now burned gold.
The weapon had survived.
So had he.
For the moment, that was victory enough.