Data and Magic

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 on the flanks, her stance firm, her expression focused, a conduit of raw power. She whispered, her voice low but clear, carrying an undeniable authority, "magic missile!"

Two streaks of light, a brilliant, almost blinding blue-white, 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, too fast for the human eye to follow, guided by an unseen force, striking the two wolves with pinpoint accuracy, with lethal precision.

The impact was immediate and devastating. The wolves yelped, their bodies convulsing as the magical missiles slammed into them, piercing fur and flesh. Deep wounds, glowing with the same eerie blue-white light, appeared on their flanks, searing their flesh, disrupting their muscles, shattering bone. They staggered, whimpering, their movements clumsy and uncoordinated, their momentum broken. They weren't dead, but they were severely injured, effectively taken out of the fight, at least for now, their threat neutralized by Julia's swift and decisive action.

William stared, awestruck, his mouth agape, his mind struggling to comprehend what he had just witnessed. Magic missile. The words, unbidden, popped into his head, another echo of his fantasy-reading days, a term from a game, a concept from a fictional world. But it was real. Magic was real, and it was terrifyingly effective, a force of nature unleashed with a whisper and a gesture.

Edward wasted no time. With a roar, a battle cry that echoed through the clearing, he charged towards the lead wolf, his lightning-wreathed sword held high, a beacon of defiance in the encroaching darkness. The wolf, momentarily surprised by Julia's attack, by the sudden display of magical power, reacted a split second too late, its instincts momentarily overwhelmed.

Edward swung his sword in a wide arc, a move that looked like a straightforward, overhead blow, a powerful but predictable attack. The wolf leader, sensing the danger, its instincts finally kicking in, leaped backward, narrowly avoiding the strike, dodging the deadly arc of the electrified blade. But the movement had been a feint, a carefully calculated deception. As the wolf landed, its weight shifting, its muscles tensing for a counterattack, Edward, with surprising agility for a man his size, a speed that belied his bulk, pivoted on his left foot, shifting his weight, transferring his momentum, and brought his sword up in a swift, underhand slash, a move that was both unexpected and devastating.

The lightning-charged blade connected with the wolf's exposed belly, slicing through fur and flesh with ease, meeting minimal resistance. A sickening crackle filled the air, the sound of tearing flesh mingling with the sharp hiss of discharging electrical energy, as the lightning arced from the blade 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. It collapsed to the ground, smoke rising from the seared flesh, the smell of burnt fur and ozone filling the air.

Edward didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, his face grim, his expression devoid of any emotion but grim determination, and plunged his sword into the wolf's skull, ending its suffering with a swift, merciful blow, a final act of necessary violence.

The final, uninjured wolf, seeing its pack decimated in a matter of seconds, its leader slain with brutal efficiency, its companions crippled and whimpering, seemed to lose its nerve. It hesitated for a moment, its eyes darting between Edward, Julia, and the fallen bodies of its companions, its primal instincts battling with its fear. Then, with a snarl of frustration and fear, a sound that was more a whimper than a growl, it turned and bolted, disappearing into the shadows of the forest, abandoning the fight, choosing survival over aggression.

William's mind, which had been frozen in a mixture of awe and terror, suddenly kicked into overdrive. He had to act, and he had to act fast. He couldn't afford to hesitate, not even for a second. The wolf, whilst retreating from Edward, was heading in his direction.

He quickly analysed the situation, running through his options, his analytical mind working at lightning speed, just like it had at the casino, just like it had when he was crafting his algorithm, sifting through data, calculating probabilities, searching for the optimal solution.

Option 1: Run. He could try to flee, to put some distance between himself and the charging wolf. But his injured leg would slow him down, betray him. The wolf was faster, more agile, even in its current state. It would catch him, easily. Probability of success: Low. Very low.

Option 2: Fight. He could stand his ground, try to meet the wolf's attack head-on, using the dagger Edward had given him. He remembered the goblin, how he'd hesitated, how he'd almost died. He couldn't afford to do that again. He could wait for the wolf to lunge, then try to stab it as it came within range, aiming for a vital organ, a killing blow. Probability of success: Moderate. Probability of injury: High due to impact from lunging wolf

Option 3: Throw. He could throw the dagger. It was a small weapon, hardly ideal for throwing, balanced poorly for such a task, but it was his only ranged option. If he hit, he could injure the wolf, slow it down, maybe even disable it, disrupt its attack. If he missed... well, he'd be unarmed, completely defenceless. But even a miss might buy Julia or Edward time to intervene, to come to his rescue. It would startle the beast, force it to react. Probability of success: Uncertain, but with a high potential payoff. Probability of injury: Low, at least in the short term.

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. He had to trust his aim, his instincts, and a little bit of luck, the very thing he'd dismissed as irrelevant only hours before.