The wood was ingrained into his leg, throbbing with every movement, beating like a second heart.
The pain fought against his very will to stay awake, his consciousness battling with his body.
Mind against will.
He knew unconsciousness would likely lead to death. His strength had been diminishing with every movement. Tears streamed down his face. Regret lingered on his conscience — the things he could have done differently, his family, his friends, the relationships he would never get to explore further.
His thoughts were quickly interrupted by the rustling of leaves outside.
He had hidden within a crevasse of a mountain, watching the outside world through a layer of vines that covered the entrance.
His vision was obscured by the faint light around him. A veil covered the valley he currently resided in, and with the dense trees, the lighting was as dark as any night.
With so little visibility, the thing lurking before him was unknown.
The silhouette reminded him of a dog.
Its figure became clearer as it moved closer, and he could see the distinct differences between this creature and any dog. It had two tails, and its elbows resembled those of a bat.
His heart began to beat faster and faster as the creature drew closer, its snout pressed to the ground, searching for a presumed meal.
As it neared, its tails began to rise — a clear sign of its heightened awareness.
He could practically feel its breath, see the hair on its back, hear the crunch of its steps. Weary and alert, its face was only inches away from the vines.
He stared, fixated, waiting for the perfect moment. Although his heartbeat seemed to give away his location, his mind told him this was the time to strike. He fought against his very instinct to stay still.
The creature's body visibly tightened as it slowly pushed its head through the vines, ears perked to catch even the faintest sound, eyes scanning the dark space for movement.
The crevasse was silent.
As it sniffed the floor, its tails momentarily dropped.
That was the moment he'd been waiting for. His hands shot up from above his head, his body lunging forward from the left side of the creature.
Sensing danger, the beast whirled around, but the overhead attack slammed into its face before it could react.
The creature staggered, its body crashing into the stone wall.
Before it could regain its footing, another attack struck its rib-cage.
As he reeled back for a third strike, pain tore through his side.
A scream ripped through the small crevasse — pain surged through his body.
The attack hadn't come from the creature he'd ambushed.
This one was smaller but similar in appearance.
Its size didn't matter; its attack had done enough damage. A bite had left his stomach damaged, blood poured like a faucet.
His hands loosened their grip on the rock. His eyes assessed the situation: one beast stood before him, ready to pounce at any moment; the other lay motionless on the floor, likely unconscious rather than dead.
Steadying his breath, he waited. The smaller, bat-like creature positioned itself between him and what was probably its parent.
Barely a moment passed before it pounced.
Lowering his center of gravity, his eyes met the creature's — for a moment, they stared into each other.
Then he charged. Using his superior weight, he slammed into the creature with all his force.
Pain once again flooded his mind as the beast shredded his shoulder.
Driving forward like a lineman, he slammed the creature into the stone wall.
He staggered back, clutching his shoulder. Tears welled from the pain, but his gaze never left the creature.
He watched as it steadied itself. Its body began to heat, mist forming from the contrast with the cold air. The blood around it crept toward its body, absorbed into its skin. The more it absorbed, the hotter its surroundings became.
Its body began to expand, growing to twice its original size.
It wasn't as unintelligent as he'd assumed. Its newfound bulk erased his weight advantage — now he was at a disadvantage.
The beast knew it too. It lunged.
He dodged to the left, barely evading its strike.
Quickly regaining his footing, he knew the likelihood of survival was slim. But he couldn't die here. If he couldn't win with strength, he'd have to create his own advantage.
Rushing toward the exit, he grabbed the unconscious body. The smaller creature would surely give chase.
As soon as he burst through the vines, he spun around.
Reeling his arms back, he waited. A second later, the vines parted again — he brought his arms down with all his strength.
He used the unconscious body like a weapon, slamming it down repeatedly. Parent and child were smashed together again and again until their bodies were unrecognizable.
Brain matter splattered across the walls; blood pooled beneath him.
Breathing heavily, blood leaking from his shoulder, leg, and torso, he stood trembling. The branch lodged in his leg throbbed painfully — if not for the adrenaline, he doubted he could even stand.
He dragged both carcasses back into the crevasse.
His body felt weak, barely responsive. He knew he couldn't travel with wounds like these.
He hadn't eaten in days, and the carcasses before him looked like a five-star meal. They were already split open.
The texture of the meat was slick and slightly damp, with a subtle graininess. He realized he was likely holding its liver. The taste was metallic, slick — alive.
He swore it moved in his mouth.
The flavor clung to his tongue with a cold, iron tang, like biting a mouthful of pennies. Beneath the surface, he sensed a faint sweetness — the kind that lingered in the back of the throat, earthy and raw.
The texture was yielding yet resistant, sinew tugging back against his teeth, soft in some places and gristly in others.
Each chew released more blood.
Before he knew it, the juvenile's entire body was gone. A heat began to rise inside him. He couldn't tell whether it came from the meat or something else entirely.
Relaxing against the wall, his body grew heavy, his mind hazy.
Before he knew it, he was asleep.