The world screamed.
From across the shattered gorge, they watched.
Beasts clashed like titans on the far side—their snarls and roars echoing through the tangled skeleton of a ruined city long buried beneath nature's wrath. Trees grown fat with time burst from skyscraper wounds, their roots thick as buses, coiled around steel like serpents around prey. Vines the width of human torsos strangled entire buildings, dripping with sap and blood. The air shimmered with heat and fury.
And above it all—the three apex predators waged their war.
The Devourer howled, flinging a lesser beast into a crumbling tower. Serpentrix snapped through a tangle of roots and bodies with bone-splitting force. Skyrend dove again, talons outstretched, carving ruin in its descent. Every blow misted blood into the air, painting the skyline with crimson fog.
Ethan whistled low under his breath. "I'm not saying we picked the wrong continent to crash on, but… this might be the wrong planet."
Sid didn't respond at first. His gaze stayed locked on the battlefield, calm but calculating. "That isn't just a food chain breaking down."
"It's a throne," Dianna added, arms folded, eyes narrowed. "And they're fighting over who sits on it."
Ethan shook his head, grin fading. "I don't know what freaks me out more. The three titans tearing each other apart… or those damn Lizardhounds just watching. Like they know how it ends."
"They do," Sid murmured. "That's the problem."
Dianna turned to him. "You think they've seen this before?"
"I think they've survived it."
The trio fell quiet for a moment.
Then Ethan let out a sharp breath. "They're not just wild animals. I've seen wild. This—" he jabbed a thumb toward the motionless pack on the other ridge—"this is military."
Dianna frowned. "Then what are we?"
Ethan shrugged. "Caught in the middle."
A Tarnak'hul warrior behind them gave a snorting chuckle, shoulders still rising and falling from the run. "Never seen beasts fight like that. Not even in the Deeplands."
Another spat into the moss. "They're not fightin'. They're rememberin'. Old hate."
Ethan turned, frowning. "Yeah, about that…" He gestured across to the unmoving Lizardhounds still watching from their moss-covered perch. "Why the hell are they just staring at us? It's like we slept with their mom and forgot about it."
"They can't possibly be that petty. We just killed a few of them—sure, but that's how things work around here. Right?" Dianna muttered under her breath with a smirk.
Sid tilted his head slightly, expression sharpening. "No… they're not just holding a grudge. They're waiting. They're watching. Coordinated. Even the beasts down there aren't getting that kind of discipline."
"They're planning," The warlord finished, tone flat.
The group went quiet.
Across the battlefield, the Lizardhounds hadn't moved. Dozens of them, eyes glowing like coals beneath the jungle canopy. Still. Patient. As if they had time to wait for the war to end. As if they knew they would outlast it.
Then—
A voice cracked the stillness.
A booming, chest-deep laugh.
The Tarnak'hul warlord—broad as a wall, standing tall atop the crumbled path—threw his head back and roared with mirth.
"HA! What a stupid, beautiful way to end the day!"
His voice rolled like thunder, shaking a few vines loose from the trees above.
He slammed a fist into his plated chest, a deep thunk echoing through his armor. "Madness on one side, cowards on the other—and here we are! Standing between 'em! gods, I love this jungle."
Ethan blinked. "Wait, what about cowards?"
The warlord pointed across the river at the Lizardhounds. "You don't charge the field when your gods are bleeding—unless you mean to kill them too. But they don't. They watch. They wait." His voice lowered, eyes sharpening beneath his heavy brow. "They ain't scared. They're smart."
The laughter faded. Silence rolled in, broken only by the distant shrieks of monsters in war.
Then the warlord turned, teeth bared in a grin more dangerous than amused.
"Come on. Enough stargazing. That bridge's gone, and we've got blood to spill and a path to carve. The beasts will tear each other down—just not in our honor."
He took a long stride forward, heavy boots crunching moss and ancient bone alike.
"Move."
The Tarnak'hul grunted in approval—loud, joyful, brutal sounds of warriors eager for what came next.
Ethan hesitated, casting one last look at the Lizardhounds. Their Alpha still hadn't moved.
"Something's not right," he muttered.
Dianna stepped up beside him, nudging his shoulder with the flat of her sword. "When has anything ever been right?"
He managed a crooked smile. "Fair."
Sid followed quietly, scanning the treeline. "They're going to follow us eventually," he said. "They're waiting for something."
"Yeah," Ethan muttered. "Us."
They left the ridge behind, the war still raging beyond the river—a storm of claws and blood in their wake.
But in the hush between trees, something stirred.
The Lizardhounds turned.
And followed.
The war wasn't behind them anymore.
It was walking.
---
They left the edge of the broken bridge behind.
The war—savage and thunderous—faded into a distant chorus, swallowed by trees and wind. Each step forward pulled them from madness… but not from danger.
The jungle thinned slightly along the old highway. Concrete lay cracked and uneven, devoured by roots, vines, and centuries of rain. Nature had taken the road, but its bones remained—half-submerged signs, rusted rails, the ghost of structure under all the green.
The Tarnak'hul walked in restless formation, weapons ready, boots thudding softly over moss. Their laughter had dulled now. Only alert eyes remained.
Three of them slowed, exchanged looks, then stepped out of line.
"Warlord," one rumbled, hand to chest. "We'll scout ahead."
The other two nodded in silent agreement.
The Warlord turned, gaze sharp. "No foolish bravery."
"Only quick eyes," said another with a grin.
The Warlord gave a slow nod. "Then may the dusk meet you with no blades behind it. Go."
They vanished into the brush—silent despite their size.
The sun had begun its slow descent by the time the road ended.
And what lay ahead was not a ruin.
It was a scar.
A massive crater tore the land open—wide enough to swallow a city, and so deep the fading light could not touch its center. A river, narrow but swift, cut across the basin's floor, slicing it in two like a silver thread through the earth.
Three bridges crossed it—crude, but solid. Stone, timber, and cable fused together with brutal ingenuity. Ugly, yet functional.
And beyond them—stretching across the far rim and curling deep into the overgrown forest—stood a settlement.
Massive. Alive.
Built into the crater wall in vertical layers, homes clung to terraces of stone and ancient wreckage, reinforced by timber scaffolding and thick root-bound beams. Crude towers jutted out from the ledges—watchposts crowned with lanterns and old tech. Rope lifts dangled between platforms, hauling supplies, water, and smoke-wreathed baskets of food.
The settlement didn't stop at the wall. It bled outward—low structures and tented courtyards spreading into the treeline, nestled among the skeletal remains of collapsed skyscrapers long buried by moss and mud. Cranes spun slowly above debris-choked yards. Fires crackled in pit hearths. Banners flapped along weathered battlements.
It reached all the way down to the river's edge—walls of rusted metal and salvaged stone hugging the water like a fortress built in retreat.
And it was lively.
Lights glowed from every level—warm and flickering, like the heartbeat of something that refused to die. Smoke rose in soft trails. Voices carried on the wind—laughter, barking, hammer strikes, the low thrum of distant music. Somewhere, a bell rang.
A place of survival. Maybe even defiance.
At the crater's rim, the three scouts waited—already returned, already watching.
As the group stepped forward, the last light of the sun spilled over them, painting their armor, their faces, even their doubts in soft, dying orange.
Dianna's voice broke the silence. "That's not just a camp. That's a fortress with roots."
Ethan let out a low breath. "What kind of people build there and don't get eaten?"
"The kind worth talking to," Sid murmured. "Or the kind you never see coming."
The Warlord's eyes narrowed, gaze fixed on the towers. "We'll find out soon enough."
Together, they turned toward the bridges.
And began the descent.