The gryphon thrashed against the sky, wings faltering, the body in its beak still screaming.
I dragged the reticle across its ribs with shaky hands tingling with mana as it poured up my arms and into the rifle.
Just ten percent—hundred grams.
A sliver of power as I whispered, "Iṣṭva."
And yet –
—Tissh!
The shot cracked soft, the suppressor chewing down the thunder, but what came out the other end wasn't soft at all.
The bullet hit, and the griffon didn't just take a hole.
It took a cavern.
The exit wound tore open its flank like an erupting volcano—blood, feathers, meat, and bone spraying outward in a wet explosion that painted the sky in gore.
The scream that followed was monstrous, a pitch so raw it shredded the air.
The gryphon lurched mid-flight, wings spasming as though trying to stitch the gaping hole I tore in its chest.
For half a heartbeat, it hung there… suspended like a grotesque kite.
And then, well… gravity.
The beast plummeted like a crashing aircraft, wings flailing uselessly while the body in its beak still thrashed and fought even as they fell.
The treeline seemed to have rushed up to meet them, and then—
—CRASH!
A hundred meters out, trees snapped like twigs.
Dust and feathers burst upward in a choking plume as the griffon slammed into the forest floor.
The sound rolled back to me a second late, like thunder chasing lightning.
I blinked once, then twice… looking at the plume of dust with the rifle still pointing upward.
"…Bullseye," I whispered, even though my hands were still trembling.
And a beat later—
I broke into a mad dash as the cloak whipped at my legs.
My boots tore through the grass as my eyes locked on the rising dust plume.
But not before leaving behind the sword.
[God, please. Please let them be alive. The beak, the fall—no way... No fucking way. But they were screaming... Please—]
I pushed harder, half-expecting every step to be too late.
Half-expecting to find nothing but pieces.
[Stamina bar would be flashing red by now.]
But there was no bar here…
Just lungs burning and a heart that wanted out of my chest.
The dust plume was still hanging in the treeline when I bolted.
My boots hammering dirt and the cloak dragging at my shoulders while every step was snagged by roots and branches that clawed at my shins.
The rifle bounced hard against my waist and chest, the sling biting deep into my shoulder.
It wasn't like in Endlessness.
In-game, no feeling was this intense.
But here?
My thighs burned by the tenth stride.
My lungs burned by the twentieth.
By fifty meters I was a mess with sweat soaking my back, and breath tearing in and out like a dog.
But I couldn't stop.
The dust plume still hung over the treeline, glowing orange in the sunset.
Branches were still swaying like the griffon's crash had left the whole place quivering.
Leaves and dust rained down with every step, drifting through the air as though the whole world had been knocked loose.
Then it came — two sounds cutting over each other.
First—a scream.
High-pitched and broken, yet tearing though the air like someone still fighting to live.
Second—a roar.
The griffon's…
Not the sky-splitting shriek of before.
This was deeper.
Between half a cough and a growl, its chest was still full enough to push sound even through the hole I'd torn in it.
It was the kind of noise that shook the air in your lungs.
The clash of them together was desperation and fury colliding.
Even I staggered mid-stride, chest seizing under the weight of that sound.
"Ah, shit!" I barked, voice shreddering through panting breaths.
My legs screamed at me to quit while my heart hammered hard enough to choke me—but the scream was still there and so was the roar.
They were both alive.
And that meant I couldn't stop.
I shoved forward, cloak slapping against my calves, sweat burning my eyes, and every breath ragged.
Each step was a fight against the weight on my shoulders and the fire in my legs.
The dust plume ahead began to thin, breaking into patches of sunset's orange light slanting between trunks.
Somewhere in that haze—human and monster were still struggling in the dying light.
And I was still too far away to matter.
By the time I broke through the last line of trees, I was panting like a dog.
My boots slid on loose dirt, knees buckling, body begging to fold — the only thing holding me upright was adrenaline burning like napalm in my veins.
The crash site was a wound carved into the forest.
Trees splintered in half, branches shattered and hanging limp, earth torn open where the griffon had slammed down.
Dust still clung in the air, glowing orange in the low sun, thick enough to choke on.
And in the middle of it was hell itself and a woman crawling for her life.
She crawled through the muck, dragging herself by her elbows, her body broken in ways I didn't want to name.
Her leg was mangled meat, twisted wrong at the knee.
Her shoulder jutted sharp where no bone should show.
Her face streaked with blood and dirt and tears, eyes wide with the kind of terror that carves itself permanent.
Each movement left a red smear in the soil, her strength bleeding out behind her in a trail.
And in front of her was — it.
The griffon wasn't flying anymore... wasn't even standing.
It was crawling.
Talons dug into the dirt, dragging its ruined body forward inch by inch.
Its wings hung shredded with feathers painted red.
The hole I'd punched clean through its ribcage gaped wide.
Every breath it took was a wheezing rattle of gore.
But its eyes… god, its eyes still burned gold.
And its broken beak split open, dripping blood and spit as it loosed a snarl so deep it rattled my teeth.
It wasn't hunting or feeding.
It was finishing.
The beast dragged itself through its own blood, closing in on the crawling woman with a hunger that wasn't hunger anymore — just rage.
A madness that promised it would tear her apart even if it was the last thing it ever did.
While I stood there, rifle dragging at my sling like it wanted to pull me into the dirt.
Sweat stung my eyes to the point I could barely keep them open, as my head buzzed with dizziness.
Barely standing on the legs trembling through the sheer exhaustion under the weight of every step that had brought me here.
My vision blurred, making the whole scene seem like it was swimming under murky water.
Then came panic's slap…
Fear, adrenaline, and exhaustion — all of it crashed together until my hands shook so bad I could barely grip the rifle.
Fumbling through it I somehow got it into my grip before hauling it up.
I jammed the stock sloppy against my shoulder while the canted sight wobbled as my aim swung wide with each ragged breath.
Sweat dripped down my temple, blinding one eye, sliding the reticle further off target.
Through gritted teeth, I forced a breath in deep as I could, trying to steady the quake.
And the word finally rasped out between clenched teeth… more plea than command.
"Iṣṭva."