Zyair's breathing was ragged, tail tips dripping faint traces of residual Oros energy as he ducked behind a frost-laden tree. The forest was no longer a safe haven—it had become a hunting ground.
Three figures emerged from the shadows, moving deliberately, shadows flickering with Abyss-tainted energy. Scouts, or perhaps operatives testing him. Zyair could feel the pressure building in his chest.
No hesitation. Keep moving. Survive.
He swung a tail to strike a tree trunk, propelling himself into a midair flip. One operative lunged, only to be knocked off balance by a Chaos-infused tail swipe. Another came at him from the left. Zyair pivoted, spinning on one tail while another coil lashed out, catching the attacker in the shoulder. A crack of Ice Oros froze the ground under the operative's feet, forcing them to stumble.
But there were too many. A shard of Abyss energy grazed his side, burning through his coat and flesh. Pain shot through him. He staggered, but his Hydra Apex instincts surged.
Eat. Now.
Before he could think, he devoured the nearest operative. Warmth surged through him, healing torn muscle and rekindling his energy. The second operative lunged immediately, and he pivoted midair, striking and devouring again. Pain and blood mixed with adrenaline, but each bite replenished what the battle stole.
By the third strike, Zyair was panting, sweat mixing with snow and blood. He stumbled to the side, retreating to a temporary high ground—a ridge partially obscured by frozen pines. His tails coiled protectively, sensing the remaining operatives circling. They hesitated.
I can't keep this up forever.
He flexed his hands, feeling Chaos and Ice Oros hum along his veins. He could create shards to delay them, spikes to block paths, but he knew that each strike drew more attention. The forest itself seemed to echo with his heartbeat.
The operatives advanced cautiously. Zyair didn't wait. With a synchronized movement, his tails spun, delivering sweeping Chaos-infused strikes while shards of Ice Oros erupted from the frozen ground. The last two operatives staggered back, barely recovering before he lunged and struck.
By the time the snow settled, Zyair was alone again, panting heavily, blood staining his coat. His body throbbed with injury, but he was alive. Every bite, every burst of Oros energy, had kept him moving—but he realized something chilling:
This is only the beginning. They're testing me. The real hunt won't stop.
He sank to one knee, coiling his tails around him, tasting the metallic tang of blood in the snow. Survival demanded not just skill, but ruthless efficiency. Eating on the move had become second nature. Each encounter sharpened him, each scar taught him caution.
From the shadows, he felt it again: a faint presence, observing, calculating, making sure every step he took would be accounted for. The Void Covenant wasn't just tracking him—they were shaping him.
And Zyair had to be ready.