The forest no longer slept.
It breathed—slow, wary, alert—as if every root and branch had learned the taste of blood and decided it did not like the flavor lingering in the soil. Morning light filtered through the canopy in fractured beams, illuminating boot prints beside claw marks, human tracks crossing wolf paths without tension, without challenge. It was still strange to see them together.
Hunters and wolves.
Not enemies. Not allies either. Something uneasy in between.
The hunting party moved in layered formation. Wolves ranged wide and silent, shapes slipping between trees, noses low to the ground. Humans followed in tighter clusters, crossbows ready, rifles slung but not raised, blades at their hips. They had learned—quickly—that loud confidence got you killed out here.
At the front of the human line walked Marcus, shoulders squared, eyes sharp. He had hunted beasts his entire adult life, but the forest felt different now. Smarter. Meaner. Like something was pushing back.
Behind him, Joren adjusted his grip on his spear. "Tracks change here," he muttered. "Whatever we're following stopped moving like an animal."
A low growl answered him—not hostile, just alert.
Rhea, one of the wolves assigned to the forward flank, lifted her head and sniffed the air. Her ears flattened.
"Problem?" Marcus asked quietly.
Rhea didn't speak—she wasn't one of the transformed ones—but her body language said enough. The wolves around her slowed, hackles rising. The forest had gone still. No birds. No insects. Even the wind seemed to hesitate.
That was never a good sign.
They had been hunting for three days straight, moving further from the forest's heart and closer to the broken hills where the Continuum's creatures had begun to appear. Smaller beasts first—twisted things with too many joints, warped senses, aggression stitched into their bones. They had killed those easily enough.
This felt different.
Marcus raised a fist. The humans stopped. Wolves melted into defensive positions, spreading without sound.
"What is it?" Joren whispered.
Marcus didn't answer immediately. He crouched, studying the ground. The tracks were deep—too deep. Clawed impressions sunk inches into packed earth, wide as a man's chest. Something heavy. Something strong.
And then there were the drag marks.
"Something big," Marcus said finally. "And wounded."
A mistake, he realized too late.
Wounded things didn't run.
They waited.
The attack came from above.
The ground didn't explode—there was no dramatic crash, no roar of warning. One moment the cliff face loomed quietly overhead, and the next a massive shape detached from the stone and dropped into their formation.
The impact shattered earth and stone. Wolves were thrown back, humans sent sprawling. Dust and debris filled the air.
The beast rose slowly from the crater it made.
It was tall—taller than any bear Marcus had ever seen—but unnaturally narrow, its limbs elongated like stretched shadows. Its skin looked like bark fused with bone, ridged and cracked, glowing faintly beneath with a sickly amber light. Its head was wrong—too smooth, eyeless except for slits that pulsed as it breathed.
And its mouth—
Its mouth split vertically, opening wider than seemed possible, revealing rows of jagged teeth that rotated slightly as it inhaled.
The wolves reacted first.
Three charged from the left, moving as one. They hit the creature low, jaws locking onto its legs.
The beast didn't even stagger.
It swung one arm—too fast—and sent all three wolves flying. One slammed into a tree with a crack that made Marcus flinch.
"Defensive positions!" Marcus shouted. "Do not engage solo!"
The hunters fired. Bolts and bullets struck the creature's torso, embedding deep—but instead of blood, a thick, black substance leaked out, smoking where it hit the ground.
The beast tilted its head.
Then it laughed.
Not with sound—but with vibration. The air itself seemed to tremble as the creature stepped forward, each movement deliberate, calculating.
Joren lunged, spear aimed for what might have been a throat.
The beast caught the shaft mid-strike.
Its grip crushed metal.
Joren barely rolled away in time as the spear snapped in half.
"This thing's learning," Marcus said grimly. "It's not feral."
A howl cut through the chaos—a command, sharp and clear.
The wolves shifted tactics instantly.
They stopped charging.
They circled.
This wasn't Blake's voice, but the pack had learned his lessons well. Never rush what watches you think. Never commit until you understand.
Two wolves darted in, feinting attacks, testing reactions. The beast responded quickly, but not flawlessly. Its movements were powerful—but slightly delayed, like it had to decide before acting.
"Marcus!" one of the hunters yelled. "Its chest—there's something glowing under the ribs!"
Marcus saw it then—a core-like structure beneath the bark-skin, pulsing brighter when the creature moved aggressively.
"A heart?" Joren asked.
"No," Marcus said. "A battery."
The beast lunged again, faster this time. One wolf was too slow. The creature's arm pierced through fur and flesh, lifting the wolf off the ground.
Time slowed.
Then a human moved.
Not Marcus. Not Joren.
A younger hunter—Eli—threw himself forward, blade flashing. He slashed at the creature's arm, not to kill, but to distract.
It worked.
The beast dropped the wolf and turned, enraged.
That was the opening.
The wolves struck together—five of them, coordinated, tearing at joints, tendons, forcing the creature to shift its stance.
Marcus fired a bolt tipped with sigil-etched steel straight into the glowing core.
The beast screamed.
This time, with sound.
The scream shattered nearby branches and sent a shockwave rippling outward. Humans and wolves alike were thrown back. The beast staggered, clutching its chest as cracks spread across its bark-like skin.
But it didn't fall.
Instead, the glow intensified.
"Oh hell," Joren breathed. "It's overloading."
"Fall back!" Marcus shouted. "Now!"
They barely made it.
The creature slammed its fists into the ground, releasing a burst of energy that scorched earth and stone in a wide radius. Trees blackened. The air burned.
When the dust settled, the beast stood again—damaged, smoking, but very much alive.
And angry.
The wolves regrouped quickly, forming a protective arc in front of the humans. Several were wounded—limping, bleeding—but still standing.
Marcus wiped blood from his brow. "This isn't a hunt," he said quietly. "It's a test."
The beast took a step forward.
Then another.
And then—
It stopped.
Its head tilted sharply, as if listening to something only it could hear.
The glow in its chest dimmed slightly. Its posture shifted—not retreating, not advancing.
Confused.
The forest stirred.
Marcus felt it too—a pressure change, like the air itself was holding its breath.
"What now?" Joren asked.
Marcus didn't answer.
Far away—too far to see, but close enough to feel—something moved through the forest. Not fast. Not loud.
Purposeful.
The beast snarled, taking an involuntary step back.
"That thing," Joren said slowly, "is scared."
Marcus lowered his weapon just a fraction.
"No," he said. "It's being recalled."
The creature let out one final distorted roar, then slammed its fist into the ground again—not as an attack, but as a signal. The glow in its chest pulsed once, sharply.
And then it turned.
With impossible speed, it retreated into the trees, vanishing despite its size, leaving behind scorched earth, broken bodies, and a silence that rang in everyone's ears.
No one moved for several long seconds.
Finally, a wolf howled—short, sharp, questioning.
Marcus exhaled slowly.
"Check the wounded," he ordered. "No pursuit. Not today."
As humans and wolves moved to tend injuries, Marcus stared into the forest where the creature had vanished.
This wasn't random anymore.
These beasts weren't just sent to kill.
They were sent to measure.
And somewhere deeper in the woods, Blake would feel it too—the shift, the warning, the tightening of the storm.
More danger was coming.
And next time, it wouldn't be alone.