Chapter 2 : FIRST BLOOD
The forest went quiet at sundown.
I'd parked the truck two miles from the coordinates the System provided, hidden behind a rock formation where no one would stumble across it. The hike in gave me time to check the terrain, identify exit routes, note which trees were thick enough to climb.
[WENDIGO TRACKING DATA UPLOADED] [LAST CONFIRMED KILL: 4 DAYS PRIOR] [HUNTING PATTERN: NOCTURNAL, RADIUS OF 3 MILES FROM LAIR] [LAIR LOCATION: ABANDONED COPPER MINE, 0.7 MILES NORTHWEST]
I crouched behind a fallen pine, letting my Skinwalker senses stretch outward. The world sharpened. Smells became textures—pine sap sticky-sweet, old blood copper-bitter, rot underneath everything. Sounds separated into layers—wind through branches, something small scurrying through undergrowth, my own heartbeat steady and slow.
The Wendigo's territory announced itself through absence. No deer tracks. No bird calls. Even the insects had gone silent.
Predators recognized each other's hunting grounds.
[CAUTION: WENDIGO SPEED EXCEEDS HOST CAPABILITY] [RECOMMENDED STRATEGY: AMBUSH, ENVIRONMENTAL CONTROL]
I'd planted three road flares in a triangle around a clearing two hundred yards from the mine entrance. The lighter fluid was distributed across the dry brush at each point. One flare lit, the whole clearing became a kill box.
The mine shaft gaped dark in the mountainside. Old timbers framed an entrance that hadn't seen maintenance in decades. The smell drifting out was wrong—meat that had gone bad, the chemical tang of something inhuman.
I checked my watch. 7:47 PM.
The Wendigo would hunt soon.
I circled wide, keeping the wind at my back, and found a position between two boulders with clear sightlines to the clearing. The lighter sat in my left hand. The silver knife in my right. Silver wouldn't kill a Wendigo, but it would slow one down.
Waiting was the hardest part. Not the fear—I'd made peace with fear months ago. It was a tool, a chemical response that sharpened focus and quickened reflexes. The hard part was the stillness. Holding position while your muscles cramped and your mind wanted to run scenarios.
[MOVEMENT DETECTED] [BEARING: 315 DEGREES] [DISTANCE: APPROXIMATELY 200 METERS]
I stopped breathing.
The Wendigo moved between the trees like smoke given form. Tall—taller than any human had a right to be. Emaciated limbs that bent at wrong angles. Grey skin stretched over a ribcage that jutted like bars. And the face—
Don't look at the face.
The thing that had been human once. The thing that had eaten its companions to survive a winter, then eaten more because the hunger never stopped. Now it was this. Empty eyes that reflected light like a deer's. A mouth too wide, splitting a skull that had elongated to accommodate rows of teeth that never stopped growing.
It paused at the edge of my clearing.
Sniffing.
[WENDIGO DETECTING ANOMALY] [RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE ACTION OR TACTICAL WITHDRAWAL]
Come on. Take the bait.
I'd left a blood trail. Animal blood, mixed with human scent markers I'd collected from the gas station bathroom. Enough to suggest injured prey.
The Wendigo's head swiveled toward the blood trail.
Then toward me.
It moved.
I didn't see it cross the distance. One second it was fifty yards away. The next, claws raked across my shoulder and I was falling, rolling, the world spinning as I hit a tree root and lost my grip on the lighter.
[DAMAGE SUSTAINED: SHOULDER LACERATION, DEPTH 1.5 INCHES] [BLOOD LOSS: MODERATE] [PAIN RESPONSE: SUPPRESSED]
The Wendigo landed on my chest. The weight drove the air from my lungs. Its breath hit my face—rotting meat and something older, colder, like permafrost thawing.
My right hand still held the knife.
I jammed the silver blade into its eye.
The scream that came out of it wasn't sound. It was pressure—a frequency that rattled my teeth and made my vision swim. The Wendigo reared back, clawing at its face, and I scrambled sideways, blood soaking through my jacket.
Lighter. Where's the lighter.
The undergrowth blurred as I crawled. My shoulder screamed. The Wendigo recovered faster than anything had a right to recover—already turning toward me, one eye a ruined mess, the other burning with hunger.
[HOST VITALS: CRITICAL STRESS] [RECOMMENDATION: TACTICAL WITHDRAWAL]
No time. The road flare was ten feet away. I'd dropped it when—
The Wendigo tackled me from behind.
We rolled down a slope, rocks and branches tearing at my clothes. I shifted instinctively—Skinwalker claws extending from my fingers—and raked them across the thing's throat. No blood came out. Just grey ichor that smelled like freezer burn.
Its claws found my back.
[ADDITIONAL DAMAGE: PARALLEL LACERATIONS, UPPER BACK] [BLOOD LOSS: ESCALATING]
My hand closed on something cylindrical.
The road flare.
I twisted, bringing my knee up into its chest, creating six inches of space. The cap came off. The striker scraped.
The flare ignited.
Red phosphorus light bloomed in the dark.
The Wendigo's remaining eye went wide.
I shoved the flare into its open mouth and pushed.
Fire doesn't burn like fire when it's inside you. It erupts. The Wendigo's skull became a furnace. Flames poured from its eyes, its nostrils, the gaps in its teeth. It clawed at its own face, trying to tear out the burning, and I rolled away as it thrashed.
The sounds it made—
I'd heard death before. This was worse.
It took three minutes. Three minutes of watching something that had terrorized these mountains for decades burn from the inside out. The body collapsed in stages, limbs folding, torso crumpling, until there was nothing left but ash and the smell of cooked meat.
[MISSION COMPLETE] [REWARDS: +50 EP, +5 PE] [BONUS: FIRST SOLO MAJOR THREAT ELIMINATED — +75 SXP]
I sat against a boulder, pressing my torn jacket against my shoulder. The blood wouldn't stop. Skinwalker healing was good, but not instantaneous.
My hands were shaking.
Adrenaline crash. The body's way of reminding you that survival had a price. I let myself shake, let the tremors work through my muscles, let the chemical aftermath of almost dying run its course.
A laugh bubbled up. Short and sharp.
"That was stupid," I said to no one.
[HOST ASSESSMENT: SUBOPTIMAL ENGAGEMENT PARAMETERS] [RECOMMENDATION: IMPROVED TACTICAL PREPARATION FOR FUTURE HIGH-SPEED THREATS]
"Yeah. Thanks."
The Wendigo had been faster than the lore suggested. Faster than I'd prepared for. If my claws had been a second slower, if I'd fumbled the flare—
But I hadn't.
That's what matters.
I let myself rest for another minute. Then I pushed to my feet, shoulder screaming, and limped toward what remained of the Wendigo.
The body had crumbled to ash and blackened bone. I kicked dirt over the remains, scattered the larger fragments. By morning, hikers would find nothing. Rangers would tell themselves the mountain lion had moved on.
[EVIDENCE DISPOSAL: ADEQUATE] [HUNTER THREAT LEVEL: UNCHANGED — GREEN]
The walk back to the truck took longer than it should have. Three miles through dark woods with a bleeding shoulder and a back that felt like raw hamburger. Every step sent fire up my spine. Every breath reminded me that I'd gotten lucky.
The System kept track of my vitals, pinging warnings I ignored.
[MEDICAL ATTENTION RECOMMENDED] [BLOOD LOSS: 1.2 LITERS] [CONSCIOUSNESS STABILITY: 74%]
The truck appeared through the trees like a promise.
I collapsed into the driver's seat, fumbled for the first aid kit under the passenger seat. Antiseptic. Gauze. Medical tape. My hands shook through the whole process, but I'd done this enough times that muscle memory carried me through.
The shoulder would need stitches. I'd have to find a clinic tomorrow, make up a story about a hiking accident. The back would heal on its own—Skinwalker regeneration handled surface wounds within a few days.
I cranked the heater and sat in the warmth, watching steam rise from my blood-soaked jacket.
[HOST STATUS: STABILIZING] [ESTIMATED RECOVERY TIME: 4-5 DAYS WITH PROPER REST]
Four to five days. The System tracked recovery like everything else. Another metric in its endless calculations.
The night had gone quiet again. Peaceful, almost. The Wendigo's territory would revert to normal patterns—animals returning, hikers safe to wander.
Not that any of them would know. Not that anyone would thank the monster who saved them.
That wasn't the point.
The point was that I'd survived. I'd grown stronger. I'd proven that two years of preparation translated into action.
[NEW SYSTEM NOTIFICATION] [EXPANDING OPERATIONS RECOMMENDED] [REGIONAL MONSTER ACTIVITY DETECTED — POTENTIAL ALLIANCE OPPORTUNITIES]
I closed my eyes.
Alliances. The System wanted me to stop hunting alone and start building. A coalition of monsters. A network of allies. Something that could survive what was coming.
Three years until the apocalypse.
I wasn't sure if that was enough time.
The truck's engine turned over on the second try, and I pointed it toward the nearest town with a motel.
Tomorrow, I'd stitch myself back together.
The next day, I'd start recruiting.
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