The wheat swayed softly in the dying sun, golden and calm, but I knew it was a lie. The air smelled of smoke and iron, though the fire hadn't even started yet. Something was wrong. My legs moved before my mind could protest, carrying me toward the sound of screaming — short, sharp, wrong.
I froze behind the fence, clutching the stick I had grabbed from the barn. My heart thundered in my chest, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from the shadow moving through the neighbor's yard. A massive werewolf, fur dark and rippling with unnatural light, leapt at Hunter Alex. He twisted midair, swinging a crossbow, firing another bolt. The monster snarled, claws scraping dangerously close, and I realized — my father and Alex were the only things standing between the beast and the people we cared about.
My father moved without hesitation, grabbing the neighbor and pulling her toward the back door. "Go! Run!" His voice was calm, steady — but his jaw trembled ever so slightly. I recognized it immediately: thrill.
I remembered my grandfather's words: "Your father tried to be a hunter once. He didn't have the talent. But he never lost the desire."
And now… now I understood.
He smiled faintly at me. Not the gentle smile he gave us at home, safe and ordinary. This one was alive, vibrant — full of courage, of life itself. I realized it was the first time I had ever truly seen my father as himself, not just as "my dad."
Elias watched as the werewolf attacked Hunter Alex. The hunter evaded the monstrous swipe, rolling just in time, and fired another arrow from his crossbow, striking its shoulder. Meanwhile, my father helped the neighbor escape, guiding her through the back door, his movements calm but urgent.
The werewolf lunged at Alex again, and he twisted midair, landing harshly on the stairs. The monster gave chase, its massive claws scraping the wood as Alex grabbed his sword in one hand and a knife in the other, swinging at the creature as it leapt at him. The werewolf twisted in the air, using the wall to push itself to the left while falling, narrowly avoiding the hunter's sword. Alex fell to the ground but didn't hesitate; he planted his knife and held the crossbow in one hand, aiming directly at the creature.
The werewolf dashed into the next room, disappearing from sight. Suddenly, silence enveloped the area — only Alex's measured breaths cutting through the smoke and tension. He calculated his next move carefully. The room was small, the monster stronger than him physically, and the only reason it had retreated was because of his crossbow. If it closed the distance, Alex would most likely die.
He turned to my father and me. "Do you have kibrit?"
My father nodded immediately, understanding. He lit one and threw it at the house. Flames caught the wood instantly, fire spreading fast. Smoke curled into the sky. The room where the werewolf had hidden was now surrounded on all sides by fire, the only escape through the door in front of Alex.
Alex looked at the burning room, readying his crossbow and sword. He threw his knife toward my father and shouted, "If it comes running, we need to stop it here!"
My father remained calm, though I could sense both fear and excitement beneath the surface.
I looked at him. There was a small smile at the edge of his mouth. I was surprised — this was the first time I had seen him smile like this. He smiled with us at home, of course, but never like this: full of life, full of spirit, full of the kind of joy that comes from doing what your heart has always dreamed.
And I understood. This was his dream, alive in this desperate moment. Humans, no matter how logical we try to be, are driven by emotion. Even our rationality bends under desire and fear. I looked at him, and he looked at me. He smiled and pointed for me to stay back.
My father, John, felt a great joy as memories flooded back: days with his friend Alex, both dreaming of being hunters. One succeeded, one failed. Now he was a farmer, living a quiet life, taking the best of it, caring for his family. Yet even as he lived this life fully, a part of him had always wondered if being a father was truly his path. He had always been quiet, reserved; only a few people ever got close to him. Even my mother hadn't fully broken through his calm, steady shield.
Now, watching the flames, he laughed softly, remembering his past, remembering dreams he never abandoned. Why now, in the middle of this chaos, did the memories bring him joy? Perhaps because even in the face of death, he hadn't given up on his dream. He smiled.
Hunter Alex looked at him. "Do you feel the thrill, my friend?"
My father nodded. "Yes."
Alex chuckled. "One word, as usual. Is it going to kill you to share your emotions a little?"
John shook his head, smiling faintly. "No. But I don't have any emotion to share right now… only thrill."
I watched the house burn, the flames reflecting in their eyes. Despite the danger, the serious situation, there was a strange feeling of unity, a sense of bonding. The walls my father had built around himself, the calm, quiet man, seemed to fall. Alex, the childlike uncle who had always seemed detached, now stood serious, focused, smiling with anticipation.
And me? I was just a farm boy, calm, observing. I felt a chill as I watched the fire, my father, and Alex standing firm in front of the inferno.
The fire spread quickly, smoke thickening to the point of suffocation. I could barely see. And then, a roar tore through the air — the werewolf screaming to the sky.
Alex smiled. "Looks like he's screaming."
Father said quietly, "The same way he made his victims scream. Uncle Thomas… he was my neighbor. He killed his family."
Suddenly, something approached from behind. Father turned toward me, shouting words I couldn't hear. The fear on his face was like nothing I had ever seen. My father, a man of quiet strength, a farmer who faced every hardship with composure, looked truly afraid for the first time. I wanted to make him proud, to be worthy of him.
And then, pain exploded. Something hit me from behind. I flew through the air, bones screaming as they twisted. I realized… another werewolf.
It grabbed my leg, crushing it, each second sending shards of pain through my body. I struggled, kicking, thrashing, but it held me tight. My father screamed, "Monster! Look here!"
The werewolf's eyes glinted — intelligent, cruel. It held me close, testing, calculating. Every instinct in me screamed this was no ordinary beast. I tried to fight, but I had no control.
Alex came forward with his crossbow. "Don't move."
The werewolf's gaze challenged him, daring him to strike. I could barely process the chaos around me. My leg shattered; every movement sent fire through my body. I forced myself not to show pain. My father needed to focus.
I watched him, his thrill gone, replaced by sheer terror. He looked at Alex. "Do you have a way to save him? I know you have a method."
"Yes," Alex replied calmly.
"Then what are you waiting for?"
Alex hesitated. "It will kill him if we fail."
My father shut his mouth, eyes locking on me, despair visible in every line of his face. I was helpless, spinning, broken, barely able to think.
I could barely feel my leg as the werewolf's claws dug into it, crushing bone and tearing muscle. Pain exploded like fire through my body, but fear froze me even more. I screamed, twisted, and tried to push the beast off, but it was impossibly strong. Its grip was like iron, and it shook me like a ragdoll.
"Elias!" my father's voice rang out, calm but fierce. I looked up and saw him charging, knife raised. His arms, sturdy and strong from years of farm work, moved with precision. He lashed out, slashing at the monster's wrist, stabbing at the joint holding me. The beast roared, tightening its grip, snapping a tooth dangerously close to my arm.
Hunter Alex fired a bolt from his crossbow, but the monster barely flinched. It swung me sideways, spinning me across the room. Pain tore through my leg again, my bones cracking. My father didn't hesitate. He lunged forward, striking the werewolf in the shoulder, throwing all his weight into the blow. The monster released me for a moment, and I scrambled free, collapsing to the ground, clutching my broken leg, tears of pain and fear streaming down my face.
But the relief didn't last. The werewolf swung again. My father tried to block it, but one massive claw slammed into his arm. Bone broke audibly under the force. His grip loosened, and he fell to his knees, pain twisting his face. He screamed, but his other hand still held his knife, stabbing at the monster's eyes. Blood sprayed, and for a second, the creature recoiled, hissing in anger.
Hunter Alex moved quickly, circling, firing crossbow bolts and swinging his sword, but the werewolf's claws found him too. A swipe caught his right arm just above the elbow. A sickening snap echoed as his arm bent unnaturally. Blood gushed as he screamed, staggering back, one arm now useless. Still, he didn't stop. He gritted his teeth, swinging his sword with his remaining arm, every movement precise, fueled by adrenaline and fear.
The room was chaos incarnate. Fire licked the walls, smoke choked our lungs. The werewolf roared, striking my father again, snapping his other arm as he tried to stab it with the knife. John fell forward, bloodied, broken, but still fighting, holding the beast with one hand and stabbing where he could. Hunter Alex slashed, jabbed, fired bolts, each motion a desperate gamble.
I scrambled forward, dragging myself across the scorched floor, clutching my stick. Pain shot through my broken leg with every movement, sharp and unrelenting, but I forced myself to keep going. Then I spotted the crossbow that had fallen when the monster attacked Hunter Alex. My hands shook as I grabbed it, pressing it against my chest like a lifeline.
The ground was rough and jagged—splintered wood, shards of stone, and hot embers cutting into my skin. My shirt had already torn across the chest, burning and scraping as I dragged myself forward. One hand dug into the dirt and rubble, clawing for purchase, the other holding the crossbow. I could feel my shoulder screaming, the bone aching with every inch I pulled myself closer.
The werewolf loomed over Hunter Alex, one massive hand pinning him to the ground. My father was at its back, knife flashing in desperation, arm trembling under the strain. My chest twisted with fear, rage, and helplessness. The creature had only one eye left—my father had blinded the other. If I didn't act now, Alex wouldn't survive.
I forced myself forward, dragging my broken leg behind me, my one good hand scraping along jagged rocks, embers biting at my skin. Blood mixed with dirt, sliding down my arms and chest, but I ignored it. My focus narrowed to a single point: the monster, towering over Alex.
I steadied the crossbow with trembling fingers, forcing my grip tight despite the pain radiating through my shoulder. Each scrape across stone and floor sent jolts of agony through my body, but I didn't falter. I crawled closer, inch by inch, my face pressed against dirt, my chest scraped raw, the fabric of my shirt shredded and clinging in tatters.
The werewolf raised its massive claw to strike Alex again. My heart pounded so loud I could barely hear the roar of the flames around us. I exhaled, trembling, and squeezed the trigger with all the strength I had left. The arrow flew, not perfectly aimed, but enough—it struck the monster, forcing it to stagger backward.
Even as it roared, I didn't stop. I dragged myself forward again, pulling through the pain, through the dirt and fire, closer, closer, determined to get a better shot. Every inch was agony, every heartbeat a battle, but I refused to let the creature reach Alex again. The world narrowed to one thing: that arrow, that shot, that moment.
I steadied the crossbow, my hands trembling for a heartbeat before I forced them still. The chill ran through my body, but this time, it didn't shake me. I focused, my entire mind narrowing on the target. The werewolf was about to strike Alex again.
I exhaled sharply, and with every ounce of strength and will I had left, I pulled the trigger. The arrow flew, a single, desperate chance. It struck the monster, close enough to slow it down, and it roared, staggering backward.
My father roared, rising with effort despite broken arms, stabbing a knife into the creature's eye. Alex slashed across its shoulder, sending it stumbling back. I fired a bolt that caught its fur, making it hiss in pain. Each of us moved like dancers in a deadly, chaotic ballet, every motion desperate, every strike fueled by fear, adrenaline, and love for each other.
The werewolf roared, spinning, catching my father with a knee to the chest. He gasped, staggering, his broken arms useless for a moment. Alex rushed in, trying to protect him, but the monster lashed out. A swipe caught Alex across the shoulder, and he cried out as his remaining arm was nearly torn from the socket. He fell to the ground, wounded, blood everywhere, still refusing to give up.
The creature finally fell, bloodied, gutted, and burned. Its massive body shuddered once, then lay still. For a brief heartbeat, the chaos seemed to pause. My father slumped against a broken beam, Hunter Alex collapsed beside him, missing an arm, both breathing hard, sweat and blood streaking their faces. I leaned back, exhausted, broken, barely able to move, and for a fleeting moment, we allowed ourselves a shaky laugh—a small, hollow relief that the fight was over.
Alex wiped the blood from his face and tried a weak grin. "Well… I suppose we survive another day. Barely."
My father chuckled hoarsely, wincing as he flexed his broken arms. "Survive? I feel like I just aged fifty years in five minutes."
"I don't know about you," Alex said, his teeth showing through a grimy smile, "but I think I lost at least three limbs today. Could someone check if I still have the rest of me?"
I coughed a little through the smoke, trying to grin, but it came out as a gag. "You still have your head. That's… progress?"
"Hey, I'll take it," Alex said, pointing to his missing arm. "I'd rather have my head and one arm than the other way around."
Father shook his head, a grim smile at the edge of his mouth. "You always were dramatic, Alex. But if you're done complaining, maybe we can actually clean ourselves before everyone come and see us at this pathetic situations."
Alex glanced toward the burned house, the smoke curling from the ruins. "Yeah, yeah. Clean… right. Like that's gonna happen tonight." He coughed. "Though, I've got to admit… I actually enjoyed that rush. Nothing like nearly dying to make you feel alive."
Father laughed softly, the first real laugh I'd heard from him tonight. "You always were a child pretending to be a hunter. Never changed, did you?"
Alex smirked. "And you always were the calm, stoic one pretending you're a farmer. Still… impressive tonight, John. Really impressive."
I felt a strange warmth watching them, even through the fear and blood. For a moment, it felt like we had survived something together, like the world hadn't completely ripped itself apart around us. We sat there, battered and broken, letting our exhaustion mix with this fragile, fleeting humor.
But then… from the ruins of our burning house, a figure moved. My stomach dropped. The first werewolf—the one we had thought was dead, burned beyond recognition—was rising.
"Father!" I screamed, too late.
It was faster than thought, a blur of shadow and rage. Before anyone could react, it lunged, jaws snapping down on John. He barely had time to lift his knife, but the speed was impossible. The werewolf's teeth sank into him, tearing through flesh and bone. His scream ripped through the night, and my heart froze.
Hunter Alex scrambled, firing his crossbow, slashing desperately with his sword, but it was too fast. The creature ignored him, dragging my father to the ground. It seized the corpse of the second werewolf we had just killed, its strength horrifying, and disappeared into the forest in a single, brutal motion, leaving only silence behind.
I stood frozen, bloodied, broken, staring at the spot where my father had fallen. The world tilted. My legs screamed, my arms shook, but I couldn't move.
All I could do was watch, trembling, unable to process the speed, the power, the cruelty of what had just happened.