Something wet landed on his arm.
A single drop.
Cold. Viscous. Sticky.
Taro blinked. Slowly, he lifted his hand, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together. It was dark, almost black in the weak light — but unmistakable. Blood.
Another drop fell. Then another.
And then a soft sound followed — a wet creak, like something shifting above him.
He looked up.
His breath hitched in his throat.
A body hung from the branches overhead — limp, tangled in a nest of vines and sinew. Her uniform was shredded, her insignia half-torn but still visible. A hunter. One of the Alpha Squad.
Her eyes fluttered weakly as she noticed movement below. The faintest trace of life still lingered. Her lips moved, forming a word that never quite escaped her throat.
"...help... me…"
Taro froze. His entire body went cold.
She wasn't supposed to be alive — not after being caught by one of them. But she was breathing, her chest rising in broken gasps. He took a hesitant step forward, sword trembling in his grip. His gaze flicked over the forest floor — shredded armor pieces, blood stains, claw marks dug deep into the soil.
And then — a sound.
Low. Wet. Animal.
The bushes stirred. Branches snapped under heavy steps.
Something was moving nearby — something large.
Taro ducked behind the trunk again, holding his breath. Through the dense fog, he saw it — the silhouette of a creature that shouldn't exist. It moved on all fours, but its limbs were too long, its proportions wrong. Skin pale as frost, sinewy muscles twitching beneath its flesh. Its head tilted unnaturally, jaws open in a grin that split its face to the ears.
It sniffed the air, drawn to the scent of fresh blood. The hunter hanging above him whimpered weakly, and the creature's head snapped upward. Its throat released a guttural click — like bone striking bone — and it began to climb the tree.
Taro's eyes widened.
He wanted to move, to do something — anything — but his knees felt locked in place. His hands gripped the sword tighter, so tight that his knuckles turned white. His breathing came in quiet bursts, panic constricting his chest.
He could run.
He should run.
But then her voice — faint, broken — reached him again.
"...please..."
That word cut deeper than any blade.
A flash of memory surged behind his eyes. The orphanage courtyard. The night they had all sworn the same oath when they joined the Corps. To hunt so no one else would suffer that same terror.
And now, here he was, frozen — while someone begged for help above him.
Taro clenched his jaw.
"...damn it…"
He stepped out from behind the tree.
The sword in his hand felt heavier than ever — but also realer. The steel hummed faintly with his heartbeat. The Wendigo stopped climbing, its elongated head twisting down to look at him. Its mouth curled into a grotesque smile, strings of saliva dripping from between its teeth.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Then Taro exhaled — and the fear began to burn away.
"You picked the wrong prey," he muttered under his breath.
The creature dropped from the tree, landing with a thud that shook the ground. Its claws dug into the dirt, shoulders hunched, eyes glowing faintly blue in the dark.
Taro raised his blade into stance, the polished metal catching a narrow streak of moonlight through the canopy. The air between them thickened — heavy, electric.
He took a step forward. The Wendigo mirrored him.
Two hunters — predator and prey — circling each other in silence.
Taro's mind raced. Every move, every breath, every heartbeat counted. His body was screaming, telling him to run. But somewhere deeper — past the fear — was something sharper.
Resolve.
He thought of Kael's words before they left the base: "We don't run. Not when it matters."
He tightened his grip.
"Alright," he whispered. "Let's hunt."
The Wendigo lunged.
Its movement was impossibly fast — a blur of pale flesh and claws. Taro twisted, dodging sideways, the creature's swipe slicing air where his head had been. He retaliated, slashing upward, catching the Wendigo's arm. The blade bit deep — black blood splattered across the roots.
The monster screeched, spinning and kicking him back. Taro hit the ground, rolling to absorb the impact, his chest burning from the force. He got to one knee just in time to parry another strike — sparks flew as claw met steel.
The Wendigo's strength was overwhelming. Each blow rattled through his bones. But Taro's eyes stayed locked on it — studying, predicting, adapting. He had always been the fastest thinker among them, even if he wasn't the strongest.
The creature lunged again, jaws snapping. Taro ducked low, slicing at its legs. Another hit — shallow, but enough to make it stumble. He used the opening to roll behind a tree, gasping for breath.
"Okay," he muttered to himself, "you're not invincible…"
The Wendigo growled, circling the tree, blood dripping from its wounds. It was learning too.
Its voice came out as a guttural whisper, a mimic of the human words it had once known.
"...hungry…"
Taro swallowed hard.
He stepped out, blade ready. The two clashed again — steel and claw, light and shadow. Each strike echoed through the forest like thunder, scattering birds from the branches above. The Wendigo's ferocity was monstrous, but Taro was precise — quick cuts, calculated dodges, narrow escapes. Fear still clung to his movements, but beneath it, something fiercer had taken root.
Finally, one of his slashes struck true — the blade cutting across the creature's chest. It staggered back, howling. Taro didn't hesitate. He charged forward, slashing again and again, driving it further into the clearing. His breath came sharp and wild, his heart hammering against his ribs.
But the Wendigo wasn't done. With a roar, it swung its arm in a wide arc — claws raking across Taro's shoulder. The impact sent him sprawling, sword skidding across the ground. Pain flared bright and hot, blinding him for a moment.
He looked up — the monster was already closing in, eyes burning.
The hanging hunter above gave a final, weak cough.
A small sound — almost a sigh — before silence.
Taro's teeth clenched. He crawled toward his sword, every muscle screaming. His fingers brushed the hilt — and he forced himself to stand.
Blood ran down his arm. His body trembled.
But he stood.
The Wendigo lunged again, and this time, Taro didn't dodge. He met it head-on, sword raised high, sparks flying as their collision lit the dark like a brief flash of lightning.