First Hunt

The ruined archway loomed above her like the mouth of some ancient beast. Morgana stood there for a long moment, one foot over the threshold, the other still planted on the dusty stone floor. Her fingers tightened around the scythe’s haft.

“...Well, shit. No point hiding in here forever,” she muttered under her breath.

The forest beyond was still. Too still. No chirping, no rustling, just the slow sigh of wind threading through the skeletal branches. The sky above the treeline was pale grey, making the world look washed-out and tired.

She took a deep breath, adjusted the cloak around her shoulders, and stepped outside.

The air was damp and cold, carrying the faint scent of moss and rot. Grass had long since claimed the cobblestone path leading from the ruins, twisting and breaking the stones apart. The forest pressed close on all sides, ancient trees with thick, gnarled roots gripping the earth like claws.

“Alright, forest… don’t eat me,” she whispered, taking a step forward.

Her eyes drifted toward the horizon. Far in the distance, she could just make out a thin column of smoke curling upward into the grey sky. That meant people. Or something pretending to be people. Either way, it was a lead.

She walked, boots crunching against stray twigs and damp leaves. Her wings itched under the cloak, flexing slightly at the smallest noises. It was quiet enough that she could hear her own breathing.

Too quiet.

It happened so subtly at first she almost missed it—the soft crunch of leaves that wasn’t hers. She froze mid-step, head tilting. The noise came again, from somewhere ahead and to the right. Then another set of steps from the left.

“...Oh, fucking wonderful.”

Shapes moved between the trees. Low to the ground. Quick.

They emerged from the shadows, three of them—wolf-like, but wrong. Too large, their shoulders as high as her chest. And that was something considering she was 180cm tall with her new demon look. Black fur shot through with streaks of bone-white, their eyes burning with a sickly green glow. Their mouths dripped with thick, black saliva that hissed when it hit the ground. The air around them seemed colder, heavier.

Her stomach twisted.

“...And here I was hoping for a deer or something.”

The first one lunged without warning. Instinct flared, and she swung the scythe in a wide arc. The blade caught its flank, slicing deep, but not deep enough—it twisted in midair and slammed into her, knocking her backward into the wet grass.

“Fuck!” The impact drove the air out of her lungs. Pain exploded in her side where claws raked across her ribs. Hot blood soaked into her shirt.

The beast landed, snarling at her with hungry eyes.

She scrambled to her feet just as the second wolf came at her. She ducked low, swinging upward with the scythe. The blade split its jaw open with a wet crack.

But then the first one was on her again. Teeth sank into her thigh, white-hot agony ripping through her. She screamed and slammed the scythe’s shaft into its skull until it let go.

“God! Fuck! You— stay— DOWN!” She planted the blade in its neck this time and twisted. The head came away in a burst of black mist.

The body collapsed. She staggered back, panting, blood dripping from her leg in thick rivulets.

And then she saw it.

From the corpse’s chest, a faintly glowing orb of pale light lifted into the air, floating toward her. She had just enough time to mutter “the fuck is that?” before it darted forward and slammed into her chest.

Her eyes widened. For a split second, she felt the beast—its weight, its power, its instincts—before it vanished. A sharp pulse of understanding bloomed in her head. A skill.

“No way… it just gave me—”

The third wolf didn’t let her finish. It leapt at her from behind, claws tearing through her cloak and across her back. She stumbled forward, crying out as hot blood gushed down her spine.

“FUCK! Oh, that’s gonna scar—”

She swung wildly over her shoulder. The scythe’s blade caught it in the ribs, and it yelped, but its partner was already circling in, glowing eyes fixed on her throat.

One came from the front, one from the side. She braced herself, ignoring the warm stickiness of blood between her fingers as she gripped the scythe tighter.

The one in front lunged—she sidestepped, letting the side one come in close instead, then drove the blade upward through its chest. It went limp instantly, black mist curling from the wound. Another orb floated free, darting into her chest. Another skill.

The last wolf hesitated. Just for a moment. But it was enough.

She charged forward, screaming, “YOUR TURN!” and buried the scythe in its neck. The blade cut through bone, muscle, and whatever corrupted magic kept it alive. It fell.

Another orb rose, but this time… it felt different.

When it hit her, the world flashed white.

For a moment, she was the wolf—padding through the forest, the smell of damp earth in her nose, the thrill of the hunt burning in her chest. She saw a village in the distance, smoke curling from chimneys. Hunters walking through the woods, bows slung over their shoulders. She crouched low in the bushes, teeth bared—

—and then it was gone.

Morgana staggered, panting hard, the scythe’s blade dripping black blood. The corpses of the beasts lay still, their green eyes dimming to nothing.

She looked down at herself. Her thigh was shredded, muscle visible in places where the flesh had been ripped away. Deep claw marks slashed across her back.

And then… it started.

The skin around the wounds twitched. Muscles pulled together like tightening ropes. Flesh began knitting itself back, pale and raw at first before smoothing over. The gashes sealed with wet, unpleasant sounds, blood drying and flaking away as if it had been there for days.

“Ohhh… that’s—ugh—that’s fucking nasty,” she groaned, watching the muscle in her leg writhe as it sealed. “But… also amazing. Creepy as hell, but amazing.”

Within seconds, the pain faded to nothing. The skin was whole again, save for faint pink lines that vanished before her eyes. She flexed her fingers, feeling no weakness.

“Right. Note to self—don’t get cocky just because I can heal. That still hurt like a bitch.”

She glanced back toward the horizon, the memory of the wolf’s vision still fresh. The village. People. Answers.

And maybe… food.

Her stomach growled loudly, making her snort. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Murder burns calories.”

With one last look at the corpses, she adjusted her cloak, tightened her grip on the scythe, and started walking again—this time, a little more aware of the silence pressing in around her.

The forest felt different now. Less like an empty space and more like something watching her.