The Predator’s Circle

“Grrrr...”
“Rrrr...”
“Grrrr...”

The sound closes in from all sides. It isn’t just noise—it’s pressure, low and guttural, vibrating through the earth beneath my feet like the rumble before a storm. The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and the cold air tastes of damp earth, pine sap, and danger.

My grip tightens around the hilt of my sword. The leather is worn and familiar, but now it bites into my palm, grounding me. The wolves slink through the underbrush, pacing in a wide arc. Their glowing yellow eyes slice through the dusk—alien, intelligent, and full of hunger.

They’re circling. I can feel it in my bones. The way their heads stay low. The way their paws make no sound despite the fallen leaves. These creatures aren’t rushing in like beasts—they’re thinking. Calculating.

A chill runs down my spine, but I grind my teeth and push the fear back. I can’t afford it. Not now. Not with her here.

“They’ve scattered…” I whisper, more to myself than anything, my voice barely a breath over the drumming of my heart. It’s deafening, like war drums pounding in my chest, shaking my ribs. I glance to the side.

Elara.

She stands there like a broken statue, small hands clenched at her sides, knees trembling. Her eyes are wide, too wide, reflecting not just the wolves—but the inevitability of death. She isn’t breathing. Or maybe I just can’t hear it over everything else.

She’s paralyzed. Terrified. The forest looms behind her, towering trees like giants watching silently, their branches shifting with the wind as if murmuring secrets. She doesn’t move.

They’re going to go for her first.

That thought crashes into me like a blunt weapon. My gut tightens, and bile rises in my throat. My gaze snaps back to the wolves—one of them already lowering its body, muscles coiled, gaze locked not on me, but on her.

They always go for the weak first. That’s the way of predators. That’s the way of nature.

My breath catches, and I force it steady, inhaling sharply through my nose. The air is cold, slicing into my lungs. I want to scream. I want to cry. But none of that will save her.

I must protect her. There’s no other way.

“Now!” I roar, the word tearing from my throat like a battle cry.

My legs obey before my mind catches up. I lunge forward, boots digging into the soil, sword slicing the air in a silver arc. The motion jars through my shoulders as I push myself into motion.

Elara jerks—my voice breaking the trance. She gasps, stumbling back a step, then bolts. Her tiny form vanishes into motion, legs pumping furiously toward the open plains just beyond the forest’s edge.

The wolves don’t wait.

The instant she moves, they respond. Snarls rip through the silence. Two of them peel toward me, faster than I expected, their sleek bodies blurs of fur and muscle. But the third—the largest—breaks away, its eyes locked on her.

It’s going after her.

“No. Not her.” The words leave my lips like a curse, like a promise. I pivot hard, gravel and leaves spraying behind me as I give chase.

My boots slam against the forest floor, each stride jarring through my body. Branches whip past. My breath comes in harsh gasps. But I already know—I’m too slow.

The wolf is gliding through the trees like wind through grass, each movement fluid, efficient, deadly. Elara is running with everything she has, her form barely a flicker of movement ahead. But she’s just a child. She won’t outrun it.

I won’t reach her in time.

Every step burns. My lungs scream. My pulse is pure chaos.

My hand clenches the sword tighter. Too far. It’s too far.

No time.

I act.

With a shout, I raise the sword and throw it as hard as I can.

The blade leaves my hand with a rush of wind, spinning in the fading light. It whistles as it cuts forward—clean, sharp, precise. A streak of silver hurled by desperation.

The wolf twitches. Its ears flick. Somehow it senses it—dives to the side in a fluid leap just as the blade streaks past.

The sword misses. It slams into the earth with a solid, biting thud, dirt kicking up around the embedded blade.

The wolf stumbles, caught off rhythm for the briefest moment, claws digging into the ground to stabilize its body.

But it’s not enough.

I’ve only bought Elara a few seconds.

Pain.

A burning, sharp pain explodes across my back.

It feels like fire—no, worse. Like molten iron being carved into my spine. I stagger forward, my boots catching on uneven ground, knees buckling beneath me. A savage growl roars behind me, and then weight—hot, heavy, and wild—slams into my back.

One of the wolves.

Its claws rake through my tunic and straight into skin, tearing muscle as if I’m nothing but flesh wrapped over bone.

I let out a strangled gasp, my knees smashing into the dirt. Stones bite into my skin. The scent of earth floods my nose—mud, blood, and something feral.

Before I can even register the pain, the second wolf slams into me.
Its jaws clamp down on my arm, and for a split second, there’s only pressure—then white-hot agony.

The teeth sink in. Deep.

I scream. The sound is raw, primal, almost unrecognizable. It jerks its head and my body twists unnaturally, wrenched from the ground and slammed into it again.

The dirt scrapes against my face as my body hits the ground hard.

The impact rattles through my bones, dust choking my breath. The wolf’s teeth don’t stop. They dig deeper, grinding against bone, and its violent shakes tear me apart from the inside.

Fresh waves of pain rip through me.
Blood spills freely now, warm and thick, slipping between my fingers, pooling beneath me like a crimson halo.

Another wolf rakes its claws down my back again, and this time, I scream into the dirt. The sound is muffled, the taste of earth mixing with blood. The pain is a burning waterfall, crashing down over everything else.
My vision fades at the edges. Black spots bloom like stars.

My mouth fills with the metallic taste of blood as I bite my tongue to stop myself from crying out.

No. I won’t give them the satisfaction.

But I can’t move. I can’t think.
My thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind. All I know is pain. And the wet sound of tearing flesh. And the stench of blood and fur.

My free hand claws at the dirt, frantically searching. I need something. Anything. A rock. A root. A miracle.

My fingers brush over something rough.

A branch.

It’s thick. Jagged. Heavy.

Not much. But enough.

My fingers curl around it, knuckles white with pain, and I swing upward with everything I have left.

CRACK.

It slams into the wolf’s eye. I feel it give way under the force. Bone cracks. Blood splatters.

The creature howls, a deafening sound of agony, stumbling back, its jaw releasing my arm.

I gasp for air, dragging myself up with what little strength remains. My body screams in protest, every muscle shaking. My arm hangs useless, skin shredded, bones throbbing beneath it. Blood still flows.

My back feels like it’s on fire, and each breath is a knife to the chest. But I don’t stop.

I won’t stop.

But I can’t stay down.

Gritting my teeth, I force myself to my feet. My legs tremble like they might collapse. My vision swims, but I blink hard, once, twice, until I can see them again—

The wolves.

They’re circling me again.

Their shapes move like shadows, yellow eyes gleaming in the dim twilight. The broken trees around us seem to lean closer, as if the forest itself is watching. The sun has nearly vanished, casting the world in bruised purples and dying golds.

The wolves don’t rush. They stalk.

Patient. Predatory.

Their growls are low and threatening, their eyes locked on me.

They’re not afraid. Just wary now. Cautious. Calculating. Like I’m a threat—wounded, but still breathing.

They’re still hungry.

They’re still dangerous.

I grip the branch tighter, raising it like a sword.
The weight of it feels enormous, but it’s all I have. My hand is slick with blood—mine and theirs—but I hold on.

Blood drips from my hand onto the dirt, dark red on brown earth, soaking the forest floor.

But I push the pain aside.

I listen.

“Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud.”

My heartbeat.

It’s the only sound now.

Louder than the wind, louder than the wolves.

A war drum inside me.

Relentless. Rhythmic.

Thud-thud.

A warmth blooms in my chest—not comforting warmth. No. It’s something else. Something hot. Blinding. Alive.

Thud-thud.

Something cracks in my mind.

Thud-thud.

My body screams. But something else rises.

Not fear.

Not pain.

Rage.

I feel it boiling under my skin, eating through the pain, replacing it with something sharper. Colder.

Hot breath clouds the air around me. My hand tightens on the branch. My lips twitch.

I’m smiling.

My chest tightens, but my lips curl into a grin.

I don’t even know why I’m smiling.

I’m not in control anymore.

A strange calm settles over me. Cold and complete.
It pushes everything else down—the agony, the fear, the exhaustion.
It swallows them.

And that’s when I feel it.

My vision sharpens. The light shifts.

And my eyes begin to change.

The gold bleeds away, like ink dropped in water.
Crimson red blooms at the edges, swirling outward like fire spreading through oil.

The wolves freeze, their growls faltering for a heartbeat.

They feel it too.

Not just bloodlust.

Something darker.

"Ahahaha! AHAHAHAHA!"

"AHAHAHAHA! AHAHAHAHA!"

The laughter rips from my throat like a wild animal, raw and broken. It echoes across the forest, bouncing off the twisted trees and blood-soaked dirt. My chest heaves with each breathless bark of insanity.

I don’t even recognize the sound.

“I know... I know...” I mutter, barely aware of the words spilling from my mouth.My voice sounds strange. Alien. A pitch too high, a tone too deep—wrong. It doesn’t belong to me.

But I like it.

The wolves freeze for a moment.

Their yellow eyes lock on mine.

Their instincts are screaming at them now—Run.
But it’s too late for that.

“It’s exciting, isn’t it? ISN’T IT?”

My voice cracks on the last word, sharp enough to cut through bone. My mouth is stretched into a grin that hurts my cheeks, lips curled wide with too many teeth.

I tighten my grip on the branch, holding it like a blade. The wood digs into my skin—splintering, rough, hungry. Blood trickles down my wrist, but I don’t care.

Let it bleed.

My fingers squeeze tighter until my knuckles turn white. The tension burns like lightning under my skin. I raise the branch and point it at them, like a king on the battlefield, demanding blood.

“This isn’t over,” I hiss through clenched teeth.
The words taste like venom in my mouth, bitter and electric.

My vision blurs for a second—red mixing with black. But I blink, hard, once, and the world sharpens again. The trees twist into monsters, the moon splits in two above me, and shadows writhe like snakes.

“Get excited.”

The wolves grow louder, circling with renewed hunger, growls bubbling up from their throats like thunder about to break. They step closer.

I can feel their breath now, hot and rancid, like the inside of a tomb. It curls around me in waves, and I inhale it like smoke.

My own breathing is ragged, lungs dragging in air like torn bellows. Every inhale is pain. Every exhale is fury.

I shut my eyes.

Just for a second.

Not to retreat—no.

To dig deeper.

I force myself to focus, even as the world trembles with laughter and blood. The noise, the pain, the cold—all of it vanishes. I dive beneath the madness, hunting for the spark. The core. The flame that refuses to die.

That spark of mana still left in me.

Breathe.

Breathe, damn it.

There it is.

Faint. Weak. But there.

Like a dying star in the abyss.

I drag it forward, screaming inside, dragging it up like pulling chains through shattered ribs. It resists. I don’t care. I make it obey.

The energy slithers into my limbs. My arms feel stronger, twitching with power. My chest steadier, rage humming beneath each breath. My legs... I pour everything into my right leg. Every drop. Every curse. Every scream I never got to voice.

They leap.

Two of them.

Fangs bared. Eyes locked. No hesitation now. Just death.

I don’t wait.

With a roar that shreds my throat, I push off the ground, legs coiling like springs and detonating in one motion. The world explodes around me—motion, sound, pain.

Pain explodes through me.

“Shit! My leg!” I scream.

The snap is like thunder inside my bones. Like glass being crushed by god. My voice cracks as I spiral through the air. It feels like something’s been ripped from me.

My leg is gone—not really, but it may as well be. A white-hot lance of pain shoots through my hip and up my spine, but I don’t stop.

Can’t stop.

Won’t.

The wolves hesitate for just a breath—startled by the insane movement, by the red-eyed blur hurtling toward them with a shattered leg and a grin carved into his face.

I can feel the blood pouring down my thigh.

I can hear it sizzling as it hits the dirt.

But I’m already moving.

I grip the branch tighter, pouring the last of my mana into it.

The world goes silent.

Everything falls away.

Only the weapon remains.

Change. Just change.

The energy obeys—finally.
It seeps from my skin into the branch like venom into a fang. The wood trembles, resisting for a heartbeat before surrendering to me.

The energy flows, twisting, coiling, commanding. It wraps around the wood like smoke around fire. The branch splits, reshapes, carves itself beneath my will.

A faint glow forms along the edge, soft at first, then sharpening. The heat pulses under my grip. The weight changes. It breathes.

It lives.

A blade.

Thin as paper.

Sharp enough to split the world.

The mana blade is ready.

I twist my body mid-air, aiming for the wolf below me.

Its glowing eyes widen.

Too late.

“RAAAAAAH!” I roar as the blade cuts down.

The impact is brutal. The blade slices clean through the wolf’s body, splitting it in half. Blood sprays upward, hot and thick, splattering across my face and chest. The body collapses in two pieces, lifeless before it even hits the ground.

The other wolf dodges, its movements fast and fluid, like water slithering through cracks. It snarls at me, backing away with slow steps, its hackles raised and eyes wide.

But its gaze never leaves mine.

It sees what I am now.

Not prey. Not human.

Something worse.

Something broken.

I can’t celebrate yet.

My body slams into the ground like a corpse dropped from the sky.

I hit the ground hard.

The pain isn’t pain anymore—it’s a living thing, screaming through my shattered leg, curling up my spine, setting fire to every nerve.

Pain tears through me as I land on my broken leg, and I scream—but there’s no sound. Just a gasp of air and blood.

My body crumples like a rag doll.

Boneless. Useless.
The air is ripped from my lungs, and for a moment, the world tilts sideways.

I can’t breathe.

The sky spins above me—shattered stars behind black clouds, watching with cold eyes. The forest blurs. Red creeps at the edges of my vision like smoke curling from a fire I can’t escape.

Get up… Get up…

My brain barks the command like a dying god—but my body won’t obey.

I twitch. My fingers claw at the ground. My arms shake with effort. But there’s nothing left to give.

Blood—my blood—spills freely from my wounds, soaking the earth, painting the roots black.

It’s warm.

Too warm.
It pools beneath me, sticky and thick, turning the dirt into sludge. It smells like iron and death.

I try to push myself up again.

Useless.

My arms tremble as I try, but they give out. My face presses into the mud. I choke on blood and soil. My fingers twitch like dying insects.

“No No No … not now…” I whisper, barely audible.
The words are more breath than sound, slipping past cracked lips.

My head falls back against the dirt. I stare at the canopy above. Twisted branches claw at the stars. The moon’s a broken coin, half-swallowed by shadow.

Everything feels heavy, like the entire forest is pressing down on me, crushing me into the earth.

I know what’s coming.

The wolf sees its chance.

It moves slow, deliberate—like a reaper savoring the harvest. Its eyes shine yellow, glowing like cursed lanterns. Saliva drips from its fangs, long strands swinging with each step.

It lowers itself, muscles coiling like springs.
Its haunches tighten. The dirt beneath it trembles. Its growl deepens—a sound that rattles the air and vibrates inside my chest.

It’s savoring this.

I can see its teeth now, each one sharp as glass, slick with hunger and malice. They're stained with old kills. Soon, they'll taste me.

I smile.

Blood runs down my chin.

I force a smile, lips trembling, twisted with something dark and reckless.

Blood dripping from my lips.

“Come on…” I croak, my voice shredded but laced with poison.

The words are weak but defiant—a whisper of war in the face of death.

“Do it.”

Let it end.

Let it try.

The wolf crouches lower, its eyes locked, muscles primed to strike. This is it. The final moment. Its claws dig into the dirt, ready to lunge.

And then—

“DON’T COME NEAR MY BROTHER!”