Pain was all Riven knew. It lanced through his ribs like a white-hot brand, searing his nerves raw with every breath he took. Each inhale sent shockwaves rippling through his body, igniting a firestorm of agony that clawed at his insides. The jungle around him felt alive, the air thick with humidity and the scent of damp earth mixed with the decay of fallen leaves. Shadows loomed in the underbrush, flickering like ghosts in the periphery of his vision, but he couldn't afford to be distracted. His muscles trembled, threatening to buckle under the weight of his suffering. The air felt oppressive, heavy with the promise of death. His vision pulsed in time with his heartbeat—a stuttering, uneven rhythm that told him he didn't have long. But he couldn't collapse. Not yet. Not while that thing was still moving.
A cold sweat clung to his skin, his clothes plastered against him like wet bandages. Each heartbeat felt like a countdown. To what—he didn't know. Maybe the end. Maybe worse.
The sound hit him first. A wet, guttural snarl, twisting into something almost human. It reverberated in the hollow spaces of his mind, wrapping around his thoughts like a vice. Not words—no, this was worse. It was speech ripped apart and stitched back wrong, a voice that didn't belong in this world. Riven's blood turned to ice, freezing the very marrow of his bones as dread coiled within him, tightening like a noose.
He didn't need to understand. The meaning was carved into his bones, etched into his instincts.
This wasn't just hunger. This wasn't just instinct. The Mightyhyena wanted him dead. Not because it was ordered to. Not because it was cornered. But because it reveled in the thought of tearing him apart, its predatory glee palpable in the stillness of the jungle, where even the insects seemed to hold their breath.
Its growl slithered into his skull, a promise of slow, savoring violence. The anticipation of pain hung heavy in the air, thick like fog that wrapped around him, suffocating and inevitable. The canopy above was dark and twisted, branches curling like skeletal fingers, casting eerie shadows that danced across the ground. The sky beyond was gray, thick with clouds, trapping the jungle in a half-light that made everything feel wrong—like the world was holding its breath for a scream that hadn't come yet.
The beast was still in the pit, still half-dazed from the veil gas that had clouded its senses. Its massive body swayed, the muscles rippling beneath matted fur, its yellowed eyes blinking against the haze. But it was recovering too fast, the primal instinct to hunt overtaking the remnants of its confusion. Riven could see the glistening drool pooling at the corners of its mouth, catching the faint light filtering through the leaves—a grotesque reminder of the monster's hunger.
Claws scraped against stone. Scrrrrtch—The sound needled into Riven's ears, setting his teeth on edge. Dust rained down like tiny, suffocating daggers as the creature dragged itself upward, inch by relentless inch. The air grew thick with the scent of damp earth and something far more sinister—blood and decay mingling in a grotesque symphony that assaulted his senses.
Soon, it would be free. And then—
Riven's breath came in shallow, ragged bursts, each exhale a painful reminder of his precarious situation. His fingers twitched toward the knife he'd dropped earlier, clenching and unclenching in desperation. One chance. Maybe, just maybe, he could buy Aron time to escape. The thought flickered like a dying ember in the darkness—fragile and fleeting.
He couldn't let Aron die. Not here. Not like this. His partner had trusted him. Followed him. Fought for him.
His hand shot out—FIRE. Pain detonated in his side, a blade of agony twisting deeper with the movement. A strangled cry tore from his throat, raw and primal. His fingers spasmed, and the knife clattered away, mocking him with its distance. The sound echoed in the silence, a cruel reminder of his failure.
His vision splintered into fractured light, the edges of reality blurring as darkness threatened to claim him. No. No, no, no—
From the pit, the Mightyhyena chuckled. At least, that's what it sounded like—a wet, wheezing rasp that might have been laughter in another life. It was a sound that crawled under his skin, chilling him to the bone, leaving him acutely aware of his vulnerability amidst the dense foliage.
Riven's stomach lurched. It was playing with him, toying with the last remnants of his hope.
Gritting his teeth, he forced his body to move. Every muscle screamed in protest, but he clawed toward the blade, feeling the rough texture of dirt against his fingertips, nails breaking as he scraped the ground. Almost... there...
A shadow moved.
His head snapped up—
The Mightyhyena leaped.
It shouldn't have been possible. Not with its wounds. Not with the pit's depth. But it didn't care. The creature defied logic, its body uncoiling like a whip, muscles straining as it launched itself at him with a ferocity that stole the breath from his lungs.
Time fractured. Riven saw it all in hideous clarity: The glistening ropes of saliva swinging from its jaws, catching the dim light in grotesque flashes. The blackened claws, curved like butcher's hooks, gleaming with malice. The eyes—not just hungry, but gleeful, reflecting a twisted delight in the chaos it was about to unleash.
Its paw swiped for his throat.
This was it—
Then—A FLASH.
Something streaked past him—a comet of emerald light, slicing through the air with a sharp hiss that shattered the tense silence. For a heartbeat, everything froze, suspended in a moment that felt both eternal and fleeting. The surrounding jungle, usually so vibrant with life, fell eerily silent as if even the trees were holding their breath.
Then—Blood. A fountain of it, hot and thick, spraying across the ground in an arterial arc, painting the earth in vivid crimson. Riven didn't know whose it was. His? The beast's? Aron's? The question hung in the air like a noose, tightening around his throat, making it hard to breathe.
The world held its breath, a collective gasp echoing in the depths of his mind. The heavy scent of iron filled the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the jungle, creating a nauseating blend that threatened to overwhelm his senses.
Then—Drip. Drip. Drip. The silence screamed, each drop a reminder of the violence that had just unfolded,
a prelude to the chaos that was yet to come.