A blinding flash faded, revealing a primordial forest that defied all earthly logic. Trees with black trunks, twisted like ancient bones, rose hundreds of meters high, their canopies so dense that the sky was reduced to fleeting glimpses of a purple sun. The air was thick, heavy with a scent both sweet and earthy—unpolluted, yet tinged with something like honey mixed with blood.
The representatives of Earth fell to their knees, some vomiting, others clawing at the damp soil in denial. No trace of civilization. No sound except the rustling of colossal leaves and something slithering in the shadows.
Then, the changes began.
"Hhaaaaaaa!"
The pain struck without warning.
Kauã screamed—a raw, animal sound lost in the murmurs of the forest. It was as if knives were slicing through his muscles from within, his bones twisting and reshaping against his will. He collapsed onto his knees, hands digging into the damp earth where his nails were no longer human—darkening, lengthening, curving into razor-sharp claws that tore through the soil with ease.
His back arched violently, and a wet *crack* echoed under his skin as something burst through his clothes from inside. Fabric ripped, and from his shoulder blades emerged wings—not delicate feathers, but powerful limbs covered in black plumage with blue-gray sheens, like those of a giant hawk. His spine elongated, and a feathered tail sprouted, swaying instinctively for balance.
From his head, a dark mane of feathers grew, bristling like a bird of prey's crest. His jaw stretched, bones rearranging beneath his skin until his face was no longer human—a sharp, curved beak replaced his mouth, ready to tear flesh.
The pain didn't stop. It simply transformed into something new, something wild.
When he finally lifted his head, his glowing green eyes—now with vertical pupils, like a falcon's—scanned the surroundings.
Around him, the others were changing too.
To his right, a woman writhed on the ground, her screams interrupted by the sound of cracking chitin. Eight hairy spider legs erupted from her back, twitching in grotesque spasms. Her still-human face twisted in horror before a new pair of black eyes split open on her forehead. Her shriek echoed through the forest—and something deep within the trees roared in response.
To his left, a young man convulsed on his stomach as a feline tail burst from his spine, covered in tawny fur. His ears elongated, sharp and mobile, while his nails hardened into retractable claws. His face still held traces of humanity, but his teeth were now too sharp, too ready for the hunt.
The air reeked of blood, sweat, and something metallic—like copper and electricity. The clearing was a cacophony of:
Bones snapping, reshaping into monstrous new forms.
Clothes tearing under newborn limbs.
Human voices devolving into bestial sounds—predator snarls, hungry bird cries, hisses of creatures being born.
Kauã took a deep breath, and the world rushed at him with brutal clarity.
The forest's scent flooded his senses—bitter herbs, fresh blood, rusted metal. His new instincts mapped every sound: the rustle of leaves above, the skittering of something in the underbrush, the distant beat of wings in the canopy.
The Beast's power was no longer an abstract idea.
It was hunger.
It was fear.
It was the call of the forest, watching them now with invisible eyes, waiting to see what they'd do next.
The heavy forest air seemed to smother every scream, every desperate word echoing between the monstrous trees.
The feline boy recoiled at the feel of his own tail, fingers trembling as they brushed fur that shouldn't be there. His pale face mirrored the horror of an unanswerable question:
"What the hell are we?!" His voice broke at the end, nearly a mewl.
Beside him, the spider-woman curled in on herself, her eight legs still twitching involuntarily. She pressed human hands to her face, as if she could wipe away the new eyes glinting on her forehead.
"This can't be happening… I didn't even sign up for this shit!" Her sobs were cut short by ragged gasps.
Farther back, a girl—or what was left of her—clutched her own arms, now covered in green scales. Her lips trembled:
"I wanna go home… Please, someone wake me up…"
An older man with elongated limbs and inverted joints, like a mantis, slammed a fist into the ground. His voice was a growl between sharpened teeth:
"Where the fuck are we? Does anyone know what's happening?!"
No one answered.
Kauã blinked in confusion as he realized he could suddenly understand every language around him—tongues that had been noise seconds ago now flowed clearly, naturally, as if they'd always been part of him.
The woman with spider legs stood out: her face, with striking features reminiscent of African ancestry, contrasted against her grotesquely hybrid body.
Next to him, a golden-eyed boy with feline ears—dark-skinned, messy-haired, sharp-eyed—bore traces of Mexican heritage. Scattered around were others of diverse ethnicities: faces carrying Asian, African, Indigenous, and European lineages, as if this place had gathered people from across humanity.
Without exception, they too noticed this sudden understanding, as if an invisible barrier had shattered. But there was no time for questions, theories, or reflection—something more urgent, more imminent, forced their focus elsewhere.
The environment around them was disorienting. The ground felt like smooth, cold green glass underfoot, while the sky churned with clouds that moved like living smoke. The air smelled of ozone and wet earth, underscored by a deep, pulsing sound—like the heartbeat of a slumbering monster.
Desperation spreads through the group like a virus.
"We have to get out of here!" someone shouted.
Three bolted blindly into the dense foliage—only to collapse minutes later, betrayed by their own bodies. One tripped over paws he didn't know how to use. Another screamed as her wings flapped uncontrollably, dragging her through a thorny brush.
Those who remained were frozen.
Listening.
To the hum.
A low, constant sound emanating from the leaves, the roots, the air itself. As if the forest were breathing. As if it whispered in an ancient tongue, heavy with forgotten meaning.
And then—
Something moved.
Between the black trunks, shadows slithered. Shapes too distorted, too deliberate to be mere animals.
Eyes.
Of every color.
Red as embers.
Yellow as blades.
Phosphorescent green, pulsing in the dark.
All fixed on them.
Zarathûn watched.
And it wasn't alone.
The eyes multiplied. Drew closer. Slow. Deliberate.
As if the transformed humans were already prey, and the creatures were only waiting for the right moment to claim their feast.
Then, a scream tore through the air.
"I can't take this! I'm getting out of here!"
A boy who'd barely begun transforming—his hands reptilian, his face still almost human. Almost.
He ran before anyone could stop him.
His legs, still unchanged, pounded the damp earth. He didn't see the web.
Not until his feet left the ground.
A sticky, near-invisible structure yanked him into a deathly embrace. The boy shrieked, thrashing, but every movement only tightened the threads around his skin.
And then—
She descended.
A segmented black mass, horse-sized, moving with horrific grace. Bladed legs silent on the ground. Green eyes locked on prey. The creature was a spider.
The boy wept.
"Please… someone help me."
The creature drove a leg through his chest. The sound of tearing flesh filled the forest. Blood gushed—bright red against dark moss. Its mouth split open like an umbrella of blades, and then—
It bit.
No more screams. Just the wet crunch of bones being crushed.
The group froze.
The spider-woman vomited. The feline boy staggered back, new instincts screaming at him to 'run, run, run'.
The world seemed to slow.
Kauã still smelled fresh blood, still heard the boy's scream echoing in his skull—but his eyes were already locked on the two shadows moving in the dark.
They were small, agile, barely visible. Feline bodies, curved like cheetahs, but with eyes that gleamed like blades under the purple light. They advanced in silence, heading straight for two paralyzed men.
And then—
His body moved before his mind understood.
Black wings split the sky with a dry, almost metallic crack —a sound that seemed to echo beyond the physical, as if the air itself protested his existence. Kauã shot forward, not as a man, but as a living arrow, a predator forged from flesh, feather, and fury.
Wind sliced his face like invisible blades. Sound flooded his ears—a deafening howl mixed with the frantic drumming of his own heart, pounding like war drums.
Below, the ground was a living tapestry of dead leaves, soaked moss, and gnarled roots. Ancient trees stretched twisted branches as if trying to clutch the sky. The stench of wet earth, old blood, and wild meat saturated the air.
The felines noticed—too late.
The first one twisted with a hunter's supernatural reflexes. Not enough. Kauã's claws sank deep into its shoulder, shredding muscle, tendon, and nerve with a grotesque snap —a wet, sticky sound that vibrated down to the bone. The feline roared, a sound half pain, half fury, then just pain.
The second tried to leap aside, but a single powerful beat of Kauã's wings unleashed a gust so violent it slammed the creature into a thick trunk. The impact echoed like dry thunder, followed by the hollow snap of breaking ribs.
The feline collapsed, wheezing, chest caved in, pink foam bubbling from its nostrils.
Kauã landed. Heavy. Claws sank into the mud, wings still spread—black as midnight, trembling, catching every shift in the wind, every scent, every movement. His entire body was coiled tension, a spring about to snap. Battle-heat burned in his veins.
The world seemed to contract, as if everything beyond him and the two felines had simply ceased to exist.
'What… what had he just done?'
But there was no time for questions. Not in that moment.
The two felines writhed, bodies trembling, eyes wide. One lay with its shoulder shattered, flesh hanging in strips, thick rivulets of blood painting the ground red. The other tried in vain to rise. Its hind legs wouldn't obey—shaking, failing, as if its spine no longer knew whether it was intact.
Their stares burned with pure hatred… and fear.
And that was when Kauã felt it.
Something primal. Something that didn't come from the mind or reason. It was an ancestral scream in his chest, pulsing with his blood.
The metallic taste of victory filled his mouth. His eyes trembled with adrenaline. His heart pounded so hard it seemed to want to crack his ribs and burst free.
The instinct inside him roared.
To kill.
Silence hung heavy for a second after the attack.
The two men Kauã had defended stood frozen, eyes wide, mouths slack. The taller one—a muscular guy now covered in lizard scales—swallowed hard.
"Holy shit… he… he killed them?" His voice was hoarse, as if he couldn't believe what he'd just seen.
The other, younger, with faint feline stripes emerging on his arms, took a step back. Not from the dying creatures on the ground—but from Kauã.
"Watch out! He's one of them!."
The spider-woman, still leaning against a tree, stared at Kauã with a mix of relief and horror.
"He saved us…" she murmured, as one of her legs twitched unconsciously, as if ready to attack or flee.
The feline boy—the same one who'd been clutching his tail in despair earlier—now stared at Kauã like he was a mirage.
"You… you controlled this?" He pointed at Kauã's black wings, his voice thick with something between hope and envy. "How?"
Silence.
Kauã didn't answer. He didn't need to.
The metallic taste still burned in his mouth—and it wasn't just adrenaline. It was the bittersweet flavor of savagery, of supremacy, of raw violence. His whole body trembled, but not from fear. No. It was pure excitement. It was as if something inside him was laughing, some ancient, forgotten entity pulsing in his veins, proud, thirsty, hungry.
Something inside him already knew exactly what to do.
No doubt. No guilt. No restraint.
The two felines lay there, mangled but not dead. Not yet. They still breathed, still fought—even if it was a losing battle.
The first one, its shoulder destroyed, dragged itself backward, claws scraping the soil, letting out ragged growls—more pain than threat. Its eyes, once full of fury, now flickered between fear, terror, and the broken arrogance of a predator realizing too late it had become prey.
The second, the one hurled against the tree, breathed unevenly, gasping, foaming pink blood at the mouth. But its yellow eyes… ah, those eyes still burned with pure, wild, stubborn hatred. It was dangerous. Very.
Kauã didn't think. He didn't need to.
His body moved on its own, driven by a script etched into his very bones.
"The weaker one first."
"Quick. Clean."
"Aim for the neck. Sever the artery."
The other…
"Too dangerous."
"Don't let it rise."
"Crush it. Tear open the belly. Rip it apart."
His heart hammered like a war drum. Every beat, a sentence. Every breath, an execution.
Why am I thinking like this?
But the answer came, cold, sharp, inevitable.
And then, Kauã moved.
Not like a human. Not like someone trying to survive.
But like a force of nature.
The first feline barely had time to lift its head. Kauã's claws tore through the air, piercing its neck with a wet schlick—muffled, sticky, filthy. His curved beak followed, sinking into flesh, crushing the trachea with a dry, cruel, final snap.
The creature's body convulsed. Then, silence. Only the sound of blood spurting, gushing, hot, drenching the ground, the feathers, his face— everything.
But there was no time to hesitate.
The second feline lunged in a final act of desperation, claws bared, jaws open in a soundless snarl.
But Kauã was already airborne. His wings beat violently, kicking up a storm of leaves, dust, and forgotten bone fragments.
The feline leaped. Missed.
And Kauã dove.
This time, there was no precision. No technique. Just force. Just weight. Just brutality in its purest form.
The impact was devastating. His full weight crushed the feline into the earth, making the ground tremble. His claws plunged into its belly, slicing through skin, muscle, tendons—until the abdomen split like overripe fruit.
Entrails spilled out, glistening, steaming in the cold morning air.
The feline screamed —a high, broken, desperate sound.
But Kauã didn't stop.
His claws rose, sharp, swift, merciless—dug into its neck, yanked with inhuman strength, and with a rip of tearing flesh, snapping cartilage, and crumbling vertebrae… the head came off.
For a moment, everything froze.
The body collapsed, exhaling one last, shuddering breath. The head rolled, eyes still open, staring at nothing—as if trying to understand what had just happened.
Kauã stood there, panting.
Chest heaving like a bellows. Wings spread wide, black, trembling. Feathers stained with blood, eyes wide, claws dripping.
The silence that followed wasn't peace.
It was a void. A heavy, suffocating quiet.
"That… that was…" Behind him, someone retched.
"My God…"
Kauã turned slowly.
The group stared at him like he was the most terrifying monster in the forest. And he wasn't even close to the real horror.
Kauã took a deep breath, the stench of blood and viscera thick in the air. His body trembled, but not from exhaustion—it was something deeper.
'What did I just do?'
His claws still dripped red. His curved beak had bits of flesh stuck in its ridges. And the worst part? He felt no disgust.
Then he remembered the system's message in his mind—a somber warning:
[The more you embrace your instincts, the less human you become.]
It was true. He hadn't killed those creatures as a man. He'd killed them as a predator.
That was when the third feline attacked.
Kauã didn't even see it—too lost in his thoughts, too weighed down by his own brutality. The creature lunged from the shadows, front claws extended, yellow eyes blazing with murderous fury.
But the strike never landed.
Baanngg!!!
A gunshot rang out.
Sharp. Precise.
The feline's skull exploded in a red mist before its body crumpled mid-leap.
Silence.
Everyone turned, stunned.
At the edge of the clearing, standing atop a gnarled root, was a middle-aged man with bear-like ears, a scarred face, and eyes cold as steel. His military gear was worn but functional. An M4A1 smoked in his hands. His posture was rigid—like someone who'd seen hell and brought back a piece of it.
He lowered the gun slowly, scanning the group with a calculating stare.
"Looks like I got here just in time."
His voice was rough, as if he'd been swallowing gunpowder smoke for years.
Kauã felt the group recoil behind him—no longer afraid of him, but of this new terror.
Who was this man?
The soldier didn't relax. His eyes swept over them like a radar, lingering a beat too long on Kauã—or rather, on his still-spread wings, his bloodied claws.
"Ethan McCoy." He announced, voice sharp as a blade. "U.S. Special Forces, retired. And, apparently, the only one here who knows how not to end up as monster chow."
The group exchanged glances. Someone sighed in relief. Others muttered, but McCoy's rigid stance, the gun in his hands, the certainty in his tone—it all inspired instant trust.
"The forest is alive," he continued, jerking his chin toward the black trees. "And it hates trespassers. If you want to live, follow me. Now."
No one argued.
Kauã, though, looked back.
There, in the shadows, the creatures' eyes still watched. But now, they retreated. Not out of fear of the forest.
Out of fear of the armed man.
'He's not just a survivor,' Kauã realized. 'He's a threat.'
And if Kauã wanted to explore his bestial instincts, if he wanted to understand what Zarathûn truly was…
McCoy would be his greatest obstacle.
———
The group regrouped, trailing McCoy as he led them to a more open clearing. Then the veteran stopped, turning with a sharp glare.
"Anyone here got military or survival training? Anything useful?"
Three hands went up.
McCoy raised an eyebrow.
"And why the fuck didn't you step up earlier?"
The first to speak was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a scar splitting his lip.
But the most grotesque detail… was below the waist.
Where legs should've been, there was now a tail. Thick. Muscular. Scaled. Yellowish-brown with the distinctive bands of a rattlesnake. Its tip shivered, emitting a low "tchic-tchic-tchic"—the cold, ancient sound of death in the desert.
His smile was crooked. Not polite. Not friendly.
It was the smile of someone who fed on chaos. Who breathed disorder. Who saw destruction as… entertainment.
"Travis Kane. Ex-U.S. Navy." His grin was slow, almost sadistic, as his eyes traced the blood on Kauã's claws. "Had a pistol. Low on ammo. Wasn't gonna waste it on vermin."
His tone was casual, but there was something in it… something that made even McCoy frown.
'He enjoyed it,' Kauã realized. 'Enjoyed the killing. This guy's a psychopath.'
The other two introduced themselves quickly—an ex-cop, an army reservist—but Travis was the only one still smiling, as if this were all some game.
Then, as if to prove his point, he drew a pistol from its holster, stroking the barrel.
"But now that we've got real leadership…" His eyes gleamed. "Maybe we can turn the tables."
McCoy didn't respond. But Kauã saw it— McCoy didn't trust Travis. And neither did he.
And Travis?
He looked eager for more blood.
Kauã lingered at the group's edge, watching.
The humans talked among themselves, some relieved to have a leader like McCoy, others still too shell-shocked to think straight. Travis chuckled at some morbid joke, while the spider-woman hunched over, trying to hide her monstrous legs under a torn jacket.
'None of them are trustworthy.' Kauã thought.
His bestial instincts still thrummed under his skin, itching to be tested again. But he wasn't stupid—McCoy was watching, and that lingering stare at his wings suggested he wasn't the type to tolerate "freaks." And Travis? Well, Travis seemed like the kind of guy who'd stab someone just to watch them bleed.
He needed to wait.
Observe.
And then—
McCoy moved.
Without warning, the soldier spun and leveled his M4A1 at the dense trees to the left.
"You there. Step out where I can see you. Now."
His voice brooked no argument.
The group froze.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then, with a hesitant rustle of leaves, two figures emerged from the dark.