THUD
The sound of my paw connecting with the mountain lion's face was heavy . It sent him spiraling into the dirt, mid-air.
"Yowl!!"
He hit the ground hard, letting out a pathetic screech. I didn't give him a second to recover. I lunged, pinning him under my weight and raining down a barrage of lightning-fast paw swipes unloading everything I had.
The lion's eyes went blood-red. His survival instinct finally kicked in, and he started thrashing, rolling with me in the snow to break my rhythm. He was fast, snapping his jaws at my chest and shoulders every time he saw a gap in my defense.
Our styles couldn't have been more different. I was leaning into my massive forelimb muscles, using blunt force and claw swipes to tenderize him. He was all about the "bite and bolt"—jumping, twisting, and trying to sink his teeth into my throat.
That's the core difference between a Sabertooth and most other cats. We have these ridiculously thick front legs for a reason. In a wrestling match, a Sabertooth's paw is a more reliable weapon than its teeth. Those long fangs are actually pretty fragile; if you jam them into a struggling predator's bone the wrong way, they can snap. I wasn't going to pull out my ace until I knew he couldn't move.
The lion, on the other hand, didn't have the upper-body strength to out-punch me. His only play was the throat bite.
We tore up that clearing for a solid few minutes. Snow and dirt sprayed everywhere. Eventually, the lion started to flag. He was covered in deep gashes, his fur matted with blood, and he finally managed to scramble back, creating some distance.
I wasn't unscathed, but my wounds were shallow. The lion looked genuinely confused , he couldn't figure out why this cub had skin like a rhino. My peccary gene was doing work.
Pant... pant...
The lion took one last, longing look at the tapir meat, realized he was about to die for a meal he'd never get to eat, and turned to bolt.
" You wouldn't get from here alive !"
I wasn't letting him go. I chased him down, closing the gap in a few heavy strides. Seeing that I was relentless, the lion spun around in a blind panic, lunging one last time for my windpipe.
I didn't even flinch. I let him clamp onto my scruff, ignoring the sting. The second he committed his weight, I buried my teeth into his back.
My fangs punched through his hide . I locked my jaws and gave a powerful crunch.
CRACK
His spine snapped .
The lion's pupils dilated. He let out one final, agonizing scream before his jaws went slack and he tumbled into the snow.
I'd waited for the perfect moment to use the fangs, and it paid off. Researcher talk about slim waists when it comes to wolves or leopards, and mountain lions are no different. Their spines are built for flexibility, not for taking a direct hit from a Sabertooth.
I let go and sat back, huffing . My heart was beating fast, and my eyes were still glowing with the rush of the fight.
The lion lay there, his chest heaving as the life drained out of him. He probably regretted being so greedy. If he'd just waited for me to finish, he could've scavenged the leftovers and lived. Instead, he underestimated the cub and paid the ultimate price.
A few minutes later, the system chimed.
[Ding! Host hunted a Mountain Lion. Gene points +30.]
I looked at the carcass, feeling... nothing. No pity or remorse. Since waking up as a tiger, my human softness had been eaten away by the reality of the Ice Age. Out here, it's eat or be eaten.
It was my first real 1v1 against another experienced predator. It was terrifying and brutal .
I didn't start eating him right away. I had to fix myself up first. I spent 5 points to convert into healing energy. A cool sensation washed through my muscles, dulling the ache and sealing the nicks and cuts on my neck and shoulders.
"Time to move."
The sun was hitting the horizon. I couldn't carry both the tapir and the lion back in one trip.
"Can't waste calories in a winter like this," I thought. I dug a quick, messy hole nothing fancy this time and dragged the lion into it. I covered him with snow and marked the spot with a stone. The snow would act like a natural freezer, keeping the meat fresh for my next trip.
With that settled, I grabbed the rest of the tapir and started the trek home.
On the way, I called system to show my stats.
---
[Host]: James
[Race]: Smilodon Fatalis (Male)
[Age]: 9 months
[Strength]: 50 (+)
[Agility]: 42 (+)
[Constitution]: 47 (+)
[Gene points]: 325
[Fusion Genes]: Flat-headed peccary
[Strengthened Area]: Skin Firmness (lv1)
---
"325 points. Finally."
I'd been grinding for this. Between the tapir and the lion, I'd finally cleared the 300-point mark. My first major goal is already achieved.