The sky was already dimming. James decided that instead of heading back to the family den, he would stay the night. It was time for a trial run of solitary living.
But first, his stomach was growling. He needed to find a meal to sacrifice to his stomach.
After scouting the woods for a while, James caught a familiar scent. His eyes locked onto a Miracinonyx—the American Cheetah. He recognized the smell instantly; it was the same cat his family had bullied and robbed back in the Grand Canyon last year.
"Talk about a small world. Looks like we're neighbors again."
James was overcome with joy. He remembered this cheetah's hunting skills vividly. It was the embodiment of peak predatory grace.
That was how a top-tier predator was supposed to look. However, being a great hunter is one thing; being strong enough to keep your kill is another. James looked at the cheetah's slender frame and compared it to his own bulk. He happily decided to play the role of the bandit once more.
He stayed well-hidden, trailing the cheetah across several ridges. The Tool Cat was focused entirely on its own hunt and had no idea it was being stalked. Eventually, the cheetah led him to a troop of black-furred Howler Monkeys.
James had never seen these creatures up close before. Howler monkeys were the largest primates in the Americas—thick-bodied, social, and notoriously aggressive. Usually, a heavy Smilodon wouldn't bother with arboreal monkeys; they were simply too agile. But for a speed-specialist like the American Cheetah, they were a staple menu item.
The monkeys were busy stripping leaves and fruit, oblivious to the predator creeping through the undergrowth. The cheetah displayed textbook patience, inching forward only when the troop's guard was down. Every step was calculated; if a monkey looked its way, the cat froze, becoming part of the shadows.
A large male Howler acted as a sentry, scanning the perimeter for movement. The cheetah spent over an hour closing a 100-meter gap, but in the wild, that kind of patience is the difference between a feast and starvation.
Once it reached the strike zone, the cheetah exploded into motion. It stopped lurking and turned into a blur of tawny fur, launching toward a tree where several monkeys were huddled.
The male sentry spotted the intruder. Suddenly, the hyoid bone in its throat ballooned to the size of a human fist, and it released a booming, resonant roar.
The sound was so massive it startled James, who was watching from the brush. For a second, he thought an American Lion had appeared.
But the cheetah wasn't intimidated by sonic attacks. It hit the base of the tree and coiled its hind legs like springs. It launched upward in a fluid, three-meter vertical leap.
It reached a female carrying a small infant. The cheetah's claws, sharp as curved daggers, sank deep into the mother's back. With the force of a pro volleyball player's spike, the cat swiped downward, sending the mother monkey flying through the air.
THUD!
The female slammed into the ground, gravely injured. Even in pain, she clutched her infant tight, trying to shield it from the impact. The cheetah hit the ground and pounced instantly, finishing the mother with a swift, effortless bite to the throat.
The infant was paralyzed with fear, clinging to its dead mother's fur. The cheetah didn't hesitate; it opened its jaws and ended the baby's life as well.
A perfect hunt.
From his hiding spot, James felt a genuine sense of respect. It was a masterclass in predation. But he also felt like thanking his Tool Cat comrade for providing such a convenient double-header meal.
The cheetah didn't relax. It knew the risks of scavengers. It planned to drag its prize up a tree to eat in peace. Since it had two kills, it decided to ferry the infant up first. It scrambled up a nearby trunk and hooked the baby monkey over a branch.
But as the cheetah turned to climb back down for the mother, James stepped out of the bushes. With a low, predatory stride, he walked right up to the carcass and claimed it.
The Cheetah: ???
Seeing its hard-earned meal stolen, the cheetah shrieked in fury, nearly losing its footing on the branch. James turned his head and gave the cat a long, dismissive look.
"Know your place, Tool Cat. Keep screaming and I'll take the one on the tree, too."
The cheetah caught James's scent and suddenly began to tremble. The memory of being dominated by a Smilodon family last winter came rushing back. The terror was palpable. It realized it was lucky to still have the infant.
Suddenly, the remaining troop of Howler Monkeys in the canopy erupted into a thunderous, rhythmic booming.
James was confused. Were they actually planning to seek revenge for the mother and child?
Yes. Dozens of monkeys, baring their teeth and screaming, swarmed through the branches toward the cheetah in the tree. James watched with a sense of "Rise of the Planet of the Apes" déjà vu. Monkeys were definitely not to be trifled with when they were organized.
"Meow~~"
Facing a mob of murderous primates, the cheetah abandoned all pride. It lunged for the infant's carcass, intending to grab it and flee. But in its frantic haste, its grip slipped. The small body slid off the branch and tumbled toward the forest floor.
THUD.
The infant's body landed perfectly at James's feet.
James: ???
Cheetah: (˃̣̣̥ᯅ˂̣̣̥)