Blood-soaked fists. Fragments of bone and organ. Terrified souls. The rain intensified.
The forest, once alive, slowly dimmed—reduced to crackling embers and the sizzling echo of falling rain.
The villagers stood frozen, paralyzed by fear. Not a single muscle dared twitch.
Yet, curiosity—a cruel, insatiable thing—stirred within a child.
He tore himself from his mother's trembling grip, unnoticed amidst the silence and tension.
The boy crept toward the figure in the storm, his breath ragged—though he didn't know why.
He tugged at the stranger's coat.
And then, a thunderclap lit the world.
The creature turned.
Glowing red pupils. Long, snow-white hair. Horns curling from its skull.
Claws sharp enough to cleave flesh with a whisper.
And those legs—twisted, animalistic, wrong.
Curiosity died.
Terror took its place.
The child screamed, shattering the silence.
The mother's gaze snapped downward. Her son was gone.
"JACK!" she shrieked, collapsing to her knees, clawing at those around her. "Please! Someone help! He's with—that thing!"
But none came.
The villagers fled, their cowardice louder than the rain.
From beneath his dripping hair, Sirus watched them.
A mother begging. A town turning its back.
He clicked his tongue.
"Not a soul dares lift a finger to help a grieving mother. How utterly pathetic. How human."
He turned to the trembling child clinging to his leg and sighed, disappointed.
Sirus scooped him up effortlessly, cradling him like a weary parent. He placed a clawed finger to the boy's lips.
"Shut up, would you? Your screeching's murdering my ears."
The boy whimpered but obeyed, burying his face into Sirus's chest.
As Sirus approached the mother, the rain washed away the blood, revealing clean skin beneath.
His aura—menacing, yet strangely calm—made her tremble.
She expected death. She could only sob, face to the mud, too afraid to look.
Behind shuttered windows, villagers watched.
The rain stopped.
The scorched forest behind him whispered its own truths.
Sirus stood before her, silent.
Then he knelt and gently offered her son, unharmed.
"I'm not going to kill you. So stop crying. It's embarrassing." His voice, though sharp, was oddly gentle.
The mother looked up, wide-eyed and shaking. Her son rested quietly in the arms of the monster.
She could no longer tell what was real.
"You… you're not going to kill us?" she whispered, too stunned to register that the creature could speak.
"I don't have time for questions. Just take your kid."
He laid the boy in her lap and patted her head before standing.
Sirus turned and walked into the forest, his form swallowed by shadow.
"M-Mother?" the boy stammered, voice quivering.
She hugged him tightly, then looked up—but the monster was gone.
Far beyond the village, Sirus paused beside the decapitated corpse of an elderly woman.
He retrieved his dagger and stared down at her lifeless form.
"I'm guessing you didn't tell them I stayed at your house, huh?" he muttered. "You should have. Now your silence will haunt your daughter."
And yet, somewhere in him, a flicker of gratitude lingered—for her food, her shelter, her kindness.
But why hide him? Why risk death? For what?
That, he could not understand.
Days passed. Then months.
The sun returned to the valley. Sirus walked endlessly, following the river.
The once-lush forest was dead—another casualty of humanity's touch.
He trained along the way, sharpening both body and mind.
Push-ups, sprints, slow breaths under the sun.
Routine was a balm. Purpose, a blade.
After two months—
He noticed a change.
The twisted wilderness gave way to familiar human constructs.
Dirt paths. Markers. Civilization.
Ahead stood a tall wooden sign.
He stopped. Watched.
A lone human camped near the road, beneath a makeshift tent, reading a book as though the world posed no threat.
Sirus hid behind a tree, scanning the air.
Only one scent. No ambush. No threat.
He squinted toward the sign:
Welcome to the Town of Kurtz.
Sirus groaned. "The town of Kurtz? Who came up with that? Idiots."
He glanced again at the camper, relaxed and unaware.
Sirus smirked, voice low and sardonic.
"Well then. First human in this new place. New adventure... or new disappointment?"