The village square was seething with fear and despair. Under the flickering light of the torches, the villagers murmured, huddled together. The cold of the night was the least of their worries. The bitter wind blew through the narrow alleys, carrying with it the smell of burning wood, damp earth, and a faint hint of decay from the well in the center of the village.

  The houses, small and with sloping roofs, formed an irregular ring around the village square. Most of them were in poor condition. They were old, with pieces of rotting wood and broken windowpanes.

  Some women held children to their chests, whispering prayers in a dead language no one understood. They didn't understand, but they repeated it. The bell of the chapel, built on a rocky outcrop at the edge of the village, remained silent. The people's faith endured, even without understanding what it was based on. Even if the chapel fell silent.

  I watched from a distance, arms crossed, listening to every word.

  — Another one has been taken — old Nicolás' voice cut through the hubbub. His lined face looked even paler under the glow of the fire. — Ivo's body... or what's left of it... is over there, next to the well. Just bones and shreds of meat. Just like the others.

  The murmurs grew louder. A red-faced farmer raised his clenched fists.

  — My cattle! Five heads this week! Not even the bones were left!

  — This bear… — the trembling voice of a woman dressed in black seeped through the whispers. Her eyes shone with terror. — The hunters say it is as big as a house… and that its eyes burn like embers in the dark.

  Nicolás raised his hand for silence, and the murmurs slowly died away. He looked around the square at the tense faces. The words that came next were a bitter poison he hesitated to offer.

  — This is not just an ordinary animal, my friends, — he said, his voice deep and weary. — Long ago, the elders of the village spoke of ancient things, things that feed on fear and pain. And like fear and pain, they never die. This… beast, if you can call it that, is not something that can be hunted with a spear or an arrow. Many have tried. And they have all disappeared. They have left only memories, a bitter taste, and the tears of families mourning their dead. This is no ordinary beast we are dealing with. This is a curse.

  I heard someone still muttering a prayer. Others just exchanged somber glances. I heard these stories before. Tales of something that had always been there, something that existed before the first men set foot on these lands. Something that could not be killed.

  And then, my name was spoken.

  — Esteban... — The voice came hesitantly, almost reluctantly, but full of expectation.

  Others repeated the name, first in scattered murmurs, then more firmly, until it became an inescapable decision, a burden placed on my shoulders before I could even refuse. And I wanted to refuse. I should refuse. But there was no choice. I was the only hunter still alive who was experienced enough. The only one foolish enough to follow this cursed trail. Besides, I would no family to mourn my death.

  A heavy silence fell over the square. I felt eyes turn to me, full of hope and despair, as if my blade could undo centuries of fear. I sighed, running my hand over the spear shaft strapped to my back.

  — I will go — I said, not raising my voice, but loud enough for all to hear.

  Some villagers nodded, murmuring false words of encouragement. They knew I would not return. But better me than them. Others averted their gaze, perhaps fearing that by looking at me, they would seal my death sentence. Foolishness — it was already sealed.

  Old Nicolás approached me.

  — Careful, boy, — Nicolás whispered, his hand trembling on my shoulder, the scent of tobacco lingering on his clothes. — There are things in the forest that should not be hunted. You do not know what you are about to face. This… cannot be solved with courage. Or with sharp blades. It will eat you, as it has eaten the others. I have seen it happen before.

  He paused, his deep, dark eyes fixed on some distant point, as if he saw something beyond the square, beyond the village.

  — And even if you manage to defeat it, boy… — his voice lowered, almost a whisper now, — don’t think it will bring the peace they hope for. The death of this beast could pave the way for something even worse. If it is defeated, a new predator will rise. And worst of all, this one won’t be confined to the forest or the mountains. It will come to the village, to the very doorsteps of each of our homes. Its killing field won’t be just the forest. It will be the entire village.

  I didn't answer. I just turned my back on them and left.

  The silence of the village square weighed on my shoulders like a shroud. My footsteps echoed on the cold cobblestones, muffled only by the crackling of torches in the wind. As I walked forward, I noticed the eyes following me. The silence of the square weighed on my shoulders like a shroud. My footsteps echoed on the cold cobblestones, muffled only by the crackling of torches in the wind. As I walked forward, I noticed the eyes following me. One man drew a protective symbol in the air, as if he were already guarding himself against my ghost.

  The trail to the forest was swallowed by darkness. The cold wind howled through the trees, bringing with it the metallic smell of old blood and something else—a hot, thick, animal stench that clung to the throat.

  The beast was close.

  I moved forward, muscles tense, following the signs of his passing: deep footprints in the damp ground, larger than any bear should have. The claw marks carved into the trunks were not mere warnings. They were sentences. Trees had been ripped to the core, sap dripping like blood from a gaping wound. Further ahead, a deer lay torn in half, its ribs shattered, its flesh torn. Apparently, it was killed just for the fun of killing.

  And then, I stopped.

  Silence suddenly enveloped me, heavy and absolute. No crickets, no rustling of leaves. Even the wind fell silent. The forest stood still. My heart hammered inside my chest, each beat a warning I refused to heed.

  And that's when I realized.

  I wasn't the hunter.

  I was the prey.

  Something moved in the darkness in front of me. A colossal shadow, larger than any bear I've ever seen. Red eyes gleamed in the dim light, deep and glowing like embers. The smell intensified, a mixture of wet earth, rotting flesh, and ancient rage.

  The bear emerged from the darkness and the world became small before him. His skin was more than skin — it was twisted bark and living muscle. An avatar of hate and corruption. Long, dagger-like claws flashed in the dim moonlight. Its snout, more like that of an ancient predator than that of any natural creature, dripped with blood.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  It saw me.

  There was no escape.

  My spear trembled in my hands. I had killed before — wolves, deer, bandits, thieves, even men. But that? That was different. That wasn't an animal. Not a monster. It was something primordial, something that existed before the first men walked these lands. Something that could not be killed.

  It stepped forward.

  The roar it let out was more a sound—it was a rumble of ancient hatred, a force capable of making the trees tremble. It was a storm of instinct and power.

  Before I could react, it was upon me. A claw ripped through my chest, and the pain was so intense that everything around me dissolved into a whirlwind of light and blood. I fell to my knees, barely able to breathe, feeling the warmth of my life being drained by that untamed ferocity. The bear didn't hesitate; it was preparing for the final blow, his sharp teeth ready to tear.

  Pain.

  Pain exploded like liquid fire through my veins.

  I screamed.

  My blood soaked the ground. My vision blurred, filled with shadows and flashes of light. My entire body burned, an unbearable pain tearing at me from the inside, as if something was destroying in order to rebuild me again.

  I died.

  Or at least I should have died. It would have been better if I died.

  Something pulled me back.

  My heart thundered in a single beat. My vision, once blurry, became sharp, fierce. The smell of damp earth, blood, and the creature before me filled my lungs with inhuman clarity. My skin burned, my muscles throbbed, and something inside me roared impatiently, as if it had finally been awaken from a sleep too long.

  And then, I felt it.

  Hunger.

  And rage.

  A hunger that wasn’t just for flesh, but for something deeper, more ancient. A need that came from a place beyond my own understanding. An echo of something primitive, buried beneath layers of humanity that now crumbled like ash in the wind.

  I stood up. And this time, I was no longer the prey.

  This time, I was the hunter.

  What was left of me was no longer human. The wailing of my flesh and the screams of my mind seemed distant, as if there were an impenetrable barrier between my being and the rest of the world. My body, now distorted, stretched and shifted, as if it were being molded by invisible hands, rearranging everything I had been. The sound of my bones cracking and reshaping themselves was almost... comforting. It was a return to something primal, a connection to a power I had never imagined existed within me.

  My claws lengthened, sharpened like razors. My teeth grew, pointed as a forest predator’s. My muscles grew denser, more powerful, filling the gaps of pain and weakness that had once limited me. My eyes, now a fierce yellow, burned with a savage intensity, and I fixed them on the beast that attacked me before, but which now seemed dwarfed by my new form.

  Rage burned inside me like a wildfire, a storm of pure fury that took over every fiber of my being. It wasn't an emotion. It wasn't anger. It was deeper, more primitive, as old as the Moon itself.

  The rage did not ask for permission.

  It demanded.

  It consumed me, a hatred without a name, without a target, without limits. A violent instinct that demanded destruction, demanded revenge, demanded blood.

  Then I lifted my face to the moon.

  And I howled.

  The sound tore through the night like a cruel blade, reverberating through the forest, climbing the mountains, penetrating the bones of everything that breathed. It was no ordinary howl. It was not a call, nor a lament. It was a sentence. A warning engraved in the very instincts of those who heard it.

  The howl carried my rage, letting it loose upon the world like a wild animal. It vibrated in the chests of every creature that heard it. The trees shook, the small animals fled in despair, and even the fiercest predators of the forest, the wolves, the bears, and the hunters of the night, cowered in their dens, feeling something they had long forgotten: horror .

  The creature before me, a hybrid abomination of bear and something much older, hesitated. Its coal-red eyes regarded me, and for the first time in its wild life, something like awe crossed its expression. Not fear of death, but a stark understanding that the predator hierarchy had shifted. The air around us pulsed, and the earth shook with the rising tension.

  I could feel my own hunger, a hunger for something much deeper and more voracious than the simple need for flesh. It was a hunger for power. For revenge. Revenge against what? I didn’t know. But my ancestors did. A line of ancestry I hadn’t known I possessed now demanded revenge.

  The beast struck first. Its claws tore through the air, fast, sharp—but not fast enough. My body moved effortlessly, instinctively, as if it already knew the dance of death. My own blows were true. The sound of ripping flesh and cracking bones echoed across the clearing, and the hot scent of blood filled my nostrils.

  The creature screamed — not in pain, but in fear.

  It knew.

  Its attacks lost their strength. Its breathing became erratic. It still fought, but not like a hunter. Now, it was just an animal trying to survive.

  But I wouldn't give it that chance.

  The rage still burned. And it asked for more.

  Rationality disappeared. My world became a blaze of red and movement. There was no more strategy, no more consciousness, just pure, brutal instinct. Time ceased to exist. My claws moved on their own once, twice, ten times — without hesitation, without control. The smell of blood was like honey and I needed more.

  The beast roared and tried to attack. But I was already on top of it.

  My claws cut deep. Bones cracked. Blood, hot and thick, coated my face, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. My body was a tornado of destruction, and the thing beneath me thrashed, writhed, but I didn’t see a creature fighting for its life — I saw something that needed to be broken down into nothing.

  Bite. Tear. Lacerate.

  I wanted to crush the flesh until there was nothing left but blood and dust.

  The creature screamed — and so did I.

  But my scream was out of ecstasy.

  Instinct told me to continue. To tear apart. To shred. To let the rage take everything and never let go.

  But then…

  Silence.

  I blinked. Something inside me, a glimpse of consciousness, clung to reality. My blows lost strength. My claws rose, but did not come down. The beast was long dead.

  Silence.

  The forest held its breath. Every leaf, every stone, every shadow knew that something had changed. The night remained still, hesitant, afraid to speak my name.

  But the rage still burned.

  I stood over the beast’s corpse, my muscles vibrating with raw, savage energy. The smell of death and blood surrounded me, but it didn’t repulse me. I was beyond it now.

  The wounds that had once burned into my skin began to close on their own. Deep gashes stitched themselves together, expelling fragments of flesh and broken bone before lining themselves up again, perfect. Blood trickled for only a moment before being absorbed back into me. My body refused to waste any of its newfound strength. The pain that should have been there was only a distant whisper, muffled by the power that pulsed within me. It was like being reborn, without ever having completely died.

  But the rage... it still didn't want to leave.

  The fervor of battle began to fade. My body shuddered, muscles contracting violently, and a sharp chill ran down my spine. The claws that seemed a natural extension of me began to shrink, the bones cracking once more, this time in painful regression. My skin burned like a dying ember, the hairs retracting into my flesh, leaving only bare, feverish skin. My face contorted, the sharp teeth gnashing as they shrank. My breathing became erratic. The beast dissolved, and I sank back into human frailty. As I fell to my knees beside the corpse of the beast, my hands — now hands again — were shaking, stained with blood. My chest rose and fell in irregular spasms, and my heart, still heavy with something I didn’t understand, beat as if trying to grasp at something that was slipping away.

  I took one last look at what was left of the beast. I didn't feel proud of what I did. Nor disgust.

  I was new.

  I was old.

  I was no longer Esteban. I was the new beast.

  And I was still hungry.

  But for now, I was human again.

  But the rage? It never leaves. Just waits.