A few hours later, far from that place, a small creature dragged its exhausted body across the hard, gray land.
It had managed to escape the dreadful predator near the great rock, where so many of its brothers had perished.
At that moment, it had known the greatest fear of its life.
That thing was a monster unlike anything it had ever seen. Faster, stronger, more intelligent, and far more deadly…
Even the great fox of the region had not been able to defeat it. And yet, the creature and some of its brothers had thought it possible. They had hurled themselves at the giant and at the fox's corpse, hoping to claim a massive feast unlike any they had ever known.
However, it was pesruaded that if he hadn't fled, he would have died torn apart by the merciless paws of this bloody and crazy predator.
Murder and violence were nothing new. Beasts tore each other apart for the little scraps of food they could find.
Corpses were the greatest source of nourishment in the region. To attack one of their own meant looking weak—and weakness always meant becoming prey in return.
Every beast understood this brutal system, though no one knew where the first dying one had come from—the one who had sparked it all in this part of the gray lands. Perhaps it had never been a dying beast at all. But in truth, none of them cared.
They did not live to learn, nor to question where they came from, nor to wonder if fate had already been written. What did it matter?
The purpose of life was to devour the dying without mercy, and to survive the hunger of the others. That was all beasts saw, all they felt, all they lived for.
It was their life, and they cherished it with every fiber of their being. Every chance to sink their fangs into flesh filled them with an intense pleasure that strengthened them beyond measure.
And so, they had set their sights on the carcass of the old fox, who had ruled these lands for far too long.
None knew where he had come from, but his presence had been a reign of terror and submission in the western wastes. The fennec avoided him, but in the end, they always became his meal. He was cunning, agile, calculating, and dangerous.
Worse still, he was naturally larger and stronger. His dark eyes inspired fear across the entire region—no one dared to face him…
At least, not until now...
The strange predator standing on two long legs, towering like a giant and drenched in blood, had killed the old fox at last. And, in truth, before that thing, the fox hadn't seemed so terrible after all.
Believing it weakened, the fennec had charged. And for what? Only to be shredded, slashed, stabbed, and crushed by that cursed monster.
The little one's eyes widened as it remembered the horror.
No… it wasn't a mere monster. To the fennec, it was Death itself. A presence far worse than the old fox. A towering giant that brought only death and destruction.
And the strangest thing of all—the eerie phenomenon of a small pack of fennec that followed it everywhere—was utterly terrifying, defying every law of this land.
The worst part of it all was that they weren't waiting for a chance to kill him—no, they were waiting for the scraps he left behind.Because everywhere he went, there were always fools who thought they could defeat that thing, and they all ended up dying, nothing more than filthy rags for him to wipe his hands with.
The monster was merciful in his own twisted way. Sometimes he left two or three corpses in his wake, and sometimes, when the outer stomach on his back was full, he would simply toss them all aside. The fennec that followed him would then feast, tearing each other apart over the remains, until others arrived and realized the advantage of following the predator's trail.
But the little fennec was not well. He had been one of those fools who had dared to attack the monster.
And now, he was running like a coward, hoping he had put enough distance between himself and that thing to finally rest.
It was cowardly, shameful even—but beasts did not care about such things. They were predators without shame, without morality. Fleeing was as natural to them as fighting. Why stay when death was certain? He had no desire for that. Facing this thing was far too unsettling, too despairing.
The little fennec pushed himself onward, his breath growing shorter with each step. He was drained, exhausted—both body and mind frayed from a day of unbearable tension.
He trotted a little further, desperate to find water to refresh himself. Soon, he stumbled upon a small hollow where a shallow pool had gathered.
Water was not rare in the western lands. The rains came often, the air always heavy with dampness, the endless gray and black clouds pressing down like a threat of eternal storms. Yet water never lingered long in one place, only trapped for a time in cracks and depressions carved into the stone.
The fennec extended his tongue and drank slowly.
The pool lay beside a small jutting rock, sheltering him for a brief moment from the eyes of other predators.
The water was refreshing, and the relief of having escaped that monster made the moment almost blissful. The fennec felt a flicker of joy.
But then...
Suddenly, he froze.
Something was there....
Or perhaps… something had always been there, watching silently as it drank, concealing itself in perfect stillness.
The fennec shivered at first, imagining it was one of his brothers come to devour him. If that was the case, the fight was manageable. It would not last long.
But his instincts screamed otherwise. Whatever loomed above him was too large to be a fennec. Its trembling grew worse.
Slowly, it raised his head.
Something was crouched on the rock, balanced on two long legs. Its forelimbs rested against its knees, its entire body cloaked in black blood. A vast shadow obscured its features, making it appear even more dreadful, even more scarier.
At first, the thing simply stared. Then, as it realized it was seen, it began to smile. A smile bright and innocent on the surface… but hiding within it a murderous intent so sharp it burned through the air.
Fennec were used to this—they could sense killing intent with ease. It was instinct, carved into their very blood.
And now, the little fennec knew beyond doubt. The thing before it wanted it dead.
It was him...
The monster...
The bringer of death....
The fennec's trembling would not stop as the creature opened its mouth, speaking in a cheerful voice that made its smile unbearably creepy:
"I found you. You're the last one…"