The sight of Leonotis plunging over the waterfall after the girl who had abandoned them, his desperate cry swallowed by the roar of the water, snapped the last fragile thread of Low's control. First Jacqueline's cold departure, a familiar, twisting sting of abandonment. And now this… this selfless, noble, utterly foolish act that seemed destined to end in their mutual destruction.
A raw, primal rage, unlike anything she had ever felt, clawed its way up her throat, a silent, suffocating scream trapped within her chest. It was the rage of a lifetime of being left behind, of being deemed expendable.
It started as a tremor, a violent, uncontrollable shudder that wracked her small frame, knocking her to her knees. Her bones felt like they were grinding against each other, stretching, cracking, reforming into something larger, stronger. A searing, unbearable heat bloomed deep within her skin, spreading outwards like wildfire through dry brush.
Coarse, golden fur, the color of rich honey in the sun, erupted across her flesh, prickling and thick, obscuring the familiar lines of her arms and legs, swallowing her threadbare clothes. Her hands and feet elongated painfully, nails thickening and sharpening into formidable, two-inch claws that scraped and scored the rough mountain stone beneath her.
Her spine arched and lengthened with a series of sickening cracks, her shoulders broadening, a powerful, hunched, bear-like form taking shape with terrifying speed. The world around her seemed to shrink as her senses exploded outwards. The scent of pine, damp earth, and distant rain intensified a thousand-fold. The roar of the waterfall became a deafening, complex symphony of individual droplets crashing against stone.
Her face stretched and contorted, her jaw jutting forward with an audible pop, her teeth growing into long, fearsome, ivory fangs. A low, guttural growl, rumbling deep within her rapidly expanding chest, escaped her lips, a sound that spoke of ancient, untamed fury.
In the space where a wary, street-smart girl named Low had stood moments before, there now stood a massive werebear. Its fur shimmered with a rich, golden hue, catching the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. Its eyes, no longer a guarded brown, now glowed with an incandescent, furious amber light, and they fixed upon the two remaining bounty hunters, their faces, just moments ago filled with smug triumph, now frozen in a mask of slack-jawed, abject terror.
The very air around the golden beast crackled with a palpable energy, a silent promise of brutal, absolute retribution for the perceived loss of her unexpected, and now fiercely, savagely protected, companions. The transformation was complete. Low was gone, replaced by a force of nature, a golden storm of grief and rage unleashed upon those who had dared to threaten her fragile, newfound connection.
"What in the blazes…?" Kell stammered, his hand instinctively reaching for the sword at his hip, his knuckles white with terror.
The golden werebear that was once Low didn't speak. She didn't need to. A low, deep growl rumbled in her chest, a sound that promised death. It was the sound of years of suppressed anger, of every abandonment, every injustice, finally unleashed in a torrent of golden fury.
Before either hunter could fully process the nightmare before them, she moved with a speed that defied her immense size. She lunged at Kell, a blur of golden fur and lethal, extended claws. He let out a strangled, high-pitched cry, his sword barely half-drawn from its sheath before the werebear's massive paw slammed into his chest with the concussive force of a battering ram. Bones crunched audibly, a sound like snapping branches, and he was sent flying backwards, his body hitting the rocky cliff face with a sickening, wet thud. His eyes glazed over, life extinguished in a single, brutal instant.
The second bounty hunter, Borok, who had just freed himself from the last of Leonotis's vines, witnessed the brutal, instantaneous efficiency of the attack. He finally found his voice, a high-pitched, pathetic plea for mercy.
"Wait! Please! We… we didn't mean any harm! It was just business! A mistake!" He backed away, stumbling, his hands raised in a futile, trembling gesture of surrender, his face slick with cold sweat.
Low stalked towards him, her golden fur bristling, her amber eyes burning with an unwavering, merciless intensity. The hunter's words were meaningless noise, drowned out by the roaring in her ears, the visceral, searing memory of Leonotis willingly falling into that abyss, of Jacqueline being thrown away like discarded cargo. This was for them. This was for the fleeting taste of belonging they had offered her, a taste she now feared was lost forever.
He stumbled backwards, tripping over a loose rock, his bravado utterly shattered. He landed hard, scrambling desperately on the ground, his pleas becoming more frantic, more pathetic.
"We'll pay you! We'll give you the bounty! Anything! Just… just let me live! I have a family!"
The golden werebear loomed over him, casting a long, terrifying shadow in the afternoon light. Her massive jaws opened, revealing rows of razor-sharp, glistening teeth. The mountain air filled with the hunter's whimpering, terrified cries, cut short by a final, bone-chilling roar as the golden fury descended. There was a sickening crunch, a brief, horrifying spray of crimson against the grey rocks, and then… silence, broken only by the distant roar of the waterfall.
Low stood over the mangled remains of the bounty hunters, her massive chest heaving, her golden fur stained with their blood. The incandescent, all-consuming rage that had fueled her transformation began to slowly subside, replaced by a cold, hollow, crushing ache. They were gone. The ones who had hurt her friends, who had taken them from her, were gone.
But so were Leonotis and Jacqueline, swallowed by the unforgiving, roaring waterfall. A mournful, heartbroken whimper escaped her powerful snout as the enormity of her loss crashed down upon her. Then, a flicker of something else—a primal, animal instinct, a desperate, stubborn hope—ignited within her. Leonotis's scent… she could still smell it, faint but present, carried on the damp mist rising from the churning water far below. He wasn't gone. Not yet. And she would find him.