In the brutal arithmetic of nature, injury was often a slow sentence of death. A wounded predator's success rate plummeted. Failed hunts meant no nutrients for healing, creating a vicious, fatal spiral.
That was why Logan had forced himself to eat before fleeing. He needed to stockpile fuel for recovery.
The system confirmed his efforts:
Slayed Velociprey. Evolution Points +2.
Consumed Velociprey Flesh. Evolution Points +1.
Three points total. Without hesitation, he invested all of them into Enhanced Regeneration.
The familiar warmth spread through him, accelerating his metabolism. Specialized cells flooded his bloodstream, homing in on his injuries. These aggressive microphages devised foreign debris and dead tissue, then died in turn, forming a thin, protective film over the wounds.
Beneath his torn scales, new tissue knitted together at a visible pace. The fiery pain in his back and shoulders dulled to a persistent ache. The deep puncture wounds on his hind leg, though still gruesome, ceased their steady bleed. A tough, dark scab began to form.
The Zinogre whelp watched him curiously, unaware of the internal changes. The unfamiliar surroundings made it anxious. It crept closer and gently licked Logan's injured forepaw, whining softly.
Logan nudged its head with his muzzle. He couldn't fully explain why he hadn't abandoned it. Some lingering shred of empathy? The weight of his own profound solitude? The reasons were tangled and instinctual.
It didn't matter. He was an animal now. He acted on impulse, not rationale.
A deep, healing exhaustion washed over him. He pulled the furry whelp close against his chest like a living teddy bear and let sleep claim him.
…
The night passed without incident. Morning light filtered into the charred hollow. Logan awoke to the tickling sensation of a fluffy muzzle snuffling at his nose.
He blinked, clearing the sleep fog, and inspected his wounds. The shredded scales on his back and chest were now covered by a tough, whitish membrane. His hind leg was stiff and sore, but it would bear his weight.
…
Moving carefully, Logan coaxed the whelp down the giant spruce. Hunting was out of the question with his leg, so he settled into an ambush position.
He chose a spot by a clear, shallow stream, concealed within thick riverside brush. A well-worn game trail suggested frequent traffic. His patience was soon rewarded by a plump Mernos coming to drink.
The creature resembled a rotund, mossy pig, lacking the tusks or bristles of its wild cousins. A helmet-like bony plate adorned its head, and its back was carpeted in thick, symbiotic fungi. Its meat was famously rich, fatty, and imbued with an earthy, mushroom-like flavor.
Injury had spiked Logan's appetite. He ate ravenously. The whelp, sensing food, waddled over and tried to sink its tiny teeth into one of the Mernos's legs. It tugged fruitlessly, then let out a frustrated, pitiful whine.
Its newborn teeth couldn't pierce the hide. With a sigh, Logan used a claw to shred the meat into thin, manageable strips, pushing them toward the whelp.
Whether it can digest this is its problem. I'm not lactating. Egg-layers probably don't do that anyway.
Satiated, they sought a new temporary shelter—a massive, hollowed-out log, its interior like a natural cave, providing shade and secrecy. Here, Logan would wait out his healing.
To pass the time, he studied his accidental charge. A creature with both reptilian scales and mammalian fur was a biological marvel he'd never encountered. The whelp wasn't small either; already over sixty centimeters long at birth, much of that a broad, powerful tail.
Is it male or female?
Curiosity got the better of him. Ignoring the whelp's indignant squeaks, he gently lifted its tail to check.
If the old Earth rule of "two dots for male, an upside-down exclamation mark for female" held true here... then this one was a girl.
He felt no particular embarrassment, just a pragmatic need for identification. He gave its furry head an affectionate, rough scratch. It needed a name.
If it had been male, 'Butters' or 'Rusty' would have sufficed. But for a female... he thought of the mythic deities of thunder from his old world. A folk name for one of the lightning goddesses came to mind.
Zhu Peiniang. It would do. Peini for short.
…
Time flowed. Over a month passed, and the season deepened into the heart of summer. The sun reigned supreme, a merciless orb hammering the land with blistering heat. The air shimmered over the earth, a giant, stifling oven. Any breeze felt like the breath of a forge.
Logan and Peini lay in the dappled shade beside a forest stream, its cool water a lifeline. Their reflections shimmered on the surface.
The month of recovery and steady feeding had allowed for more growth. Logan now measured a full five meters from snout to tail-tip. His frame was powerfully built, his limbs thick with corded muscle, more imposing than any tiger from his memory. His long tail lay coiled like a resting python. Most striking was his armor: his scales now gleamed with a soft, milky-white luminescence.
After the Velociprey fight, his first priority had been to spend five Evolution Points on Scale Reinforcement.
The transformative energy had triggered a profound change. Capillaries had branched into the very matrix of his scales, secreting a solvent that broke down the old keratin structure. In its place, they deposited a new composite: layers of calcium, dense proteins, and hydroxyapatite crystals—the same mineral that formed tooth enamel.
Tooth enamel was the hardest substance in the biological world, rating 7-8 on the Mohs scale, surpassing most metals.
This triggered another full-body shed. When the old, dull scales fell away, they revealed the new ones: larger, thicker, perfectly teardrop-shaped, and arranged in overlapping plates like the finest lamellar armor. They were semi-translucent, with a pearlescent, milky-white sheen.
The upgrade was comprehensive. His claws and the deadly spike on his tail had also molted, reforming from the same enamel-like material.
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