Following the scent and the traces, Ken advanced several hundred meters before stopping at the edge of the lake. The trail ended there completely. Judging from the faint streaks of blood dripping onto the ground, the final direction pointed straight into the water.
Had that "thing" flown across the lake with the husky's corpse?
Or had it simply thrown the body into the water?
Or perhaps that "thing" could not only fly—but also enter the water?
As Ken stared toward the opposite shore, debating whether to cross and investigate, he suddenly caught that peculiar scent he had been tracking for three days. His head snapped toward the source.
Less than twenty meters away, atop a large tree, stood a figure, gazing down at him. Its silhouette looked like a person cloaked in a coat that covered the entire body, the head unnaturally large—as if wearing a mask or hood.
"What the hell…?" A flood of vampire legends surged through Ken's mind.
In the next instant, the "figure" leapt from the tree. With a thunderous whump, it spread its "arms," flung open the coat, and dove straight at him.
"Holy shit—what the fuck?!"
Ken jolted in terror, every muscle in his body snapping taut. He hurled himself sideways, narrowly avoiding the diving attack.
If what came at him had truly been a grotesque human—no matter how hideous or uncanny—Ken would have been mentally prepared, hardly shocked at all.
But as the distance closed at terrifying speed, under the decent moonlight and with his superhuman dynamic vision, he saw clearly what was attacking him.
It was not a man in a coat.
It was a gigantic bird with an ugly, oversized head.
Ken sprang aside, rolled several times, and came back to his feet with remarkable speed—but the monster was faster still. After only a couple of massive wingbeats, it was already upon him again, enormous talons slamming down.
With nowhere left to dodge, Ken hardened his resolve. He let the creature's claws sink into both sides of his ribs, then used the momentum to surge upward, seizing its head and dragging it down, forcing the fight onto the ground.
This was the first time since his mutation that Ken unleashed every ounce of his strength without restraint. One hand clenched the feathers beside the creature's head, preventing its beak from reaching him; the other rose and fell in a furious barrage of punches.
Each blow tore a roar from his throat. Each impact drew a shrill, inhuman scream from the beast.
At first, the creature raked Ken's torso relentlessly with its talons. Ken pressed his body as close as possible, denying it room to strike his abdomen or groin. He allowed the claws to tear into his back and waist instead, letting talons as thick as his fingers pierce his flesh.
He was gambling on endurance—on whether its claws were sharper, or his fists more merciless.
After more than a dozen crushing blows, the monster finally faltered. It withdrew the claws embedded in Ken's body, kicked violently with its legs, and wrenched itself free. Ken released his grip and rolled aside—he himself was nearing his limit. The creature's talons had been tearing at his waist and ribs without pause; had he not stayed so close that it couldn't fully extend its legs, his body would have been ripped apart after only a couple of punches.
The giant bird did not pursue him. With a piercing wail, it staggered into the air, flew a short distance, then crashed back to the ground, struggled up again, and finally vanished into the night a few seconds later.
In the distance, dogs began barking, and hurried footsteps followed. Ken knew it wasn't that late—there were still people out walking their dogs nearby. The commotion had drawn attention.
He didn't linger. After a quick scan of the area, he picked up his shattered glasses and the phone that had fallen during the fight, stuffed several massive feathers shed by the creature into his pocket, clutched his waist, and hurried away.
Ken didn't go straight home. Instead, he found a secluded, deserted corner and half-reclined on the grass to rest.
In truth, he was grievously injured. Several bloody holes punctured his back and waist where the creature's talons had pierced through him. The heavy bleeding had soaked his clothes. A few ribs were broken; his internal organs were undoubtedly damaged and bleeding as well. During the struggle, he had even felt certain muscle groups spasming uncontrollably.
His right fist—the one that had hammered the creature's head—was mangled, flesh torn open, metacarpal bones shattered. He couldn't even straighten his fingers.
If he were an ordinary man, he would already be on the way to the emergency room—ICU-bound, his survival uncertain.
But Ken had no intention of going to a hospital. It wasn't that he preferred death to exposing the secret of his body; he simply knew he wouldn't die.
He could feel it—the wounds, from surface to bone, were rapidly repairing themselves.
Lying there, replaying the image of the creature in his mind, a realization struck him.
That thing… was a golden eagle.
But could an eagle really be that big?
With its wings spread, it exceeded even his arm span by a wide margin. The body alone must have stood over one and a half meters tall.
No wonder he had mistaken it for a human.
Standing motionless in the shadow of a tree, it truly looked like a man wrapped in a long coat.
A sudden thought crossed his mind. Ken lifted his mangled right hand and stared at the blood smeared along his arm—some of it his own, some of it the giant bird's… or rather, the mutated giant eagle's.
He took a deep breath, then suddenly leaned down and licked the blood from his arm, swallowing it along with his saliva.
Boom.
A blinding flash seemed to explode inside his mind. Once more, Ken felt the "exhilaration" and "excitement" of every cell in his body—far stronger than when he had first drunk chicken blood, stronger even than the first time he drank rabbit blood.
The pleasure brought by that blood did not come from his taste buds or his stomach. It surged from the deepest parts of his body, as though every single cell were voicing the same cry, cheering in unison.
Ken exhaled slowly, his expression almost one of bliss.
Had anyone witnessed the scene, they would have been horrified—a bald man covered in blood, riddled with wounds, lying in the grass, licking blood from his arm with a look of rapture on his face. Utterly deranged.
A surge of hunger rose within him. By his normal rhythm, he shouldn't have felt hungry until the next day.
Yet this hunger was different—more like a reminder, a demand, urging him to seek more of the blood he had just tasted.
After resting a while, Ken lifted his shredded T-shirt and examined the wounds on his waist. Once he wiped away the blood, no scars remained. His right hand had nearly recovered as well; his fingers flexed freely.
Ken stood up. But the moment he did, a sudden image flashed through his mind.
It was as though he were wearing a VR headset, seeing through a first-person perspective. "He" was tearing open a garbage bag with clawed hands. Inside the ripped bag, a rabbit's ear was faintly visible.
The entire vision lasted barely over a second.
Ken froze—then instantly understood what he had just seen.