The beast screamed.
The sound tore through the forest like something broken.
Wren's fangs ripped free from its neck as the panther violently threw itself sideways. She lost her grip immediately. One moment she was clinging to its blood-soaked mane, the next she was airborne. The world blurred into streaks of green, brown, and silver before she slammed shoulder-first into the ground. Dirt exploded around her. Her body bounced once. Twice. Then finally rolled to a stop beneath a patch of crushed undergrowth. For several long moments she could only lie there gasping. The taste of the creature's blood lingered on her tongue. Hot. Powerful. Wrong. It felt alive in a way no other blood she'd tasted had. Even through the pain she could still feel it moving through her body, spreading warmth through exhausted muscles and dulled nerves. Some of the agony in her side had eased. The torn flesh along her ribs was already trying to close. Not enough. Nowhere near enough. But enough that she was still conscious.
Slowly she lifted her head.
The monster was still standing.
Blood poured from the wound she'd carved into its neck, staining the brilliant feathers hanging from its mane. The colorful plumage that had seemed beautiful when she'd first seen it now hung in ragged clumps. Its reflective fur was smeared with dirt and crimson. Yet somehow none of that frightened her as much as its eyes. The starvation remained. The desperation remained. The thing looked like it had been dying long before she'd wandered into its territory. It wasn't hunting because it wanted to. It was hunting because it had no choice.
For a fleeting moment, Wren saw herself reflected in those eyes.
Then the moment passed.
The creature lowered itself.
Her stomach dropped.
"Oh no."
The panther launched forward.
Wren ran.
Logic had abandoned the situation several injuries ago. She wasn't thinking about pride. She wasn't thinking about strategy. She wasn't thinking about winning. She was thinking about survival. Branches whipped against her face while roots blurred beneath her feet. Blood dripped steadily from her clothes. Every step sent fresh waves of agony through her body. Her left arm barely responded when she tried to move it. Her ribs felt shattered. Her side throbbed with every heartbeat. Behind her came the sounds of pursuit. Heavy impacts. Cracking wood. The relentless sounds of something that refused to stop.
For several terrifying seconds she genuinely believed she might escape.
Then the shadow appeared beside her.
A heartbeat later something crashed into her back.
The impact drove every bit of air from her lungs. Wren hit the ground hard enough to carve a trench through leaves and dirt before finally slamming into the base of a tree. The trunk cracked audibly behind her. Something inside her body cracked too.
Pain exploded.
Not sharp pain.
Not localized pain.
Everywhere pain.
The kind of pain that made coherent thought impossible.
Wren curled instinctively around the injury while desperately trying to breathe.
The panther was already moving again.
It didn't hesitate.
Didn't pause.
Didn't admire the damage.
The thing simply continued hunting.
That terrified her more than the injuries.
The creature knew exactly what it was doing.
Every attack had purpose.
Every strike came from experience.
Meanwhile Wren had absolutely no idea how to fight.
The most physically demanding thing she'd done in her previous life was occasionally stretching before spending ten hours sitting at a desk.
That was her entire combat background.
The comparison felt deeply unfair.
The panther lunged.
Wren reacted with the most sophisticated strategy available.
She punched it.
The decision immediately proved terrible.
Her fist connected with the side of its face. For one glorious moment she felt victorious.
Then the creature barely reacted.
The sensation that shot through her hand afterward suggested she'd inflicted more damage on herself than the monster.
A claw swept toward her.
Wren barely managed to throw herself backward.
The impact shredded the bark from the tree where her head had been moments earlier.
"Oh come on!"
The forest remained deeply unsympathetic.
The fight devolved from there.
She kicked.
She punched.
She grabbed.
She clawed.
Nothing felt coordinated. Nothing felt planned. The creature fought like a predator. Wren fought like someone having a prolonged panic attack. Every time she landed a hit, she received three in return. Every time she escaped one attack another immediately followed. More than once she convinced herself she was finally creating distance only for the panther to appear in front of her as if the forest itself was helping it hunt.
The injuries accumulated.
A claw tore through her shoulder.
Another opened her thigh.
A tusk punched into her side and ripped free.
Blood soaked her clothing.
The world became increasingly difficult to focus on.
And the sunlight was getting worse.
At first she'd ignored it. Compared to broken bones and torn flesh, a little irritation seemed insignificant. But the longer the fight continued, the more noticeable it became. Every time she stumbled into a sunlit patch the sensation intensified. The light pressing against her skin felt wrong. Not deadly. Not burning. More like pressure against a bruise. Like the sunlight itself disapproved of her existence. The weaker she became, the stronger that discomfort grew. The more blood she lost, the harsher the daylight seemed.
The realization settled heavily inside her mind.
The sunlight wasn't changing.
She was.
The panther slammed into her again before she could finish the thought.
The impact felt weaker.
Not because the creature was holding back.
Because it was tired.
For both of them, the fight had passed the point where strength mattered. There was no elegance left. No strategy. No skill. Just two wounded predators throwing themselves at each other because neither could afford to lose.
Wren hit the ground hard enough to bite through her tongue. Blood flooded her mouth.
The effect was immediate.
The hunger leapt at it.
Not the panther's blood.
Her blood.
Her own blood.
Every wound she suffered seemed to awaken something inside her. Every drop she lost made the hunger louder. Sharper. More demanding. The beast's powerful blood still coursed through her body, fighting against the damage she'd sustained, but it wasn't enough to completely heal her. Her ribs still screamed every time she breathed. Her shoulder barely functioned. Her leg threatened to collapse beneath her whenever she put weight on it.
Yet every time she tasted the panther's blood, the exhaustion retreated slightly.
Just enough.
Just enough to keep moving.
Just enough to keep fighting.
The creature lunged again.
This time she met it halfway.
Not because she had learned how to fight.
Because she was desperate.
Wren drove both hands into the side of its face and immediately regretted it when one claw ripped across her stomach. White-hot pain exploded through her body. The wound wasn't deep enough to spill her entrails, but for one terrifying moment she thought she'd been cut open.
The scream that escaped her throat barely sounded human.
The panther answered with a roar of its own.
Both of them staggered apart.
Both of them bleeding.
Both of them struggling to remain standing.
For a brief second neither moved.
The creature's sides heaved.
So did hers.
The clearing around them had been transformed into a disaster. Trees lay shattered across the ground. Feathers were scattered everywhere. Blood painted roots and stones. Chunks of bark littered the earth where impacts had ripped through trunks.
And still neither of them was dead.
The panther moved first.
Its charge wasn't as fast as before.
Its steps weren't as steady.
Even starving and wounded, it remained terrifying.
Wren turned and ran.
Not strategically.
Not heroically.
She simply acted.
The primitive desperate part of her brain saw danger and decided it wanted to be somewhere else.
She made it perhaps twenty yards.
The panther caught her.
A massive weight crashed into her back and sent her tumbling across the forest floor. Dirt filled her mouth. Her head struck a root hard enough to blur her vision. Before she could recover the creature was on top of her again.
Panic surged.
Its jaws snapped inches from her face.
Tusks gouged the earth beside her head.
The smell of blood and decay washed over her.
Wren punched it.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Nothing.
The fourth punch struck one of its eyes.
The creature recoiled.
Not much.
Enough.
Wren immediately shoved both hands into its feathered mane and started ripping.
Feathers tore loose in fistfuls.
The panther screamed.
Wren kept tearing.
Not because it was effective.
Because she had no idea what else to do.
The fight had long since become ugly.
Animalistic.
For all her thoughts about civilization and dreams and second chances, the reality was simple.
Either she survived.
Or she didn't.
The panther slammed her into the ground again.
Something popped in her arm.
Pain flashed through her body.
Tears formed involuntarily.
Not from sadness.
From sheer physical agony.
She was scared.
Terrified.
Every instinct in her body screamed that she wasn't supposed to be here.
She wasn't supposed to be fighting giant magical predators in some alien forest.
She wasn't supposed to be covered in blood.
She wasn't supposed to have fangs and inhuman strength and wounds that healed while she watched.
Most of all...
She wasn't supposed to want the monster's blood as badly as she did.
The realization frightened her.
Because she wanted it.
Every injury made that desire stronger.
Every drop of blood she lost sharpened it.
The panther's blood wasn't merely nourishing.
It felt powerful.
Ancient.
Something in her very nature recognized it as valuable.
Important.
She didn't understand what that meant.
The idea scared her. The hunger didn't care. The next opening arrived entirely by accident.
The beast lunged.
A root caught one of its forelegs.
For a fraction of a second it stumbled.
That was all.
Not a mistake.
Not a weakness.
Luck.
Pure luck.
The exact kind of luck desperate creatures survive on.
Wren didn't hesitate.
She threw herself forward.
Her shoulder struck the beast's wounded neck. Both of them collapsed together. The panther snapped at her face. One tusk tore across her cheek.
She ignored it.
Her fangs found the damaged flesh she'd already opened.
Then she bit.
Deep.
The effect was instantaneous. Hot blood flooded her mouth. Power rushed through her body. The world narrowed. Pain softened. Not vanished. Softened. The wounds remained. The broken bones remained. The blood simply gave her enough strength to keep going. Enough strength to hold on. Enough strength to survive.
The panther thrashed violently.
Wren held tighter.
The beast clawed at her.
She refused to let go.
Blood poured into her mouth.
Rich.
Warm.
Incredible.
The strongest blood she'd ever tasted.
More.
The hunger whispered.
More.
The thought arrived uninvited.
More.
For one frightening moment she understood how monsters were born.
The panther's struggles weakened.
Then weakened again.
Then stopped.
Silence returned.
Gradually.
Naturally.
As though the forest itself had been holding its breath.
Wren remained where she was for several moments.
Still feeding.
Still drinking.
Still clinging to the warmth spreading through her battered body.
Eventually the hunger eased.
Not completely.
But enough.
Enough for her to think.
Enough for her to stop.
Slowly she pulled away from the carcass.
The world returned.
Broken trees.
Shattered earth.
Blood.
So much blood.
Her blood.
Its blood.
Blood everywhere.
The sunlight no longer felt as oppressive.
The ache in her skin had retreated.
Her senses steadied.
Yet she remained horribly injured.
The wounds had not vanished.
The blood wasn't magic.
It simply gave her enough strength to continue.
Breathing heavily, Wren staggered toward the nearest intact tree and collapsed against it. Her legs gave out immediately. She slid down the trunk until she was sitting among exposed roots.
The fight had been ugly.
She hadn't won because she was skilled.
She hadn't won because she was stronger.
She'd won because the beast had been starving.
Because she'd gotten lucky.
Because she was too stubborn to die.
For several minutes she simply sat there. Breathing. Existing. Listening to her heartbeat hammer against her ribs.
Then she tilted her head back and stared at the patches of blue sky visible through the ruined canopy above.
She was still alive.
And right now...
That was enough.