The jungle seemed to close in around them, the thick canopy above barely allowing the faint rays of the distant sun to filter through. Charles moved cautiously through the undergrowth, his every step deliberate and calculated. He had been in dangerous situations before—more than he cared to count—but something about today felt different. A tightness had taken hold in his chest since they'd crossed into the darker parts of the forest. It wasn't just the oppressive heat or the looming shadows of the twisted trees that unsettled him; it was the silence.
Too quiet.
Charles tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, the familiar weight comforting in his hand. His armor, scratched and worn from countless battles, creaked slightly as he moved, a reminder of the years he had spent as a mercenary. He had earned his rank—B-ranked in the Kingdom of Dorum's dangerous guild system—through blood, sweat, and sheer determination. Many underestimated him because of his rank, but he had taken down creatures most wouldn't dare face.
But not alone. Not here.
The beast they were tracking was unlike anything he had encountered before. The creature, a mystical ogre bear, was classified as a Level 8 threat, a danger that could wipe out small towns and decimate military units. And that's exactly why the Kingdom of Dorum had called upon his mercenary group. The ogre bear had ventured too close to the kingdom's borders, and its roars alone had been sending waves of fear throughout the villages.
"Level 8…" Charles muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning the dense foliage ahead. He had faced Level 7 threats alone, and even that had pushed him to his limit. A Level 8 would take everything he and his group had to bring down. Twenty men, well-trained and highly skilled, were with him, but he couldn't shake the gnawing feeling that it wouldn't be enough.
Twenty high-ranked adventurers—each one a specialist in their own right—formed the perfect strike force for dangerous missions like this. The ten warriors on the front lines wielded a variety of weapons—great swords, spears, and axes—all tailored for devastating melee combat. Behind them, five archers were positioned, ready to rain arrows on their target with expert precision. The mages—two fire casters, two healers, and an enchanter—formed the last layer of defense and offense, their abilities the key to turning the tide of any battle. They had faced numerous beasts before, but this jungle felt…different. It was as if the jungle itself was alive and wary of their presence.
Charles' second-in-command, a hulking brute of a man named Garreth, leaned in closer. "This doesn't feel right," he grumbled, his voice low. "Even a beast as loud as that ogre bear should've made more noise. Something's scaring everything away."
Charles nodded, eyes narrowing. "We're in dangerous territory. Stay sharp."
As if on cue, a low, distant roar echoed through the jungle, causing every member of the group to pause. The sound was unmistakable—the ogre bear. Its roar vibrated through the air, deep and primal, a clear challenge to anything foolish enough to cross its path.
Charles took a breath. "That's our target. Everyone, move."
The group advanced cautiously, the trees and underbrush parting reluctantly as they made their way deeper into the forest. Charles could feel the tension building with each step. He had seen the reports—of entire hunting parties vanishing, of soldiers being torn apart by this monstrosity. And now here they were, heading straight for it.
He knew the danger. He knew what they were up against. But even with the fear gnawing at the edges of his mind, there was something worse lurking in the pit of his stomach—an unspoken dread that even twenty well-armed men might not be enough.
A Level 8 creature was no joke. The sheer size of the ogre bear, combined with its unnatural mystical abilities, made it a force to be reckoned with. Its thick hide was nearly impenetrable, its strength capable of snapping trees like twigs. And worst of all, its roars were known to freeze even the most seasoned warriors in place, paralyzing them with primal fear.
But they had to face it.
"Remember the plan," Charles said as he motioned for the group to stop. "Frontline engages first. Archers and mages, hold back and strike when the opening comes. Keep your wits about you. We can't afford mistakes."
Suddenly, the air around them seemed to change. The oppressive silence gave way to a new, more terrifying sound—a roar far more powerful than the one they had just heard. It wasn't the ogre bear.
This was something else.
Charles froze, his blood turning to ice in his veins. The roar that reverberated through the trees was nothing short of monstrous—fierce, commanding, and dripping with unrestrained rage. The ground beneath them shook slightly, the air thickening with an overwhelming pressure that made it hard to breathe.
"What the hell…?" Garreth whispered, his voice betraying his fear.
Charles didn't respond. His instincts screamed at him to turn back, to retreat and regroup, but his feet wouldn't move. He wasn't alone. His entire group had come to a halt, their bodies stiff, as if the roar had cast some spell on them.
There, in the distance, something moved. They could see flashes of red between the trees, enormous wings, a hulking form of raw power that dwarfed the very beast they had come to kill. The creature was engaged in a vicious battle with the ogre bear, but it wasn't a fight—it was a massacre.
The unknown beast—no, not a beast—a dragon—was tearing the ogre bear apart with terrifying ease.
Charles' heart pounded in his chest as he watched, helpless, as the dragon tore into the creature they had been sent to subdue. Claws as sharp as blades ripped through the ogre bear's hide like it was made of parchment. Every swipe of the dragon's tail shattered trees and sent shockwaves through the air. The bear roared in pain, but it was a sound of desperation, of something that knew it had already lost.
The dragon—Vinco—was relentless. Its red wings unfurled in a display of dominance, its scaled body glowing with a dark, ferocious energy. Her face, though beautiful in its own way, was a mask of fury, and every move she made was precise and devastating.
"This…this isn't real…" one of the archers whispered, his voice shaking.
Charles couldn't find the words. They had come to fight a Level 8 threat, and now they were witnessing something far beyond that. This dragon…this thing was more powerful than anything they had ever encountered. The pressure of its mere presence was suffocating, as if the air itself had turned to stone.
The ogre bear let out one final, pitiful roar before the dragon's claws closed around its throat. There was a sickening crunch, and the bear collapsed, lifeless, as blood pooled around its massive form.
The jungle fell deathly silent.
But the dragon didn't stop. It continued its rampage, ripping apart trees, smashing through the jungle with a terrifying rage that made the very earth tremble. The group of mercenaries could only stand frozen in place, their instincts screaming at them to run, but their legs refusing to obey.
Charles' hands trembled around the hilt of his sword. He had never felt fear like this—not in all his years as a mercenary. The raw power of the dragon, the sheer dominance it exuded, was overwhelming. He could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, crushing his confidence, his courage. They weren't facing a Level 8 threat anymore. This was something far worse.
A Level 13, maybe higher.
"I…we need to leave," Garreth stammered, his usual bravado gone. "We can't…we can't fight that."
Charles wanted to agree, to turn and run, but something held him in place. Something even more sinister than the dragon itself.
A pair of crimson eyes appeared in the shadows beyond the dragon, watching them. The gaze was cold, calculating, and filled with murderous intent. It was a different kind of pressure—darker, more insidious. Charles felt his breath catch in his throat, his body instinctively recoiling from the sight.
A demon.
A low, sinister growl echoed from the shadows, and Charles realized with horror that they weren't just being observed. They were being hunted.
The archers and mages behind him began to panic. He could hear their breaths quickening, their weapons shaking in their hands. One by one, they fell to their knees, some in despair, others in sheer terror. The pressure was unbearable, suffocating, and for the first time in his life, Charles felt completely and utterly powerless.
"Retreat," he finally whispered, his voice hoarse. "Now."
But as they turned to leave, Charles knew that something had changed forever.
This wasn't just a failed mission.
This was the beginning of something far, far worse.