Zarathis' mind raced as he tried to formulate a plan. The rusted iron shackles on his wrists clinked together as he shifted, his eyes scanning the dimly lit caravan for anything—anything—that could help. He had no weapons, no real knowledge of this world's mechanics beyond what little the system had provided, and worst of all, no clue how to activate his abilities.
Then he heard it.
A low, guttural growl, distant yet somehow right next to his ear. His spine stiffened. A deep, primal fear settled in his bones, an instinct that whispered—predator.
The other prisoners must have heard it too. Panic spread like wildfire. Some gasped, others whimpered, but all were afraid.
Except for her.
The elf woman remained still, eyes closed, as if the entire situation was beneath her concern. Either she was unfazed, or she already knew what was coming.
Before Zarathis could dwell on it, a thunderous roar split the night air.
It wasn't human. It wasn't anything human.
"Fendors!" someone outside bellowed. "They've found us!"
The guards outside the caravan snapped to attention. The sounds of drawn steel and hurried orders filled the air.
"Protect the caravan! Do not let them near the offerings!"
Offerings.
The word made Zarathis' stomach twist. Whatever awaited him at this Harvesting Ceremony, it couldn't be worse than whatever was lurking outside.
Then, the first scream rang out.
It wasn't a cry of pain, but sheer horror. A soldier's voice—cut short. The sound of snapping bones followed, a sickening crunch that made Zarathis' blood run cold.
Something ran past the caravan. Fast. A blur of movement, followed by another scream.
A second later, the entire wooden structure shuddered.
The prisoners inside barely had time to react before a massive body crashed through the side of the caravan. A soldier—or what was left of him—slammed against the floor, his torso severed cleanly in half. Blood pooled around his remains, his lifeless eyes staring at nothing.
And behind him, emerging through the shattered wood, was it.
A Fendor.
A shadowy, wolf-like creature with glowing red eyes, its form flickering in and out of existence like a mirage. Its body was wreathed in shifting darkness, parts of it solid one moment and ethereal the next. It took a slow, deliberate step forward, its spectral claws leaving no mark on the wooden floor beneath it. Its maw dripped with fresh blood, its long, jagged fangs gleaming in the torchlight.
For a moment, the entire world seemed to hold its breath.
Then, all at once, chaos erupted.
Prisoners screamed and scrambled, their chains rattling as they tried to flee. Some pushed against the broken wood, desperate to escape, while others were frozen in terror. The guards outside were still battling more of the creatures, their shouts and the clash of steel filling the night.
Zarathis barely had time to react before the system chimed.
[Quest Alert!]
[Main Quest: Survive or Become Prey!]
[Description: The Fendors have attacked, and the caravan is no longer safe. Run, fight, or hide—the choice is yours. Just don't die.]
[Rewards: ???]
[Failure: Death. (Obviously.)]
Zarathis exhaled sharply, his mind screaming at him to move.
And then, he saw her.
The elf woman.
She was no longer seated. She was gone.
Through the gaping hole in the caravan's side, he caught a glimpse of her sprinting toward the forest.
She had wasted no time.
Another deafening howl pierced the night, rattling his very bones. The Fendor in the caravan turned its head sharply, its shifting form making it impossible to tell where the darkness ended and its body began. Then, in the blink of an eye, it lunged at the nearest prisoner.
The man barely had time to scream before the Fendor's claws passed through his chest as if he weren't solid at all—until the beast solidified inside his body. The prisoner convulsed violently before collapsing, his body left twitching and lifeless on the bloodstained floor.
Zarathis' breath hitched. These creatures could phase through matter and kill in an instant? What kind of nightmare had he fallen into?
Outside, more screams rang out. The guards were fighting, but it was clear the Fendors had the advantage. The flickering beasts phased through weapons, their claws slicing through armor like paper. One soldier swung his sword, only for his weapon to pass harmlessly through a Fendor's body. The next second, the creature's fangs clamped down on his throat, silencing him forever.
The caravan rocked violently as another Fendor slammed into it, sending more wooden planks flying. Some prisoners took their chance to run. Others were paralyzed, watching the carnage unfold. The once-secure transport was nothing more than a slaughterhouse now.
Zarathis had a choice.
Stay and die.
Or run and maybe die.
He gritted his teeth. His chains were still locked, but that no longer mattered. He would not be a helpless victim. If the elf woman had escaped, then so could he.
With a final glance at the nightmare around him, Zarathis turned and ran.