Dawn's light barely pierced the dense jungle canopy, casting long shadows over the tense battlefield. The two packs of Jagras stood together, their bodies coiled with anticipation, their low growls rumbling like distant thunder. The infected horde lurked just beyond the underbrush, their twisted forms blending with the shadows, waiting for the signal to strike.
A sharp cry shattered the fragile silence. The jungle erupted into chaos.
The infected came first in a wave of grotesque forms—Jagras with elongated limbs, their jaws split unnaturally wide, exposing rows of needle-like teeth. Their bodies bore pulsing, vine-like growths that coiled and writhed as if alive. Their movements were erratic, unpredictable, fueled by an unnatural force that twisted muscle and bone beyond their limits. The united front of uninfected Jagras clashed against them, snapping, clawing, and tearing into flesh that no longer bled as it should.
The Great Jagras of the defending pack roared, throwing itself into battle. Its powerful maw clamped onto an infected's throat, thrashing violently until the creature's neck snapped. But even as it fell, more surged forward. The infected had no fear, no hesitation. They fought beyond injury, their bodies ignoring broken bones and torn flesh as they pressed the attack.
The battle's tide turned when the enemy Great Jagras emerged from the foliage, its transformation near complete. Its once-proud form was now grotesque, its scales split open with tendrils of glistening plant matter, its eyes a milky white save for flickers of unnatural green deep within. A choked, warped roar came from its throat, a sound of something far beyond mere hunger. It leapt forward, slamming into the defending Great Jagras with bone-shaking force.
The two massive beasts clashed with unrelenting ferocity. Teeth gnashed against thick scales, claws tore at exposed wounds, and the ground beneath them shuddered with each impact. The defending Great Jagras fought with the desperation of a cornered beast, but the infection had made its foe stronger, faster, unyielding. Its attacks came with monstrous strength, and soon, wounds began to slow the uninfected leader.
Around them, the battlefield was a massacre. The infected overran the smaller Jagras, their unity shattered as individuals fell to overwhelming force. The pack fought fiercely, but the enemy adapted too quickly, anticipating every move, countering every strike. Screeches of agony filled the air as one by one, the defenders succumbed, their bodies dragged into the writhing mass of infection.
The Great Jagras, bloodied and panting, lunged for one final attack, jaws aimed at the throat of its twisted counterpart. But the infected leader was faster. With an unnatural snap of its head, tendrils shot forward, latching onto the uninfected Jagras' face, pulling it closer. The defending Great Jagras struggled, claws raking desperately, but the infection had already begun its work.
Its thrashing weakened. Its growls turned into strangled whimpers. The once-proud beast shuddered as the tendrils burrowed beneath its scales, threading into its flesh, creeping into its mind. The light in its eyes flickered.
And then, it stilled.
The remaining uninfected Jagras, those still capable of movement, trembled as their leader slowly turned to face them. Its breath was ragged, its body still bleeding—but its eyes had changed. The green glow had taken hold.
A new roar split the air, one both familiar and entirely wrong.
The battle was over.
The infection had won.