This chapter lacks AI presence, so any grammar mistakes or feedback on how I should write dialogue or perceive other characters having conversations that don't include the MC would be much appreciated.
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Waking up after almost dying is weird. Like... really weird. Have you ever taken one of those naps that's too short to count as actual rest, but long enough to leave you confused about what year it is? Yeah, that's true, except everything hurts, my face is half-frozen, and there's blood in my mouth. Not mine, I think. Hopefully.
I blink a few times. The sky's this soft gray, like snow's about to fall again. Everything's got that sharp, cold silence—like the world paused just for me. Trees creak, frost bites at my lips, and this awful smell is coppery, wet, and musky.
Then I saw it. The dire wolf. What's left of it, anyway. I sit up slowly, wincing as pain crackles through my ribs. New regenerative capabilities or not, pain receptors are still a thing. I glance at my hands. They're stiff, and my skin is cracked from the dried blood. But underneath all that? I feel it, raw, unadulterated strength.
Then, there's my vision. Turning my face upwards, I can see the tiny droplets of blood dripping from the corpse of the dire wolf freezing on the snow, the way frost coats the tips of the wolf's fur, glinting like shards of glass. And I can hear the wind hissing through a broken tree branch like it's whispering something I should already know.
Okay... that's new.
I reach for the hunting knife strapped to my thigh. It's still there, blessedly. Gripping it tight, I walk over to the carcass. All I hear is the wet shlick as I drive the blade into the wolf's side and start cutting. Yeah, I know. Gross. But come on, new drip. That fur's thick and warm and hella intimidating. Plus, fair's fair. It tried to eat me. I get to wear it like a trophy.
Yeah, I know. Gross. But come on, new drip. That fur's thick and warm and hella intimidating. Plus, fair's fair. It tried to eat me. I get to wear it like a trophy. Call me Grand Regent.
The skin peels away easier than it should. Like the blade's sharper. Or maybe my grip's stronger. I'm working on instinct now, hands moving in practiced, sure strokes. I've cleaned kills before, but never like this. This feels natural. Too natural or. Like I've done it a many times.
Finishing up, I sling the bloody pelt over my shoulders, crouching down a bit further away and begin to clean my hands with some snow. I look up, still cleaning my hands, reminiscing how times used to be so much more simplistic and less hectic, and for a second, I stare at it for a moment. Through one of the many icicles hanging from the tree, my reflection stares back. My eyes are darker than I remember. Sharper. Less well me. And more... something else.
I stand up and stretch my back until it pops. Everything's is so fucking sore,
I need water. The residue of the blood was still on my skin. And the smell was helping it; I'm now a fair distance from the carcass, but I can still smell the wolf itself from there and on my hands like it's right next to me. It felt dirty, animalistic even. "Run. Hunt. Tear."
Chill.
There's a river nearby. I remember spotting it from a ridge before the wolf jumped me. I move toward it without thinking. My boots crunch in the snow, but I barely leave a trail. That should freak me out. Kind of does. But also, not really?
Whatever happened to me, I'm not dying. I'm evolving. And yeah, I know how that sounds. Cringe. Like something straight out of a bad comic book.
But screw it. If the gods didn't want me to change, they would've let the wolf finish the job.
The river's half-frozen, running in thin silver veins through the snow. I kneel beside it, and plunge my hands into the water. It burns like a bitch what can you expect it winter and i'm in the north. But I don't pull back. Despite how strange thinking this is, the pain makes things feel real again.
I splash my face, rubbing away the dried blood and sweat. My reflection wavers on the surface. Still me but not.
Eyes are too clear. Face still like a predator on the hunt.
"You're losing it," I whisper to myself.
But am I?
Or am I just... finding something apparent about myself? I shake my head and stand up,
Yeah no ... I should be freaking out more. Maybe a part of me is. But another part? It's curious. If I survived that, what else can I do now?
I glance around and spot this thick, fallen tree branch, more like a log, honestly half-buried in the snow nearby. It must've snapped off during a strong wind. It's old and heavy, the kind that'd typically take two people and a prayer to lift.
I walk over to it.
Deep breath. No expectations. Just... curiosity.
I squat down, fingers wrapping around the frost-bitten bark. I brace myself for the strain, the burn in my muscles, the tug in my back. All of it.
And then I lift.
It flies up.
Holy shit
I stumble back a little, blinking, holding the branch above my head like it's a practice sword. My arms aren't even shaking. There's no weight. It's like picking up a coat. A wet coat, but still.
"What the hell..." I whisper, half-laughing.
I toss it forward, and it crashes through the snow with a heavy thud, sending up a powdery spray. My heart's beating faster now—not from effort, but from adrenaline. From thrill.
Okay. That's not normal.
None of this is normal.
I take a few steps back, still riding that weird high, and then I just... run.
Like, full sprint. No thinking. Just go.
And I go flying.
The wind tears past my ears, whistling. The trees blur like I'm speeding through a dream. My boots barely touched the ground before I was moving again. I leap over a rock, dodge a low branch, and land in a roll without trying. It's effortless, like my body knows how to do this, like it's been waiting for me to catch up.
And the thing is... I'm not even breathing hard.
I skid to a stop maybe thirty, forty yards from where I started. Snow kicks up behind me in a flurry. I turn around, eyes wide, chest heaving not because I'm winded
"What am I?"
No answer. Just the wind.
I walk in a slow circle, still buzzed from the run. Everything feels sharp. Alive. I should be exhausted. I should be limping. I was just near dead this morning. Yesterday?
I rub at my stomach. It growls softly, but it's weird. I'm not hungry-hungry, unlike the empty, aching kind where your ribs feel hollow and your head starts spinning. This is more... distant. Like my body just remembered it hasn't eaten but isn't too pressed about it.
I think about bread. Meat. Stew.
Nothing.
Then, I think about the wolf.
It's flesh. Warm. Raw.
And suddenly, yeah. My mouth waters a little. Not in a creepy way, okay, maybe a bit creepy, but more like instinct. Like my body's rewired for something else now. Something more... predatory.
I shake it off, swallowing hard.
but because I'm kinda losing my mind in the best way possible.
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PowerStones!!!!!!!!!!
Enjoy the chapters when they come due to irregular updates.