Flayah stood atop the jagged outcrop, the wind whipping through the thick canopy of alien foliage below, sending rustling whispers through the dense jungle. Her piercing yellow eyes, sharp as a predator’s, swept over her sabretooth pack. Instinctively, she counted them, her mind tallying the massive beasts she had trained and led for cycles. A scowl darkened her face. One was missing.

  With slow, deliberate movements, she knelt beside her favorite, an alpha in its own right, though not the largest of the pack. Her emerald-green fingers trailed across the beast’s powerful shoulders, feeling the tension in its coiled muscles, the steady rise and fall of its breath as it lay on its side. Its pale coat, nearly white in the shifting light, stood in stark contrast to the tan and yellowish shades of the others. It was a rarity, an anomaly, and Flayah had always been drawn to the ones who defied expectations.

  She understood these creatures better than she understood most of her own kind. For the last ten cycles, she had been charged with the care and command of the sabretooth mountain lions, a task few in the Multiversal Beast Association dared to take on. Taming these beasts was no small feat. These creatures were relentless, their strength and cunning rivaling the most dangerous apex predators of similar levels across known dimensions. Only an iron will and an unbreakable bond could keep them under control, something the association valued highly for its high-risk expeditions.

  Flayah was no ordinary Beastmaster. She was the strongest in the Emerald Skull, an elite Orc faction that had seized the rare opportunity to claim a foothold on Primaris-1; a world teeming with untapped resources, monstrous creatures, and the kind of power that could elevate their standing in the multiversal hierarchy. Wealth, influence, and dominance were the rewards for those who could survive the gauntlet that was this world.

  Few had ever set foot on Primaris-1. The planet’s monstrous inhabitants and relentless natural defenses made it nearly impenetrable. The multiversal rules governing such high-threat zones made access even rarer. The System imposed dimensional forces that were nigh impossible to slip between and gain entry to Primaris-1, except for a flux event. Yet, through careful maneuvering, political gambits, and an unprecedented shift in dimensional currents, the Emerald Skull had managed to insert a carefully chosen selection of their strongest into this world.

  They knew how much time they had, as every integration of a new world into the multiverse took about the same amount of time. They just had to get off the planet before the flux ended. Or… they’d risk being stuck until the next integration… which ultimately meant death. The cause of this rare opportunity? The monster planet’s ecosystem had been disrupted, and dimensional forces were opening the planet up from isolation. Some of Primaris-1’s monstrous inhabitants had already been siphoned through dimensional barriers into a so-called tutorial world. These were hidden proving grounds rumored to be the teaching site for new integrations. This disruption, while an enigma to most, had created the perfect opening, just as all integrations before. The Emerald Skull had slipped through the cracks, embedding themselves in this savage world, ready to carve their own path to power while the flux lasted.

  Flayah exhaled, rising to her full height, her long red braids whipping in the wind as she cast a final glance at the missing spot in her ranks. Whatever had taken one of her sabretooth mountain lions would regret it.

  Flayah was a simple woman, at least in her own eyes. She had no interest in grand conquests, no hunger for wealth, no lust for the kind of influence that made men kneel and swear fealty. No, her passion was for beasts: the wild, untamed creatures that roamed the monstrous world of Primaris-1, or any world she could visit. She had always lived for the challenge of understanding them, commanding them, and becoming one with their instincts. If the Emerald Skull’s goals happened to align with her own, all the better. She would use them as much as they used her.

  She adjusted the thick leather harness slung across her shoulder as she paced through the encampment, her keen yellow eyes darting between the tents of stretched, ancient hides. The scent of charred meat, damp fur, and sweat clung to the air. The ground beneath her was a patchwork of dirt and moss, hardened by the constant patrol of boots and claws.

  Her sabretooth pack, Pack 35, was her greatest pride, her truest loyalty. And tonight, something was wrong.

  One of the scouting cats had not returned. The other, a lean but battle-hardened beast, had slunk back into camp alone, its flanks streaked with something that wasn’t blood… it was fear. Flayah wasted no time, kneeling beside the creature, running a hand over its scarred fur, her mind reaching out. She closed her eyes, searching for the tether that connected her to the other missing scout.

  Nothing. A void where there should have been life. A complete disconnect.

  Her jaw clenched. That could mean only one thing. The beast was dead.

  Flayah forced herself to breathe, the anger simmering low in her gut as she straightened and marched toward the command tent. The largest in the camp, it stood at the dead center, a patchwork of tanned hides from fallen behemoths whose ancient, monstrous forms were reduced to mere shelter for those who had slain them.

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  Inside, voices clashed.

  “Come on, Rikter,” Skinner was saying, his tone edged with impatience. “It’s not moving far, it’s staying in one place. We can take a raiding party out, kill it, and drag the resources back. Simple.”

  Flayah stepped inside without hesitation, her presence shifting the air. Rikterpile, the commander of their expedition, barely glanced at her, but Skinner let his gaze linger. Unlike Skinner’s sickly yellow-green complexion, a sign of weaker orcish blood, Rikterpile was built from the same deep emerald flesh as Flayah, a mark of strength and purity among their kind.

  He rolled his eyes at Skinner before answering, voice low and clipped. “Last-minute hunts need Expedition Leader approval. I say no. It’s not part of the plan, and we’re due to break camp soon. We can’t spare the resources.”

  Skinner leaned forward, an oily grin on his face. “But Rikterpile, we’ll gain more resources if we kill the thing. It’s like a squishy bag full of money just sitting out there in the open…”

  Rikterpile let out a long, slow sigh, his patience thinning. He shifted his gaze toward Flayah.

  “You can send your scouts to get a look for yourself,” he said, voice firm. “If this land squid is as unprotected and alone as Skinner claims, we’ll take it down. But if there’s anything amiss, we’re not going. Anything at all. We don’t have the time or people here to make a large raid if it’s high-level. Most of our encampment has already shifted down range to the next site, closer to the array.”

  Flayah crossed her arms over her chest, muscles flexing under the tanned leather of her armor. Her red hair, woven into thick braids, framed her sharp-featured face. She studied Rikterpile, then let her gaze flick to Skinner, who smirked at her in that way he always did, half amusement, half desire.

  She ignored him.

  Skinner let out a low chuckle, the sound grating against her nerves. “You worried about your little pets, Flayah?” he taunted, leaning back with a cocky grin. “Or do you just need an excuse to get out of the camp and away from all this?” He gestured vaguely around him, but the way his eyes lingered on her, she knew exactly what he meant.

  She met his gaze with a slow, deliberate smile of her own.

  “If I wanted an excuse to be rid of you,” she said, voice smooth, “I’d have let my pack make a meal of you.”

  Skinner’s smirk faltered for the briefest moment.

  Rikterpile let out a grunt of amusement. “Get it done, Flayah. If you can confirm it’s worth it, we’ll move. If not, we forget it.”

  Flayah’s sharp eyes narrowed, her red brows furrowing as she addressed Rikterpile, her voice steady but carrying an undertone of restrained fury.

  “There’s just one problem with that plan, expedition leader,” she said, crossing her muscular arms over her chest. “I sent two scouts out on their usual exploratory routes. Only one came back.”

  Rikterpile’s dark green face creased in surprise. “Dead?” he asked, his tone sharp. “What killed it?”

  Flayah exhaled through her nose, willing her interface into existence with a flick of her fingers. A translucent blue screen flared to life in the dimly lit tent, illuminating her angular features in an eerie glow.

  “Normally,” she continued, her voice colder now, “when one of my beasts is killed, the system tells me exactly what did it. "Killed by Level 35 Beast King", or whatever it was. But look at this.”

  Beast Log:

  Saber #22 and Saber #23 deployed on exploratory search routes – 14:00

  Saber #22 and Saber #23 encounter disturbance – 14:40

  Saber #23—DECEASED – 14:41

  Saber #22 RTB – 14:43

  Rikterpile’s eyes darkened as he read the words. “A disturbance… then one of our beasts dead…”

  Skinner, however, let out a low chuckle, his yellow-green skin nearly shining with anticipation. “Well, now that’s interesting.”

  Flayah clenched her fists, resisting the urge to snarl at him. He had always been a snake, one who looked for opportunity in every weakness, every crack. To him, the loss of one of her sabers was not a tragedy but a means to an end. Even possibly a chink in her armor to slither his way into her bed.

  Rikterpile, however, was not pleased. His thick fingers drummed against his knee as he leaned back into his seat, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. They were close to exfiltration, too close for complications like this. They had already gathered more than enough loot, experience, and natural treasures from Primaris-1. The only thing left was to return to the rest of the repositioned expedition, exfil the planet, and offer their earnings to the Emerald Skull.

  But there was something else, something deeper. Orcs were creatures of instinct, blood, and fury. Even those like Rikterpile, who had learned to temper their urges for the sake of leadership, could not fully suppress the primal need for retribution. Something had been taken from them. From him.

  He rose to his full, imposing height, the firelight casting heavy shadows across his broad, battle-worn features. “Forget the land squid,” he said. “We go after the disturbance.”

  Skinner’s smirk wavered slightly. “You sure about that, boss?” The avarice refused to let go of his mind.

  Rikterpile shot him a glare that silenced him instantly. Then, he turned his gaze to Flayah.

  “Gather your sabers. The entire pack,” he ordered. “We’ll assemble a small force from the faction camp. We’re going into the forest. We find out what did this.”

  Flayah gave a single, resolute nod. She turned sharply on her heel and strode out of the tent, her boots crunching against the hardened dirt.

  The encampment was quiet at this hour, the thick, leathery hides of the tents shifting slightly in the night breeze. The scent of charred meat and burning wood still lingered from the evening’s meal, but to Flayah, the air carried something far more potent… loss.

  Her saber pack was everything. More than beasts, more than mere tools of war. She knew them, each one. Knew the way their muscles tensed when they were about to pounce. Knew the cadence of their growls, the subtle shifts in their body language. They were her family.

  And now, one of them was gone.

  Her fingers clenched at her sides as she walked. Her connection with Saber #23 was severed completely, as if the beast had never existed. Not even a trace remained. It wasn’t just death. It was an erasure.

  “Don’t worry, 23,” she murmured under her breath. “We’re going to find your body, give you the burial you deserve… then we’re going to find whatever did this to you.”

  Her eyes gleamed with the promise of blood.

  “And we’re going to fucking kill it.”