The moon hung heavy in the sky, its pale light struggling to penetrate the dense fog creeping through the forest. The air was cold and damp, clinging to the skin like a shroud. Every crunch of leaves underfoot sounded like a thunderclap in the eerie silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of branches swaying in an unseen wind.

  Victor Harrow moved like a shadow through the mist, his footsteps soundless, his sharp eyes scanning every corner of the darkened woods. Behind him, his son Dante followed, his breathing steady but his posture tense. This was only his fourth hunt, and he still carried the weight of every lesson learned and every mistake made. His movements were quieter now, more deliberate, but there was an uneasiness in the way he glanced around, as if the forest itself were watching.

  Victor stopped abruptly, holding up a hand. Without a word, Dante froze, his instincts kicking in. The air around them felt... wrong. Heavy. Oppressive.

  “You feel it?” Victor asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t look back, his gaze fixed on the shifting fog ahead.

  Dante tilted his head, nostrils flaring as he took in the scents of the forest. “Yeah,” he said, his voice tight. “It’s like... something’s watching us. The air feels... thick.”

  Victor turned slightly, his sharp gaze locking onto Dante. “Good. You’re starting to trust your senses.”

  Dante gave a faint nod, but his hand drifted to the holster at his side. “It’s not just that, Dad. It’s the silence. It’s too quiet.”

  Victor’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re right. Stay sharp. This isn’t going to be a clean hunt.”

  The two moved deeper into the woods, the fog swirling around their boots like ghostly tendrils. Victor’s mind was racing. The Harrow family had hunted all manner of monsters—vampires, werewolves, wraiths—but tonight felt different. There was a tension in the air, a primal energy that made his skin crawl.

  And then, it hit them.

  The scent. Blood—thick, metallic, fresh.

  Victor’s arm shot out, stopping Dante in his tracks. Both men inhaled deeply, their senses honing in on the smell. But it wasn’t just blood. There was something else beneath it. Something sickly and rancid.

  “That’s not just blood,” Dante muttered, his voice low. “It smells... wrong.”

  Victor’s jaw tightened. “It’s fear,” he said grimly. “Something was hunted here. Something that knew it was going to die.”

  They followed the scent, their boots crunching softly over damp leaves. The deeper they went, the heavier the air became, as though the forest itself were suffocating them. Finally, they reached a clearing—and stopped dead in their tracks.

  The scene before them was chaos. Trees were snapped in half like twigs, their splintered remains jutting into the air. The ground was torn apart, deep gouges clawed into the earth. Dark patches of blood stained the grass, and the air buzzed with an energy Victor couldn’t quite place.

  “Holy...” Dante whispered, stepping forward to examine the bloodstains. “What the hell happened here?”

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  Victor’s eyes scanned the scene, his mind racing to piece together the story. The claw marks on the trees were massive, jagged, and too erratic to belong to any creature he recognized. He knelt, running a gloved finger over a gash in the ground. The edges were rough, as if whatever made it was more rage than precision.

  “This isn’t a kill zone,” Victor said finally, his voice grim. “It’s a battleground.”

  Dante straightened, his hand still hovering over his gun. “A battle with what? This doesn’t look like a werewolf’s work. Or anything else we’ve faced.”

  Victor’s eyes narrowed. “No, it doesn’t. But whatever it was, it’s strong. And it’s angry.”

  A low growl rumbled through the fog, freezing both men in place. It was deep and guttural, vibrating through the ground beneath their feet. It wasn’t the sound of any animal they knew. It was darker. More menacing.

  Dante swallowed hard. “That’s not good, is it?”

  Victor’s eyes darted around the clearing, his hand gripping his gun tightly. “No. It’s not.”

  The growl came again, louder this time, echoing unnaturally through the forest. Victor held up a hand, signaling Dante to stay close. “It’s testing us,” he murmured. “Stay focused.”

  Before Dante could respond, a scream cut through the night—high-pitched and desperate. One of their hunters. Victor spun, his heart racing as the sound was abruptly silenced.

  “Damn it!” Victor hissed. “We’re being hunted.”

  Dante’s eyes were wide, panic flickering in their depths. “It just—what was that? Did you see it?”

  “No,” Victor said, his voice sharp. “It’s faster than anything we’ve dealt with before. And it’s smart.”

  The fog shifted suddenly, and for a brief moment, they saw it. A hulking figure, its form distorted by the mist. Its eyes glowed yellow, burning with a pain and rage that seemed almost human. But this was no human. It snarled, its teeth gleaming in the pale moonlight, and then it was gone—vanishing into the fog as quickly as it had appeared.

  Dante’s breath hitched. “Was that... a wolf?”

  Victor’s face hardened. “Not just a wolf. And it’s not friendly.”

  Dante’s chest heaved as he struggled to steady his breathing, his gun still drawn. His eyes darted toward Victor, seeking guidance in the face of the unknown. Victor held up a hand, signaling for quiet. His senses were on edge, straining to catch even the faintest hint of movement or sound. For a long moment, there was nothing—just the oppressive fog and the lingering scent of blood and fear.

  Then, a distant, mournful howl pierced the night. It was low and haunting, carrying with it a chilling sense of finality.

  Victor’s jaw clenched. “It’s marking its territory,” he muttered, almost to himself. “It’s warning us.”

  Dante swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “What do we do now?”

  Victor turned to his son, his expression grim but resolute. “We regroup. We gather the others and prepare. This thing isn’t just a threat—it’s a predator unlike any we’ve faced before. And it’s hunting on its terms.”

  Dante hesitated, the weight of uncertainty heavy in his eyes. “What about the one it took? Do you think... do you think we can save them?”

  Victor’s gaze softened for a brief moment, the flicker of doubt crossing his features. “I don’t know, son. But we won’t stop until we find out.”

  With a firm nod, Victor gestured for Dante to follow him. They retreated from the clearing, moving swiftly but cautiously back through the forest. The fog seemed to cling to them, as though reluctant to let them go, but Victor’s determination was unwavering.

  As they neared the rest of their group, Victor’s voice rang out, low but commanding. “This isn’t over. Whatever that thing is, it’s fast, smart, and dangerous. But it made one mistake.”

  Dante looked at him, curiosity mingling with apprehension. “What mistake?”

  Victor’s lips pressed into a hard line. “It underestimated the Harrows.”

  The group of hunters gathered around, their faces pale but their eyes burning with resolve. Victor stood tall, his presence commanding as he addressed them. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet, but we will. Tonight, it gave us a glimpse of its power. Tomorrow, we’ll show it ours.”

  The hunters exchanged determined nods, their weapons ready and their spirits resolute. The hunt wasn’t over—it was just beginning.

  And somewhere, deep within the fog-laden forest, the creature watched them go, its yellow eyes glowing with malevolent hunger. Victor’s final words echoed in Dante’s mind as they made their way back to camp: “We’ll find its weakness. Every creature has one.”