The creature's blood surged into his body, and Alex felt as though the entire world had narrowed to a single point—a single, agonizing heartbeat. The liquid that had just sliced through his skin and now flooded his veins was thick, hot, and pulsing like a living thing. It wasn't merely a substance—it had a will. It poured into him with the force of a raging river, trying to fill him from the inside, to occupy every hollow space in his soul and flesh.
Then came the fire.
Not the kind that burns the skin—but the kind that scorches from within. Every drop of foreign blood was like a glowing coal forced through his veins. Alex let out a muffled groan that quickly turned into a scream. His knees buckled, his body collapsed to the ground, and his hands clawed into the dust as if trying to grasp a world that was slipping from his fingers.
The skin on his arms began to tighten. It felt like a casing too small to contain what was happening inside. His veins darkened, as if something darker than blood coursed through them. He felt his muscles pulse, tensing beyond his control, tendons pressing harder and harder against his bones.
Then came the first snap.
It was his arm. The bone in his forearm shifted, changing angle, as if something—something foreign—was attempting to reshape the structure of his body. A scream tore from his throat—wild, raw, stripped of human tone. The nails on his fingers cracked and fell away, replaced by dark, curved claws.
Every part of his body cried for mercy. His spine arched unnaturally, shoulders widening as if to burst from his ribcage. Bones slid beneath his skin, shifting, breaking, and fusing again. The pain was unbearable—ripping, sharp, merciless.
His face... was changing too. Not violently, not grotesquely—but with deliberate distortion. His jaw extended slightly, his teeth sharpened, and his nose elongated into a more predatory shape. The overall features remained human—but only barely. A wild light ignited in his eyes.
And then the world changed again.
His eyes burned, as if embers had been pressed into them. For a moment, he saw nothing but pulsing shadows and crimson streaks. But when he opened his eyes again, reality sharpened like a blade. Every stone, every speck of dust, every mark on the ground had color, texture, and scent. The air smelled of earth, sap, and blood.
Fur began to sprout from his skin—first as scattered hairs, then in dense, coarse strands. Black as night, thick and rough, it covered his arms, neck, chest, and legs. His hands no longer resembled human limbs—they were longer, stronger, ending in razor-sharp claws. His legs had transformed as well, his feet becoming powerful paws capable of deadly bursts of speed and attack.
And yet, the worst was the voice.
A roar echoed inside his head—not physical, not from his throat. It was something internal. An instinct. A Beast. Something that had slumbered in this blood for ages, now awakened and howling for freedom. Alex screamed—a human scream—trying to push it back. But the roar only grew louder, carrying with it the promise of power... and ruin.
He bent over, clawing at the ground. Every movement was a struggle. A battle against himself. Against what he was—and what he was becoming.
He breathed heavily. His body trembled—not from cold, but from tension, as if every muscle was stretched to the limit. His skin pulled tight beneath the fur, veins still pulsing with the remnants of foreign, potent magic that had yet to settle. A faint glow hovered around him—flickering echoes of the magical transformation danced across his arms, shoulders, and muzzle—fading with each passing second.
He felt every part of his body detaching from his will. He was an observer in his own skin. The tension, the senses, the smells, the hunger—it was all foreign, yet irresistible. Every step, every twitch of a muscle happened without his permission.
He tried to pull back. Just one step. Just a glance in another direction. He strained internally, focusing with all his might on not moving, not looking...
But he looked.
She lay nearby. Still. Lyra. Her body was defenseless, curled, breathing barely perceptibly. The blood in his veins boiled. His nose twitched. The scent of her skin, her hair, her sweat, and her magic was now like smoke—pulling him in, drawing him closer.
A paw lifted. Another stepped forward. Heavy claws scraped against the ground, muscles tensed like those of a predator. Alex's head tilted slightly, fangs bared from his muzzle. His eyes gleamed—inhuman and dark, filled with instinct.
No…
His mind tried to stop the motion. He tried to influence his body, turn it aside, shift his neck, avert his gaze—but it didn't listen. Not a single muscle obeyed. He was trapped, buried deep inside—watching through alien eyes as he became a threat.
He moved closer. Slowly. Quietly.
Then the ground beneath him trembled.
Right at his paws, the soil split. From the depths of the earth, vines burst forth—greenish, strange, etched with glowing runes and hardened thorns. They struck like whips, wrapping around his limbs, his torso, his neck. A roar ripped from his throat—deep, instinctual, full of fury.
He thrashed. Tried to break free. With teeth, claws, body. But the vines were like steel woven with magic. They did not yield. They lifted him off the ground—thrashing, roaring with rage—and hurled him straight onto the stone bridge leading off the island.
He slammed into the stone slabs, rolled, leaving deep gouges from his claws. He stopped only at the center of the bridge.
The vines vanished instantly, as if they had never been there. Silence hung in the air, taut like a drawn bowstring.
The Beast raised its head. Its gaze still wild—but something inside it trembled. A flicker. A split second. Human awareness—faint but present. Trying to return. Unable to.
And then... they entered the underground city.
Demons.
One.Two.Three.
Their steps echoed off the stone walls—heavy, dull, unhurried.
From the darkness, three figures emerged. They moved with a disturbing fluidity, as though their bodies knew no limits of muscle or bone. Their shapes were long, lean, coiled like springs ready to strike. Two of them were covered in natural armor—rough, hardened plates with the texture of cracked earth, growing straight from their bodies. The armor did not gleam—it was matte, like dead, dry scales, almost stone-like.
The third demon lacked such protection. Its black body was flexible, exposed, seemingly designed for speed and lethal precision. Tendons and muscles shifted visibly beneath its skin—every movement swift, silent, deadly.
Their limbs were long, inhuman. Claws on their fingers scratched the stone, every step measured, heavy, and rhythmic.
Their heads were elongated, ending in muzzles filled with curved, needle-thin teeth. From wide, open jaws dripped saliva—thick, stringy, falling heavily to the ground. Their nostrils flared with each breath, catching the scent of their prey, and their eyes—pale, clouded, glowing with a cold light—followed Alex's every movement.
They made sounds. Not words. Growls—low, coarse, rolling across the chamber like the approach of a storm. At times it turned into something like a hiss—like a serpent's whisper, tense and filled with ravenous hunger.
Their stench was unmistakable—they reeked of death. Not fresh death, but the kind that had lain hidden for days. Rotting flesh, mildew, something foul and utterly inhuman.
They advanced toward him.
Without hesitation. Without haste. With the precision of hunters who already know—the prey is theirs.