The first opponent lunged from the shadows—fast, unarmored, with a lithe body ready to strike. It moved with fluidity and precision. There was no sound. No scream, no warning. Only motion—immediate, instinctive. A leap straight at Alex.
The beast crouched on all fours. The fur on its neck bristled, and its muscles tensed with every passing second. Thick, sticky saliva dripped from its muzzle, falling onto the stone bridge. Its heart beat rhythmically, but the body moved on its own, without his command. Alex felt he was no longer himself—he was instinct. He was hunger. He was death.
The demon struck first. Claws sliced through the air, aiming straight for the neck. But Alex's body moved before the attack even landed, as if it knew where the strike would fall. He shifted to the side at the last moment. The enemy's claws cut through empty space.
At that same instant, the beast struck back.
