The sky above Hervey Bay boiled.

  Storms without rain. Thunder with no sound. The portal pulsed, dragging in clouds like lungs filling with smoke, casting long, trembling shadows across the city’s skeleton. Beneath it, the ground cracked and festered, bleeding black moss and rotting light. The air churned with a pressure that made ears ring and bones ache.

  Malachai stood in the parking lot of the shattered supermarket, breath steaming, body trembling from the last kill. His clothes hung in bloodied strips, soaked to the marrow. But his eyes—his eyes were burning. Each breath he took stoked the cold fire in his chest.

  Behind him, something wailed.

  The Wendigos had returned.

  Three of them.

  Their limbs hung like ropes of skin and sinew, skeletal chests heaving with anticipation. Icy mist trailed from their mouths as they spread apart in a hunting arc, encircling him. One dropped to all fours, tongue dragging against the pavement. Another scraped claws across the side of a scorched van, drawing sparks and whimpers from the metal.

  Malachai didn’t run.

  He gripped the crowbar. His hands were raw, knuckles split open. His wounds ached. But the Reaper within him stirred. Feast of Flesh still churned in his blood, muscles twitching with unnatural strength.

  The first Wendigo charged.

  He pivoted, crowbar raised, and met it mid-leap. Bone and iron collided with a sickening crunch. The crowbar shattered its cheekbone, but it kept moving, jaws snapping, teeth raking his forearm. He screamed and twisted, stabbing the bar through its neck, driving it into the concrete. The Wendigo writhed, gurgled—then stopped.

  The second was already on him.

  It leapt from a van roof, crashing into him like a falling tree. Malachai went down hard, the air torn from his lungs. It slashed for his throat—and he jammed his hand into its mouth. Fingers plunged past cracked teeth. It bit down, snapping bone, but he didn’t stop.

  Consume Essence.

  He activated it through sheer rage. The creature’s body convulsed, light bursting from its eyes as the essence drained into him like molten glass. It shrieked, spine arching—and then collapsed atop him, steaming.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Trait Fragment Accumulated: Wendigo (4)

  +2 Strength, +1 Vitality

  New Ability Acquired: Hunter’s Frenzy (Passive)

  The third Wendigo didn’t attack. It watched.

  It was larger.

  Twice the size of the others. Its ribs protruded like daggers. One antler jutted from its skull, cracked and blackened. Its eyes glowed with a hate that felt personal. Malachai stood slowly, chest heaving, blood dripping from his shattered hand.

  The monster tilted its head.

  Then it charged.

  He barely dodged. Claws sliced through the air where his face had been. The pavement exploded behind him. He rolled, grabbed a piece of twisted rebar, and drove it into the thing’s thigh. It didn’t flinch. It grabbed him, lifted him like a rag doll, and slammed him into a wall.

  Something cracked in his back.

  Pain flared white.

  Malachai screamed, kicking, clawing, biting. The Wendigo bellowed, dragging him across the ground toward the portal’s edge. Whether by accident or ritual, it carried him there like an offering.

  Behind him, the gate loomed.

  It pulsed once. Twice.

  And then it opened wide.

  The city behind him disappeared.

  The last thing he saw before the portal devoured him was the monster’s face, twisted in a permanent scream.

  Then came the fall.

  He landed hard. Not on pavement. Not on stone.

  On flesh.

  He coughed, gagged. The ground squelched beneath him, wet and warm. It writhed. Pulsed. Living tissue stretched for miles, veins the size of rivers glowing with cursed light. The air smelled of copper, bile, and rot. Pulsing towers of bone and cartilage rose in every direction, and in the sky—if it could be called that—something watched.

  Entering Dungeon: Maw of the Hollow King

  Environmental Threat: Extreme

  Warning: All exits sealed until boss is slain

  The Reaper stood.

  He was broken. Bleeding. But alive.

  The gate hadn’t killed him.

  It had claimed him.

  From the twitching walls came shapes. Crawling, skittering, dragging themselves forward with too many limbs and no faces. Chitin clicked. Jaws unhinged. Malachai gripped his weapon tighter.

  The screams had followed him into the gate.

  And now, there was no escape.