CHAPTER 48: MERCY FOR THE UNWILLING

The silence between them thickened, tense and fragile, like a stretched wire that might snap at the slightest movement. John crouched a few feet from the Velociraptor's side, watching the rise and fall of its chest, the subtle shiver in its limbs. The jungle around them was alive—chirping, rustling, whispering—but between predator and human, the world had gone unnaturally still.

He dared to speak again.

"Why don't you understand what I'm saying?" His voice cracked, low but urgent. "I feel really bad seeing you like this. Look, if you really want to survive… come with me."

The words hung in the air like an unanswered prayer.

For a long moment, nothing happened.

Then the Velociraptor's eyes snapped open.

There was no trace of softness, no flicker of gratitude or curiosity. Just fury. Pure and scorching.

The beast glared at John with unfiltered hate, and when it spoke, the venom in its voice was more potent than the poison in its blood. "Back to your true self, huh?" it growled, its tone ragged and bitter. "I knew it. Just like the rest. You humans can't help yourselves. You want to tame everything you don't understand."

John flinched. Not from fear—but from the truth behind the accusation.

The raptor turned its head with deliberate finality and shut its eyes once more, drawing the curtain on the conversation. Its breathing slowed, a tired, broken rhythm that sounded like surrender.

John opened his mouth to respond—maybe to explain, maybe to beg—but the words never came.

He was interrupted by a rustling beneath his collar.

A familiar, round shape wriggled free from the folds of his shirt and crawled lazily onto his shoulder. The fatty insect, who had been quietly dormant since the encounter with the old man, yawned as though waking from a long nap.

Its squishy, mottled body glistened faintly under the dappled jungle light, and when it spoke, its voice was loud and unfiltered—comically so, considering the tension of the moment.

"Why are you wasting time on this guy?" it chirped, flinging a dismissive glance toward the wounded Velociraptor. "Let's go already. What if that creepy old man comes back? Or worse—what if he's already gone and left you behind? Your only hope is to reach the tribe. At least with humans, you stand a chance. Stick around here, and you'll keep tripping over half-dead lunatics like this one."

The words stung—sharper than they had any right to. John's jaw clenched.

In one swift, practiced motion, his hand shot up and smacked the bug firmly on the head. It was a controlled strike—not one of violence, but of irritation, almost like a parent disciplining a mouthy child.

"Shut up," John snapped, eyes still locked on the Velociraptor. "Can't you see he's in pain?"

The insect recoiled slightly, blinking in exaggerated disbelief. "Hey! No need for violence! I'm just stating the obvious." But it said no more and slumped on his shoulder with a sulky little sigh, choosing, for once, to stay quiet.

John leaned forward slightly. He wasn't sure if the raptor could still hear him—or if it even wanted to—but he couldn't walk away just yet. There was something about this creature that struck him. Something that gnawed at the edges of his conscience.

Not just the pain it was in… but the bitterness behind its voice. The distrust that had taken root and grown so deep it couldn't even imagine an outstretched hand as anything other than a threat.

"I'm not trying to own you," John said quietly. "I'm trying to save you."

No reply.

The Velociraptor didn't move, didn't even flick its tail in annoyance. If it heard him at all, it chose to ignore him.

John felt helpless. And angry. Not at the raptor—but at the world that had made it this way. At the unseen cruelty that had brought it to this state. He had seen people twist animals, beasts, even each other, into tools. Into weapons. And he hated it.

He wanted to break that cycle.

But not even compassion could force open a heart that had already been shut.