CHAPTER 51: BEYOND THE VEIL OF DEATH

"Look," John said gently, stepping closer, sensing the rapid shift in the Velociraptor's condition. "Firstly, I don't know how I generated the neuro core."

The dinosaur's limbs trembled slightly, its breathing shallow and uneven. John kept his voice calm, soothing, even as concern gripped his chest like a vice.

"But the beasts I tame," he continued, eyes locked with the raptor's slowly dimming ones, "they always become my friends, and I like that. I hate it when any beast becomes my slave."

John's words lingered in the air, quiet and genuine.

But before he could say more, the Velociraptor's eyes began to close. Its head dipped slightly, muscles relaxing. The strength that had animated its wounded body was fading—life slowly ebbing from its massive form. John moved swiftly, falling to his knees beside it, desperation flickering in his gaze.

"No, not yet," he whispered.

And then, as if by some final act of will, the Velociraptor forced its eyes open again. The pain in its gaze was clear, but so was something else—a need to say something, to leave behind a final thought before surrendering to the dark.

John leaned in, holding his breath, listening closely as the Velociraptor's voice rasped out its last words.

"You're not like the others…" it whispered, voice hoarse and cracking. "You're weirder than them."

A fragile breath escaped its nostrils, and its eyes finally shut tight. Its ribcage rose and fell in short, uneven gasps—slowing with every beat.

John stayed where he was, unmoving, the raptor's words echoing in his ears.

Weirder than them.

He didn't laugh, though he wanted to. Instead, he placed a gentle hand on the creature's scaly face, the rough texture cool beneath his palm. His expression softened, sorrow etched across every line.

"It's okay," he murmured, his voice low and laced with emotion. "You don't trust me, fine."

He swallowed, forcing a smile—thin and sad—onto his lips.

"But at least someone is with you in your final moments."

He closed his eyes briefly. Despite his calm demeanor, he could feel it—the heavy ache of loss creeping into his chest. He hadn't known this beast long, but there had been something in the way it had spoken to him, challenged him, questioned him. It had felt like... a beginning.

Now it was ending.

Or so he thought.

Because just then—something extraordinary happened.

A gentle hum pulsed beneath his hand, and John's eyes snapped open.

From the Velociraptor's body, a faint light began to rise. At first, it shimmered like moonlight on water, delicate and subtle. But within seconds, the glow intensified, radiating outward with a soft, brilliant warmth. The air shimmered. The wind hushed. Time itself seemed to hold its breath.

Then, in an instant, the light expanded—and the Velociraptor was gone.

Vanished.

One moment, it had been lying there, broken and dying. The next, there was nothing but empty space where its body had been. No sound. No remains. Not even a ripple in the grass.

John blinked, stunned.

"What… oh man!" he gasped, staggering back slightly as if reality had just tilted sideways.

His breath came short and fast. He dropped to one knee, closing his eyes, focusing inward, diving into the calm depths of his own mind where the neuro core resided. It was the place where tamed beasts were bound. A space beyond physical form—deep, internal, spiritual.

And there, within the ethereal light of his core, he felt it.

The Velociraptor.

Not dying.

Healing.

Its form hovered in limbo, suspended like a ghostly echo, but steadily—deliberately—reforming. Energy pulsed around it, mending wounds, restoring what had been wounded. It was alive.

Safe inside him.

A strange mixture of relief and disbelief washed over John. His eyes fluttered open, and he exhaled slowly.

"I don't know why the beasts I get are always so weird," he muttered to himself, a wry, bemused smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I mean, they think I'm the weird one."

His voice held no resentment—just a quiet amusement at the absurdity of his own reality.

As he stood up, brushing the dust from his pants, his eyes landed on something nearby.

An arrow.

It had fallen sometime during the earlier chaos. Now it lay on the forest floor, its shaft glinting faintly in the light, half-buried in dirt.

John stepped over and bent down, fingers closing around the wooden shaft. It felt ordinary. Sharp. Real. The only reminder left of the violence that had almost taken the Velociraptor's life.

And now, with the arrow in hand and the beast inside him healing, he realized something strange: he wasn't alone.

Not anymore.