Landing Hard, Landing Wrong

The ground rumbled beneath their feet—not violently, but enough to let everyone know something heavy was coming.

Elion didn't need a science degree to figure it out. Beast-men. More of them. Just great. But then came the sound of hurried boots—multiple sets, closing in from the far end of the alley.

Police.

Of course, they showed up now. Not five minutes ago when a were-bull was trying to use their bodies as floor mats.

Ronan didn't flinch. He took out a small, shiny crystal from his cloak. It was about the size of a golf ball. But it was glowing softly with a purple light. He stared at it for a moment, his face showing no emotions—too calm and too calculating.

Elion took a nervous step forward. "Uh… what's that?"

Ronan didn't answer. His reply was that he gripped the crystal tightly in his hand and, without saying anything, smashed it to the ground.

"Wait—what are you doing?!" Elion shouted.

Jordan echoed the panic. "DUDE, WHAT—"

Too late.

When the crystal broke, the air filled with color. A bright purple light filled the alley, temporarily blinding anyone who saw it. The pieces of the crystal floated in the air and glowed like fireflies. Then, a burst of energy rose up from the ground. The wind kicked up. The glow intensified. And right there, where the crystal had hit, a portal bloomed into existence.

Round. Spinning. Vibrating like the air itself was being pulled inside out.

Elion's jaw dropped. He didn't even need Ronan to confirm it. "This is—" he started.

"Move." Ronan's voice was calm but firm. "Unless you want to be torn limb from limb in thirty seconds, get in."

Elion blinked. Torn limb from limb? Cool. No pressure.

Behind them, the police sirens were practically breathing down their necks. Beast-men? Cops? Not exactly a dream choice.

Jordan, on the other hand, was enjoying himself greatly.

"No. Freaking. Way." His eyes sparkled as if he had just received front-row tickets to an amazing concert. "Dude, it's a teleportation portal! Like actual sci-fi portal physics!"

Elion gave him a weak look. "Yeah. I… I know." He wasn't even lying. He had read about it. Watched movies about it. Thought about it. Wrote a whole essay on it once. Just… never thought he'd be two feet away from a real one.

Ronan, for once, actually looked impressed. "Huh. You know what teleportation is?"

Elion could've answered with something clever, but his brain was too busy thinking of what was going to happen next. Still, it was kinda nice that Ronan seemed surprised. If only he knew how many humans had already imagined all this in books, shows, and late-night conspiracy forums. Before Elion could ask the obvious question—Where does it go? Is it safe? What's the insurance policy on this thing?—Jordan did something unbelievably Jordan.

He jumped in.

Headfirst.

"JORDAN!" Elion lunged forward, reaching out, but the portal had already swallowed him whole. Gone. No echo. No scream. Just a whoosh of air and a glowing ripple.

Ronan muttered something under his breath. "Dumbass."

Elion spun around, wide-eyed. "Where did he go? Is he okay?!"

"He's alive," Ronan snapped. "For now. You, however, won't be if you keep standing here gawking."

As if the universe needed to hammer it in one last time, the ground beneath them shuddered. Elion froze. The vibrations weren't subtle anymore. They rolled through the pavement like something massive was stomping its way into reality—and judging by the increasing tempo, it was getting close.

Fast.

Then came the sounds.

Three distinct roars—low, guttural, like a trio of monsters clearing their throats right before tearing someone apart.

The air shifted.

Elion's skin went cold. He didn't need a visual. The sounds were enough. He turned to Ronan. "That was three, right?" he asked, his voice tight.

Ronan gave a single, grim nod. "Yeah."

Three beast-men. Wonderful.

Elion's mind spiraled. If the bear-man was already terrifying and the bull-man practically a walking tank, then what kind of hell was about to come crashing into the alley?

"What about the cops?" Elion asked. He couldn't help it. The sirens were too close. Those officers had no idea what was waiting for them.

Ronan didn't flinch. He didn't blink. He just said, "Move. Now."

There was no argument in his tone—just that quiet certainty that whatever was coming next wouldn't wait. Elion hesitated for the briefest of moments—just long enough for his brain to weigh things like morality and self-preservation—then shoved it all aside and sprinted toward the portal. His feet left the ground. The light surged around him. And just before everything blinked out, he heard it.

Heavy footsteps echoed nearby, accompanied by the sound of sniffing, as if something were already tracking him. Then, suddenly—darkness. Three massive ape-men stalked into the now-empty alley, moving with the kind of bone-deep confidence that only came from knowing they were the apex predators in the room.

If you could call them "men."

Sure, they walked upright and had vaguely human proportions—but that's where the resemblance stopped. Their bodies were hulking walls of muscle, fur matted thick over their shoulders and down their arms. Each one was a twisted blend of man and beast, like evolution, which had decided to take a weird left turn halfway through and just roll with it. Their faces were the worst part. Not full animal, not full human—something in between, something wrong. Heavy brows. Flattened noses. Eyes that gleamed with thought.

Not instinct.

Not hunger.

Thought.

The biggest of the three—massive and broad like a silverback that benched cars for fun—snorted and sniffed the air. His voice, when he spoke, was like gravel rolling through a cement mixer.

"Three of them? Gone?" he rumbled. "How?"

The second—taller, wirier, with a twitch in every muscle like he was always five seconds from exploding—crouched low. His long claws dragged across the pavement, stopping at the faint scorch marks where the portal had opened.

"The scent stops here," he muttered, nose flaring. "Clean cut. Weird."

The third one, smaller than the others but far from harmless, didn't say a word. Not at first. He just stood still, eyes locked on the space in front of him like the air itself had just lied to his face. Then, quietly, almost like he was disappointed he said, "Teleportation magic."

That made the others shift.

The wiry one twitched. "Who's able to do that?"

"Who do you think?" the leader murmured.

"This stinks of Ronan." He sniffed once, then again. "And the other two—one human. The other…" He paused. "Not just human."

Before anyone could bug him for more info, a different noise suddenly pierced the night.

Sirens.

Red and blue lights flashed in the alley like a disaster movie. A patrol car stopped suddenly, and a group of police officers jumped out with their guns drawn and ready. They rushed in through the gaping hole in the wall caused by the bull-man—flashlights cutting through dust and smoke, boots crunching over broken brick. A few coming in from the direction of the Xylo Club.

"Hands in the air!" one of the officers shouted, voice cracking at the end. His flashlight trembled in his grip, the beam jittering across the fur-covered figures ahead.

The ape-men turned.

Slowly.

"W-Who are you?!" another officer barked, fumbling with his radio, voice pitched high with panic.

The ape-men didn't answer.

They smiled.

And somehow, that was worse.

The big one bared his fangs in something that might've been a grin—if you were into nightmares. "Well," he said, licking his teeth, "why don't we have a feast first?"

The shot came too early. A single cop panicked and fired. The bullet struck the big one square in the chest. It made a sharp ping—like it had hit reinforced steel—and dropped to the ground harmlessly. The big one blinked. Then his grin widened.

Bad. Move.

In an instant, the alley erupted. Gunfire cracked like thunder, but the ape-men were already moving—darting through shadows, tearing through brick and bone. Bullets flew. Blood sprayed. Screams echoed, then were cut off one by one. One cop turned to run. He didn't even make it a full step. Another made it to his radio. "Officer down, I repeat—!" was all he managed before a claw swiped through the air, and silence followed.

It didn't take long. A minute, maybe less. Then—nothing. Just the smell of gunpowder, blood, and the scorched remnants of magic. The alley was still again.

The smallest ape-man crouched, brushing blood from his fur like it offended him. "Pathetic."

"They never learn," the twitchy one said, his claws still dripping.

The big one tilted his head, nose flaring again. He inhaled deeply.

"Ronan's still close," he growled. "I can feel it."

The leader raised his gaze to the rooftops, eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "Then we hunt."

***

Elion barely had time to register the swirling chaos of the portal before—

WHAM.

He slammed into the ground face-first, dirt and leaves launching up around him like confetti at the worst party ever.

"Ugh—" he groaned, his voice muffled by a mouthful of forest floor. "Ow. Ow. Ow." He was officially one with the dirt now.

Somewhere nearby, another body hit the ground with a dramatic thud, followed by a long, drawn-out groan.

"Please tell me that was a soft landing…" Jordan mumbled from his own face-first position in the dirt.

Elion spat out what might've been a bug. "Depends. Do you consider mouthfuls of worms and regrets soft?"

They lifted their heads and coughed up soil like they'd both lost a bet with Mother Nature. Leaves were tangled in their hair, their faces were smeared with dirt, and their dignity had clearly stayed behind in the portal.

Ronan, on the other hand, was standing. Naturally. Cloak a little tattered, hat tilted, but otherwise looking like he'd just stepped off a train rather than crash-landed through magical space-time.

"You… landed on your feet?" Elion asked, squinting up at him through a leafy brow.

Ronan exhaled through his nose. "Obviously."

Jordan pushed himself halfway up and winced. "Good for you, cowboy. We got drop-kicked by the universe."

Elion rolled onto his back with a groan. Everything hurt—from his elbows to his pride. But when he finally looked up, his breath caught. Trees. Towering, ancient ones. The kind that belonged in storybooks or haunted survival documentaries. Their branches stretched high, thick enough to block out most of the sky. The air smelled like moss and mist, damp and strange.

The forest was quiet.

Too quiet.

No cars. No sirens. Not even crickets.

Just wind rustling through leaves and something faint… distant… like a branch cracking under something heavy.

"Where… are we?" Elion muttered, propping himself up on his elbows.

Jordan was still on his stomach, blinking into the dirt. "Somewhere I'd rather not be, that's for sure."

Ronan answered without missing a beat. "Forest west of New Orleans. Not far."

"You sure?" Elion asked, eyeing the ancient trees like they were judging him.

"Pretty sure." Ronan rotated his shoulder with a wince. "Couldn't take us any farther. That kind of portal drains energy, and I'm already half-dead."

To prove his point, Ronan unclasped his cloak and let it fall. The heavy fabric crumpled onto the forest floor, revealing what lay underneath—and Elion's brain did a double-take. For a guy who moved like he'd been built out of old whiskey and sarcasm, Ronan was deceptively fit. Not bulky, not superhero-ripped, but sharp. His body was lean and defined, like someone who didn't spend time lifting weights but had fought, climbed and survived his way through life. His every movement felt precise—and efficient. Not a single ounce of him seemed wasted.

But what really drew Elion's attention was what Ronan wore. It wasn't armor, not exactly more like a second skin. Sleek, form-fitting, and almost liquid in the way it clung to him—his undersuit shimmered subtly with every motion, shifting like smoke caught under glass. It reminded Elion of something he'd seen in superhero movies: part tactical gear, part tech, part… something else entirely. It didn't reflect light so much as absorb it, rippling with faint, inky patterns that shifted when you stared too long—like the fabric was alive and thinking.

Not Vibranium. Not nanotech.

This was different.

Organic, maybe.

Magical, definitely.

The lines that ran along the surface weren't just for design—they pulsed faintly with a dark violet hue, like veins of light hidden beneath the surface. And right there, on Ronan's left side, those pulsing lines were disrupted.

Because that's where the blood was.

A thick, ugly blot of deep crimson soaked through the suit, the fabric torn and curling outward around it like it had been burned rather than cut. The wound beneath it pulsed slowly, each throb pushing more blood into the fibers.

Elion flinched. "That's… not good."

Jordan squinted, stepping closer. "What even is that suit?"

Ronan didn't answer right away. He pressed two fingers to the edge of the injury, grimacing slightly—not in pain exactly, but in irritation, like a mechanic annoyed at a busted pipe.

"Woven tech-cloth," he muttered. "Layered with arcane thread. Custom-forged."

Jordan blinked. "So… magic armor?"

"Basically." Ronan shrugged, his breath catching slightly. "Supposed to sync with my aura. Adapt to attacks. Self-repair."

"Clearly not doing great at the 'self-repair' part," Elion said, eyeing the blood soaking through the otherwise flawless material.

Ronan snorted. "Yeah. Turns out cross-dimensional travel and daily near-death experiences aren't covered by the warranty."

Elion tried not to stare too hard at the wound, but it was hard to ignore. The suit around it flickered faintly, like a glitching screen—trying to seal but failing. He didn't know what kind of magic Ronan's world used, but clearly, it had limits. And right now, those limits were bleeding.

"Elion," Ronan said suddenly, meeting his eyes. "I'm fine."

"You're literally leaking."

"I've leaked worse."

Jordan nodded. "That's definitely not comforting."

But Ronan was already adjusting the rest of his suit, the shimmering lines stabilizing again—barely. He moved slowly and carefully, clearly feeling every step but refusing to show weakness. And when he reached down to retrieve his cloak, his voice dropped low.

"Just keep your eyes open. I'll last long enough."

Elion didn't like how uncertain that sounded. But he didn't argue. Not yet. He leaned forward and asked, "So, which world do you come from?"

Ronan glanced at him, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You ask a lot of smart questions."

"That's not an answer," Jordan pointed out, grinning.

Ronan chuckled—but it turned into a grimace as he clutched his side again. "I'll say this much—you're both smarter than I expected. But I can't tell you everything yet."

"Why not?" Elion pressed.

"Because right now, I need you both alive," Ronan replied. "And knowing too much? That gets you dead."

Elion didn't like that answer.

Jordan sat up straighter, his eyes flicking toward the sack that Ronan had slung back over his shoulder. "Alright then. Let's cut to it. You need help. Right?"

Ronan raised an eyebrow. "You offering?"

"I mean… to fight those things." Jordan scratched the back of his head. "Since you're carrying a bunch of magic rings that can turn people into monsters… I dunno, maybe we can help stop more of them?"

Elion wanted to go against the idea because he knew that Jordan really wanted to be part of this. He wanted that ring power. However, he knew that Jordan was right to a certain degree.

He turned toward Ronan, nodding. "We're already involved. Whether we like it or not."

For a beat, Ronan didn't say anything. He seemed as if he was thinking hard. Really hard. Then, slowly, his smirk faded. "Fight the beasts? You guys are not ready. But…" he paused before adding, "I believe I'm left with no other option either."

Elion was surprised. "What do you mean?"

"You really want the truth?" he said, voice quieter now.

Both Elion and Jordan were silent.

Ronan's tone became more serious. "Those things—beast-men, whatever you want to call them—they've already got your scent."

Elion stiffened. "What?"

"You were there with me while I was using my power. Your scent was there," Ronan's tone was even, but there was weight behind every word. "You don't walk away from that clean. They'll hunt you now. Same as they hunt me."

Jordan's face fell. "So, if we go back home…"

"You're dragging monsters to your families' doorstep," Ronan said flatly. "And if you stay? Well, now you're my problem."

Elion's stomach turned to ice.

Jordan let out a slow breath. "So… what do we do?"

Ronan stood with effort, brushing off his pants. "First, we find shelter. You two follow me, stay quiet, and don't wander off."

Elion looked at Jordan. Jordan looked back. This was crazy. This was dangerous. And it was now their life. Like it or not, they really didn't have any other choice.

Elion stood up, brushing off leaves from his shirt. "Alright. We're in."

Jordan smirked. "Let's go, cowboy."

Ronan didn't respond. He just started walking into the forest, his silhouette cutting through the mist.

And for the second time tonight, Elion followed someone into the unknown.