Time skip

The boy trudges back to the cabin, blood dripping from his battered white t-shirt, the fabric barely clinging to his scarred skin like a frayed ghost of the child he once was. Each step carries a newfound resolution, a reinforced heart beating beneath the gore—his own mingled with the deer's—crusting over his small, frail frame. His wounds have all but healed, the gashes on his calf, shoulder, and ribs faded to white scars, a jagged map etched across his chest and arms, whispering of battles fought and a desperate will to live. Yet despite his weak-looking body, a chilling aura rolls off him, red eyes glinting from his partial transformation, black claws and sharp toenails gleaming like a predator's tools. Small creatures—rabbits, birds—scatter at his approach, fleeing the bloodlust that seeps from him, an unspoken vow of death that clears his path. He kneels by the lake's edge, washing the dried blood from his face and hands, the cool water turning crimson then clear as it ripples outward. Hunger no longer gnaws at his gut, sated by the deer's flesh, but he knows survival demands more than a full belly. Stumbling into the cabin, he collapses onto the floor, the forest's faint hum lulling him into a predator's sleep, a brief respite before the fight to endure begins anew.

Morning breaks sharpness and cold, stirring him from the cabin's shadows with a purpose that hardens his gaze. He steps into the forest, tracking the faint musk of a rabbit, his claws flexing instinctively as he moves—silent, swift, a shadow among the trees. His first kill comes easily, the rabbit snared mid-leap, its neck snapping with a flick of his wrist, raw flesh torn apart and devoured beneath the canopy's watchful gaze. Another day dawns, and he sets crude traps around the cabin—vines tied to rocks, stakes whittled with his claws—learning through trial and error as a fox trips one, its yelp silenced by his fangs sinking deep. Each hunt sharpens him further, his movements growing quieter, his leaps through the branches quicker and surer. Grunts give way to growls, low rumbles echoing from his throat, marking the forest as his feeding ground. Back at the cabin, he begins to mend its fragile shell, hauling logs with his slight super strength, weaving vines to patch the walls, his scarred hands steady now where they once trembled.

Weeks blur into months, then years—three winters carve him anew, the forest hardening him into its own. At fourteen, he's a phantom among the trees, tracking prey with a nose as keen as a wolf's, killing with a predator's ruthless grace. Rabbits fall effortlessly, their bones crunching beneath his fangs, but he hunts larger threats too—mutated beasts that roam the shadows. A corrupted boar charges, tusks gleaming in the dusk, and he sidesteps with honed precision, claws raking its side, blood painting the earth as he feeds on its still-warm carcass. The cabin stands sturdier now, taller—logs stacked high, vines woven tighter than sinew, the roof reinforced with bark he tore free with bare hands. His traps evolve with the forest's subtle nudge—simple stakes give way to pit traps lined with sharpened wood, a wolf's howl cut short as it impales itself, its meat fueling his next meal. He trains relentlessly, clawing at boulders until stone chips fly, leaping between trees with a speed that blurs the air, his body a weapon forged by the wild's unyielding demands. The forest whispers guidance—here, a sturdy branch; there, a beast's trail—and he listens, its hum a constant companion in his solitary dominion.

His powers bloom with each kill, a brutal gift nurtured by blood and the forest's embrace. Wounds that once lingered now heal in moments—flesh weaves together mid-hunt, a shallow slash from a boar's tusk closing as he tears into its hide, leaving no scar behind. His skin toughens, hardening against claw and fang—a wolf's bite glances off his arm, drawing only a faint red line that fades with his next meal. Reflexes sharpen to a razor's edge; he ducks a beast's lunge in a heartbeat, countering with claws that shred through muscle like paper. Feeding is his crucible—each bite of raw meat strengthens his healing factor, mending his body faster, smoother, until no trace of injury remains, only the old scars from his first battles enduring as silent witnesses. His small frame, once frail, ripples with lean muscle now, a predator's form cloaked in a boy's skin, exuding a chilling confidence that sends prey scurrying before he even strikes.

Yet as his body strengthens, his mind shifts too, and three years leave him something pitiful—a beast where a child once stood. One dusk, he sits by the lake, claws retracted, staring into the water's mirror. His reflection flickers back—red eyes beneath a tangle of dark hair, fangs glinting behind cracked lips, a scarred chest rising with steady breaths, unmarred by new wounds. The cabin looms behind him, a fortress born of his hands, traps dotting the perimeter like the teeth of a larger beast. He's at ease here, a hunter comfortable in his domain, leaping through trees with a growl, tearing flesh with a snarl—yet the sight of his own face twists a hollow ache deep inside. At fourteen, he's no longer just a boy but a survivor broken by the forest's cruel forge, his innocence a distant memory drowned in blood. The forest's hum surrounds him, his only companion, a silent witness to the child he lost—a pitiful creature, strong yet fragile, thriving in a world that stripped him bare, leaving only the beast to mourn what once was.