Chapter 7: The Feast of Beasts

The jungle was starting to feel familiar. Not safe—never safe—but familiar. Each morning, I woke up a little stronger, a little faster. My wings could carry me for a few precious seconds, and my sparks of fire were becoming more frequent. I wasn't helpless anymore. I was still small, still weak compared to the monsters that roamed this island, but I was learning.

And I was hungry.

The bugs weren't enough anymore. Even the fish I caught yesterday had only satisfied me for a short time. My body demanded more, stronger food, richer meat.

That's when I saw it.

A squirrel-like creature, not too different from the ones I had seen in my past life, but bigger, more alien. Its fur was matted with dirt, its ears twitched at every sound, and its long, bushy tail flicked behind it. It was fast, cautious. It had survived in this jungle for a reason.

But so had I.

I crept low, keeping my body pressed close to the ground as I stalked forward. My claws dug into the earth, every muscle tensed, waiting for the perfect moment. The squirrel twitched its nose, sniffing the air, oblivious to my presence.

Then I lunged.

It was fast—but I was faster. My claws snagged its tail, and before it could bolt, my jaws clamped down on its neck. It thrashed, kicking wildly, but I held on.

One bite. Two.

Then it went limp.

I stood there, panting, staring down at my kill. My first real hunt. The fish had been luck. This was skill.

A rush of satisfaction filled me, but before I could savor it, something else hit me—something stronger than hunger.

A smell.

Thick, rich, and overwhelming.

Blood.

I turned my head and saw it in the distance—movement through the trees. Carefully, I climbed a low-hanging branch to get a better view, peering through the thick jungle canopy.

And then I saw it.

A Skullcrawler.

The sight of it sent a deep, primal terror through my entire body. I had never seen one in person before, but I had heard them. The way the ground trembled when they moved. The distant howls that echoed through the trees at night.

And now, one was right there, ripping into the carcass of a Skull Island deer.

Its long, pale body coiled as it tore flesh from the dead creature, its massive mouth stretching wide to swallow chunks of meat whole. Its snake-like form twisted, the exposed ribs along its torso flexing as it feasted.

I didn't dare move. I barely breathed.

If it saw me, I was dead. No amount of flying or fire-sparking would save me from that thing.

So I waited.

The Skullcrawler fed for what felt like an eternity, stripping the deer of most of its meat. Blood soaked the jungle floor, the scent so thick in the air it made my mouth water despite my fear.

Then, as suddenly as it had come, it left.

The beast slithered back into the trees, vanishing into the jungle, leaving behind only the scraps of its kill.

I stayed frozen for a long moment, watching, listening, waiting to make sure it was really gone.

Then my hunger took over.

I scrambled down from my branch and sprinted toward the remains. The deer's carcass was mostly torn apart, but there was still meat left. I didn't hesitate. I tore into it, ripping chunks of flesh with my teeth, swallowing as fast as I could.

It was the best thing I had ever tasted. Rich, warm, real.

I ate as much as my small body could handle, stuffing myself until my belly ached.

Then I ran.

Not back home—not yet.

I darted into the underbrush and hid, watching the carcass, waiting to see if anything else would come.

Because for the first time, I had learned something valuable.

The jungle wasn't just a place of fear.

It was a place of opportunity.