Predator’s Instinct

Kieran's grip tightened around his weapon, his knuckles white. His breath came in ragged gasps, but the hunters weren't slowing down.

For every one they cut down, two more emerged from the darkness.

Elias, as always, fought with the same ruthless efficiency—each strike clean, each movement purposeful. Meanwhile, Kieran felt himself slipping. His wounds throbbed. His muscles screamed.

I can't keep up like this.

Then he saw it.

The hunters weren't attacking randomly. Their movements were coordinated. They were driving Kieran and Elias backward—toward a dead end.

His heart pounded. "Elias, they're herding us!"

Elias didn't even glance back. "I know."

Kieran's blood ran cold. Then why hadn't he said anything?

The moment's distraction cost him.

A hunter lunged, its claws glinting. Kieran barely dodged, but it snagged his injured side. Pain exploded through his ribs. He staggered, gritting his teeth as warm blood soaked his clothes.

The hunter smelled it.

It let out a low, guttural growl, baring jagged teeth. The others reacted immediately.

They were no longer looking at Elias.

They were focused on him.

Kieran was the weakest link. And now, they knew it.

A chill ran down his spine. Think. Adapt. What would Elias do?

Then it clicked.

The hunters were hunting him.

So he had to stop acting like prey.

Kieran shifted his stance. He forced himself to ignore the pain, to stop retreating—and attack first.

When the next hunter lunged, he didn't dodge. He stepped forward.

His blade buried deep into its chest before it could react.

For the first time, hesitation flickered in the hunters' eyes.

Elias smirked. "Now you're getting it."

Kieran exhaled sharply. His body still ached, but something inside him had changed.

The hunters had forced him into a corner.

Now, it was his turn.

He tightened his grip and raised his blade.

"Come on, then," he muttered. "Let's see who the real predator is."