Eerie Findings
Several minutes before Gilian and Arvan stumbled upon the grotesque scene in the forest, Herman was finishing his own part of the hunt.
When Gilian fired the first shot, the flock of Big Cockatrices scattered—panicked by the sound, by the sudden violence. Herman, focused and calm, tracked one of the larger birds that veered off from the others. It darted through the underbrush, clucking and hissing, but he was faster. His practiced steps left no trace, his eyes never lost sight of the iridescent shimmer ahead.
Thwip!
An arrow soared through the fog and embedded itself deep in the cockatrice's chest. The creature thrashed once, then collapsed in a heap of feathers and claws.
Herman exhaled slowly. "Done."
He dragged the carcass to a nearby tree and hung it upside down by its legs. The blood began to trickle down, staining the mossy roots below. Every seasoned hunter knew this ritual. It wasn't just about tradition—it was about preserving the meat, keeping it fresh, letting the taint of death flow out before rot could set in.
While the blood drained, Herman crouched to begin the dismantling. He pulled out a small knife and began slicing the underbelly with clean, methodical movements. His hands were steady, precise. But something felt... off.
A scent.
Faint.
Metallic.
Blood—yes—but not just from the cockatrice. It was stronger. Older.
His nose, sharpened by years in the woods, caught it clearly now. He stopped.
CRASH!
The sound reverberated through the trees like thunder. Not from Cren's side. Not from where Gilian had gone.
From behind. From the direction of the rendezvous point.
Herman stood slowly. He scanned the mist. Silence returned too quickly, unnaturally.
He didn't finish gutting the cockatrice. He hoisted it over his shoulder with a grunt and moved toward the source of the noise.
The smell of blood grew thicker.
Something was wrong.
He crept forward, every sense alert. The forest here was heavy, as if it resented his presence. The usual rustling of leaves, the chirping of birds, even the wind—it was all gone.
Then—he saw them.
Corpses.
Not cockatrices. Not adventurers either. Not at first glance.
Creatures—bigger than any prey he'd seen lately—lay in grotesque positions, as if they'd been crushed or twisted into the earth itself. Heads shattered. Bones exposed.
And not just monsters.
He squinted.
Some were humania.
And their bodies… had bite marks. Deep ones. Jagged ones. He knelt beside one of the corpses—a large beast with a thick pelt—and examined a wound. Definitely a bite.
But from what?
A predator? A bear? No…
The pattern. The teeth spacing.
Too small. Too human.
Herman's brow furrowed.
A person did this?
He stood and looked around. The area bore signs of battle. Heavy impacts in the soil. Scratches along the bark. But there were no adventurer tools, no abandoned gear. Just blood. And silence.
He shook his head.
This wasn't right.
He turned back.
Whatever had happened here, it wasn't worth chasing alone. He needed to regroup. To warn the others.
Hurrying now, Herman moved toward the meeting point.
He arrived to find Cren already there, standing stiffly with his prey slung across one shoulder. The cockatrice they'd left hanging earlier still swung gently from its branch. But Cren's eyes weren't on the bird.
He stared ahead, confused. Disoriented.
Herman approached and tapped him lightly on the shoulder.
Cren flinched.
"Easy," Herman said quietly. "Something's wrong."
Cren turned to him. "I heard a crash. I thought it was you."
"Wasn't me," Herman replied. He looked around. "Where are Gilian and Arvan?"
Cren gestured weakly toward the trees. "Still out there."
Herman glanced at the hanging cockatrice. A piece of cloth fluttered from its leg.
A signal.
They had gone to check the source of the crash.
He sighed. "Damn it, Gilian."
Then, faint through the mist—footsteps.
Running.
Cren raised his spear. Herman readied his bow.
A moment later, two familiar shapes burst through the trees.
Gilian and Arvan, wild-eyed and pale.
"We need to leave," Gilian gasped. "Now."