Varia

The quiet buzz from his meal had done little to calm the darker hunger still simmering within, but that didn’t matter now. His mind was on something else—a memory that had surfaced as he’d absorbed the wendigos’ thoughts.

Driving through the streets, he let the engine’s hum fill the silence as the recollections flooded back to him, clear and sharp. Among the chaotic images of hunts and savage battles, one memory stood out—a creature unlike anything else he’d seen, something that lingered at the edge of the wendigos’ fear.

It was a coyote, but not an ordinary one. Its body was wreathed in shadows, as if the darkness itself clung to it, swirling and shifting with its every movement. In the memory, it had slipped through the night with an almost spectral grace, blending seamlessly into the shadows around it. The wendigos had clashed with the creature a few times, their primal instincts driving them to attack. But each time, the coyote had vanished before they could land a killing blow, slipping from their grasp like smoke.

Kain could feel the creature’s cunning, the way it had outmaneuvered the wendigos, drawing them in only to disappear as soon as they struck. There was an intelligence there, a deliberate, predatory patience that intrigued him. This coyote wasn’t just prey; it was something more, something challenging. He could feel it—a lure, an unspoken invitation to hunt.

The engine’s low growl grew louder as he pushed the bike forward, the city lights blurring into streaks of neon as he sped through the streets. The memory replayed in his mind, more vivid with each passing second. He could almost feel the shadows clinging to his own skin, an echo of the darkness that had coated the coyote, calling him to follow.

He knew that if he tracked this creature down, it would be a step deeper into the world he was now a part of—a world of beasts and shadows, where each new target brought him closer to understanding the true nature of his powers. These wolves were next, and he felt the thrill of the hunt rise within him, a primal urge that melded with the darker hunger simmering just below the surface.

The coyote had become more than just a target. It was a symbol, a challenge lurking in the darkness, waiting for him to find it. And he intended to do just that.

With the memory guiding him like a beacon, he steered his bike toward the edges of the city, where the night stretched vast and wild, and where the shadowed wolves would be waiting.

He looked back at the town, seeing the lights in the distance, the silhouettes of buildings against the night sky, the first drops of rain falling steadily on his helmet. This was his world, his home, and he wasn’t about to let it fall to the creatures slipping through the cracks between worlds.

“Let’s get to work, then,” he said, his voice low, resolute. “The hunt’s just beginning.”

With that, Kain melted back into the streets, slipping through the rainy night, a predator on the prowl, armed with the powers of monsters and the resolve of a man who had nothing left to lose. The hunt was his now, and he intended to make the most of it.

After a few days of chasing faint leads, Kain found himself back where the wendigos had last clashed with the shadowed coyote and its pack. The area was a desolate stretch of woodland on the city’s outskirts, a place where the remnants of battle still clung to the air like a dark, invisible fog. He knelt down, studying the faint traces left behind—the broken branches, the scuffed earth, splatters of dried blood that had faded to a rusty brown.

He had hoped to find something definitive, but the signs were elusive, almost as if the coyotes themselves had obscured their own tracks. Still, there were traces here and there—a claw mark gouged deep into a tree, a small patch of fur caught in the underbrush. Each clue felt like a piece of a puzzle, hinting at something larger but refusing to reveal the full picture.

Determined not to let this lead slip away, Kain spent the next few days scouring the library, pouring over obscure texts and forgotten tomes that spoke of supernatural creatures and local legends. He found mentions of skinwalkers, spectral animals, and ancient spirits tied to the land, but none of it matched what he’d seen in the wendigos’ memory. The coyote coated in shadows was something else, something far more evasive, and he began to wonder if it had ties to myths that the world had forgotten or ignored.

When the library offered no concrete answers, he turned to the internet, searching through forums on folklore and paranormal sightings. The deeper he dug, the more he found himself in the hidden corners of the web, sifting through cryptic posts and discussions from people who had seen things they couldn’t explain. He scrolled through threads about phantom creatures and elusive beasts that seemed to vanish with the dawn, and every now and then, he would find a vague reference that tugged at his instincts.

One particular thread caught his attention—a discussion on an encrypted forum for cryptid enthusiasts. There was talk of “shadow-coated beasts” spotted near various rural towns across the country, creatures that seemed to move with an unnatural fluidity, blending seamlessly into the darkness. One user claimed to have seen something similar near a desert town, describing it as a coyote with a coat that shifted like smoke, almost as if the shadows were alive. Another described hearing whispers in the night, a faint chorus that followed the creature wherever it went, as if it carried the voices of the shadows with it.

He leaned back, his mind racing as he pieced together what he’d found. While it wasn’t a clear path, he could sense the faint outline of something larger—a network of legends, sightings, and strange occurrences, all pointing to creatures that defied the ordinary rules of nature. The more he read, the more he became convinced that the coyote and its pack weren’t just stray animals with strange abilities. They were something older, something that moved in the spaces between light and shadow, creatures tied to the mysteries he was only beginning to unravel.

As Kain sifted through the dimly lit aisles of the library, scrolling through his laptop, a new angle of investigation emerged. While he hadn’t yet found a concrete lead on the shadowed coyote or its pack, he began to notice an unsettling pattern in local news reports and online articles. The more he read, the clearer the picture became, each story a piece of a larger puzzle.

The articles described a series of brutal attacks that had been occurring over the past month. Headlines told of hikers and campers found horrifically mauled, their bodies torn with claw marks that experts initially attributed to wild coyotes or wolves. But the reports hinted at something more sinister—park rangers and animal control officials were baffled, describing wounds that didn’t quite match those of any known animal. In each case, the victims had been found with deep gashes that seemed to have been made with a precision and ferocity beyond that of typical predators.

Kain scanned each article, noting the locations. The attacks formed a rough arc along the outskirts of the city, stretching across secluded woodlands and abandoned trails, places where people were rarely found after dark. Each report contained small details that seemed innocuous at first, but they all pointed to something darker: locals mentioning eerie sightings of creatures moving through the shadows, vanishing as quickly as they’d appeared, and sounds in the night that didn’t quite belong to the usual wildlife.

He leaned forward, focusing on a map he’d pulled up, marking the reported attack sites one by one. As the points connected, a pattern began to emerge. The attacks clustered around a specific area—a dense patch of forest that lay just outside the city, an old section of wilderness largely forgotten by the public, save for the occasional hiker or thrill-seeker. The area was notorious for strange sightings, rumors passed between locals of things that lurked in the trees, things that didn’t like being seen.

His pulse quickened as he recognized the possibilities. This wasn’t a random series of attacks; it was a hunting ground, a territory marked by something ancient and relentless. He suspected the shadowed coyotes were at the center of it, perhaps defending their territory or hunting anything that dared to enter it.

One article in particular caught his attention. A recent post on a local news site described an attack on a park ranger who’d been out on a routine patrol. The man had survived, though barely, and in his frantic recounting to reporters, he had described seeing “dark shapes” moving around him, almost like spirits woven from shadow, before he’d been knocked to the ground. When he was found, he was in shock, muttering about eyes glowing from the darkness, watching him with a cold, calculating stare. The article mentioned that he’d been taken to a nearby hospital, his condition critical but stable.

Kain’s eyes narrowed as he reread the ranger’s description, a cold certainty settling over him. The shadowed coyotes were more than a mere pack; they were predators of this hidden domain, creatures tied to the primal heart of the forest, where light rarely penetrated and where shadows ruled.

With a final glance at the map, he shut his laptop and closed the old library book he’d left open on the table. He’d pieced together enough to have a starting point—a rough area he could begin searching. Now, he had direction, and the unsettling thrill of the hunt surged within him once again.

As Kain stepped out of the library, the cold night air wrapped around him, carrying the distant hum of the city. He made his way across the quiet parking lot toward his bike, his mind still buzzing with the pieces he’d pieced together. With a sigh, he rubbed his hand across his mouth, feeling the gritty tension of the past few days clinging to him. Almost instinctively, he leaned over and spat on the pavement.

The spit hit the cement with a sharp sizzle, a faint wisp of smoke rising as it began to fizz and bubble, eating into the ground. Kain stopped mid-step, watching the spot as a small patch of acid ate away at the concrete, leaving a faint, charred circle.

He winced, then smirked. “Damn. I really gotta learn how to control that one,” he muttered to himself. Acid spit was a weird power, not exactly something he’d ever imagined he’d end up with. It was a side effect of absorbing that female wendigo, he knew that much—but it still felt surreal. Acid spit? He’d barely believed it at first, half-convinced it was a fluke.

Still, as he watched the last of the fizzing spot dissolve into a faint stain, a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “It may be lame,” he said with a chuckle, “but I gotta admit, in real life it's kinda cool.”

He let his eyes linger on the spot, his grin widening. This was all new territory, a strange and dangerous power that had no instruction manual. But moments like this reminded him of just how unpredictable, and even fun, it could be. With each new ability, he was gaining more than just raw strength—he was tapping into a world of powers that defied explanation, each one a tool waiting to be mastered.

His eyes brightened as he turned back to his bike, the thrill of discovery lingering like a spark in his chest. As strange as acid spit was, he was starting to see the possibilities, the ways he could bend these powers to his will. He threw a leg over his bike, revving the engine with a newfound energy. with each new power, he was more prepared than ever.

The scent of rain lingered in the air, mixing with the muted sounds of distant traffic. He took a breath, feeling the weight of his mission settle on his shoulders. The coyotes were out there, somewhere in the dark recesses of the forest, and they were waiting. Whether they knew it or not, they were about to have company.

With another flick of his wrist, Kain revved the engine, the roar of his bike slicing through the quiet night. The patterns and stories, the wounds and shadows—all of it drove him forward, as he neared the edge of the town, The empty streets turned into rougher paths as he left behind the flickering city lights, trading them for the dim, moonlit outline of the forest ahead.

The familiar hunger stirred inside him, deep and primal, a force that thrummed through his veins. This wasn’t just survival. It was the hunt. And oh, how Kain did love the hunt.

The road thinned into a gravel trail, surrounded by thick trees, their branches casting skeletal shadows on the ground. Kain slowed as he neared the secret entrance, his senses sharpening as he approached the overgrown thicket at the edge of the forest. This wasn’t a place you stumbled upon; it was hidden, masked by nature and magic, known only to those who needed to disappear.

He pulled his bike to a stop just beside an old, gnarled tree that leaned slightly toward the path, its twisted roots curling into the earth like a natural barrier. To the untrained eye, it was just another ancient part of the landscape. But Kain knew better. He dismounted, the cold night air heavy with the scent of damp earth and old leaves as he stepped toward the tree, feeling along the ridges of the bark until his fingers found a familiar knot.

With a practiced motion, Kain pressed the hidden latch. There was a soft click, and the ground beneath the tree shifted slightly, revealing a narrow stone staircase that descended into the earth.

This was one of the entrances to a safe house— One of Belmont’s safe houses, tucked away from the eyes of those who thought they controlled this world. Kain had used it before when things got too heated, or when he needed to disappear and reorient himself. Tonight, it was where he would regroup, let the pieces of this hunt settle, and decide his next move.

He stepped down into the cool underground passage, the shadows closing in around him as the hidden entrance sealed itself shut behind him. The stone steps were worn, damp from the earth pressing in on all sides, but they led to a wide underground chamber, lit dimly by small, flickering lights embedded in the walls.

The safe house wasn’t much to look at, but it had what he needed: weapons, a cot, and a small desk cluttered with maps and papers from previous hunts. The stone walls bore the weight of time, cold and unmoving, making the space feel isolated—perfect for someone like Kain.

He set his gear down on the cot and moved to the desk, flipping open his laptop. He had been tracking the shadow coyotes, the strange creatures whose presence had haunted the wendigos’ memories. They were elusive, but their attacks had left a pattern in their wake. Kain reviewed the several reports he had pulled up earlier—gruesome articles of hikers and campers mauled in the forests around the city’s outskirts. The reports weren’t calling it yet, but Kain recognized the signs. These weren’t ordinary predators. The coyotes were connected to something darker, something he could feel pulling at the edges of his awareness.

As he reviewed the map, tracing the rough area of recent attacks, Belmont’s voice broke the silence in his mind.

“Patience, Kain,” Belmont’s tone was measured, calm. “They move under the cover of shadow for a reason. Don’t mistake their quiet for weakness.”

Kain rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the tension knotting his muscles. “I know. But they’re out there, and they’re leaving bodies behind. I can’t wait much longer.”

Doc chimed in, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Yeah, patience, sure. Or you could go in, tear through ‘em, and call it a night. They’re just coyotes, right? How bad could it be?”

Kain snorted, leaning back in the chair. “They’re not just coyotes. Whatever this is, it’s bigger. These things don’t leave random bodies behind without reason. There’s a purpose, and I need to figure it out.”

Belmont’s voice hummed thoughtfully. “You’re on the right track. But they’ll be expecting you now. Be ready for more than just a hunt.”

Kain closed the laptop and stood, his mind buzzing with the possibilities. He would need to rest, but not for long. Tomorrow, he’d head deeper into the forest, following the trail of blood and shadows. The coyotes wouldn’t be able to hide for long. He had the scent now, and once Kain was locked onto a target, he never let go.