“Let’s go, people! Load the traps, the nets, the bows—whatever the hell you’ve got—and aim just in front of where the Launch Bird’s heading! Anticipate its movement!”

  Joe’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade. No panic. No fear. Just raw command. His eyes swept the battlefield, tracking every twitch of the monster’s battered body, mapping out every opening like a butcher eyeing a carcass. This wasn't about brute force; that way would get them killed. This was chess—on fire.

  “The rest of us will hit the soft spots! Eyes! Neck! Under the wings! Strike fast and pull back!”

  He then spoke of what everyone else had noticed but no one wanted to address.

  “The small birds—they seem to be ignoring us at the moment, but that can change. They are watching us as much as we are watching them. Don’t be afraid. Don’t hesitate. Think before you act and let your body do the rest. Do not underestimate these creatures or your own ability. If you can’t, take a step back. Live!”

  To Joe, these birds were terrifyingly intelligent. Despite their size and reduced numbers, the small birds were winning and losing at the same time. This wouldn't be like fighting in the forest; there were no trees for cover. The black robe and axe would have to do.

  As the dust began to settle, a few small birds made a low pass at the Launch Bird. One clawed at its neck, drawing blood, then swiftly backed off, gaining altitude to watch the humans just above a fading cloud of smoke.

  It was only a second, but Joe’s eyes flicked back to the Launch Bird—the massive creature was thrashing again, kicking up a thick dirt cloud. Was it a smokescreen? Had its attention switched to them? If they ran in to attack as a group now, they wouldn’t see what was coming next.

  “We need to attack in groups at different areas! Avoid the Launch Bird’s tail and make sure its damaged wings stay useless!” Joe bellowed, shifting his stance just in time to dodge a spasming claw. The force of the swipe sent a gust of hot air whipping past him, nearly throwing him off balance. “Shred the fleshy skin around the burn injuries! Make it impossible for it to fly—even in its dreams!”

  The beast was colossal, but its dying thrashes were still lethal. One of its flaming wings slammed into the ground, sending a blast of embers and ash into the air. Joe ducked low, moving by instinct, the heat licking at his arms. Behind him, the others spread out, surrounding the monster like ants on a dying lion—tiny, but relentless.

  From a distance, it must’ve looked insane—dozens of half-starved humans swarming a flaming sky-beast that could have swallowed them whole just hours earlier. But fear was a luxury they couldn't afford anymore.

  Then another voice rose above the chaos—sharp, clear, commanding.

  Lady Vee.

  “Bring those blockades I saw earlier—use them to shield yourselves before you strike!” she ordered, her voice cutting clean through the noise.

  “Set them between you and the tail! Especially near the wings! Once you begin the assault, it'll start thrashing!”

  Joe exhaled hard—relief mixing with adrenaline. Tactical as hell, that one. He hadn’t known her long, but over these past few days, he’d seen enough. She didn’t panic. She calculated. And those few seconds her command might buy them?

  Could mean the difference between someone living or getting pulped.

  “You heard the general!” Joe roared again, rallying the fighters. “MOVE IT! Get the ropes over the launch bird—throw and pull! Open a path for the hunters! We need tendons clipped and arteries severed—cripple this bastard!”

  Ropes flew.

  Dozens of hands latched on, dragging and yanking with everything they had. Muscle and desperation surged together, cords pulled taut as men and women strained, grunting and growling like animals fighting for a kill. The air was filled with the scent of sweat, ash, and burning feathers.

  This was it. Not just a battle—but a butcher’s job.

  And they had to finish it. Fast.

  Some hung back, waiting for the beast to falter, for the ropes to bite deep enough that it couldn’t thrash free. Sticks and stones weighed heavy in calloused hands, ropes coiled and ready to snap tight. Sweat streamed down faces, stinging eyes, but no one dared blink. They crept in inch by inch, weapons clenched, every stare locked on the Launch Bird. The air was thick with heat and fear, yet underneath it swelled a fever of confidence. The creature was bleeding, staggering. All they needed was that single moment—when its body sank low, when its strength finally bled out. Then they would break it.

  At the forest’s outer edge, creeping closer to the madness, Ken stood with arms crossed, black rod resting across his shoulders. His face was twisted in something between awe and outright exasperation.

  “These crazy bastards,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s not even feeling cornered yet. Not really. Can they not fucking tell?”

  Then came the voices.

  “PULL!”

  Dozens of them—men and women, backs hunched, heels dug in, ropes burning in their hands as they tried to drag down a goddamn plane-sized monster like they were trapped in some Gulliver’s Travels fever dream.

  The Launch Bird jerked hard, a bone-deep growl rumbling from its throat, its body shifting with such violence it kicked up another blast of dust and heat.

  Ken shook his head, jaw tight. “This is fucking insane.”

  Even now—burning, bleeding, wing half-shredded—the Launch Bird was still a mountain of muscle and fury. Now that he was this close, Ken could feel the weight of it. This was something that had ruled the skies—unchallenged, unbothered—for who knew how long.

  And these people?

  These land-bound lunatics thought they could just drag it down like a prize bull at some fucked-up county fair?

  If they actually pulled this off... it would be a merciless miracle.

  Ken’s eyes swept back to the struggling fighters, to the arms trembling under tension, to the backs curved and contorted by effort. These people weren’t soldiers. They weren’t built for war.

  But they’d still die for this.

  They had to.

  They would eat, or they would die.

  There was no middle ground. No mercy.

  No outcome other than retreat would save them now—unless the gods themselves were feeling generous tonight.

  Ken’s gaze slid back to the Launch Bird. The thing was writhing, snarling, still resisting. But the smaller birds—those clever, savage things—they had been doing real damage even before the humans joined in. They swarmed with a kind of violent precision, slashing and tearing with intention, not instinct. They’d bled the beast. Pushed it down.

  But at no point—not once—had Ken seen where all the damn fire was coming from.

  The bodies burned, yes. The flames were real. He’d heard the explosions, seen the carnage. But how the hell was the Launch Bird doing it? Was it the one actually producing the fire?

  He’d seen the deaths of the attacking birds—heard them scream as they got too close—but the source? The origin of the fire?

  Still a mystery.

  Ken narrowed his eyes at the beast. The Launch Bird was still ablaze, smoke rolling from its feathers. But… was it just burning?

  Or was it still creating the flames?

  Because if it was—

  His stomach twisted.

  If that was true, then they weren’t just trying to take down a monster.

  They were standing in the blast zone of something that could still turn this whole fucking field into ashes. And that possibility alone was enough to make Ken keep his distance, fists clenched, jaw tight.

  Then came a frantic shout—

  Dick: One of the Hunters precent, breathless, panic laced in his voice.

  "Sirs! The birds are attacking again—they’re cutting the rope! Indiscriminately! We’ve only got seconds left to keep this thing down!"

  Seconds.

  That’s all they had.

  Joe hearing the commotion from the back, jaw clenched. Mind racing. Calculating.

  “That’s more than enough time boys and gals!” he barked back. “I can see that small birds are doing more damage than our best weapons, every time they fly by the launch bird bleeds! We go for the neck and the eyes from now on—while it’s still down! At best, this thing is conserving energy. It’s watching the birds, not us. That’s our window! But do not under estimate this native creature. Its aware of us! Just like we are aware of ants.”

  But then, not far from where Joe stood, a sharp voice snapped back like a whip.

  “Don’t be dumb, Joe!” yelled Gemski.

  Joe turned as his colleague stepped forward, frustration written across every line of his face.

  Joe was confused, why would Gemski kill the moment like that? especially at a time like this? Undermining his command? Is he afraid? The time is now. If I can get close enough… I know I can take advantage of its wounds somehow, but i need to find it and its only possible with a distraction.

  “Ranged attacks only—headshots!” Gemski barked.

  Dick shot him a baffled look, head cocked sideways. “Headshots? With fucking what? We don’t have guns or arrows—just rocks and sticks!”

  Gemski didn’t even look at him. “We’ve got spears and rods! That’s more than enough. And don’t any of you even think about getting close to its mouth or claws! Let the birds handle that shit—they’re faster, stronger, and clearly better at this than us. If we send someone into its attack range, they’re dead. Or worse, crippled for life. Assess all the damage you can see on the launch bird that seem vital and report the information to anyone around you and spread it among those on the battlefield.”

  Gemski then turned sharply toward Joe who he had caught up with after seeing his mad dash. You of all people should know better, you said it yourself—life is our greatest resource. Don’t go fucking up your own words by doing something dumb. You want these people to die? You’re going to need more of a distraction than the birds if you want to get into range. Are you sacrificing people in your head? The mission is to lose no lives. Can you still do that? Because i’ve heard about you.”

  Joe’s jaw tensed.

  Damn it… he was right but Joe still wanted to charge that monster. If they all did what he was told then they shouldn’t die. But then again these people weren’t soldiers, well not yet. But

  Dick’s eyes moved across the battlefield, counting—six spears. Six. None of them if lost are replaceable in the heat of this fight. Who the fuck was going to go out and fetch them once they were thrown? Sure as hell not him. It wasn’t his place to challenge the generals, but come on—they knew those weapons weren’t enough. The only thing that actually hurt that thing was the birds' talons. Sharp enough to cut, deep enough to matter. And the beast was already covered in wounds—burns, slashes, punctures. If they aimed for those, maybe… maybe they had a shot.

  But that fucker was moving fast, erratic, wild.

  Dick scanned the people holding spears—faces locked in, shoulders squared, eyes locked on target. No hesitation. All of them looked ready to throw everything they had.

  And once they did… that was it. All he had to do was hold onto the rope and all would be well. Right? Whats the worse that could happen?

  For all the adrenaline pounding through Joe’s veins, all the instinct and battle-tested drive pushing him forward, he’d almost fucked up. Bad. Again.

  This wasn’t about the win.

  This was about survival.

  And if even a few men died in a reckless charge—that was food lost, bodies gone, time cut short.

  "Men! PULL! It’s starting to move!”

  The ground trembled beneath them as the Launch Bird let out a cry that rattled bone, the kind of sound that made your chest ache just hearing it.

  It thrashed, fighting the ropes, dragging its massive weight through ash and blood.

  Joe’s eyes snapped upward.

  The smaller birds were pulling off—circling now, no longer striking. The dive bombs had slowed.

  That only meant one thing—

  They were backing off.

  Was it fatigue? Did the little birds think they did enough damage to leave the launch bird alone? Are they considering the lost they suffered? These birds were smart, but how smart?

  Their formation seemed more spaced on the retreat? What did that mean? Why am I so concerned?

  “We might be doing this alone!” Joe roared, spinning back to face his people. “So get ready to be the focus! We can’t let it squirm its way to the living quarters!”

  If it reaches the main area of the settlement?

  It’s done! Game over.

  Then Joe’s body blurred into motion, so sudden it jolted the others with surprise as his voice cut through the rising panic.

  "Like Gemski said—avoid the tail and head! Just open this son of a bitch up! I’ll do the rest. For humanity! For survival! For the way back home rests in one thing—seeing tomorrow.”

  His pulse hammered, the others threw their weight into the dying ropes, while the hunters followed Joe, Voices all around sounded off—heaving, grunting, eyes wide, teeth clenched. Ropes strained. Skin tore. Palms burned.

  Every pull was a scream from muscle and will.

  This wasn’t just about bringing the beast down.

  This was about the last five days of hell—

  Of starvation. Of carrying the sick. Of walking through the green death just to find a future.

  None of them on the feel should have the energy and strength that they did now, but they had hope. As cliché as it seemed they had hope, and they used it like fuel.

  This was the fucking reward.

  Right here. Right now.

  “PULL! PULL! PULL!”

  Across the Launch Bird’s massive, smouldering form, the hunters and butchers surged upward, scaling its bulk like ants on a collapsing tree. With stone knives, pit spears, sharpened sticks—they dug, sliced, stabbed into scorched, trembling flesh.

  The beast’s body convulsed with every strike—jerking, twitching, reacting.

  And then—with a stomach-dropping lurch, its massive, scaled tail didn't just move, it snapped upward, a lightning strike of muscle and bone. The pathetic, ill-advised attempt to bind it was shattered with contemptuous ease.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  The sound was a sickening, wet SNAP—not just one rope breaking, but the fraying, tearing, and then SHREDDING of dozens of thick hemp lines.

  Those still clinging to the ropes never had a chance. Some were force to release the ropes when others weren’t so lucky.

  In an instant, the ropes—the false promise of control—transformed from bindings into lethal, stinging whips.

  Two men positioned near the barricade, had the worst luck of all. The rope had been foolishly looped around their hips for leverage. When their comrades let go, the slack vanished, and the recoil became a violent slingshot. They didn't just fall, they were yanked, their bodies launching skyward with a speed that blurred them, weightless and limp, like discarded, wind-tossed dolls.

  As the tail reached its apex—a momentary, terrifying pause in the air—but the ropes had given the men too much momentum. They kept rising on the slack lines, colliding mid-air with a sharp, sickening CLACK! The sound of their skull and ribcage meeting carried over the battlefield din, brief, hollow, and absolute. For a single, eternal second, their broken bodies dangled from the massive tail—a grim, swaying pendulum—before the creature finished its arc on the downward swing.

  The tail plummeted. It didn't slam down—it demolished the ground. The IMPACT was a bass-heavy, thunderous BOOM, shaking the earth so violently the soldiers’ teeth rattled. A shockwave of compressed air and dirt exploded outward. Grande and Dick were simply ERASED—pulverized beneath the tail’s colossal, scaled CRUSH of an impact. A fine, pinkish-red cloud of pulverized dust and misted blood was all that remained where they had been.

  Gone. Never to be seen again.

  For a single, agonizing second, there was only a vacuum of sound. The only sound to be heard came from the wet, rasping inhales of the launch bird, Then, the silence across the battlefield ruptured as a wave of primal wailing, broke over the fighters.

  The others stumbled back, dropping the frayed rope-stubs as if they were venomous. Others were simply petrified, fixed on the spot where two men had just ceased to exist. In that instant of blinding terror, they didn't just see death; they understood its cruelty, its speed, and its complete indifference. How fast it was to die. How easy it was to die. How painful it would be to die or to survive death.

  A strangled, half-formed —"Grande! Dick!"—rose from the barricade, a single, futile sound swallowed instantly by the roaring fear.

  The Launch Bird offered no pause for the dead. Its head plunged, colossal eyes dropping from the empty sky and fixing upon the ground. Its gaze, cold and unblinking, dismissed the small flame bird pests and landed with crushing weight on the screaming meat bags that surrounded it. The Launch bird could feel those climbing around on its body, but due to the numbing from the flames and cuts it ignored them and focused. Control was over. The moment its predatory stare settled on their positions, the Bird didn't hesitate—its body followed, launching another vicious, unstoppable strike into the clusters of terrified men.

  WHAM!

  The tail swung again, lashing out at the men scaling its back like tenacious, suicidal parasites. Its body became a wild, erratic blur of muscle and scales, turning and twisting like a warhorse trying to shrug off a swarm of bees—or, worse, trying to break its own spine to dislodge the burden.

  Below, the others fought to grab a hold of the whipping rope-stubs that followed the twisting beast, hoping to tether a hurricane with wet string. Their efforts were instantly futile. They were skidding, boots useless, heels digging deep, useless furrows into the pulverized, ash-coated earth as the beast dragged them like an afterthought.

  The Bird's massive, scorched wings—already tattered—smashed into the barricades with casual force, shredding wood and stone alike. The impact scattered not just debris and bodies, but also flaming shards of its own burning feathers, turning the close-quarters fight into a chaotic dance of dust, blood, and flying embers.

  Still, the hunters would not be shaken off. Knives were buried to the hilt. Spears were wedged into muscle. Fingers were locked around raw, steaming strips of burning flesh. They held on, refusing to become the next victims of momentum, tearing at the Bird's back, ripping gashes into its hide and connecting new wounds to the older, cuts left by the flame pests.

  "Aim for the eyes now! I have a bad feeling about this!" Lady Vee’s voice—sharp, authoritative, and utterly cold—somehow cut clean through the desperate grinding chaos as she ran full-tilt down from the headquarters. "Those of you with arms free, take the opening! Throw your spears! Throw your stones! Throw your damn boots if you have to! Focus fire!”

  At the edge of the battlefield in amazement, Ken stood motionless, arms crossed, eyes hard.

  Admiration. Dread. Disbelief.

  How the hell were these lunatics still fighting?

  Every second they stayed alive spat in the face of logic.

  Of fear.

  Of fucking gravity.

  And still, they danced with death—

  Dodging tail strikes by inches.

  Ducking under burning debris.

  Moving like men and women with no other choice.

  Every stab was a gamble.

  Every scream was a reminder.

  This wasn’t bravery.

  This was survival, fuelled by the kind of desperation only the starving knew.

  And the beast—

  It was still not down.

  Still burning.

  Still fighting back.

  Joe’s voice cut through the chaos—a roar of pure authority.

  “You guys need to get off its back! Everyone! Release the ropes! NOW!”

  The ground trembled as the Launch Bird surged upward, its battered wings flapping with violent desperation—

  Reigniting the flames still clinging to its body, stirring the smoke and heat back to life.

  Was it trying to fly?

  For a second—just a second—it wasn’t touching the ground.

  Not just a leap.

  Not just a thrash.

  It hovered.

  Too long for coincidence. Too long to ignore.

  Then—

  Gravity won.

  BOOM!

  The beast crashed back down with an impact that rattled teeth and cracked the earth.

  The shockwave sent bodies flying, limbs flailing, weapons skittering across the ground.

  And with it—more lives were gone.

  “No! Not you—

  Wand!

  Camilla!

  Dios!!”

  A scream tore from Joe’s chest.

  "AHHHHH! I'm gonna kill that fucking thing!"

  The devastation hit like a goddamn sledgehammer.

  Three more lives, gone in an instant—

  Snuffed.

  Erased.

  But the monster wasn’t done.

  Its breath boiled the air. Its body radiated death.

  Flames licked out from its wings and back, cooking sweat straight from skin.

  Then it rolled.

  A wall of meat and bone shifting with terrifying speed—

  Crushing what was left of their strongest blockade.

  The barricades—those massive wooden walls they’d fought so hard to haul into place—shattered like dry twigs.

  Splinters. Screams. Bodies launched into the open field like toys in a storm.

  Joe didn’t stop.

  Didn’t hesitate.

  Didn’t blink.

  He charged.

  Straight for the head.

  Axe raised.

  Breath shallow.

  The sound of every heartbeat around him pounding like war drums inside his skull.

  And then—

  Something settled on him.

  Like a force. Like instinct finally putting its hand on his back and shoving him forward.

  Running just a few feet behind Joe, Lady Vee cut slightly to the side, eyes locked on the beast’s tangled legs. The same rope they’d used to pin it earlier was now tightly snarled around its limbs, a knot of desperation from its wild, death roll.

  She was fast. Focused. Fearless.

  But from the edges—watching with a sharp eye—Gemski saw something was off. Unlike the others, he watched the Launch Bird closely. And he was starting to see a pattern in its movement, but that wasn't all.

  The skin on the Launch Bird’s wings... he wasn't sure when it happened, but one minute they were there and the next, they were gone.

  But not burned off. Not torn.

  It looked like... Shedding?

  He narrowed his eyes. The separation was clean. Almost surgical.

  Did it shed its wings? Why? How?

  That didn’t make sense. Not with all the damage. Not in this chaos.

  Unless—

  It was intentional.

  Why would a bird shed its wings? What possible reason could it have to get rid of the one thing that defined it?

  From Gemski’s view at the edge of the field, it was like the beast had made a choice. The wings—the fucking wings—were just lying there now. Charred and discarded like trash, smoking heaps of feathers and skin scattered across the ground. But not on fire. Not where he remembered them being.

  His breath hitched.

  Something was happening. Something strange. Alien. And worst of all, no one else seemed to notice. Everyone else was too close, too deep in the thick of it to realize what was fundamentally shifting.

  That leap from earlier wasn’t a failed attempt at flight. It was a maneuver. A violent, deliberate motion.

  To shed.

  To remove what it no longer needed. The Launch Bird wasn't struggling to fly. It had no intention of flying anymore. It couldn’t.

  Because it wasn’t a bird anymore.

  It was changing.

  Gemski squinted hard. From where he stood, the shapes on its back weren't wings at all now.

  They were arms. Thick, powerful, scorched—but unmistakably arms.

  The sight made his stomach twist in quiet dread.

  Then the beast dug its talons into the ground—deep.

  It sank them so deep it looked like it thought the earth itself, just like gravity, might betray it next. It wasn't just defending some strange object anymore, nor was it merely holding a position. It was fighting for its life.

  And not just from the humans.

  The battlefield had shifted. The smaller birds. The fire. The coordinated attacks. New enemies were in play now.

  This was a cornered animal—and cornered animals don’t die easy.

  Gemski’s chest tightened. This thing... it was adapting. And that meant something worse than anything else so far: This battle wasn’t nearly as close to ending as they thought.

  Joe felt it, too. He didn’t have the words for it. He didn’t even fully understand the magnitude of the change. But he felt it.

  A single bead of sweat slipped down his dirt-streaked cheek as goosebumps crawled up his spine. His fist clenched tighter around the axe handle. His instincts screamed.

  That monster—the Launch Bird—was about to move again. He could feel it. He could sense it. He could hear it.

  Its claws, sounding like twisting gravel, were being buried deep in the earth, bracing. Preparing.

  But for what?

  Was it going to charge? Maybe a body roll again? What if it used those new arms to bulldoze straight through them all?

  With the fire blazing behind it and smoke thick in the air, anything felt possible now.

  Unlike Gemski, Joe hadn’t consciously registered the monstrous change in the Launch Bird’s body. Well—more accurately, he saw the transformation from wings to arms, but his brain hadn’t caught up with what his eyes had transmitted. As far as his immediate, hyper-focused perception was concerned, those things were still just wings. A useless detail. Not worth a damn at the moment. Wings or not, the bastard still couldn't fly.

  Joe had a job. One: bring this creature down. And two—the only one that truly mattered—keep his people breathing. He didn't have time to process the nature of the limbs, not when he was already busy trying to keep people alive. He was too focused on surviving the next ten seconds to register what the next ten minutes were already becoming.

  Lady Vee, on the other hand, was entirely unaware of the transformation taking place. With her silent dash, she was moving around the Launch Bird, deliberately staying within its massive blind spot, simply waiting for an opportunity.

  Both Joe and Lady Vee were locked in, running headfirst toward the creature, their adrenaline drowning out any whisper of hesitation. Self-preservation was a distant, forgotten memory—a comfortable state from a past life.

  The smoke-laced wind bit at their faces. The ground trembled beneath their boots with every twitch of the beast ahead.

  Whatever Gemski had seen, whatever was changing—the looming presence growing in the wake of the explosive, flame-bearing birds—they had no clue. But stopping wasn't an option. Not anymore. Whatever terror was coming, it was already too late to retreat.

  The only remaining directives were: Commit and push forward.

  Never back down was the mantra that play in his mind—something he and his last unit used to whisper while they were under heavy gun fire. A life time that was now far removed. Now, the mantra was stripped down to a raw necessity: Faith. Hope. That was all that kept Joe and the others moving, the ragged desire to eat! To see the next sunrise. To live long enough to return to Earth.

  With the small, exploding birds long gone, the distraction they presented was over. There was nothing left to keep the Launch Bird from focusing its entire, monstrous attention on the real threat now—the humans.

  Blood and scorched feathers clung to the beast's body like war paint. Its flesh hung in torn ribbons from the earlier assault of talons, knives, and spears. The creature was wounded. Weaker than it was, yes, but it remained deadly. It was slowing, but not slow enough for those watching to do anything about.

  Gemski's voice rang out, sharp and urgent, tearing through the chaos. "Guys! Everyone, back up! Something big is coming! It's a gut feeling, but... Move back! Put distance between you and the Launch Bird! NOW! Get ready! We might not survive what's about to come! Move! Back! NOW!"

  His eyes never left the sky. Gemski was praying for the little birds; he was even praying to Lady Vee’s God if it would help. He pleaded with the very forces that had brought them to this planet. Alien or not, he needed a miracle. He knew he sounded hysterical, but the thought of actually running into the fray to back up Joe and Vee made him hesitate. He wasn't sure if he wanted to. Not sure if he could.

  Joe was still charging, dancing in and out of range of the Launch Bird's frantic, unpredictable strikes. Gemski’s shrill warning barely registered, fading with his next exhale. Joe’s mind was a frantic calculator, weighing weapons against opportunities, judging which opening was a true chance and which was a lethal trap. The Launch Bird was quick and clearly aware of the dangers around it, but it was unaware of one person, and Joe wanted to keep it that way. If he had to be the next distraction, then so be it, but he wasn't going to die today.

  As he ran around the monster’s sweeps, silence started devouring everything. His heart, still beating, felt like a distant, muffled drum. The ring in his ears grew more distant.

  A crushing, unnatural void began to surround Joe, smothering the sound as reality narrowed to just him and the towering creature ahead.

  Was this the zone? Hyper-focus?

  His pulse thundered in his ears, syncing instead with a deep, rhythmic suction—something massive drawing in air, pulling the very atmosphere of the battlefield toward it. The pressure and temperature nearly threw him off balance. It felt like he was running on nothing. The absence of sound made everything feel grotesquely wrong.

  The entire spectrum of his hearing was rapidly degrading, switching from sound to no sound. Beating to no beating.

  And then, from all directions—growls.

  Low. Muted. Not a single voice, but many. Layered, guttural, and unnatural.

  It was happening again. This feeling.

  Flashes of images clawed at him: a pack of jaws slung low, hiding in the forest to the southeast, their growls bleeding into the Launch Bird’s gurgling sounds. His ears were busy, picking apart near and distant sounds, filtering the chaos as he ran—but his mind locked onto just one thing.

  A heartbeat. Pounding. Ahead. Louder than his own. The heart beat of the beast.

  And then... the chill. The air changed. A sharp, unnatural draft slid through the forest like a blade across the skin.

  Then came the whistle. Not loud, but piercing. Constant. Growing.

  Thin and sharp, like metal being peeled open. It slithered through the trees, cutting the tension like a scalpel, raising every hair on every neck. The surrounding forest began to stir.

  The Launch Bird moved. Still gripping the earth like it was trying to keep from being torn away, it tilted its head up and back. Weird, yes, but this was an alien planet, so nothing but the weird was expected at this point.

  Suddenly, its grotesque abdomen ballooned outward, the skin stretching and distorting. The scorched meat beneath its body puffed like a furnace building pressure, and cracks appeared on its abdomen. The remaining feathers stood on end—every strand stiff as iron, bracing as if they, too, knew what was about to come.

  The whistle rose—higher, sharper—then suddenly, cut off.

  The hunters and fighters were still slowly stepping backward, but they all shared a premonition. It was a fear rooted in childhood games of fighting monsters, and they began to sweat as if sitting in a furnace. This wasn't what they expected hell to look like, according to fictional books, but they all saw it. In a few seconds, they were going to get a glimpse of it, and that thought alone froze some on the retreat.

  Then the Launch Bird’s head snapped down. Fast. Violent. Like a guillotine.

  Voices all around shouted. "It's a Dragon! Run!"

  And then—

  The screech from the Launch Bird lit the forest ablaze with movement. A blast of pure sound, pain, and rage erupted from the creature. Not fire. But sound. A gut-wrenching, soul-rattling explosion tore through the air.

  The shockwave hit like a wall to those near and far in the open field. Every fighter was thrown, their bodies flung like weightless dolls. Those closer felt the brutal brunt of the force. The ground tore apart. Trees shattered like glass. A tunnelled trench opened up into the forest from the sheer force of that sound cannon.

  Agony followed. Screams. Groans. People clutching their heads, their ears, vomiting, convulsing. Some writhed. Others lay still. It wasn’t just sound to them. It was suffering incarnate. A pain that had them wishing for death.

  Yet, in the chaos, three figures stood seemingly untouched—Gemski, Lady Vee, and Joe. Why? Who the fuck knows, maybe plot armour.

  The Launch Bird’s massive head dipped low, steam and blood trailing from its mouth after that devastating screech—almost as if it had spent the last of its fury in one final, desperate act. It was drained, tired, and that clearly was its ace in the hole.

  And in that split-second, it happened. A window. A rare, open moment where death hadn't yet taken everything.

  Joe saw it. His grip tightened on his spear, dagger, and axe. He steadied his breath after narrowly avoiding the path of the sound blast, which he hadn't heard at all. He wasn't aware of the surrounding battlefield. The only thing he saw was Lady Vee faltering for a moment before she dashed toward the Launch Bird’s rear legs.

  In that moment, a path to the Launch Bird opened up.

  Tunnel vision locked onto the raw, gaping wounds torn open by the explosive birds’ talons and critically worsened after its strange attack. Under normal conditions, Joe knew his weapon wouldn’t do a damn thing to something this size.

  But this time? This was a different fight now.

  The beast was broken—weakened, bleeding, on the verge of collapse. All it needed was a decisive blow in that open wound, which was spitting blood and some kind of fluid.

  Joe’s crazy dash, matching that of Lady Vee, was a single, unified burst. If she attacked first, he might miss, and vice versa.

  He became a blur of motion, running straight up one of the beast’s newly revealed clawed hands. It was only now, under the urgency of his charge, that the change from wings to hands finally registered. His axe in one hand, spear in the other, his body operated on nothing but instinct.

  He ran up the beast’s half-buried arm with determined steps, using it like a ramp. Below him, Lady Vee dashed toward her dual targets, fast and sure, focusing on the tangled legs. They didn’t speak, didn’t plan—they moved as one, a battle-forged rhythm that could only be achieved in a shared struggle like this. The three of them were connected by desperation.

  Joe reached the exposed flesh—torn, pulsing, with hot, foul air blowing in his face as the weary bird’s eyes suddenly fixed on him.

  Gemski came screaming and charging with a large pike, hoping to make it in time to contribute to taking advantage of this moment of weakness.

  Joe was the first to strike. He drove his spear into the wound. Deep.

  He roared as he jammed the spear with everything he had—then, with one motion, he spun, using the flat of his axe to hammer the butt of the spear down with a sickening thud as his axe smashed into the flesh. The resistance was wet. The burnt, cooked patches of feather-flesh squirmed against the spear shaft.

  Oddly enough, there was no smell. Blood from the creature had touched his lips, yet he couldn't taste it. Its fluids gushed from its neck, covering Joe, and yet he couldn't feel the warmth or wetness.

  But at this moment, Joe couldn’t spare time to be confused; he knew right here, right now, he couldn't flinch.

  And Lady Vee...

  She was already there—below, both hands gripping her weapon, ready to swing. Her feet were set firmly in the disturbed earth, right in front of the dangling reminder that even monsters had soft, family treasures. Her face was locked in a grim space, somewhere between vengeance and grim satisfaction.

  She saw the creature's legs react to something—perhaps damage from another attack—but that was the least of her concerns. She couldn't hesitate either. This was her test from God, and she was going to overcome this great evil and restore balance to the surroundings.

  As light caught the white, flickering barbs of her feather sword, she twisted, as if attempting to hit a home run. The edge of the feather slipped into the flesh, vicious and silent, effortlessly—the kind of blow so quick, clean, and exact it sent a ripple through those who saw it. The beast’s whole body spazzed, a shockwave rolling through muscle and bone as its nervous system overloaded with sudden pain.

  The effect was instant. The Launch Bird went rigid. Lady Vee dove out of the way just before it could crush her. Its eyes bulged. Its arms twitched violently—then stopped.

  If souls could be yanked straight out of flesh, this was the moment it happened. Its final scream died in its throat. A final exhale escaped—deep, rattling, absolute.

  Then came the collapse.

  As a final, futile attack, Gemski came running with his pike and struck the side of the creature, only to watch his spear snap. His attack did absolutely zero damage to the corpse.

  But to those in the distance, it looked like Gemski delivered the final blow that caused the Launch Bird to drop like a bus crash.

  A small gust of dust exploded outward. The Tree Ruling Figures of the settlement stood among the dead, watching as the muscles of the Launch Bird slowly began to relax.

  And there was silence.

  The tired reinforcements from the expedition and the headquarters deployment ran down after the sound blast to aid in the battle, but they were too late. All they could do was look in amazement as their leaders stood victorious.

  It was over.

  But from the edge of the forest stood a young man in disbelief, watching, thinking, and profoundly concerned about the type of people who called this planet home.

  If they all had to be as strong as stupid Joe just to survive, what level of technology and strength would the locals need to defend themselves?

  They must be advanced, or strong nomads. Tribal, maybe. Dangerous. If luck was on his side for once, Ken wished that humans were the only intelligent life form on the planet. That would be one less thing to worry about.

  But if that wasn't the case...

  Who or what was capable of transporting us here?

  That thought made him shrink with worry.