Ape of the Wilds

The horn blast split the night like a knife through flesh.

For a moment, the jungle seemed to hold its breath, the thick canopy above swallowing the sound, smothering it—before the Tzalik camp erupted into movement.

Kuro's muscles coiled, instincts flaring as he saw the first wave of warriors stumble out from their tents, their painted faces twisted in confusion. Some clutched weapons, others only half-dressed, still groggy from sleep.

Not awake enough to fight. Not yet.

Kota had gotten inside. He had the shaman.

But something had gone wrong.

The blast meant they knew.

And that meant Kuro had to act fast.

He burst from the shadows, feet pounding against the damp jungle floor, closing the distance between him and the nearest Tzalik warrior. The man barely had time to register his presence before Kuro's Duskrunner Claws flashed.

A single, brutal slash—and the warrior's throat opened like a ripe fruit.

Kuro didn't stop to watch him fall.

A second warrior lunged from his left, swinging a bone club. Kuro ducked, his tail whipping around, catching the man off balance. In the same motion, he drove his elbow into his ribs, the impact sending a sharp crack through the air.

The Tzalik staggered, breathless—

Then Sia's arrow found his eye.

The warrior collapsed without a sound.

The camp was still in chaos. Shouts rang out from all directions, warriors stumbling into the open, some looking for their weapons, others still trying to piece together what was happening.

They didn't know how many enemies there were.

They didn't know where the attack was coming from.

That was the advantage.

And Kuro would make sure it stayed that way.

A massive warrior came charging from one of the larger tents, his face painted with thick red markings, his broad arms swinging a jagged obsidian axe.

Boru met him head-on.

The two warriors collided like thunder, the force of impact sending a shockwave through the clearing. Boru caught the axe's downward swing with both hands, muscles straining, his feet digging deep into the earth.

The Tzalik roared, trying to press down, but Boru's teeth curled into a snarl, his arms flexing with raw power.

With a sudden, brutal jerk, he ripped the weapon from the warrior's grip—then brought his forehead smashing into his opponent's skull.

The Tzalik staggered, dazed—just long enough for Boru to grab his jaw with one massive hand, the back of his head with the other—

And with a sickening wrench, he snapped the man's neck.

Another warrior charged from the side—

But Ruka was already there.

His spiked club came down like a hammer, crushing the warrior's shoulder, splitting flesh and bone in one swing. The man screamed, his body collapsing beneath him, only for Ruka to lift him back up by the throat and toss him aside like a broken doll.

A group of three warriors tried to rally, their spears raised, eyes scanning the darkness—

Until Kota moved through them like a whisper.

They didn't even realize he was there until the first of them collapsed, daggers buried deep in his back.

The second turned—Kota's blade slid across his throat.

The third swung wildly, stabbing forward—but Kota wasn't there anymore.

He had already vanished, slipping into the shadows once more.

The fires of the Tzalik camp burned brighter, illuminating the chaos.

More warriors were pouring in from the far side, some more awake, some better armed. The real fight was about to begin.

But that wasn't Kuro's concern.

Not yet.

He had seen the shaman's tent.

Kuro moved like the wind, dodging through the maze of tents, stepping over fallen bodies, slipping past fights that were still unfolding. He didn't stop.

The shaman's presence burned like a black sun in the heart of the camp.

Something was wrong.

The air around the tent felt heavy, the scent of blood thicker here than anywhere else. Torches flickered unnaturally, their flames twisting in the windless night.

Kuro pushed through the entrance flap, slipping inside.

Kota stood in the center of the room, his daggers dripping red, his expression grim.

The shaman was on the ground, breathing heavily, his body covered in ritual markings. His arms and chest had been painted in dark sigils, the symbols still glowing faintly, pulsing with a sickly light.

The old Tzalik's mouth twisted into a grin when he saw Kuro.

"You're too late," he rasped.

Kuro grabbed him by the throat, lifting him slightly, just enough that his feet barely touched the ground.

"Too late for what?"

The shaman laughed.

"Your war has only just begun."

Kuro tightened his grip, but the old Tzalik just grinned wider, eyes glowing brighter.

Kota stepped forward, tense. "Something's wrong—"

The shaman's body seized.

Then, the sigils on his chest exploded outward, sending a pulse of dark energy through the tent.

Kuro barely had time to react, shielding his face as the force knocked him back. The shaman's body convulsed violently, his skin blackening, his bones cracking from the inside.

Then—silence.

Kota cursed, stepping forward.

Kuro's vision cleared just in time to see what remained of the Tzalik shaman.

His body had withered, flesh twisted, eyes hollow and dead. But the markings on his skin still moved, crawling like living things, shifting into a new pattern.

A symbol Kuro had never seen before.

Kota stared. "What… the hell is that?"

Kuro didn't know.

But his gut twisted, deep and primal, like something ancient inside him recognized it.

And whatever it was—

It wasn't over.

A sudden, piercing howl echoed through the jungle.

Not human.

Not animal.

Something else.

Kuro and Kota exchanged glances.

Then—outside, the camp erupted in screams.

Not battle cries.

Not dying warriors.

Something else had come.

Something worse.

And Kuro knew, with absolute certainty, that this war had just taken a very different turn.

The screams outside the tent sent a ripple of tension through Kuro's body. They were not the screams of dying warriors—they were the screams of men who had seen something they could not understand.

Something unnatural.

Kuro exchanged a brief glance with Kota, who had already drawn his daggers again, his posture low, tense. The shaman's corpse still twitched on the ground between them, the writhing sigils on his body pulsing like living things, twisting into a symbol Kuro had never seen before.

The air inside the tent felt wrong. Heavy. Thick with the scent of blood and something else—something deeper, darker, ancient.

Kuro forced his instincts into sharp focus, shaking off the unnatural chill crawling over his skin. Whatever was happening outside, they needed to move.

The war wasn't over yet.

Kuro and Kota burst from the tent, stepping into a battlefield that had transformed.

The Tzalik warriors were no longer fighting back.

They were running.

Some dropped their weapons and fled into the jungle, their faces twisted in pure terror. Others stood frozen, eyes locked on something deeper in the camp—something just out of sight, beyond the fires, hidden in the dark.

Kuro's sharp gaze flicked across the battlefield, his mind rapidly processing the changes.

Boru and Ruka were still fighting, but their opponents were no longer fighting back—they were desperate, erratic, swinging wildly, trying to get away rather than kill.

Varek and Sia had taken position near a fallen wooden barricade, their bows drawn, eyes scanning the shadows with lethal precision.

The jungle was silent.

Except for the breathing.

Something big was moving at the edge of the firelight, just beyond their sight.

Kuro's fur bristled.

Then, from the darkness, a second howl tore through the night—not human, not beast, but something in-between. A sound that dug into the bones, that made even the **strongest warriors falter.

And then it stepped forward.

The creature did not walk like a man, but it wasn't fully an animal either.

Its body was Maw'Tanu in shape, the long arms, the hunched posture, the powerful legs—but its fur was matted with blood, its eyes glowing a deep, sickly red, its mouth twisted into a snarl far too wide, too unnatural.

Its fingers ended in jagged claws, dripping with something black and foul.

It wasn't alive.

Not fully.

Kuro's instincts screamed at him.

This wasn't just another Tzalik warrior.

This was something else.

Something created.

The Revenant moved first.

Kuro had barely a heartbeat to react before the creature lunged, its clawed hand swinging in a vicious arc.

Kuro twisted, ducking just in time, feeling the air tear past his face—but the Revenant's second hand came too fast, a brutal backhanded strike aimed straight for his ribs.

Kuro couldn't dodge.

He raised his arms, absorbing the hit—

The impact was like stone crashing into his bones.

He was hurled backward, his feet skidding through the dirt, his muscles burning from the sheer force.

-40 HP (Heavy Strike!)

Kuro: 130/170 HP

Kuro's teeth clenched, his body absorbing the pain, adjusting. This thing hit harder than any normal warrior.

But it was still just a body.

And bodies could break.

He launched forward, closing the distance in a single bound, his Duskrunner Claws flashing as he aimed for its throat.

The Revenant didn't flinch.

It moved in unnatural ways, its body twisting at an impossible angle, avoiding the attack with an eerie fluidity.

But Kuro had expected that.

He adjusted mid-motion, spinning on his heel, his tail snapping out like a whip, striking the Revenant across the face.

The force sent the creature staggering sideways, its head snapping back—

And that was all the opening Kuro needed.

His fists slammed into its chest, claws sinking deep. He dug in, twisting, feeling flesh tear beneath his fingers.

The Revenant shrieked, its mouth opening too wide, an unnatural, inhuman sound escaping from deep within its throat.

Then—

It grabbed him.

The creature's clawed fingers locked around Kuro's wrists, stopping him from tearing further.

Kuro snarled, trying to pull away—but the Revenant held on.

And then he felt it.

A sickly, cold pulse of energy crawling up his arms, spreading through his veins, sapping his strength.

Debuff: Necrotic Drain (Weakened Strength for 5 Seconds!)

Kuro growled in frustration.

This wasn't just a monster—this was sorcery.

The shaman's magic had twisted this thing, reshaped it, turned it into something beyond life.

And if magic had created it—then maybe magic could end it.

Kuro dropped low, using his weight to throw the Revenant off balance. It stumbled forward, its grip loosening just slightly—

And Kuro tore his arms free.

The moment he had space, he turned his focus inward, drawing on the power of his body, his instincts, his raw strength.

He gripped the Revenant's arm, twisted—

SNAP.

The creature howled as its elbow bent the wrong way, bone jagged through its skin.

Kuro didn't let up.

He lunged, wrapping an arm around its neck, his legs kicking off the ground, using his momentum to pull the creature into a death roll.

They crashed into the dirt, but Kuro was already on top, pinning the Revenant down—

Then he drove his claws deep into its skull, twisting, pushing, digging—

Until the glow in its eyes went out.

The Revenant stopped moving.

Kuro stood slowly, his chest rising and falling, his breath coming sharp and controlled. His fur was slick with dark blood, his muscles still burning from the struggle.

But he had won.

His gaze flicked to the battlefield.

The remaining Tzalik warriors had fled, their will to fight broken beyond repair. The fires of their camp burned unchecked, casting long, eerie shadows across the bodies left behind.

Boru, Ruka, Kota, Sia, and Varek all stood among the wreckage, their faces grim, their weapons still in hand.

They had fought.

They had won.

But something much worse was coming.

Kuro let out a slow breath, opening his Status Window to check his progress.

+80 XP (Revenant Defeated!)

+50 XP (Battle Victory Bonus!)

Total XP Gained: +130 XP

Kuro: 170/600 XP Needed to Level Up

He was stronger now. But not strong enough.

The war was far from over.

And the real enemy was still out there.