Humanities weakness.
You waddle out of the cabin and back into the freezing cold mountains. The wind howls through the trees, carrying flurries of snow that sting your face. The storm has worsened, and visibility is getting worse. Whatever you’re out here for better be worth it.
As you push forward, the same horrifying scream pierces the silence to your right. Your heart pounds as you slowly turn your head, eyes locking onto a massive silhouette in the distance. The figure is enormous—easily 8 to 9 feet tall—with a strikingly muscular build. It looms over the snow, its presence unnatural.
You raise your rifle, peering through the scope. The creature kneels over the torn remains of a deer, its powerful hands ripping into the flesh as it feasts. Its deep blue skin glistens in the cold moonlight, a shocking contrast to the crimson blood smeared across its chest and arms. What was once white fur, now stained with gore, clings to its forearms and shoulders. It wears no clothing on its upper body, and what remains of a shredded pair of pants barely covers its lower half.
A sickening realization hits you—this thing is not human.
Your hands tighten around the rifle, your finger hovering over the trigger as you trace your aim up to its head. The creature grunts, tearing another chunk of meat from the carcass with its unnaturally large teeth.
Do you fire, risking attracting its attention? Or do you move closer, hoping to learn more about what you’re dealing with?
As you push forward, the same horrifying scream pierces the silence to your right. Your heart pounds as you slowly turn your head, eyes locking onto a massive silhouette in the distance. The figure is enormous—easily 8 to 9 feet tall—with a strikingly muscular build. It looms over the snow, its presence unnatural.
You raise your rifle, peering through the scope. The creature kneels over the torn remains of a deer, its powerful hands ripping into the flesh as it feasts. Its deep blue skin glistens in the cold moonlight, a shocking contrast to the crimson blood smeared across its chest and arms. What was once white fur, now stained with gore, clings to its forearms and shoulders. It wears no clothing on its upper body, and what remains of a shredded pair of pants barely covers its lower half.
A sickening realization hits you—this thing is not human.
Your hands tighten around the rifle, your finger hovering over the trigger as you trace your aim up to its head. The creature grunts, tearing another chunk of meat from the carcass with its unnaturally large teeth.
Do you fire, risking attracting its attention? Or do you move closer, hoping to learn more about what you’re dealing with?