The creature moved before Stiles saw it.
The sound device's echo had barely faded when a low, rattling growl rolled out of the cave — like stone grinding against stone. Stiles' breath hitched. His heart thudded so hard it rattled in his chest. But he tightened his grip on the strap of his backpack and stepped back toward the tree line.
Stay calm. Stay sharp. Watch first.
A shadow shifted within the darkness of the cave.Then another.
And then it emerged.
The satyr-beast was smaller than he imagined… but only in the way a bullet is "small." Compact, dense, coiled with energy. Its fur was a patchwork of dark browns and grayish tones, its legs bent at unnatural angles, hooves tilting sharply as it stepped into the daylight. Its upper body was lean but powerful — animalistic, sinewy, tense. Its eyes, pale and narrow, caught the light and seemed to glow for an instant.
Stiles sucked in a breath.
It's fast. Faster than I thought.
The creature's nostrils flared. It turned its head sharply toward him, scenting the air.
And then—It leaped.
Stiles dove sideways, hitting the dirt and rolling to his feet faster than he ever had in training. His mind moved quicker than his body.
Trap 1 — three meters north. If it keeps its angle—
The creature barreled forward, hooves slamming the forest floor, and snapped the first tripline.
A sharp clatter of metal rang out.
The beast flinched reacting instinctively to the sudden burst of sound. It wasn't injured, not really — the trap wasn't meant to harm. But it stumbled for half a second, momentum broken.
Stiles used the moment.
He sprinted to the left, weaving between two trees, forcing the creature to adjust its angle of pursuit. It roared something low and guttural and charged after him.
Trap 2 — the funnel trap. Make it chase me, then dodge out.
He cut right sharply.
The creature lunged after him…
…and ran straight into the second line.
The branches he had set earlier snapped upward, brushing its side, slowing it enough that it stumbled again. A shallow scrape formed along its flank from the wooden edge — nothing serious, just enough to agitate it.
The creature screeched and whirled toward Stiles, enraged.
He backed up, chest rising and falling, but he didn't let panic take over.
It's not using full power yet. It's testing me. Stay mobile.
He exhaled hard and shifted his stance — light on his toes, body angled sideways, weight distributed for movement rather than strength. Ronan's voice echoed in his head:
"You win by being faster and smarter, not stronger."
The creature charged again.
Stiles waited until the last moment, then pivoted sharply, letting it rush past him. He managed to strike its side with a quick blow — not enough to injure, but enough to disorient.
The beast staggered, confused for a heartbeat.
Stiles' mind analyzed every detail:
Right-side limp. Slight drag. Means its balance is compromised. Favor left approach. Don't get cornered. Keep it chasing—
The creature turned again, angrier than before.
It lunged.
Stiles dodged, barely. Its hoof clipped his sleeve, ripping the fabric. The force sent him spinning, but he caught himself with one hand on the ground and sprang sideways.
His breathing grew quicker.
Okay… okay… traps slowed it, but now it's serious.
The satyr-beast lowered its head, muscles tightening.
It was done being toyed with.
It bolted toward him, faster than before.
Stiles darted backward, weaving through a cluster of trees, letting the trunks act as obstacles. The creature slammed into one, shaking it violently. Bark rained down.
He didn't look back.
He kept running until he reached the final marker — the spot he'd chosen for close confrontation. The ground evened out, giving him space to move, dodge, survive.
He spun around, chest heaving.
The creature burst into the clearing.
And now—Now the real fight began.
THE DIRECT CONFRONTATION
The satyr-beast stamped the ground, hooves scraping lines into the dirt. Its breath came out in short, sharp bursts. Its eyes were locked onto Stiles now — fully aware, fully focused.
Stiles lowered his center of gravity, weight balanced, body ready.
His thoughts snapped into clarity.
It favors its left when attacking. Right limb weak. Hooves heavy — aim for missteps. Keep distance. Use speed.
The creature lunged.
Stiles dodged sideways and struck its shoulder with the heel of his palm. The hit wasn't strong — he didn't have the strength — but it redirected the creature's angle just enough for it to stumble.
It recovered quickly and swung its head toward him, horns grazing the air inches from his chest.
Stiles ducked and rolled beneath the strike, dust kicking up behind him.
The creature spun and swung a hoof.
Stiles jumped back, narrowly avoiding the blow.
Too close. I need space.
He retreated a few steps.
The creature advanced.
Again it lunged.
Stiles stepped sideways, guided the momentum with one hand on its shoulder, and pushed just enough to redirect it. The creature skidded past him, digging grooves into the earth with its hooves to regain control.
Its growl grew deeper, angrier.
Stiles could feel the weight of its fury in the air.
He steadied his breath.His heart hammered.But his mind stayed calm.
Come on. Focus. Read it. Adjust.
The creature charged again with renewed aggression. Stiles dodged left, then ducked right, barely avoiding a swipe of its hoof. He struck its weakened leg with a quick kick — not hard, but precise.
The creature stumbled, falling to one knee for half a second.
Stiles stepped back, panting, muscles burning.
If I can keep it unbalanced… if I keep wearing it down… it'll break stance on its own.
He circled the creature, searching for an opening.
The creature rose again, head lowered, breath ragged.
It lunged with a sudden burst of speed.
Stiles dodged again — but not perfectly this time. The creature's horn grazed his side, sending a jolt of pain shooting across his ribs. His breath caught, knees buckling.
He rolled away and pushed himself to his feet, jaw clenched.
Stay up. Stay alert.
The creature roared — a harsh, bone-deep sound — and charged again.
Stiles braced himself, pivoted, slid under its arm, and slammed his shoulder against its weakened leg. The creature collapsed sideways, crashing into the dirt.
For a moment…Just a moment…
It went still.
Its chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths. Its head lowered, eyes unfocused. Its limbs sprawled awkwardly, unmoving.
Stiles froze.
His heart hammered.
Is it done?
He took one cautious step back. Then another.
The creature remained motionless.
He swallowed hard.
Do I… finish it? Do I walk away? It's down. It's not fighting. I can just… leave.
His chest tightened.
"I don't have to kill it," he whispered. "It's already beaten. I can just tell Ronan I—"
The creature's eyes snapped open.
It lunged upward with explosive force.
Stiles didn't even have time to scream. The creature's hoof swiped across his back — a sharp, burning pain that knocked him forward. He hit the ground hard, the breath leaving his body in a choked gasp.
"Ronan!" he tried to shout — but his voice cracked.
He scrambled backward, but the creature was already rising, ready to strike again. Everything blurred, his mind racing, heart pounding wildly.
Then—
A distant crack echoed across the trees.
Not loud. Not sharp. More like a muted pop swallowed by the forest.
The creature jerked suddenly.
It staggered once.Twice.Fell to its knees.
And then dropped fully to the ground, unmoving.
Stiles froze.
For a moment he could hear nothing but his own breathing — fast, uneven, panicked.
Leaves rustled behind him.
Footsteps — steady, controlled.
Ronan emerged from between the trees, expression calm but eyes blazing with something fierce and sharp.
He reached Stiles in seconds.
"You okay?" Ronan asked, voice steady but tense.
Stiles tried to speak, but only a shaky breath came out. Ronan crouched beside him, one hand hovering over Stiles's back without touching.
"You're hurt. Not badly, but you're hurt."
Stiles nodded weakly.
"Yeah," he whispered. "Yeah, it got me."
Ronan let out a slow breath — not angry, not disappointed — something closer to relief.
"You did well," he said quietly. "Better than most adults could have. But you hesitated."
Stiles shut his eyes, swallowing hard.
"I… I thought it gave up."
Ronan shook his head.
"Creatures don't give up. Not when cornered. Not when scared. They play dead. They wait. They watch for hesitation."He paused."And you hesitated."
Stiles opened his eyes, breathing shallow.
Ronan stood and offered him a hand.
"Come on. Let's get you checked. We'll talk after."
Stiles stared at the ground for a long moment before taking Ronan's hand. The man pulled him to his feet effortlessly, steadying him as he staggered slightly.
Together they walked toward the clearing's edge — the creature lying silent behind them.
The fight was over.
But Stiles knewdeep downthis was only the beginning.