He stood still long enough for the rain to soak through his coat, long enough for his racing heartbeat to settle into something steady. The creature was still there, back curved, the Awakened's body hanging from its jaws like a log snapped in half.
He forced himself to look closer.
Along its abdomen, the dark skin wasn't whole. A tear ran diagonally across one side. The edges hadn't closed; raw flesh flashed into view each time it shifted. The bleeding wasn't heavy, but it was enough to tell the wound wasn't fresh.
It hadn't been caused by the Awakened lying beneath it.
Its left hind leg dragged slightly. When it adjusted its stance, the weight didn't fall evenly. It faltered, just for a fraction of a second, before continuing. A small detail—but from this distance, he saw it clearly.
It had already been injured.
The thought didn't bring excitement. Just a thin line of reassurance. A piece of information quietly sliding into place.
There had been fighting beyond the Wall today. The Awakened were deployed. Reports had been handed in quickly. No one stayed longer than necessary.
Leaving behind a low-tier beast—wounded, not fully dead—wasn't unheard of.
It shouldn't be here, he thought.
The next thought followed without invitation.
Can I kill it?
He hated himself for how fast that question came. Stupid. But it was human—when faced with danger that showed weakness, the mind reached for possibility.
Then the image of the Awakened's body dragged him back.
That man had been stronger. Maybe not a combat specialist, but stronger. More experienced. And he had died faster than any calculation could finish forming.
He took a slow breath and forced his thoughts elsewhere.
No risks.
The safest option was the alarm.
Near the tool storage stood a mechanical warning device—a pull-horn used for major incidents: scaffold collapse, energy leaks, beast intrusion. Its sound carried far. Far enough to call back workers who hadn't left the area. Maybe even a few low-tier Awakened nearby.
He knew that.
And he also knew that the first to respond wouldn't be a professional reaction team.
It would be people like him.
The closest ones.
The fastest ones.
Some of them would die in his place.
His gloved hand tightened slightly.
Running in the chaos was clear. Logical. Easy.
No one would blame him. No one would know how long he had been here. It could all be recorded as another late-shift accident.
He didn't move.
As his thoughts layered over each other, his heel brushed against a small piece of metal on the ground.
A soft sound.
Muted by rain—but in the thinning space, still different.
The creature stopped.
Its jaws loosened. The Awakened's body dropped to the stone with a heavy thud. The curved head turned slowly.
And stopped—facing him.
The distance between them was shorter than he thought.
He stepped back once, his back hitting a tool rack.
No time to think. No room to hesitate.
The creature shifted its weight forward. The injured hind leg twitched, bent, then the low, curved body lunged.
He turned and ran into the tool storage.
Not because it was safe.
But because it was the only direction his body chose.
Metal clanged as he pushed through narrow rows of racks. A hook fell, striking the floor. The creature didn't slow. It slammed into the first steel frame, hard enough to rattle the entire structure. Blood seeped more freely from the abdominal wound, leaving a darker trail across the ground.
He stumbled, nearly falling, catching himself on the edge of a table. Something struck across his back—not claws, but the creature's hard body—throwing him off balance. His shoulder crashed into a metal crate.
Pain flared.
Instinct moved him before it could spread.
He rolled past a half-built scaffold. One of the support bars shifted sharply out of place. The creature charged without adjusting. When it hit the scaffold, the unstable structure gave way.
Steel screamed.
The frame collapsed sideways.
Part of it fell across the creature's back.
Not crushing it.
Not yet.
Twisted pipes slid over dark skin and jammed at its shoulder and spine, pinning it for a brief moment.
"Graaaaaaar!"
The growl was low, broken—not loud, but enough to vibrate through his ribs. It thrashed. The injured hind leg kicked wildly, dragging the scaffold several inches. Steel scraped against stone in sharp, painful sounds.
He stood less than three meters away, breathing hard, hands shaking so badly he had to press them against himself to steady them.
His shoulder throbbed. His wrist tingled. His mind felt strangely hollow.
The creature tore itself free.
Not cleanly. Not with the same force as before.
A broken metal bar remained lodged diagonally into its abdominal wound. Blood flowed more clearly now.
It stood on three stable legs. The left hind leg touched down, then lifted again, unable to bear weight. The curved head lowered. Its jaws parted—but it didn't immediately charge.
He stepped back again. His heel hit the edge of a table.
No more space.
In front of him stood the beast—wounded, but still large enough to kill him in a single impact.
He crouched instinctively and grabbed the nearest object—a thin metal rod, probably a brace for the scaffold.
Too light to be a weapon.
Too long to handle well.
But he held it tight.
He swung without strategy. The rod struck along its thick neck with a dry clang, leaving no real mark. The creature reacted slower than he expected. It turned—but the motion wasn't smooth. The abdominal wound dragged at its movement.
Its tail—or whatever extended behind it—swept sideways, smashing into a nearby rack. Tools crashed to the ground.
A heavy box fell onto his leg. Not broken—but enough to make him drop for a split second.
The creature lunged.
The distance closed so fast he smelled it—metallic blood and something older beneath.
He raised the rod instinctively, not aiming, not calculating.
The metal jammed into its mouth just as its jaws closed.
Not fatal.
But enough.
It halted, growled, stepped back to spit out the obstruction.
They both froze.
He pushed himself up slowly, eyes locked on it.
Its breathing was uneven. Blood dripped to the floor—distinct drops. The rod remained stuck halfway in its jaw, shifting painfully each time it moved. Every motion made the wound in its abdomen tighten and spasm.
No one charged.
The storage area now looked like a wreckage site. Twisted steel. Collapsed scaffolding. Tools scattered everywhere. Rain from outside splashed through the open doorway, spreading dark stains across the concrete under dim light.
In that broken space—
He and the creature faced each other.