October 1941. Forest west of London.
The deep thrum of the steam propellers echoed against the trees like the heartbeat of a sick iron beast.
THRUMM… THRUMM… THRUMM…
The airship HMS Iron Vesper pushed its way at low altitude through the thick fog. Beneath its tarred canvas and riveted-plate belly, gas lights cast yellowish cones that barely scratched the darkness of the forest.
A square-jawed man with military sideburns leaned over the starboard railing, the collar of his coat turned up against the freezing wind. His voice, low but firm, traveled through the speaking tube to the entire crew.
"Operations team in position over Sector Seven. No visual or auditory contact with the Erebus Scientific. Last known transmission was twenty-seven hours ago…" He paused, his breath condensing into white plumes. "…and that makes seven confirmed disappearances in the last fifteen days within this perimeter. Eight, if we count the Harrow Weald shepherd who never returned with his sheep."
CRACCKK…
A large branch snapped under the invisible weight of something moving between the trees. The sound was swallowed by the constant roar of the boilers.
"The reports match," he continued, his voice growing graver. "Victims bound with twisted copper wire… sometimes with their own intestines. Bites that pierce muscle down to the bone. Savage dismemberments. The bite marks don't match any known canid in the British Isles. And in at least three corpses…" he lowered his tone to a murmur, "…they found retractable claw marks inside the thoracic cavities. As if the beast had opened the victim from within."
A heavy silence fell over the cabin. The only sounds were the rhythmic clank-clank of the connecting rods and the distant whistle of a safety valve.
Suddenly, a young, sharp voice cut through the air:
"Look, Jonathan!"
Everyone turned.
The young woman with black hair tied in a military braid pointed toward the tree canopy. She wore the black uniform of the Crown's Special Operations Division: a fitted serge jacket, immaculate tie, straight trousers tucked into tall leather boots, and a long black coat cinched by a wide bronze belt. On her lapel gleamed a silver six-pointed insignia, and on her back was embroidered a crowned rampant lion.
There, among shreds of fog drifting like languid ghosts, pulsed a reddish glow.
THUMP… THUMP…
It was the Erebus Scientific.
Or what was left of it.
The Iron Vesper's spotlight swept the scene with its cold white beam.
The beam of light slowly descended toward the forest floor.
Inside the wreckage of the Erebus Scientific, a man advanced with extreme caution among twisted bronze straps and splintered wood. In his right hand he held a massive wide-bore blunderbuss, and in his left, a bull's-eye lantern whose light trembled slightly.
The interior smelled of burnt oil, blood, and something wild. The engine room gears still turned slowly in the gloom: click-clack… click-clack…
The lantern illuminated a body lying on the floorboards.
The face was unrecognizable: cheeks torn down to the bone, eyes gouged out, jaw dislocated at an impossible angle. Blood had coagulated into a black mirror around the head, and arterial sprays painted the bulkhead.
The man crouched, holding his breath. After a few seconds, he stood up and activated the communicator on his coat collar.
"Jonathan Collins reporting," he said in a tense voice. "I've found the Erebus Scientific. There's a corpse inside the gondola. It's Derek, from the research team. He's… torn apart. No signs of struggle, just silence and blood. I'll rendezvous with the team at the southern perimeter. Repeat: heading to the meeting point."
He stowed the communicator, raised the blunderbuss, and carefully exited the wreckage.
The forest under the moon seemed even denser. Two figures moved stealthily between the trees, weapons raised, lanterns carving narrow tunnels of light through the fog.
On the left walked a tall, athletic man with platinum-white hair combed back into sharp points. His electric-blue eyes gleamed with unnatural intensity. He carried a repeating carbine with a fixed bayonet.
Beside him was the young woman with the military braid, revolver in one hand and lantern in the other.
Suddenly, a low, wet sound stirred in the underbrush.
A branch snapped behind them.
The white-haired man spun sharply, carbine raised.
"Did you hear that?" he asked quietly.
The young woman stopped, aiming her revolver into the darkness.
"It sounded close," she replied, tense.
"Stay here. I'll take a look. Don't move."
She hesitated for a second but nodded.
"Alright… Be careful, Simon."
Simon gave her a quick glance and slipped between the trees, following the source of the noise, his lantern sweeping the fog.
The young woman remained still in her position, heart pounding, watching the darkness with her revolver steady in her hands.
A little further ahead, the black-haired man advanced cautiously, sweeping the ground with his lantern. Dry leaves crunched under his boots. Every so often he stopped, listening intently.
Crunch… crunch… crunch…
Suddenly, a low, wet growl emerged from the underbrush, followed by branches breaking violently.
SHHHHHRRRRIIIP… THUD… THUD…
The black-haired man's lantern illuminated two red eyes glowing like embers.
It was a wolf. Colossal. Shoulders broader than a horse's, matted black-and-crimson fur, jaws open to reveal fangs like ivory daggers.
It lunged with a savage roar.
The black-haired man screamed in terror and pulled the trigger — BANG! — but it was too late.
The enormous paws knocked him down. The jaws closed around his right arm with a horrific CRUNCH. The bone snapped and blood spurted in a hot arc.
"AAAAAAAAAHHH! Help! God, help me!"
The black-haired young woman, several meters back, watched everything in horror.
"No!" she cried, her voice breaking with panic. "Phillip!"
She fired twice at the beast — BANG! BANG! — The bullets struck the wolf's shoulder, but it didn't even flinch.
The wolf shook its head brutally. Phillip's arm tore off with a sickening RRRRRIP!
Phillip's scream turned into a horrible gurgle as the jaws closed around his skull.
CRACK-CRUNCH-SPLAT.
The young woman staggered back in horror, breathing in short gasps, eyes wide.
"Oh my God… no… Phillip… this can't be happening!"
She fired again and again, but the bullets bounced uselessly off the thick hide.
The wolf turned its glowing eyes toward her and charged with a deep growl.
The young woman ran backward, her boots slipping on the wet leaves.
More monstrous shapes emerged from the fog: three, four more wolves.
From the trees came the thunder of a blunderbuss.
BOOM!
The lead wolf's head exploded in a red cloud of bone and brain.
Simon burst through the underbrush, weapon still smoking, and shouted:
"Violet! This way! Run!"
Violet ran toward him without looking back, terror still pounding in her chest.
"Emely!" Simon called when he saw a figure approaching, drawn by the shots. "This way!"
The newcomer, a woman with quick and decisive movements, joined them without stopping, revolver in hand.
Behind them, the pack howled with a guttural, blood-chilling sound.
The heavy paws thundered ever closer: THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD…
The chase had begun.
The chase was a hell of shadows and thunder.
Violet, Simon, and Emely sprinted at full speed between the trees, their boots sinking into wet leaves and rotten branches. Behind them, the pack of colossal wolves howled with a guttural sound that seemed to rise from the bowels of the earth. THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD… The heavy paws made the ground tremble like war drums.
"We have to reach the airship!" Simon shouted without slowing down, the blunderbuss still smoking in his hands. "Don't look back! Keep the pace!"
"It's too far!" Violet answered, panting, the revolver still in her right hand. "Those monsters will catch us before then!"
Emely, running to her left, dodged a fallen trunk with feline agility.
"Then run faster! I'm not dying devoured in this damn forest!"
Simon activated the communicator on his coat collar, speaking between ragged breaths while leaping over twisted roots.
"Iron Vesper, this is Captain Simon! Respond! Critical situation! The team is under attack by hostile creatures! Multiple hostiles, extremely large and resistant to gunfire! We need immediate extraction at the southern perimeter! Repeat: immediate extraction!"
The pilot's voice crackled back through the communicator, distorted by interference:
"Captain, received. We're ascending for better visibility. What is your exact position?"
"Keep the lights on and prepare to lower the ramp when you see us!" Simon roared.
Suddenly, through gaps in the trees, they spotted lights in the sky: the yellowish spotlights of the Iron Vesper shining like beacons of hope. The airship was ascending slowly, its huge dark silhouette outlined against the moon, moving farther away.
"There it is!" Violet shouted, pointing desperately. "But… it's moving away!"
Simon looked up in disbelief and fury.
"What the hell are you doing?!" he bellowed into the communicator. "The airship is leaving! You're abandoning us! Descend immediately, damn it! We're right below you! Repeat: descend now or you'll leave us here to be eaten alive!"
The response took a second too long.
At that moment, Jonathan Collins's voice broke into the transmission, tense but controlled:
"This is Jonathan Collins. I won't be able to rendezvous with you right now. I have… some problems. You'll have to proceed without me. Good luck, team. Collins out."
Scene change.
The forest had grown darker, more ancient. The fog tangled between the trunks like spectral fingers, and the air smelled of damp earth, moss, and recent death.
Jonathan Collins advanced alone through the underbrush, his steps firm yet cautious. His imposing figure stood out even in the gloom. He had an angular, marked face with a strong jaw and defined cheekbones. His pale skin showed several visible scars that gave him a rugged, deeply experienced appearance. His short, silver-gray hair was disheveled, with a few rebellious strands sticking up. A black eyepatch covered his left eye, while the visible eye burned with an intense yellow tone, hard as molten amber and full of implacable determination.
He wore the Division's elegant long black coat, tailored and military-cut, reaching almost to the ground. On the back, embroidered in silver thread, shone a crowned rampant lion with the letters L.I.O.N. beneath it, identical to the rest of the team. Under the coat peeked a dark high-necked sweater. A gas mask hung from his belt, ready for use, and on his right shoulder he carried a technological metal rig connected to a flexible tube, part of an advanced survival or combat system. The huge blunderbuss rested in his hands like an extension of his own will.
Suddenly, he stopped.
Before him, slowly emerging from the fog, appeared his enemy.
It was an enormous, eerie, deformed stag — an abomination that seemed to have stepped out of a Victorian nightmare. Its antlers, twisted and black as wrought iron, spread into an irregular and menacing crown, dripping a thick, dark sap. Its coat, once perhaps noble, was now a tattered and putrid mantle, with patches of skin hanging like old rags. Its eyes, sunken and glowing with a sickly light, reflected a cruel and unnatural intelligence.
Impaled in the center of those monstrous antlers, pierced by several sharp tines, was a man. Still alive. He was agonizing with shallow, labored breaths and weak moans. Blood bubbled from his mouth and his body jerked with every movement of the beast.
Jonathan narrowed his yellow eye and took a step closer, observing carefully. Then he saw the torn black uniform beneath the blood and grime, and the rampant lion embroidered on the back.
"It's one of ours…" he murmured in a deep voice. "From the Erebus Scientific research team."
The deformed stag tilted its head slightly, making the man's body move like a broken doll. A low, vibrating sound — almost a sickly purr — rose from its throat as it watched Jonathan with those glowing eyes.
Jonathan clenched his jaw, his yellow eye burning with cold determination. He slowly raised the blunderbuss, aiming straight at the beast's head.
"Come on…" he muttered hoarsely. "Show me what you're made of."
The stag pawed the ground once. The earth trembled. The man impaled on its antlers let out a long, agonized moan.
And then, the creature charged.
The forest became the stage for a legend.
The beast charged like a runaway steam train, antlers forward, the agonized man's body shaking like a macabre trophy. Jonathan spun on himself with brutal acrobatics, his black coat billowing like a war cape. The blunderbuss roared — BOOM! — and the shot struck the creature's shoulder, tearing off a chunk of putrid flesh that flew in a spray of black blood and bone fragments.
But the beast did not fall. It roared, a sound that made the leaves on the trees vibrate, and turned with impossible speed. Jonathan leapt backward, landing on a thick root like a spring. The impact of the antlers against the trunk where he had been a second earlier split the wood as if it were paper.
"You're uglier than I expected, you son of a bitch!" Jonathan shouted, reloading with a fluid motion while running diagonally. "But I've killed worse things before breakfast!"
The stag charged again. Jonathan pushed off a trunk, spun in the air like an acrobat from a hellish circus, and landed for a fleeting moment on the beast's back. From there he fired point-blank at the base of the skull — BOOM! The recoil threw him backward. The creature reared up, bellowing in pain, and the impaled man let out a heart-wrenching scream as the antlers dug even deeper into his flesh.
Hot blood splattered Jonathan's face. Chunks of viscera hung from the tines like grotesque garlands. The smell of burnt meat and rot filled the air.
Jonathan rolled across the ground, sprang to his feet, and ran toward a centuries-old oak. He used the trunk as a wall and pushed upward, climbing with one hand while the other held the blunderbuss. The stag rammed the tree in fury. The impact shook the entire forest. Jonathan released at the precise moment, fell like an avenging angel, and landed right in front of the beast's head.
"This ends now!" he roared, and emptied the two remaining barrels at point-blank range into one of the glowing eyes.
The explosion was deafening. The eye burst in a fountain of gelatin and black blood. The creature staggered backward, bellowing in agony, and the man impaled on its antlers convulsed violently, spitting blood and incoherent pleas.
Jonathan dropped the empty blunderbuss, drew a long curved knife from his belt, and charged. He leapt onto one of the lower antlers, using the momentum to climb as if scaling a living tower. The stag bucked like a possessed bull, but Jonathan clung with inhuman strength.
He reached the impaled man's chest. Their eyes met. The researcher, his gaze glassy and filled with pain that was no longer human, whispered through bubbles of blood:
"…please…"
Jonathan placed a gloved hand on the man's chest, right over his heart. His voice, low and grave, cut through the chaos like a divine verdict:
"Rest, brother. The lion does not forget its own."
With a precise and merciful movement, he drove the knife to the hilt. The man's body tensed one last time… and then relaxed. The agony ended. His eyes faded in peace.
The stag, sensing the death of its trophy, let out a roar of pure rage that made leaves fall from the trees. It reared with renewed fury.
But Jonathan was already ready.
With a war-cry that echoed like thunder, he pushed off the antlers, spun in the air, and landed on the beast's neck. He pulled a grenade from his metal rig, activated it with his teeth, and shoved it deep into the open wound of the shattered eye.
"Fuck you!"
He leapt away with an acrobatic somersault.
The explosion was colossal.
The stag's head burst in a rain of bone, black brain, and antler splinters. The gigantic body collapsed like a crumbling building, raising a cloud of leaves and earth. The forest fell silent, save for the crackling of burnt flesh and the slow dripping of blood.
Jonathan rose slowly, covered in blood and gore, his black coat billowing in the night wind. He looked at the smoking corpse of the stag and then at the man who now rested in peace among the shattered antlers.
"L.I.O.N.," he murmured, touching the embroidered lion on his back. "To the end."
The yellow eye gleamed one last time under the moon.
Jonathan stood in silence for a few seconds, contemplating the smoking remains of the abomination. Then he activated the communicator with a sharp gesture.
"This is Jonathan Collins reporting. Do you copy?"
Simon's voice came back almost instantly, still agitated but relieved.
"Loud and clear, Jonathan. What's your situation?"
Jonathan looked at the researcher's impaled corpse among the shattered antlers and sighed deeply.
"I neutralized the threat. It was a stag… or what was left of one. A deformed thing, the size of a draft horse, with antlers like iron spears. It had one of ours impaled on them. He was from the Erebus Scientific research team. He was still alive when I arrived… agonizing. I recognized him by the uniform and the lion on his back. I ended his suffering. He rests in peace now."
There was a brief silence on the other end.
"Understood," Simon replied in a grave voice. "Good work, Jonathan. Rest in peace… whoever he was."
Jonathan quickly wiped the blood from his knife and continued:
"What's your situation? I heard the airship left."
Simon let out a bitter laugh.
"That bastard Chris abandoned us. The coward took the Iron Vesper up and headed east. He left us here as bait. But we're no longer in immediate danger. We managed to lose the wolf pack and we've taken shelter. We're in an abandoned mansion northeast of Sector Seven, about two and a half kilometers from where we split up.
"It's an old Victorian building, three stories high, with turrets on the corners and a partially collapsed roof. The façade is covered in black ivy and there's a dry fountain in the main courtyard with broken statues. The first-floor windows are boarded up, but the main door is still intact. There's a large central hall with a huge fireplace and stairs leading to the upper floors. We're on the ground floor, barricaded in the hall. The airship's lights are no longer visible, so I guess we're on our own for now."
Jonathan nodded to himself, mentally recording every detail.
"Understood. Victorian mansion, northeast of Sector Seven, two and a half kilometers. Dry fountain with broken statues and black ivy. I'll arrive before dawn. Hold your position and don't go out until I get there. Collins out."
"We'll be waiting," Simon replied. "Be careful out there. Simon out."
The transmission ended.