It was around five in the afternoon. Shadows stretched behind the trees as the forest, as usual, held its breath in a deceptive calm. The spring wind blew gently, making the leaves shiver in a dance that almost seemed festive.
But beneath that peaceful surface, a latent tension pulsed. Nothing unusual in such a savage place: here, every creature lived to feed, survive, or defend its territory. Because when night fell, others would take their place.
All around—claw slashes, brutal bites, guttural roars. The weapons of those who had nothing but flesh to fight with. They hunted, they devoured—driven only by their pure, absolute instinct to survive.
But not all of them were that primitive.
Some creatures, naturally more intelligent, used other means to dominate. And in that quiet struggle for control, territorial wars broke out often. Almost always ending in bloodbaths.
