2. Jytos

2

JYTOS

T he stench of fear hangs thick in the air. The delicious aroma sets my blood singing. My tentacles twitch with anticipation as I stalk through the craggy mountain terrain. Every muscle in my seven-foot frame coils, ready to strike at any given moment.

A faint growl rumbles in my throat. "Come out, come out, wherever you are," I taunt, my deep voice echoing off the rocky walls.

The creature, a massive, six-legged beast with razor-sharp tusks, lets out a terrified bellow. It's trapped between me and the sheer cliff face, nowhere left to run. Pathetic.

I bare my teeth in a feral grin. My long tongue flicks out to taste the air. "That's right, big boy. Time to play."

My tentacles lash out, wrapping around the beast's thick legs. It thrashes wildly, but I'm stronger. Always stronger. With a vicious yank, I bring it crashing to the ground.

"Fuck yeah," I snarl, leaping onto its back. My claws dig into its hide as it bucks beneath me. "That all you got?"

The thrill of the hunt courses through my veins, a primal euphoria that nothing else can match. This is what I live for. What I was born for.

As the last of the Umbrath, I'm the apex predator in these godforsaken mountains. Everything here belongs to me. My territory. My hunting grounds. My prey.

The beast lets out one final, pitiful whimper before I sink my teeth into its throat. Hot blood floods my mouth, and I growl in satisfaction. Another successful hunt. Another day of survival in this harsh world that's tried so hard to wipe me out.

But I'm still here. Still fighting. Still winning.

I rip into my kill, savoring every bite. "Damn, that hits the spot," I mutter, licking blood from my lips. "Almost makes me wish there was someone around to share it with."

The words surprise me. Where the hell did that come from?

I wipe the blood from my chin, savoring the last traces of my meal. The beast's carcass lies at my feet. My tentacles twitch with residual excitement, but as the thrill of the hunt fades, an all-too-familiar emptiness creeps in.

"Fuck," I mutter, kicking at a nearby rock. It shatters against the cliff face. "Is this all there is?"

I look out over my domain, the craggy peaks and deep valleys stretching as far as the eye can see. It's mine, all of it. But what good is an empire with no one to rule?

My tentacles curl around my arms, an unconscious gesture of self-comfort. I growl, irritated by my own weakness. "Get it together, Jytos. You're the last Umbrath. Act like it."

But the words ring hollow. I'm the last of my kind, the sole survivor of a once-proud race. There's no one left who understands me. No one here who can match my power or challenge my will.

My black skin gleams in the harsh mountain sunlight. I'm a dark god in a world of light, feared and revered in equal measure.

"Who needs company anyway?" I snarl to the empty air. "I'm better off alone. Stronger. Faster. No one to slow me down or get in my way."

But even as I say it, I can't shake the nagging doubt. The longing for... something. Someone. A worthy adversary, perhaps. Or a loyal subject. Or...

"No," I growl, shaking my head violently. My tentacles lash out, carving deep gouges in the rock face. "That's not who I am. I don't need anyone. I don't want anyone."

I stare off in the distance for a brief moment, reminding myself of my resilience.

"I am Jytos," I roar, my voice echoing across the mountains. "King of these mountains. And I answer to no one but myself."

With a full stomach, I turn and begin to head back to my cave. I pause mid-stride. My tentacles twitch with sudden alertness. Something is off. The air thrums with an unfamiliar energy, setting my teeth on edge. Waira. And not just one or two, but a whole fucking pack of them.

"What the hell?" I growl, my deep voice echoing off the rocky cliffs.

This isn't right. Waira are solitary predators, not pack animals. In all my years ruling these mountains, I've never seen them gather like this. It's unnatural, and it pisses me off.

I scan the terrain with my green eyes. The waira are out there, I can sense them. Their presence is an affront to my dominion.

"You want to play, you overgrown mutts?" I snarl. "Bring it on."

But even as I posture, uncertainty gnaws at the back of my mind. Why now? Why here? Waira aren't known for their intelligence, but this... this feels orchestrated. Like someone's pulling their strings.

The thought of some unseen puppet master encroaching on my territory makes my blood boil. This is my domain, dammit. No one challenges me and lives to tell about it.

I crouch low on the rocky outcrop, my tentacles coiled tightly against my back. The human village sprawls below, a pathetic collection of wooden hovels and stone structures. The scent of smoke and unwashed bodies wafts up, making my nose wrinkle in disgust.

"Fucking humans," I mutter, my deep voice low. "Always huddling together like scared little prey."

But I can't deny the curiosity inside of me. These creatures, so weak and fragile, yet they persist. They build, they breed, they... leave offerings?

My green eyes narrow as I spot a familiar sight at the edge of the village. A dead human male, laid out on some kind of stone altar. It's not the first time I've seen this, and it sure as hell won't be the last.

"What's your game?" I growl, my tentacles twitching with irritation. "You think I want your cast-offs?"

I've encountered humans before, of course. Killed my fair share when they dared to encroach on my territory. But this... this is different. It's like they are trying to communicate in their primitive way.

A group of villagers gather around the altar, their voices carrying on the wind. I strain to listen, my superior hearing picking up snippets of their conversation.

"...appease the mountain god..."

"...protect us from the waira..."

"...sacrifice to the dark god..."

I can't help but smirk. Dark god, huh? I like the sound of that. But why do they think I want their dead? Do I look like a scavenger?

My tentacles lash out once more, carving deep gouges in the rock beneath me. The stone crumbles easily, a reminder of my strength. These humans, with their soft flesh and fragile bones, they're nothing compared to me.

And yet...

"Dammit," I snarl, punching the ground. The impact sends tremors through the earth, and I see a few villagers look up in alarm. "Why the hell do I care?" But I do care, and that pisses me off more than anything.

As I watch them scurry about like ants in their little village, I can't shake this nagging feeling. There's something... intriguing about them. Something that keeps drawing me back, time and time again.

"Fuck this," I growl, rising to my full height. "I've got better things to do than watch these idiots play house."

But even as I turn to leave, I know I'll be back. There's a mystery here, one that I'm determined to solve. And when I do... well, these humans better hope I like the answer.

I soon arrive at the entrance of my cave. Still feeling perplexed, I decide to collect some firewood and clear my mind. Before long, night descends. I perch atop my favorite outcropping, surveying my domain. The darkness doesn't hinder me; my eyes pierce through it like it's daylight. A short distance away, I see the flickering lights of the village.

Then I hear it. The howls. The snarls. The waira are on the move.

"Shit," I growl. "Looks like the mutts decided to crash the party at the village."

Part of me itches to join the fray. To show these upstart beasts who really rules these mountains. But I hold back, my muscles coiled tight with restraint.

"Not my problem," I mutter, even as the first screams reach my ears. "Let the humans deal with their own shit."

But it's hard to stay put. The sounds of battle, the scent of blood on the wind – it calls to something primal inside me.

"Dammit," I snarl, pacing back and forth along the ledge. "Why should I care? They're just humans. Weak. Pathetic. Not worth my time."

And yet, I can't tear my eyes away from the chaos unfolding nearby. The waira tear through the village's pitiful defenses like they're made of paper. Humans scatter like leaves in the wind, their terrified cries music to my ears.

"That's right," I growl, a savage grin splitting my face. "Run. See how helpless you are without your 'mountain god' to protect you."

I watch as a group of villagers make a stand, brandishing torches and crude weapons. It's almost admirable, in a stupid, suicidal kind of way. They don't stand a chance against the waira's savage strength and speed.

But I can't deny the spark of... something... their bravery ignites in me. It's been so long since I've faced a real challenge. These humans, weak as they are, at least have the balls to fight back.

I flex my muscles, feeling the raw power thrumming through my body. With a single leap, I could be down there. I could end this fight in seconds. Show both the waira and the humans what true strength looks like.

But I don't move. I stay rooted to my perch, watching the carnage unfold with a mixture of disgust and fascination.

"Not my fight," I remind myself, even as the battle rages on.

But deep down, I know I'm lying to myself. Something is changing, whether I like it or not. And I've got a feeling this is just the beginning.