I activate Scavenger's Intuition, and it pulls me to the left. I give the omelet one last dirty look before leaving it to whatever monster is brave enough to eat it.

  On my way to the next building, I spot something new—something I haven’t seen before. It’s tall, emaciated, and its face is a deer skull.

  "What the fuck is that?"

  My Identity skill activates instantly.

  I stare at the screen. "Oh, that’s not good."

  Usually, the system gives me basic information, but this feels different—almost like it’s worried. I swipe the screen away and look back to where the Wendigo was—but it's gone.

  I freeze, trying to process where it could have vanished, when I hear a deer bleating—but it’s all wrong. The sound abruptly starts and stops, repeating over and over. I look around, trying to find the source.

  Then I look up.

  It’s inches above me, still making that mocking noise. Hollow eyes stare into mine, and the stench of rotting flesh fills my nose.

  I feel something carving into my hand, but I don’t dare look away.

  The knife-like claw moves up my arm, etching something into my skin. I think that if I don’t look away, it won’t move.

  Then, the carving stops.

  The Wendigo’s maw snaps shut—inches from my face—before it pulls back into the darkness above, fading until only its bleached-white skull remains visible.

  Then—it vanishes.

  I stand there, frozen, my breath ragged. Finally, I lift my arm.

  Carved into my bloody skin is the skull of a rabbit, stretching from my hand to my forearm.

  As the adrenaline wears off, the pain floods in, and my thoughts scramble. I draw my revolver, scanning my surroundings, but the Wendigo is gone.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  I Identify the wound, hoping for answers.

  The system warns me again. No real information—but the name tells me enough.

  I’m the prey.

  And it’s hunting me.

  I shove my trolley forward, racing toward the summoned building. Rounding a corner, I push aside half-eaten corpses to clear my path.

  Fifteen minutes of running later, I reach the building. The sign above reads:

  FIELD STREET TOWER.

  I rush inside, head straight to the elevator, and hit Basement. The doors close, and I descend into darkness. I stash my trolley and backpacks, taking only my bow, arrows, revolver, extra ammo, and a bandage.

  Then I step back into the elevator and press for the top floor.

  The elevator is slow, giving me time to bandage my arm. I slump against the wall, exhaling shakily, letting my head rest against the mirror.

  I open my eyes—

  And stare directly into the hollow eyeholes of the Wendigo.

  It’s removed the panel above me, standing on the elevator roof.

  This time, I don’t freeze.

  I slam my fist against the emergency stop button, forcing the doors open. I dive out, twisting mid-air, and fire a shot.

  The bullet rips through its antler, blasting it off.

  The Wendigo shrieks—a distorted, bone-chilling cry—before vanishing into the shaft’s darkness.

  I lay there, heart pounding like it’s about to explode. I force myself up—it will come back.

  I need an open space. Somewhere it can’t hide.

  I search the office, avoiding the stairs and elevator—verticality is its strength.

  Then I find it—a balcony.

  Using a picnic table, I jump, reaching for the balcony of the next floor. I pull myself up.

  Inside, the Wendigo is searching—just like I was—trying to find a way to reach me unseen.

  I crack the sliding door open, just enough to fire an arrow through.

  It hears me—but too late.

  The arrow flies straight into its neck, piercing rotting flesh.

  It lets out a gurgling, bleating scream, then rips open a vent and vanishes.

  Thick, dark blood drips onto the carpet.

  I sling my bow onto my back, draw my revolver, and sprint up the stairs while it’s in the vents.

  The next floor is larger, with a food court—but that doesn’t matter.

  I hear it.

  It’s below me, crawling through the vents.

  I stop over a small air vent, revolver ready. The moment I see movement, I fire three rounds through the vent.

  The Wendigo screams—not in pain, but in rage.

  It thrashes violently, sending tremors through the floor. I see cracks forming—

  Then—silence.

  Did it bleed out?

  Slowly, I approach the cracked floor.

  Suddenly—BOOM.

  The Wendigo explodes through the floor, sending debris and dust flying.

  Dust blinds me, and it tackles me, slamming me onto the ground.

  My jaw snaps shut, and I bite through part of my lip.

  It lunges for my throat.

  I plant my feet against its chest, keeping it away, but I can’t hold out for long.

  My arms flail, searching for anything.

  My bow and revolver are gone—lost in the chaos.

  Then—my hand closes around something.

  It’s heavy. Square. Metal and wood.

  I don’t know what it is.

  I don’t care.

  I activate Powered Strike and swing it with everything I have.

  The moment it connects, something breaks—bone? Something inside the Wendigo.

  The impact sends it flying.

  I stagger to my feet, eyes still blurry from dust and blood.

  I see a dark shape moving.

  The Wendigo.

  It rises, just like me.

  I wipe the blood from my mouth.

  Round two.