(Damien POV – Fragmented)
The storm had passed, but the rain still fell in slow, heavy drops—cold against my skin, mixing with blood and ash.
I woke face-down in mud that smelled of wet char and iron. My body felt wrong—too heavy, too sharp. Horns throbbed at my temples, fully curved now, no longer receding like they used to. Claws dug into the ground as I pushed up—longer, blacker, crusted red. Shadows clung to my arms and chest like wet tar, reluctant to let go even in daylight.
No memory of the night.
Only flashes: thunder cracking the sky, lightning illuminating terrified faces, shadows exploding outward in a storm of black. A village—rogue wolves, outcasts, no pack ties—now nothing but smoldering ruins around me. Thatched roofs collapsed into glowing embers. Wooden walls blackened and split. Bodies strewn like broken dolls—throats torn, limbs twisted, eyes wide in final terror.
