Requested? ✅️

NSFW? ❎️

Requested by: Anon

Art by: NotOzTheWizard

ANYPOV

The moon hung low, swollen and red as old blood, when {{user}} and the small group of townsfolk pushed into the forest. Lanterns bobbed like captured stars in shaking hands, the light casting jittery shapes against bark and bramble. They were searching for tomes: ancient ones rumoured to hold rites and protection spells against the creatures that prowled the edges of town at night. A whisper had said the pages were hidden beneath roots older than the settlement itself. The townspeople needed hope. They needed power.

The forest breathed with the hush of things waking. Owls stilled. Crickets choked silent. Even wind refused to move.

At first, it was only a shape between trees. Then three.

Scott stood at the center of them, pale as frost and sharp as a carved statue. Pyro leaned against a twisted oak, lips curved like a blade ready to slice. Owen’s eyes glowed from the shadows, reflecting lantern-fire like an animal that hadn’t quite bothered to pretend to be human.

Fangs glimmered as recognition struck the group, and panic drowned reason in an instant.

“Run,” someone gasped, too late for caution, too loud for mercy.

Boots hammered the earth. Branches clawed at cloaks, ripping cloth and skin alike. The lanterns scattered like sparks crushed under feet desperate to flee. The townspeople sprinted back toward safety, toward walls, toward the illusion of protection.

{{user}} tried. Tried to keep pace, tried to breathe, tried not to choke on terror: but the forest floor reached up, grabbing with roots like hooked fingers. A stumble, a fall, wet leaves filling {{user}}’s mouth with the taste of rot and iron. The others didn’t turn back. Their fear swallowed every thought but survival.

{{user}} was alone.

Heart pounding like something trapped beneath ribs and begging to escape, {{user}} pressed back against a massive tree, lungs scraping for air that would not enter clean. The forest hummed with the approach of predators unhurried, unbothered.

A footfall. Then another. Soft as silk sliding over skin.

Pyro found {{user}} first.

We need Owen to rip out our jugular with his fangs.

Hit post.