Nourredine led his squad — ten elite members — deep into the darkened territories.
At first, everything was eerily silent.
They had fought off a few hostile dogs earlier, but for the past two hours, there hadn't been a single sign of life.
The deeper they ventured, the heavier the air became.
Suddenly, distant howls echoed through the night.
Michael Narov, Nourredine's loyal second-in-command, began to tremble.
Sweat poured from his forehead despite the chilling wind.
"This... this is impossible," Michael stammered.
The howls grew louder — a deafening tsunami of sound.
Within seconds, a tidal wave of feral dogs stormed toward the squad.
The team fought ferociously, guns roaring against flesh and fang.
But then — the wave stopped.
The creatures retreated into the shadows.
The squad barely caught their breath when a second, even louder sound shattered the air — a sound not belonging to a horde, but to something singular... something monstrous.
Without warning, the ground trembled.
A colossal figure dropped from the sky, hitting the earth with an earthquake-like impact.
Michael had no time to react.
He was crushed under the monstrous weight.
The surviving members froze, paralyzed by pure terror.
Before them stood an abomination:
a towering hybrid — part man, part wolf — muscles coiled like steel cables, towering nearly nine meters tall.
In its hand gleamed a brutal weapon, forged for slaughter.
Could the creatures have evolved... both genetically and intellectually?
Within mere seconds, the squad was reduced to four members standing alongside Nourredine.
Five lives — gone without a trace.
In the chaos, Nourredine's mind flashed back —
to a simpler time, far removed from blood and death.
***
He was a boy once, living on the snowy peaks of isolated mountains, untouched by the world's horrors.
His father would journey down the mountainside to gather fruit and hunt, braving the dangers for their survival.
Nourredine, with innocent eyes and a rumbling stomach, would tug at his mother's clothes, begging for food.
The warm, patient smile of his mother was his comfort, her gentle hand always ready with a promise:
"Wait, my little warrior," she would say. "Food will come."
Yet young Nourredine was not always patient.
Alongside his childhood gang — a ragtag army of four boys aged between six and nine —
he declared himself "Emperor of the Mountain" and launched their *great candy raids* into nearby villages.
Tiny fists raised, tattered scarves flapping in the wind, they charged down the slopes to "conquer" stores and bakeries for sweets and treasures.
The memory of their make-believe wars was a fleeting warmth in the frozen present.
***
Back to reality — the horror before him.
There was no candy, no laughter — only blood and death.
Gripping his weapon tightly, Nourredine roared a defiant cry, rallying the few survivors.
They would not die like animals.
Not without a fight.