The beast had the last bite.After that, it pulled itself up with its strong tails, climbing the branches of the massive trees—fading into the vast canopy, the trees entangled with one another at the top.
The child—nowhere to be found.
The child had been engulfed by the giant Spiteack, chest upward. The Spiteack, with no more activity to pursue, slithered into a deep sleep—for a long time.
The night passed.And then came the day.The great Spiteack awoke—and now, it was time to hunt.
But searching for prey anywhere near its former territory was not plausible. For in those parts, there were Spiteacks much larger than this one—colossal beasts, with rightful claim to all prey that dared wander within miles of their domain.
And so, this Spiteack moved—far away—to seek its own prey.
It slithered from one canopy to another, traveling along the intertwined branches and thick stems of the massive trees that merged at the top.But from below—there was nothing to see.
Despite all its movement above, one might expect noise, rustling, or tremors—some signal to give it away. Some sign of a predator prowling the canopy.
But no. The forest gave almost nothing.
Only the occasional leaf fell—gently, lazily—where the Spiteack had passed.No more than a few leaves at any time.Nothing that stirred alarm.Nothing that told the creatures below that death moved above them.
The giant Spiteack glided soundlessly through the upper reaches of the forest, barely disturbing the world it hunted from.
And so it went—farther and farther from the territory.Farther from the massive, monstrous Spiteacks—those even greater in size and strength. Those whose shadows ruled the canopy.
And now, having come so far from its kind's domain, there were no others here—no rivals of its own species to challenge it for the kill.
And so, the Spiteack peered down through the thick leaves—towards the dark floor of the forest.
Searching.
Hunting.
At first, it found nothing.But then—after some time—a herd appeared. Massive beasts, with towering antlers and powerful hooves—hooves that, when they moved in unison, made the ground tremble beneath them.
The antlered beasts were enormous.Two of them could feed the Spiteack for many days.Even one would suffice for several.And so—it began to stalk.
From high above, coiled within the canopy, only its head peeking from the shadows, the Spiteack watched.It waited for just one beast to stray—just one to wander too far from the herd.If one did, it would devour it whole.
Curled in patient hunger, it followed them.Hoping. Watching.Waiting for weakness. For a slip.For any one of them to lag behind.
But—disappointingly—none did.
The herd remained tight. No beast ventured far—not far enough to go unseen, unguarded. Even a single step too wide was met with the swift return of the herd's protection.
The Spiteack, by now, had been watching the herd—ten, maybe twenty beasts—for some time.They moved as one body, heavy and thundering.And with each passing hour, the Spiteack grew restless.
It had been less than a day since it ate the small child.But that meal was not enough.It still burned with hunger.
The only reason it had dared to prey on the child—in the shadow of much larger Spiteacks, in a territory where a single misstep could mean instant death—was because it had been captivated. Drawn in.
In its decades of life, it had never seen anything like the child.So small.So different.So unlike the forest.
And that difference—that strangeness—had pulled the predator closer than caution allowed.
Just the sight of the child had pulled all its attention away—away from everything else, and toward the child.It had been stalking him for some time. Watching. Waiting.
But the reason it chose to attack when it did was simple:It suspected that if the child ventured any further into the forest, it would become too difficult to strike. Too hard to catch.Too hard to take a bite.
So, it struck—snatching the child's legs first, the limbs it believed were helping him move.And after severing the legs, it watched the child's expression—up close.
The suffering.The pain.The sorrow.And most of all—the non-understanding.That look of confusion. Of not knowing what had happened.That... was the reason it was drawn to him.
But there was something more.Something else. Something different.Something that had enchanted it.
A strange pull—strong enough to silence reason, to make it forget the laws of its kind, forget the fear of being hunted for trespassing on territory.That fear was still inside it—fresh, like it had been born just a moment ago.
Years earlier—decades, even—when it was small and vulnerable,It had sought the protection of the greater Spiteacks.It remained inside their territory most of the time—obedient, patient, and quiet.And during one of those long, hungry stretches, after starving for days, it found a prey.
A white bunny, hopping through the grass inside the territory.It chewed gently on the shoots, unaware.
The Spiteack—still young, not fast, but instinctive—knew how to hunt.Not from learning, but from something deeper.Something engraved into its blood.
And so, it laid low beneath the grass, where the bunny would surely hop soon—based on its slow, predictable pattern.
It waited.Waited long.
Eventually, the bunny came.
It saw the Spiteack.Its eyes widened. It turned to flee.
Too late.The young Spiteack had already lunged——and bit deep into the bunny's hindquarters, locking its jaws around the flesh.
The bunny, reacting swiftly, began to thrash—leaping again and again upon the small Spiteack's body.Each strike loosened its grip.And the bunny didn't stop—it kept jumping, slamming its body into the young predator, again and again, until the Spiteack's head became a bloody mess, its fangs cracked, its skull bruised and broken.
And then—the bunny fled.
It rushed away from the battered creature, hopping as fast as it could.But as it moved, something changed.Its movements began to falter.Weaken.Stumble.
Until—they stopped entirely.
It didn't understand why.It didn't know why!Its limbs just... ceased.And then, its legs gave out completely.It toppled sideways onto the ground.
There, upon the cold forest floor, its breathing slowed.Little by little.Until there was no breathing left at all.The lungs had stopped.The heart had been forced to stillness—from the poison.
And so... it became the Spiteack's first true kill.
Until then, the young Spiteack had only survived—feeding off mushrooms, fallen fruits, and the detritus of the canopy above.But this...This was different.This was hunted.
Though its face was bloodied, the flesh torn and mangled, the Spiteack was alive.Very much alive.
And it moved—With vigor, with blood still racing, it followed the path of its prey.Injured, yes—but burning with energy.
Winding through twisted roots and tangled vines, it reached the place where the bunny had fallen.
Dead.The venom had done its work.
The Spiteack rejoiced.Excitement surged within it as it neared the still body—ready to feast, to complete its first hunt.
But unfortunately for the little hunter...It wasn't alone.
Something else had seen the bunny.And now that the prey was dead, it was a prize worth claiming, even for the larger Spiteacks—those who would not normally concern themselves with the weak or the small.
And so—just as the young Spiteack crept toward its reward—A massive maw filled its vision.
Instinct screamed.Panic surged.
It tried to turn—tried to run—but it was too late.The jaws had already closed in.
Half its body was already inside.
It wanted to flee.But the maw had other plans.
It came not to share,Not to warn,But to end—to end the one that had dared to hunt within its domain.