The morning mist clung to the towering pines, transforming the familiar landscape into an alien dreamscape.

He padded silently through the underbrush, each step a revelation in his new form. His paws, massive and padded, barely disturbed the forest floor. The scents that assaulted his enhanced senses were overwhelming – pine resin, decaying leaves, the musk of distant prey, and something else... something alien that seemed to pulse beneath it all.

He paused, lifting his muzzle to the air. His whiskers twitched as he processed the information flooding his senses.

It had been two days since he'd... hatched? Emerged? Woken up? The terminology still felt wrong, like trying to describe a color you'd never seen before. But here he was, standing in the midst of the national park he’d joking called his ‘office’, transformed into something that defied explanation.

His new body was a marvel of primal power. Leonine in general shape, but with subtle differences that spoke of something more. His fur was a deep, burnished gold that seemed to shimmer with an inner light. Ridges of harder, almost scale-like protrusions ran along his spine and shoulders.

And his mane – well, that was something else entirely. It seemed to shift and change of its own accord, the fine hairs signifying his Special, "Ignition." With a thought, he could set his mane ablaze, creating a short-lived but devastating offensive and defensive capability. It was a spectacular and slightly terrifying sight, he mused, perfect for a dad who'd always loved playing with fire.

A notification blinked into existence in the corner of his vision, reminding him of the surreal nature of his situation:

–Mana levels stable–

–Current area difficulty: Extreme–

He snorted, a sound that came out as a low rumble. "Extreme," he muttered to himself, his voice a bass growl that still managed to carry a hint of sardonic amusement. "No shit, Sherlock. What gave it away? The wolves the size of SUVs or the trees that tried to eat me yesterday?"

The memory of yesterday's encounter with a particularly aggressive pine tree – one that had suddenly sprouted tentacle-like branches and attempted to ensnare him – was still fresh in his mind. He'd managed to escape, but not before learning a valuable lesson about taking nothing for granted in this new world.

His stomach growled, reminding him of the purpose of his early morning excursion. Hunting in this form was... different. The raw power at his disposal was intoxicating, but it came with its own set of challenges. His first attempt at taking down a deer had ended with him overshooting his target and face-planting into a boulder. The boulder had come off the clear victor in that encounter, and his pride had taken a serious hit.

As he moved through the forest, his thoughts drifted to his family. Were they okay? Had they undergone similar transformations? The not knowing was the worst part. He'd give anything for just a moment of cell phone reception, a luxury that seemed laughably quaint in this new reality.

A flicker of movement caught his eye, pulling him from his reverie. About fifty yards ahead, a creature that looked like a cross between a moose and a porcupine was grazing in a small clearing. Its antlers were wickedly sharp, and what should have been fur was instead a coat of metallic quills that gleamed in the early morning light.

He crouched low, his new instincts meshing seamlessly with years of wilderness experience. The wind was in his favor, carrying his scent away from the creature. He began to stalk forward, each movement a study in controlled power.

As he closed the distance, a familiar blue box appeared in his vision:

–New creature encountered! Would you like to analyze?–

–Y/N–

He blinked twice rapidly, triggering the 'Yes' response. Information flooded his mind:

[Creature: Quill Moose]

[Threat Level: Moderate]

"Quill Moose," he thought to himself, suppressing a chuckle. "Points for creativity, I guess. Though I'd have gone with 'Moosupine' myself."

He was about twenty yards away now, perfectly positioned for a sprint and pounce. His muscles coiled, ready to explode into action. But just as he was about to launch himself, a new scent hit his nostrils. Something big, something dangerous, and it was approaching fast.

The Quill Moose's head snapped up, its nostrils flaring. In an instant, it was gone, bounding away with surprising speed for something its size. He didn't waste time feeling disappointed about his lost meal. Whatever had spooked the moose was likely to be an even bigger problem for him.

He backed away slowly, using every ounce of his stealth to blend into the underbrush. As he retreated, he caught glimpses of movement through the trees. Something massive was moving parallel to his position, its steps shaking the ground ever so slightly.

As he continued his careful withdrawal, his mind raced. Two days in, and he was already being hunted by an apex predator. This wasn't just hard mode; this was 'throw you into the deep end with weights tied to your ankles' mode. But beneath the very real fear and tension, there was something else – a thrill, an excitement he hadn't felt in years.

That excitement, however, was quickly overshadowed by pure survival instinct as the beast's roar shook the forest. The sound reverberated through the towering pines, sending a cascade of pine needles raining down and birds scattering in panicked flocks. The crisp mountain air, once filled with the subtle scents of wildflowers and fresh snow from distant peaks, now carried the heavy musk of predator.

He abandoned all pretense of stealth, every fiber of his being now focused on a desperate sprint for survival. His paws pounded the mossy earth, each stride eating up impossible distances as he weaved through the trees with preternatural agility. Fallen logs and jutting rocks became mere blurs in his peripheral vision as he ran, not daring to look back. The whispering wind and creaking branches seemed to urge him onward, away from the terror that pursued him.

A deafening crash behind him sent splinters of wood flying past his head. He risked a glance over his shoulder and immediately wished he hadn't. The creature pursuing him was horrifying – a nightmarish fusion of bear and insect, its chitinous hide gleaming with an oily sheen. Multiple compound eyes glowed with predatory hunger, and mandibles the size of swords clicked ominously.

"Oh, come on!" he snarled between panting breaths. "A bear-bug? Really? What the fuck! ?"

The beast's response was another ear-splitting roar and a swipe of its massive paw that came so close he felt the wind of its passage ruffle his mane. He put on an extra burst of speed, his muscles burning with the effort.

The chase felt like it lasted an eternity, though in reality it was probably no more than a few minutes. Just as he felt his strength beginning to flag, the ground beneath his feet suddenly gave way. He tumbled head over heels, sliding down a steep embankment and into... darkness.

–You have taken 1 Impact Damage–

He landed with a bone-jarring thud at the bottom of what appeared to be some kind of burrow. Above him, he could hear the frustrated roars of the bear-bug as it paced the entrance, unable to fit its bulk into the narrow opening.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"Ha!" he wheezed, allowing himself a moment of triumph. "Suck it, Bugbear! Guess I'm not on the menu to-ARGH!"

–You have taken 15 Piercing Damage–

His victory speech was cut short as something latched onto his front paw with vicious force. In the dim light filtering from above, he caught a glimpse of beady eyes and wickedly sharp teeth. The prairie dog – if you could call the monstrous, badger-sized rodent that – had clamped down on his paw with bone-crushing force.

Pain and adrenaline surged through him. Without conscious thought, he activated his Special. His mane erupted into a corona of searing flame, bathing the burrow in hellish light. The prairie dog released its grip with a squeal of pain and surprise, but he was beyond mercy now.

–You have taken 2 Fire Damage–

With a roar that shook dust from the burrow's ceiling, he unleashed his fury. His flaming mane cast writhing shadows as he tore into the creature with fang and claw. The confined space only added to the savagery of the attack. He felt bones snap beneath his paws, tasted blood as his jaws closed around the prairie dog's throat.

In seconds, it was over. The mutated rodent lay still, its body little more than a mangled mess of fur and gore. As the flames of his mane died down, he became acutely aware of the throbbing pain in his paw.

–You have slain Tunnel Dog!–

–Gained 10xp!–

"Well," he muttered, examining the wound in the fading light, "that's gonna leave a mark."

The creature's teeth had nearly severed his paw, leaving deep gashes that bled freely. He licked at the wound, more out of instinct than any real hope it would help. As he did so, his thoughts turned grim.

"Figures," he growled to no one in particular. "Survive the weird egg, avoid becoming Bugbear chow, only to die of infection in a goddamn hole in the ground. Some legendary beast I turned out to be."

But as he watched, something extraordinary happened. The bleeding slowed, then stopped altogether. Before his eyes, the wounds began to close, new flesh knitting together at an impossible rate.

"Well, I'll be damned," he breathed, flexing his paw experimentally. "Either I've got some kind of comic book style healing factor, or..." He trailed off, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Or there's some grade-A bullshit at play here."

With the immediate danger passed and his wound miraculously healing, the gnawing hunger that had driven him out this morning reasserted itself with a vengeance. He eyed the remains of the prairie dog critically.

"Not exactly five-star dining," he mused, "but beggars can't be choosers. Here's hoping super-healing comes with immunity to food poisoning."

As he settled in to eat, his thoughts drifted once again to his family. Were they safe? Had they undergone similar transformations? The city they called home was more than a couple of states away – weeks of travel on foot, even with his enhanced capabilities.

"Hang in there," he murmured between bites. "Dad's coming. Might take a while, but I'll find you. And hey, if nothing else, I've got one hell of a story to tell when I get there."

With his hunger sated and his strength returning, he began to assess his situation. The burrow seemed to extend further back, potentially offering an alternative exit. But there was also the matter of the Bugbear, which might still be lurking above.

"Alright, John," he said to himself, using his own name for the first time since his transformation. "Time to cowboy up and figure this out. Your boy David didn't raise a quitter, after all."

The thought of his son brought a mixture of pride and worry. If David had inherited even a fraction of his old man's penchant for trouble, who knew what kind of mess he might have gotten himself into by now?

With a determined growl, John pushed himself to his feet. He had a long journey ahead, and a family to find. Whatever this new world had in store for him, he'd face it head-on – preferably with a bit more grace than his face-plant into that boulder, but hey, nobody's perfect.

"Watch out, Glacier National," he rumbled, his voice a mix of determination and gallow humor. "John Fisher, game warden turned... thing, is on the move. And heaven help any overgrown insects that get in my way."

With that, he eyed the narrow tunnel stretching into darkness, his whiskers twitching with apprehension. The thought of squeezing his bulk through such a tight space made his fur stand on end, but the alternative – facing the Bugbear again – was even less appealing.

"Well," he muttered, his voice echoing slightly in the confined space, "as the saying goes, when you're going through hell, keep going."

With a resigned sigh, he began to wriggle forward. The tunnel was a tight fit, dirt and small rocks pressing in on all sides. More than once, he had to flatten his ears and tuck his limbs close to squeeze through particularly narrow sections. The darkness was absolute, but his enhanced senses painted a picture of his surroundings through touch and smell.

After what felt like an eternity of claustrophobic crawling, John saw a glimmer of light ahead. With renewed vigor, he pushed forward, finally emerging into the open air with a gasp of relief.

As he shook the dirt from his coat, John's eyes widened in recognition. He stood on what had once been a service road, now overgrown but still visible. If memory served, this road would eventually lead to the highway through the mountain pass.

"Well, I'll be damned," he chuckled, stretching his cramped muscles. "Guess sometimes you've got to go down to go up."

His amusement faded as he padded along the old road.

Something felt... off.

The forest around him was familiar, yet strangely altered. New growth was abundant, but so were fallen logs and other signs of recent devastation. It wasn't until he rounded a bend and came face to face with the ruins of the old Visitors Center that the full impact hit him.

John stood frozen, his jaw hanging open in shock. The once-proud building lay in ruins, nearly flattened as if by some colossal force. Nature had already begun to reclaim it, vines and saplings sprouting from the wreckage. But what truly stunned him was the apparent age of the destruction.

"This... this isn't right," he muttered, circling the ruins. His trained eye picked out details that sent a chill down his spine. "It looks like it's been abandoned for decades, but that's impossible. I was here just a few days ago!"

The pieces began to fall into place – the new growth forest, the abundance of fallen trees, the strange alterations to the landscape. As a seasoned outdoorsman, John knew the signs of forest regrowth intimately. But he'd been too focused on survival to really process what he was seeing until now.

"Something big happened here," he growled, his mane bristling with unease. "Something that changed everything, and fast."

Troubled by this revelation, John decided it was time to leave the park and fast. Perhaps in the wider world, he'd find answers – or better yet, his family. But as he traveled, following the old road out of the park and onto the dilapidated highway, the very landscape seemed to rebel against him.

The lush mountain forests he knew so well began to thin, giving way to increasingly arid terrain. Towering pines were replaced by twisted, stunted vegetation clinging to life in dusty soil. The majestic mountains warped before his eyes, transforming into jagged spires of bare rock that clawed at the sky.

An oppressive atmosphere settled over him, heavy with an almost palpable violence. John felt his temper fraying, irrational anger bubbling up from somewhere deep inside. Every sound grated on his nerves, every scent seemed to carry a challenge.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" he snarled, shaking his head to try and clear the red haze creeping into his vision. But the feeling only intensified the further he went.

Finally, realizing he was losing himself to this strange, invasive rage, John forced himself to turn back. But not before he caught sight of something in the far distance that made his blood run cold.

Rising from the twisted landscape like a monument to some eldritch god was an enormous fang. It stood taller than any skyscraper John had ever seen or heard of, its surface crawling with a deep, malevolent crimson light. The sight of it sent a primal fear coursing through him, every instinct screaming to run, to hide, to get as far away from that thing as possible.

John didn't need to be told twice. He turned tail and ran, not stopping until the oppressive atmosphere began to lift and the familiar forests of the national park surrounded him once more. Only then did he allow himself to slow, his sides heaving as he gulped in the clean mountain air.

As the unnatural rage faded, leaving him clear-headed once more, John found himself torn between terror and a bizarre sort of nonchalance. The memory of that enormous fang still sent shivers down his spine, but another part of him – perhaps the part that had adapted to this insane new world – simply filed it away as yet another impossibility to deal with.

"Okay, I guess I can't go that way," he muttered, his tone dry despite the lingering fear. "Right. New plan. Scenic Route it is."

Turning his gaze to the mountains on the far side of the park, John set his jaw with determination. If he couldn't go through the pass, he'd go over the mountains themselves. It would be a longer journey, with much more danger, but it was better than the alternative.

"Hang on, guys," he growled, his voice carrying a mix of worry and fierce resolve. "Dad's taking the long way, but I'm coming. Just...try not to do anything too crazy until I get there, okay?"

With that, John set off towards the distant peaks. He moved carefully now, using the terrain for cover and keeping a watchful eye on his surroundings. The encounter with the Bugbear and the nightmarish vision of that fang had driven home just how dangerous this new world could be.

As he prowled the forest, John couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of his situation.

"You know," he mused to himself, "I always told her I wanted to spend my retirement seeing the country. Guess I should've been more specific about the 'how'."

With that, John disappeared into the underbrush, vanishing into the familiar confines of the park. Ahead lay a journey filled with unknown dangers and challenges. But also, he hoped, the path that would lead him back to his family.

The adventure was just beginning.