Bounding through the hills, Gira followed the faint scent of blood carried on the cool morning breeze. His once-crimson figure now darkened, silhouetted against the dawning light. The air was crisp and damp, refreshing against his crystalbound body. As he reached the top of a nearby hill, a vast, jagged rockface loomed before him, enclosing a small valley. At its center lay a tranquil pond, the mist curling around it like a veil. The faint glow of scattered flowers dotted the grass, their ethereal light clinging to the droplets of dew.

The scent of blood intensified, sending a shudder of excitement through Gira’s spine. His senses sharpened as he trotted down the hill, heading straight for the sickly sweet smell of blood.

His feet sank into the mud beneath the fluffy grass at the pond’s edge. Gira passed through the tall reeds, his Kyyr receptors guiding him closer to the source. The water clung to his legs as he waded deeper, his gaze locking onto a fallen tree, its roots slipping into the water. Something had become tangled in its crown of leaves.

The cold morning air brushed past him, the reeds and grass clattering in a refreshing reverberation as Gira studied the tree and, most importantly, the figure that had been caught in its branches. Wading closer, he saw a man—a ranger—his leg missing, his uniform half-melted.

Gira raised his claws and carefully disentangled the ranger from the branches, the tree swaying back up as it was relieved of the dead weight. Cradling the injured man, Gira made his way back to dry land.

Carrying the man with care up the grassy hill. Gira lowered his head to his cracked helmet and stood still. Carefully listening. The ranger’s breath barely escaped his own lips, a whisper amidst the wind and brushing grass. Gira smiled—an accidental baring of his sharp teeth. The ranger’s body tensed at the sight, a weak twitch betraying his fear. Gira quickly pulled away.

Through the fractured visor of the helmet, the ranger’s navy-blue eye opened just a sliver. Against all odds, he was conscious, though weakened beyond the ability to resist his terrifying saviors grip.

Gira saw the fear in his eye and, without hesitation, began awkwardly rushing back toward the station, cradling the ranger carefully in his arms. He tried his best to avoid jostling the man, his powerful legs carrying them swiftly across the fields.

As the first light of dawn crept over the Cau Mountains, breathing life into the tired valley. The crisp morning chill melted under the sun’s growing warmth, chasing away some of the horrors of the night. The northern sea breeze wove through Gira’s crimson frame, whispering and swirling as he approached Trant Station.

He paused at the edge of the hills when he spotted a group of rangers walking outside. Gira crouched low, unwilling to scare them with his sudden appearance. He watched as they gathered, speaking quietly among themselves. He hesitated at first but looked down at the ranger in his arms. The ranger’s shaky eyes locked onto him.

He prepared himself.

With a burst of speed, he dashed through the grass, closing the distance in a heartbeat. The rangers flinched in surprise as Gira skidded to a stop on the gravel road, his sudden appearance startling them. Before they could really react, Gira gently delivered the man as he slid on the gravel, pivoting his weight away as he used his freed arm to catch the ground before rushing away back into the morning mist. He didn’t look back as he turned once more in the direction of the Cau mountains.

Running on all fours, his beastly form shimmered brightly against the rising sun, leaving a faint trail of asphodels in his wake. His instincts flashed in a myriad of vibrant, swirling emotions. Solivagant, he reached the base of the mountain. Gira climbed the mountainside, following the praeternatural urge of his Kyyr receptors. He moved swiftly, flashing past St. Able’s Pass, where the sun's rays began to dispel the lingering condensation, healing the wounds left by the abyss.

Perching on a high rock, Gira scanned the hostile rock face that comprised the Cau plateau. He rushed past it all—the crown, the cliff—as he followed his senses. Reaching the opposite side of the mountain, his beastly gaze absorbed the beauty of the sprawling fields in the distance.

His hunger seemed to spike as he caught it. The stench of the abyss. Nestled against the mountain range, Gira saw another facility similar to Trant Station. He carefully made his way down the rocky road as he watched from above.

Movement.

Within the perimeter of the station, he could see two Rak’da circled each other—one cloaked in the miasma of the abyss, its body burned and scarred, while the other, smaller Rak’da, was encased in machinery, its limbs heavy with metal devices. Nearby, two rangers were backing the metalbound Rak’da as the infected one weaved in and out of strikes as the other Rak’da seemed to dodge striking it in the head with a massive metal glaive. Stunning the beast, the rangers that accompanied went in with Kyyr strikes, causing the burned Rak’da to flinch in pain. Gathering itself, the Abyssal Rak’da let out a vile screech so loudly Gira felt the shockwave from his distant perch.

The burned Rak’da’s scales made a crackling sound as its body vibrated, ripping through the ground and destroying some of the building with an invisible force.

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Without hesitation, Gira charged his Kyyr and slid down the rockface, a crimson blur speeding toward the battle below. The rangers and the Rak’da noticed the flash of red just as Gira slammed into the infected creature, his claws tearing into its back. The force of his impact caused the Rak’da to spew a grotesque array of human limbs.

The infected Rak’da attempted another roar, but Gira slammed his arm through the upper end of its head as he took hold of the writhing spiral tendrils inside the monster before ripping them out as he slammed his jaws into them.

The surrounding rangers—and even the metalbound Rak’da—stood frozen in shock as Gira tore the infected Rak’da apart, leaving only a quivering pile of flesh in his wake.

The gore was so vile that the onlookers, both human and Rak’da almost puked. Gira looked around and noticed to more Rak’da that had been diced up or burned. Unfazed, Gira took one last glance at the carnage before climbing back up the mountainside. The rangers below shouted something after him, but he was too preoccupied as he crawled back up the sheer cliff that surrounded the station.

Deep down, he felt an odd dread as if he were missing something, but no matter how much he sniffed the air, the stench of the Anomaly had finally faded. Yet the biting unease wouldn’t depart him.

Hey Savagrios…

“Yeah?”

What’s this feeling?.

Savagrios pauses, heavy and knowing.

“It’s death.”

Death?

“Indeed.”

Will it hurt?

Savagrios’s voice shifted, seeming to come closer, brushing against Gira’s thoughts like a shadow. “It’s going to hurt so much death will be nothing more than a sweet release.”

A quiet silence lingered between them, heavy but oddly serene.

Is there nothing I can do?

“If fate has it we die here, then we die.”

Gira’s fanged mouth curled into a soft, accepting smile. He found a spot at the cliff’s edge, easing himself down as if this was the only place he was ever meant to be.

The world before him unfolded in breathtaking beauty. Below, the abyssal forest stretched endlessly, its pale pink blossoms swaying in the gentle wind, petals dancing and twirling high into the bubble-filled sky. The floating ponds shimmered, releasing thin streams of steam that glimmered with rainbow hues as sunlight refracted through the mist. The colors drifted upward, fading into the ethereal atmosphere like a dream slipping away.

Gira sat quietly, absorbing it all—the fragile beauty of the world balanced against the ever-present knowledge of what lay ahead. Above him, the clouds merged in warm, vibrant shades of orange and light blue, swirling as if painted by a patient hand.

The breeze caressed him tenderly as his crimson armor began to crack and peel away, tiny scales flaking off, carried by the wind in shimmering streams. Like a crimson glitter, a rain of glimmering dust that shined against the contrasting blend of orange and light blue.

Gira exhaled slowly, calmness washing over him as more of his scales crumbled. The flecks of red glimmered, weightless against the gentle hues of dawn, a quiet farewell to the body that had served him.

He sat there, at the cliff's edge, bathed in the warmth of the rising sun. As the wind carried his glittering dust into the air, he watched it blend with the petals and mist, becoming part of the forest below—a final, fleeting moment of beauty amid the transience of life.

Is it happening?

“Yes.” Savgrios's voice whispered, the coarseness now soft.

At least we managed to help those nice people.

“We sure did.” Savagrios voice faded into silence.

Gira walked along the edge of the cliff, each step releasing a glimmering trail as his body slowly disintegrated in a glistening display. Crimson scales flickered off his form, drifting away like embers in the morning light.

“Over there!” A voice called from the distance.

Gira’s ears twitched, and he turned slowly, surprised to see four familiar figures running toward him—the rangers from Trant Station. He tilted his head in curiosity, their unexpected arrival stirring something faint within him.

“G-Gira!” A familiar voice shouted, filled with urgency and sorrow.

Gira tried to move toward them, but his legs cracked and crumbled as he reached out. He stumbled forward, collapsing hard onto the ground. A sharp sting spread across his dissolving body as he felt a horrid burn that tugged at his ghostly nerves. The weakness of his soul gouging at his senses.

He clawed weakly at the earth, trying to lift himself as blood spilled from his maw, staining the ground beneath him in a deep red. Gira gritted his teeth, trying once more to push himself off the ground, his claws scraping desperately against the soil. But his strength had long abandoned him. As he shifted, his brittle arms cracked with a sickening sound—splintering under the weight of his failing body. Fractures spread through his limbs like creeping vines, and with one last effort to rise, his arms shattered entirely, scattering fragments of his crimson shell across the earth.

Through blurred vision, he saw the rangers drawing closer. But no matter how close they came, Gira knew they wouldn’t reach him in time. His body had already begun to fall apart, fragments of his crimson shell crumbling all at once in a dazzling display. Each piece shimmered like rubies against the sun’s warm rays, beautiful even as it slowly killed him.

Beneath the fractured crimson armor lay the remnants of his mangled human form—a fragile shell, bleeding and broken. Blood seeped from every crack, pooling beneath him in thick rivulets. He bled in silence, his pain so sharp and all-encompasing that even a gasp was beyond him. There was now only a quiet helpless stillness.

Tears welled in his eyes, mingling with the blood beside his broken form, the droplets reflecting the golden sunlight as they fell.

Gira wept in silence as his consciousness began to crack.

It…hurts…

And so, the scarlet feast came to a quiet end.

He was shattered alive, and all that remained of him scattered across the morning air—a crimson display, glittering bright against the new day’s light.