The wet, sliding sound grows closer. Through the mist, something moves with a gait I've never seen before—a fluid motion that's neither fully feline nor fully reptilian, but somehow both. My hands won't stop shaking on the rifle grip, even with the suit's stabilizers working overtime.

[Hostile Signature Detected]

[Initiating Threat Analysis...]

[Processing Movement Pattern...]

Primary Locomotion: Quadrupedal

Speed: 67 km/h potential

Stride Pattern: Anomalous

Note: Hybrid characteristics detected

I focus on what the System's showing me, trying to make sense of the readings. The thing moves like a big cat, but there's something wrong about the leg joints, about the way it distributes its weight. Like it could switch to bipedal running at any moment.

That awful chirping sound comes again, but this time it ends in a rumbling growl that hits me right in the lizard part of my brain. The stench intensifies—a mixture of reptilian musk and feline marking scent that burns my nostrils even through the suit's filters.

More shapes materialize in the mist. My finger tightens on the trigger as the System continues its analysis.

[DNA Analysis Complete]

[Species Identification: VelociTiger]

Base Genome Combination:

- Primary: Bengal Tiger (Panthera tigris tigris)

- Secondary: Velociraptor (Modified)

Pack Status: Active Hunt Formation

Size Range: 2.8 - 3.2 meters at shoulder

Mass: 750-900 kg

Threat Assessment: EXTREME

Known Kills: 12,472 documented

Survival Rate Against: 0.03%

Warning: Subject severely under-leveled for this encounter

The numbers hit me like a punch to the gut. Each beast masses nearly a ton, and they hunt in packs. I've seen Bengal tigers before—from a safe distance at the Mumbai zoo. I remember pressing my face against the barrier, watching one pace. Even behind thick bars, its presence had filled me with instinctive terror. These things make those Earth tigers look like kittens.

Through the mist, I catch clearer glimpses now: massive shoulders covered in striped scales, teeth longer than my forearm, killing claws that would make a T-Rex jealous. The raptors we learned about in school were scary enough. Tigers were already perfect killing machines. Someone looked at both and thought: "Hey, let's combine them!"

[Pack Analysis]

Number: 7 confirmed, more likely

Formation: Standard Encirclement

Attack Pattern: Coordinated

Primary Tactics:

- Herding prey into kill zones

- Synchronized strikes

- Psychological warfare

Time Until Attack: Computing...

Survival Probability: [ERROR - TOO LOW TO CALCULATE]

Recommendation: ACCEPT YOUR FATE

I do a quick ammo check. Thirty rounds in the mag, two more mags on my belt. The suit's got a few other surprises—grenades, a backup sidearm, emergency flares. None of it feels like nearly enough.

One of the VelociTigers steps partially into view. It's a perfect hybrid of Earth's most efficient land predators—the raw power of a tiger combined with raptor intelligence and pack hunting ability. Its eyes lock onto mine. Not the simple predator gaze of a big cat, but something worse. There's cold calculation in those eyes. It's not just hunting me. It's solving me like a puzzle.

More join the first, moving with terrible coordinated grace. They're establishing a perimeter, cutting off any escape into the jungle. I'd noticed they were staying at the edges of the clearing, but I'd assumed it was caution. Now I realize its strategy. They're making sure I have nowhere to go except deeper into their trap.

The thick mist means I can't get an exact count, but the System's motion tracking suggests at least seven. Probably more moving up to fill gaps in their circle. Making a run for the jungle would be suicide—they're built for this environment, and I can barely walk without stumbling.

No. The clearing is my only option, even if something about it feels wrong. At least here I have some visibility, some room to maneuver. Out there in the jungle, I wouldn't last thirty seconds.

The ground shifts beneath my feet again, a subtle movement that sends fresh ripples through the strange organic surface. As if the clearing itself is alive, responding to our presence.

Something tells me I'm about to discover that I'm caught between dangers, and neither option is going to be good.

That ripple in the ground beneath my feet... there's something wrong about it. The surface has been bothering me since I landed, but I've been too distracted by the VelociTigers to really process why. Now, watching another wave of motion pass through what I thought was solid ground, I focus on the strange patterns.

[Terrain Analysis Initiated]

[Processing Surface Composition...]

Material Type: Organic

Structure: Layered

Pattern: Non-Random

Moisture Content: 87%

Temperature: 37.2°C

Warning: Biometric signature detected

Note: Surface exhibits coordinated cellular activity

The System's analysis confirms what my gut's been telling me—this isn't ground at all. The surface has an intricate latticed pattern, like a honeycomb but more complex. My eyes struggle to follow the design; it shifts and changes when I try to focus on it, like an Escher drawing come to life.

I crouch down for a closer look, fighting back a wave of vertigo as the mist swirls around me. The texture is definitely organic rather than geological, spreading out in every direction through the fog. Some kind of massive fungal growth maybe? The color is hard to pin down—somewhere between bone-white and ash-gray, with undertones that make my eyes hurt if I look too long.

[Advanced Analysis Complete]

[Species Identification: Cobradile]

Base Genome Combination:

- Primary: King Cobra (Ophiophagus hannah)

- Secondary: Saltwater Crocodile (Crocodylus porosus)

- Tertiary: Multiple plant species

Size: 42.7 meters diameter

Mass: Approximately 89 tons

Feeding Method: Absorption/Digestion

Primary Tactics:

- Camouflage as terrain

- Victim preservation for extended feeding

- Mana extraction from living prey

Known Kills: 8,943 documented

Survival Rate After Contact: 0.007%

Warning: Apex ambush predator

Note: Subject has already triggered feeding response

My blood runs cold as I process what I'm standing on. The weird springiness of the surface, its organic feel, the way it responds to pressure—it's all because I'm standing on something's back. Something massive. Something that's been waiting patiently while I focused on the more obvious threat of the VelociTigers.

Another ripple passes beneath my feet, but this time I recognize it for what it is: muscle movement. The entire clearing is one giant predator, disguising itself as terrain to lure prey onto its surface. And I just realized this way too late.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

[Biological Analysis]

Feeding Process:

- Stage 1: Trap prey on surface

- Stage 2: Open absorption orifices

- Stage 3: Begin enzyme secretion

- Stage 4: Maintain prey alive for maximum mana extraction

- Stage 5: Complete absorption (72-96 hours)

Current Status: Stage 1 Complete

Warning: Stage 2 imminent

The stench I noticed earlier changes, taking on new notes—digestive enzymes, I realize with horror. The surface beneath me grows tackier, trying to hold me in place. Now I understand why the VelociTigers are staying at the edge of the clearing. They've seen this before. They know what happens next.

I'm standing on the back of a creature that's part snake, part crocodile, and part who-knows-what-else. A thing engineered to be the perfect ambush predator, capable of keeping its prey alive for days while it slowly absorbs them. And I've walked right into its trap.

The VelociTigers or the Cobradile. The quick death or the slow one. I'm caught between literal monsters, and both have teeth.

I check my weapon again, mind racing. If these are my only options, I need a third one. Something neither predator expects.

And that's when I have an idea. A terrible, stupid, possibly suicidal idea.

But hey, those are the only kind I've got left.

I flick my eyes across the situation again, forcing my panic-scrambled brain to think it through.

[Strategic Analysis]

VelociTiger Pack:

- Numbers: 7+ confirmed

- Position: Perimeter containment

- Current behavior: Cautious stalking

Cobradile Status:

- Feeding sequence initiated

- Movement detected in 6 sectors

- Surface adhesion increasing

Warning: Multiple threat vectors

Time window for action: Closing

Back in Mumbai, I once watched a street fight between two notorious gang leaders. Everyone expected them to kill each other. Instead, a police van showed up, and suddenly the gangsters were working together, both turning on the cops. The enemy of my enemy, and all that.

Maybe I can work with that.

The VelociTigers are still circling, still staying clear of the Cobradile's reach. They've obviously encountered these things before. Lost pack members to them, probably. That's the kind of thing that would breed both caution and hatred in intelligent predators.

I do another quick inventory. Three magazines for the rifle. Four frag grenades. A sidearm with two clips. The suit's built-in features, most of which I barely understand. Not much, but maybe enough.

[Combat Resource Check]

Primary Weapon: M35A2 Combat Rifle

- Rounds: 90 (3 magazines)

- Effectiveness vs VelociTiger: 12%

- Effectiveness vs Cobradile: 8%

Secondary: M19 Sidearm

- Rounds: 30 (2 magazines)

Explosives: 4 x M47 Frag Grenades

Suit Systems:

- Jump Assist: 42% capacity

- Stabilizers: Online

- Medical: Limited

Warning: Resources insufficient for prolonged engagement

The Cobradile's surface grows tackier beneath my boots. I can feel it trying to hold me in place, like walking on half-dried glue. The VelociTigers notice my increasingly restricted movement. They're taking shorter steps now, getting bolder. Testing.

Time's running out.

If I stay here, the Cobradile gets me. If I run for the jungle, the VelociTigers tear me apart. If I fight either one directly, I die even faster.

But if I can get them to fight each other...

The nearest VelociTiger lifts its head, testing the air with a forked tongue that shouldn't exist on a feline face. The movement exposes the scaled plates protecting its throat—thick armor, but with gaps between the plates. Gaps that might be vulnerable to something. Like bullets. Or the Cobradile's digestive enzymes.

I raise my rifle slowly, targeting the beast's throat. Not to kill it—even with a perfect shot, that's unlikely. Just to piss it off. To make it angry enough to forget its caution.

[Combat Alert]

Target Acquired

Range: 47 meters

Hit Probability: 31%

Warning: Provoking apex predator

Note: Statistical analysis suggests this is suicide

I take aim carefully, trying to control my shaking hands. The VelociTiger's eyes track the movement. There's that terrible intelligence in them again. It knows what a gun is. It's probably killed dozens of better-equipped soldiers than me.

But I'm not trying to kill it.

I'm trying to force it to make a mistake.

"Come on," I whisper. "Let's see who's really at the top of the food chain."

I squeeze the trigger.

The rifle's recoil slams into my shoulder. Through my suit's enhanced vision, I watch the round strike perfectly in the gap between armored plates. Dark blood sprays from the VelociTiger's throat.

It doesn't go down. Doesn't even stagger. But it does exactly what I want—it roars.

The sound hits me like a physical force, a mix of tiger's roar and raptor's screech that shouldn't exist in nature. My suit's audio dampeners kick in a fraction too late, and I taste blood where I've bitten my tongue.

[Warning: Auditory Assault]

Decibel Level: 142

Damage Potential: Extreme

Note: Multiple hostiles responding

The wounded VelociTiger launches itself forward, crossing half the distance between us in a single bound. Two more break formation to join it, their pack instincts triggering at the sight of blood. The ground shivers beneath my feet as they land on the Cobradile's surface.

Perfect.

I fire again, but not at the VelociTigers. Instead, I aim straight down, emptying half my magazine into the organic surface I'm standing on.

[Impact Analysis]

Target: Cobradile Dermis

Penetration: Limited

Damage: Minimal

But: Nerve Cluster Strike Confirmed

Warning: Massive biological response imminent

The Cobradile's entire surface convulses. The VelociTigers stumble as their footing suddenly becomes unstable. One of them sinks ankle-deep into what was solid ground moments ago, its claws scrabbling for purchase as the living surface begins to ripple and tear.

That's when the mouths start appearing.

First one, then three, then a dozen—circular openings in the organic surface, rimmed with hooked teeth and dripping with digestive enzymes. They emerge in a spreading pattern, like raindrops hitting a pond in reverse. Each one is big enough to swallow a person whole.

The sight triggers a memory: me at age ten, reading an old issue of Chandamama magazine by candlelight during a power cut. It was an old raggedy magazine that was falling apart, had pages missing, and smelled of hari chutney and onions.

That’s because I had salvaged it from Sharmaji who bought up kilos of old magazines and tore off the pages to use them as makeshift plates to serve his bhelpuri and other chaat. This was one of the few stories that had all its pages more or less intact, if you could ignore the suspiciously stinky stain over most of the ending.

The story was about the god Indra, about his habit of taking the form of human men whose wives he coveted, appearing to the women when their husbands were away, and taking advantage of them. This apparently went on for quite a while, and involved multiple women.

Eventually, he made the mistake of doing it to a woman who was the wife of a powerful sage, and had acquired powers of her own. She cursed him to be punished for his crimes by having a hundred eyes appear all over his body, one for each woman he had violated. Reading the story, I thought that was so apt a punishment, though I didn’t understand why he was cursed with eyes of all things.

When I told my older brother Arun about it later, he laughed. "Eyes?" he'd said. "They weren’t eyes, bondhu! They were yonis.”

“Yonis?” I said. “You mean…”

He clapped me on the shoulder. “That’s right, brother. Chuths!” He said the Hindi word to emphasize.

Vaginas, in case you weren’t sure what I meant.

I tried to imagine Indra covered with vaginas all over his body and…it broke me.

We both laughed then, the kind of laugh-till-you-hurt laughter boys share when discussing forbidden topics. Because it was so perfectly appropriate—it made so much sense for Indra's punishment to mark him with the very thing he had abused.

Now, watching these toothy orifices open across the Cobradile's surface, that old story takes on a new, horrific resonance. Like Indra's curse but instead of vaginas, the Cobradile has a hundred hungry mouths, each one ready to swallow whatever crosses its path.

[Danger: Immediate]

Multiple hostile openings detected

Enzyme secretion beginning

Current ground stability: 23% and falling

Warning: Evacuation impossible

The nearest mouth yawns wide directly beneath my feet. I leap sideways just as digestive fluids spray upward, burning holes in my suit where they touch. The VelociTigers are in chaos now, some trying to retreat, others snapping at the mouths that threaten to swallow them.

One of the beasts disappears up to its shoulders into a gaping maw. Its back legs scrabble uselessly against the Cobradile's surface as it's slowly drawn deeper. The others watch with that terrible intelligence in their eyes, learning, adapting.

More of the pack breaks formation, rushing forward to help their trapped member. Exactly what I wanted. Now they're all committed, all tangled in the same death trap as me.

I'm almost out of time. The ground beneath me is becoming liquid, and more mouths are opening every second. I need to—

The thought cuts off as something wraps around my ankle. I look down to see a tendril of muscle fiber, like a tongue made of steel cable, dragging me toward the nearest waiting mouth.

[Critical Alert]

Containment initiated

Escape window: 2.4 seconds

Recommendation: Immediate action required

The hooked teeth pierce my suit like needles, punching through the supposedly military-grade armor as if it's made of paper. Each puncture burns like a wasp sting as the Cobradile's venom enters my bloodstream. My arms go numb almost instantly - some kind of paralytic agent in the venom, I realize with growing horror.

[Critical: Multiple System Breaches]

Suit Integrity: 47% and falling

Toxin Detected: Unknown compound

Nervous System: Shutting down

Tissue Damage: Accelerating

Warning: Digestion process initiated

I try to reach for a grenade, but my fingers won't respond. The paralysis is spreading fast, leaving me helpless as digestive enzymes start seeping through the holes in my suit. The burning sensation is beyond anything I've ever felt - like being bathed in acid while simultaneously being stabbed with hot pokers. I can feel my skin beginning to dissolve, the outer layers of flesh literally melting off my bones.

"Oh shit," I manage to gasp, tasting blood in my mouth as the acidic vapors burn my lungs. "Oh shit."

The last thing I feel before the paralysis reaches my chest is my own flesh starting to slough away, being broken down by digestive chemicals that were specifically engineered to keep prey alive and aware throughout the entire process.

I finally understand why the System listed the survival rate as 0.007%. This isn't just death.

This is hell.