As the creature slowly approached Mrs. Waya, the woman's eyes widened in fear. Her hands trembled as she fumbled with the ammunition in her gun, her mind racing with thoughts of survival.

"Please, someone help me!" she screamed, her voice high-pitched with terror. The small woman, huddled in the corner, could only watch in horror as the monster inched closer to her.

Desperate to buy herself some time, she emptied the remaining ammunition from her gun, the bullets striking the creature's unyielding form. The creature, however, seemed unfazed by the gunfire, its predatory gaze never wavering from its intended prey.

In a sudden, brutal motion, the creature reached out with its long, taloned limb, snatching Hania up and lifting her off the ground. Her screams of terror filled the cabin, her body thrashing in a futile attempt to escape the creature's grasp.

"Oh no! Please no, FUCK NO!" she screamed, grunting like a pig at slaughter.

Calian, still reeling from the horrors he had witnessed, remained kneeling on the ground. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the gruesome, bloody mess that had once been Phil. His limbs felt heavy, as if he were drowning in a sea of despair.

Hania's screams grew fainter as the creature carried her out of the log cabin, into the raging storm. The once-peaceful cabin had been transformed into a bloody, nightmarish hellscape, a testament to the unleashed, unbridled fury of the creature they had inadvertently created.

"Calian, please help me! AARRGHH!" her loud grunts, mingled with her desperate pleas for help, tore through the once-peaceful cabin. "You're a Youngblood- ... UUGH! You can destroy it, just like your ancestor did- ... UFFF in the legends!"

The young man, still in the throes of shock, finally began to come to his senses as the sound of bones breaking echoed through the room. The chilling crescendo of violence was accompanied by a spray of Mrs. Waya's blood, which splashed against Calian's face, soaking his clothes and skin.

"YAAAAAAAAAAAARRRGHHH!" an extremely painful and disturbing scream pierced the air as she vomited blood.

In its savage frenzy, the Wendigo had broken Hania's body in two, tearing her limbs apart in a gruesome display of raw, unbridled power. Her legs and hips were now detached from her upper body, which slumped to the ground, the screams of agony and terror finally silenced.

The monstrous creature remained there, holding the upper part of the dying woman's body. In silence, she was obviously in shock and took her last breaths. As she tried to reach her hands to feel her lower half, she could only wrap her desperate fingers around her own dangling intestines. The bloody scene was so disturbing and grotesque that Young could no longer look, denying what was happening right before his eyes.

But it seemed that, at that very moment, something previously dormant had awakened within the Abenaki descendant.

The sight of the carnage, coupled with the echoes of Hania's final moments, shattered Young's numbness. Desperate to avenge his fallen friends and save himself, he rose to his feet, his face twisted with a newfound fury.

"Enough!" he brandished echoingly.

Just like that, the once-peaceful room had now become a macabre stage for a battle that would determine the fate of the remaining survivors. With the knowledge of his ancestry and the Wendigo's vulnerability, Calian steeled himself for the fight of his life. The legends, it seemed, were about to be rewritten.

The Wendigo, now fully focused on its next potential meal, let out a deep, guttural roar. With a flick of its wrist, it flung the separated halves of Hania's body in opposite directions. The upper part, now completely devoid of life, skidded to a halt next to Calian.

As the creature's attention shifted to the young man, he could see the life ebbing away from Mrs. Waya's eyes, her gaze fixed on him in a final, desperate plea for survival. The gruesome sight of her splattered guts, displayed out in a grisly testament to the violence that had befallen her, left little doubt in his racing mind that he was next on the creature's menu.

The monster's predatory gaze bore into him, and Calian could feel the weight of its unrelenting hunger. The creature's ravenous intent was palpable, and he knew that the time for hesitation and doubt had long since passed.

"Then let's get this over with..." his words bizarrely calm, his voice paradoxically soft and fierce at the same time.

Once a safe haven, that old shed had now become a blood-soaked battleground, the fate of the remaining survivors resting on the outcome of the looming, primal confrontation. Young, armed with the knowledge of his ancestry and the Wendigo's vulnerability, would need to draw on every ounce of courage, cunning, and strength to survive the night and rewrite the legends in his favor.

In the midst of the chaos, a weak and battered Chavez Amarillo staggered back into his feet. His clothes were tattered, and blood stained his face and body, a testament to the harrowing ordeal he had endured.

Clenching a torch in one hand and a silver lighter adorned with indigenous symbols in the other, Chavez, with great effort, lit the torch on the pyre's fire. The flickering light revealed the true extent of the carnage that had befallen the cabin, and both man's eyes hardened with determination.

"Chavez?!"

"Stay back, Calian!" the Mojave man barked, his voice strained but urgent. He stepped forward, the torch held high in front of him, and the Wendigo let out a deafening, high-pitched scream at the sight of the flickering fire.

The creature, its predatory instincts awakened by the sight of the torch, clung to the ceiling, its movements bizarre and unnatural. It screeched again, its unholy wail seeming to reverberate through the very air itself, as it scrambled toward the exit. The proximity of the torch's fire certainly bothered it in some extreme way.

In a blur of twisted limbs and malevolent intent, the Wendigo fled the cabin, leaving the horrifying aftermath of its rampage behind. The storm that raged outside seemed to echo the cacophony of chaos that had reigned within, and for a moment, the only sound that filled the air was the heavy, labored breathing of the two remaining survivors.

The cabin, once a haven, had been transformed into a macabre stage for a brutal, bloody confrontation. The ordeal had left its mark on both Young and Amarillo, but in the face of unimaginable horror, they had persevered.

However, the night was not yet over, and the two men would need to draw on their newfound strength and courage if they were to navigate the harrowing journey ahead and rewrite the legends in their favor.

As the Wendigo's deafening screech receded into the stormy night, a heavy silence descended upon the scene of carnage. The young man, Calian, stood before Amarillo, who, though battered and bloodied, had managed to save his life in a moment of dire need.

"Holy shit man, are you okay? Can you walk?" he asked some questions to his brave friend, who was in a precarious situation.

"Don't worry... UGHH-... W-we have to keep going."

Gore and carnage painted the once-peaceful cabin, a testament to the horrors that had unfolded. He felt a shiver run down his spine, but his newfound resolve kept his legs from betraying him with fear. The young man knew that there was a mission to be accomplished, and it was up to him to see it through.

"Pero..." Chavez, with a faint glimmer of strength in his voice, turned to him and uttered the fateful words, "We need to kill the Wechuge!" his voice was weak, and the Mojave descendant promptly fainted once more.

His hand shot out, catching Chavez before his body could crash onto the blood-soaked floor. The situation was appalling, but in that moment, Calian found the clarity he needed. He had to carry on, not only for himself but for the memory of Mrs. Waya, who had become a victim to the Wendigo's insatiable hunger.

"I know."

With a deep breath, Young rose to his feet, the torch still in his grasp. He surveyed the scene before him, the flames flickering ominously in the wake of the Wendigo's retreat. A plan began to form in his mind, one that would lead him to the creature's lair and, ultimately, to its demise.

The Wendigo may have escaped for now, but it would not escape the young man's relentless pursuit for long. The storm that raged outside was but a mere prelude to the tempest that Calian would unleash upon the malevolent spirit that dared to invade his ancestral home.

***

At the break of dawn, just an hour before the sun began to rise, an old man clad in heavy furs and a woolen hat made his way through the thick snow, his footsteps crunching loudly as he ran with a sense of urgency. The frigid air stung his nostrils, and his breath came out in puffs as he struggled to keep up his pace.

Near him, the imposing silhouette of the Institute's mansion loomed, a testament to the secrets it harbored. As he drew closer, the old man fumbled with a set of keys, his fingers trembling with haste. He unlocked the metal chains that secured the front doors, the heavy padlocks clanging noisily as he yanked them free.

The man rushed inside, the heavy doors slamming shut behind him, the darkness enveloping him as he made his way through the dimly lit halls. He knew the way like the back of his hand, and with practiced ease, he located the hidden switch that opened a secret passage. He then adjusts the eyepatch once more, revealing himself to be none other than Charles McCarthy II.

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"It's okay... Everything is fine..." he babbled to himself, as he made his way through the secret corridors. However, the madman didn't seem to notice that he dropped a small book as he walked. His focus was clearly on something else.

Charles descended the rickety ladder, the cold metal biting into his bare hands. At the bottom, he found himself in a dusty, poorly lit room, the walls lined with rows of ancient-looking books. This was the Institute's secret experiment library, a place that few had ever seen.

The old man strode with purpose to a nondescript section of the wall, his fingers searching for a hidden button. Once found, he pressed it, and with a loud groan, a massive door in the concrete wall began to open. The beam of his flashlight revealed a secret laboratory, filled with the hum of machinery and the faint glow of monitors.

In the heart of the mansion, hidden from prying eyes, was McCarthy's life's work. The door closed behind him, and the lab was revealed in all its glory. It was here that he would continue his groundbreaking research, away from the scrutiny of the outside world. The snow continued to fall outside, the only witness to the secrets that lay within the Institute's mansion.

As Charles entered his secret lab, his eyes were drawn to the various anti-decaying solution tanks that lined the walls. Within each tank, a mummified, monstrous creature lay, its form twisted and grotesque.

The once-living beings were now nothing more than macabre relics, preserved in a thick, viscous liquid that seemed to hold the key to eternal stasis. The tanks gave off a faint, sickly glow, the light casting long shadows over the lab's cold, sterile surfaces.

The old man's heart raced as he made his way to his desk, curses escaping his lips as he fumbled with the clutter that littered its surface. At last, he found the files he sought, their labels marked with the words 'Wendigo Project'.

McCarthy's fingers trembled as he flipped through the pages, his eyes scanning the text and diagrams with a renewed sense of urgency. The research detailed the nature of the Wendigo, a malevolent spirit that had long plagued the indigenous peoples of the north.

As he read, the old man's face darkened, his lips curling into a snarl. The Wendigo was a force to be reckoned with, and it seemed that it had finally come for him. With a deep breath, McCarthy closed the files and stood, his determination unwavering.

The time for research was over. The old man would now put his knowledge to the test, for the Wendigo had invaded his sanctuary, and he would not rest until he had unraveled the spirit's secrets.

"Damn it all to hell!" Charles bellowed, his frustration palpable. He slammed a stack of photographs down on his desk, the images depicting ancient indigenous blood rituals that were meant to subdue the Wendigo.

The old man's eyes darted between the pictures, his mind racing as he tried to pinpoint the cause of his failure. He had followed the rituals to the letter, yet the legendary creature had still managed to breach his defenses.

His fists clenched and unclenched, the veins in his hands bulging. The realization that he had failed, that the Wendigo still roamed free, weighed heavily on his heart.

He pushed the photographs aside and, with a heavy sigh, began to rummage through the files once more. There had to be something he had missed, some critical detail that would lead him to victory.

McCarthy's determination was unwavering. He would not rest until he gained full control over the feral creature. As the snow continued to fall outside, the old man's resolve strengthened, and he dove back into his research, determined to unravel the ancient legend's secrets and claim victory over the malevolent spirit. All for his own gain, obviously.

***

The young man stumbled back as his eyes took in the gruesome scene. His once steady hands trembled, and the flickering torch light cast dancing shadows on the walls, amplifying the sense of dread. The wooden parts on the stone floor beneath his feet creaked ominously, and the air grew thick with the stench of blood and death.

"Come on man..." he said, as he moved towards his friend who had just fallen to the ground, apparently passed out again, "Hang in there."

The other man lay unconscious on the ground, his chest heaving as he breathed. His gaze shifted to the half-mutilated female head, its vacant eyes seeming to bore into his very soul. The sight of it sent shivers down his spine, and he felt bile rise in his throat.

He tried to force his mind to comprehend the carnage, but the sheer brutality of it all threatened to overwhelm him. In the corner of the shed, he could see the twisted remains of what was once a human being, limbs splayed in unnatural angles, a testament to the savagery that had transpired.

Young's thoughts raced further and further with each passing second. He wanted to flee, to run as far and as fast as he could, but he knew he couldn't leave Chavez here. The Native American man swallowed hard, his resolve slowly returning. He bent down to wake his friend, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Come on, wake up... We need to get out of here." Calian's voice trembled as he spoke, the sight of the half-mutilated woman's body still haunting his peripheral vision. The dead eyes seemed to follow him, their unblinking stare a chilling reminder of the violence that had occurred.

Carefully, he reached out and shook Chavez's shoulder, the urgency in his actions growing. "We need to get out of here, now!" The words were laced with a hint of desperation, and Calian's voice betrayed the fear that lingered within him.

The semi-conscious man groaned and slowly opened his eyes, blinking a few times to adjust to the dim torchlight. He looked around the blood-soaked shed, confusion etched on his face.

"C-Calian...?" he asked, his voice thick with slumber.

"We need to leave." Young helped his friend to his feet, their eyes meeting as Chavez regained his bearings. "We're not safe here!" he completed, the fear still evident in his voice.

"No, we can't leave!" Chavez looked at the gruesome scene before him, and his expression hardened, "We have to kill it... De una vez por todas!"

"We really do, don't we..." the broken figure hesitated, unsure of whether they were capable of facing such a beast. But seeing the determination in Amarillo's eyes, he knew they had no choice; "Alright, let's find a way to end this nightmare."

Together, the two friends began to gather their strength and any makeshift weapons they could find in the shed, preparing to face the Wendigo and bring an end to the carnage.

Calian's demeanor shifted as he listened to Chavez's determination. The young man could no longer tell if the Wendigo was a figment of their imagination or a genuine threat, but that no longer mattered. The horror he had witnessed and the sheer violence of the scene had kindled a fire within him.

The once-timid young man now stood taller, his eyes narrowed and filled with a newfound resolve. The shock and fear that had gripped him moments before had been replaced by a fierce, unyielding determination.

"Let's do it!" he said, his voice deep and firm; "We'll put an end to this once and for all."

He moved around the shed with newfound purpose, his hands trembling slightly as he grabbed whatever weapons he could find. Pitchforks, shovels, and even broken chairs were gathered as the two friends prepared to face the Wendigo head-on.

With a final, grim nod to each other, the pair exited the shed, their faces set and their hearts filled with a burning desire to put an end to the nightmare that had shattered their peaceful existence.

"Por favor, lend me that torch." Chavez requested, his voice steady and unwavering.

"Oh, sure." the young man replied, quickly handing it over.

"Prepare yourself to face the Wechuge." Amarillo said, his gaze fixed on the torch.

"I think I'm ready, somehow..." Calian assured him, gripping a nearby shovel tightly.

"Okay, then. Vamos a empezar." the man stated to be ready in spanish, and then he started to chant in the Mojave native language.

As Chavez asked Calian to lend him the torch, the young man handed it over without question, the fire in his eyes matching his friend's. They both knew the stakes and were ready to do whatever it took to end the carnage.

Amarillo carefully placed the torch in the middle of the bloody ritual circle, and the flickering flames cast dancing shadows on the walls. The brave desert dweller closed his eyes and began to chant in the Mojave native language, his voice firm and steady.

A cold breeze picked up, howling through the trees outside, as the four totems in the corners of the shed began to shake. The sight sent shivers down Calian's spine, and he held his breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

The flames of the torch flared up, the light casting eerie shadows on the walls. Just as the last words of Chavez's chant left his lips, a gut-wrenching, primal scream erupted from the snowy, dark forest outside.

That sound was so powerful and chilling that it seemed to shake the very ground beneath their feet. Both men exchanged a glance, knowing that the Wendigo had heard their call and was on its way.

Then the two friends gripped their makeshift weapons tightly, their resolve unwavering. They were ready to face the creature and put an end to the nightmare that had plagued them.

As the Wendigo's blood-curdling screams grew louder, the thick wooden door to the shed began to creak and groan under the immense pressure of the creature's unrelenting force.

Chavez, without hesitation, leaped towards the oncoming monster. With a deafening roar, he tackled the towering beast, both of them crashing to the ground in a flurry of limbs, blood, and broken wood.

In that heart-stopping moment, Chavez managed to yell to Calian; "Ahora! This is our chance!"

Young, stunned by the sudden turn of events, hesitated for a brief second before regaining his composure. He sprinted towards them, as his friend was still chanting in the Mojave native language, and shoved the torch deep into the heart of the ritual circle.

The dry wood and straw erupted into a blazing inferno, engulfing the circle and thecreature. The heat was searing, and the young man wasted no time in making his escape, crawling his way to the exit door until he was able to stand up once again.

As he ran out of the shed, he heard Chavez's voice still chanting, the flames of the torch now a part of the raging inferno. A deafening explosion rocked the air, sending splinters and debris flying in all directions.

"You're a brave man, Chavez..." the young Abenaki whispered under his breath, avoiding being hit by debris, his eyes fixed on the remnants of the shed as he sprinted through the snow, "Your sacrifice won't be in vain, I promise!"

The once-peaceful shed had been consumed by a whirlwind of fire, the small wooden building reduced to ashes. In the aftermath, the only sounds that could be heard were the fading echoes of Amarillo's Mojave chants and the distant howls of the Wendigo, its plans thwarted.

The fire slowly began to subside, leaving behind the charred remains of the shed, a macabre testament to the horrors that had transpired within. The two friends, once bound by fear and uncertainty, had bravely faced the unimaginable, and though one paid the ultimate price, their actions had saved the very fabric of their world.

Driven by a mixture of gratitude, sorrow, and determination, Young pushed his body to its limits, his mind focused on one goal: putting an end to the twisted plans of the Institute's founder.

As the snow crunched beneath his feet, the young man reentered the eerie mansion, a newfound sense of purpose guiding his steps. Chavez's bravery and selfless act had given him the resolve he needed, and he vowed to see this through, honoring the memory of his fallen friend.

Calian's eyes were ablaze with a fierce determination, his heart heavy with the grief of his lost friend. Through the old windows, the fire that raged in the distance was a haunting testament to Chavez's ultimate sacrifice, cast flickering shadows on the mansion's first-floor halls.

He moved with stealth and purpose, his senses heightened, his mind fixed on one objective: to put an end to the macabre schemes of the mansion's owner. The wanderer was driven by a need for vengeance, a burning desire to right the many wrongs that had befallen his small community.

The air was thick with the scent of charred wood and the memory of the horrors that had unfolded in the shed. Calian knew that the path ahead would be fraught with danger, but he would not falter. Chavez's final act of courage had given him the strength to carry on, and he would honor his friend's memory by seeing this through to the end.

"You're not going to get away with this, McCarthy." he said, as his tears fell down his face, still burning for justice; "You will pay, even if it's the last thing I do!"

With each step, the young man felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, but he would not buckle under the pressure. The fire outside, a beacon of both loss and hope, fueled his determination, and he strode forward, ready to face whatever horrors awaited him in the depths of the mansion.