Rise of the Ninth Pavilion

The squad ventured deeper into the jungle, moving with slow, deliberate steps—every breath controlled, every motion calculated. Their uniforms, now dyed in green and dirt brown, blended into the thick foliage, making them nearly invisible among the towering trees and tangled undergrowth. Yet, even with their camouflage, even with their discipline and silence, there was no shaking the unease clawing at the edges of their minds.

They had expected trouble, had prepared for the possibility of an ambush, but nothing came. There was no sudden attack, no predator lurking in the branches, no sign of life whatsoever. The jungle was too quiet—no birds, no insects, not even the faint rustling of small creatures in the underbrush. It was as if something had driven every living thing away—or worse, had wiped them out entirely.

What should have been a simple two-hour journey had stretched to nearly four, not because they were lost, but because every instinct told them to move carefully. The deeper they went, the heavier the air became—suffocating in a way that had nothing to do with the humidity pressing against their skin. The silence wasn't just unsettling—it was crushing, thick with the weight of something unseen, something lurking just beyond their senses. They couldn't see it, couldn't hear it, but they could feel it, lingering in the air like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

By the time they reached the spring, the pressure had reached its peak, squeezing their lungs and tightening their muscles with a tension none of them could explain. 

Tucked between jagged rock formations, the spring sat in eerie stillness, its clear water fed by an unseen underground source. It was small but deep, its surface so smooth it looked almost like glass, untouched by wind or movement. A thin mist curled over the water, clinging to the edges where rock met earth, twisting and shifting like something alive.

It should have been a relief to find a clean water source, a stroke of luck in an otherwise unpredictable mission. Yet, standing at its edge, none of them felt lucky. There was something about this place that felt wrong—not in any obvious way, not in anything they could define, but in the way the air itself seemed to hold its breath, as if the jungle had been waiting for them to arrive.

Oliver's voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried with the weight of an order. "Perimeter. Now."

The squad moved without hesitation, fanning out in a seamless formation, each soldier knowing exactly where to be. Olek and Gregor took the left, eyes scanning the dense undergrowth, while Zeke and Lazar positioned themselves on the right, covering the ridgeline and the towering trees above. Bogi took a spot at the center of the formation, his rifle up, gaze locked on the jungle beyond the spring, every sense alert.

Only Ogar stepped forward. 

There was something profoundly unsettling about kneeling at the edge of the spring, dipping his hands into the still water while the rest of the squad stood rigid behind him, weapons drawn, covering his every move. He had been in warzones before, had crossed open fields under sniper fire, had dragged wounded comrades through battlefields where every second could be his last—but this was different.

Gunfire was predictable. The enemy, no matter how cruel or relentless, was human—something he could understand, something he could kill. But this? This was something else entirely.

He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched.

The jungle had been silent since they arrived, yet as he knelt, unfastening the first canister and dipping it into the still water, he swore he felt a shift in the air—an invisible weight pressing against his back. He forced himself to focus, steadying his hands as the water gurgled into the container, the sound impossibly loud in the crushing stillness. The first canister filled quickly, and as he sealed it and set it aside, he allowed himself a glance over his shoulder.

Nothing had changed.

The squad remained locked in position, eyes sharp, weapons raised, scanning the jungle like they expected something to explode from the shadows at any moment.

It should have reassured him.

It didn't.

He dipped the second canister into the spring, his pulse steady but his skin prickling with an instinct he couldn't explain. Every breath he took felt too loud. Every movement felt like it was being watched, measured, judged. The jungle hadn't moved, hadn't made a sound, but it felt closer, like something unseen had crept just a little nearer while he wasn't looking.

He sealed the second canister, set it aside, and moved to the third.

The weight on his chest only grew heavier.

With each splash of water against metal, he swore he felt something stir. Not in the trees, not in the undergrowth, but deeper—somewhere beyond the edges of his senses, somewhere he couldn't see. His fingers tightened around the canister as he pulled it from the spring and sealed it shut.

Almost done.

Just one more.

He dipped the last canister into the water, and as the liquid rushed inside, he felt it again.

A shift. A presence. A feeling that something had just noticed him.

The hair on his arms stood on end.

His breath caught in his throat.

The jungle remained still, yet the weight in the air had changed—something was awake now.

His fingers worked quickly, sealing the final canister, hoisting it into his arms. It was done.

But now, they had to carry it back.

And that was when the real problem began. 

Ogar turned toward Bogi, waiting for the next order, already knowing what it would be.

Bogi and Oliver exchanged looks. There was no question about what needed to be done. They couldn't afford to slow the squad down by distributing the weight across too many soldiers. Two men had to carry it, and those men had to be strong enough to bear the full load without weakening.

Oliver's voice was steady, decisive. "Olek and Ogar will carry it."

No one argued.

Ogar and Olek simply nodded, faces blank, but beneath the silence, they both understood exactly what this meant. Carrying the full load would make them slower, less mobile. If something attacked, they wouldn't be able to react in time.

They would be stationary targets.

Bogi knew it. Oliver knew it. The whole squad knew it.

But orders were orders.

They worked quickly, strapping the canisters to their backs, adjusting the weight so it wouldn't throw them off balance. Ogar clenched his jaw as he felt the burden settle against his shoulders—not just the physical weight, but the knowledge that if something came for them now, they would be the first to die.

Bogi's hand signaled the squad.

They moved out, slipping back into the jungle, retracing their path in the same cautious silence.

The jungle had been silent for too long.

It was the kind of silence that didn't feel natural, the kind that pressed against their ears, as if the very air around them was holding its breath. Each step forward carried an oppressive weight, and every passing second stretched thin with the unbearable tension of an unseen presence lurking just beyond their senses.

For an hour, nothing had happened.

Not a single shadow moved. Not a single branch swayed. Even the faintest of animal sounds were absent, as if the entire jungle had emptied itself of life.

Yet the soldiers felt it.

A pressure. A weight. A slow, creeping dread slithering into their bones.

Something was out there. Watching. Waiting.

And then—the sky darkened.

Massive storm clouds rolled in, swallowing the twin suns and plunging the jungle into an eerie twilight. Shadows stretched unnaturally, twisting in the dimming light, and the once-warm air turned heavy and damp, thick with the scent of damp earth and something… unrecognizable.

Then, finally—a sound.

A single, sharp crack.

A branch snapped somewhere to the right, the sound unnatural in the dense quiet, its echo carrying through the jungle like a warning.

Zeke was closest.

He didn't hesitate.

His instincts screamed danger.

Before his mind could process, before his body could register the source, his hand was already in motion. With a swift, fluid movement, he ignited his plasma blade and swung.

And that saved his life.

Something huge lunged from the shadows.

A blur of black muscle and unnatural speed, its massive frame moving with an eerie fluidity, too fast for the human eye to fully process. The glowing plasma blade sliced through the air, forcing the creature to veer off course, missing Zeke by mere inches.

For the first time, the entire squad saw it.

Glowing red eyes burned through the dim light, piercing, unnatural, staring straight into them as if peering into their souls.

It wasn't just an animal.

It was something more.

For a moment—**just a moment—**no one moved.

A raw, primal fear surged through them, ancient and deep-seated, the kind of fear buried in the very fabric of their instincts. Their bodies tensed, their hands frozen halfway to their weapons, their muscles locking from something beyond rational thought.

Even the most hardened warriors among them felt it.

This thing was not a predator they understood.

This thing was something else.

Something older.

Something worse.

Then—Bogi and Oliver felt it.

A surge of raw electricity pulsed through their veins, snapping them free from the fear, sharpening their focus to a razor's edge. Their bodies moved before their minds could register the action, instinct taking over where logic had failed.

BAM! BAM!

Gunfire shattered the silence.

The bullets struck true—the first shot hitting the beast's lower left leg, the second tearing through its side.

But it did not react.

There was no cry of pain, no stumble, no hesitation. The wounds bled, dark against its jet-black fur, but the monster didn't even flinch.

Instead, it locked eyes with Bogi and Oliver.

It had made its decision.

And it lunged.

Only now, as it sprang forward, did its full size become terrifyingly clear.

Twice—almost triple—the size of a normal panther, its sleek body rippling with unnatural power, every muscle coiled like a drawn bowstring. It moved with terrifying speed, a streak of black death, its red eyes locked onto Bogi.

Bogi didn't blink.

He unsheathed his plasma blade, his grip tightening around the hilt. He knew what was about to happen. If no one stopped it, he would be dead in seconds.

Then— "HURGH!" A roar cut through the air, but it wasn't the panther's.

A massive figure slammed into its side—Sergei, the close-combat specialist.

The sheer impact knocked the beast off course, its razor-sharp claws missing Bogi by inches.

BAM! BAM!

Michael's rifle fired twice, the first shot hitting the panther's outstretched right paw, the second slamming into its shoulder. The force disrupted its balance mid-air, sending it crashing into the dirt, claws digging deep into the jungle floor.

Bogi saw his chance. He charged. His plasma blade sliced through the air, aimed straight for the creature's skull. But—the panther was faster.

With a blur of motion, it twisted out of the way, its unnatural reflexes saving it in the final second. And then, it locked onto Olek. Olek had just recovered from his shock, his body tensed, his weapon half-raised—but it was too late.

The panther lunged.

A scream ripped through the air.

"OLEK!!"

But before its claws could land—

"THUD!"

A second impact.

Julius slammed into Olek, hurling him aside.

For a single moment, Julius' eyes met Olek's—a flicker of a smile, a silent goodbye.

Then—

SPLURT.

The panther's claws tore through Julius' right arm.

Flesh ripped. Bone shattered. Blood sprayed in a violent arc.

But—the strike had been off.

Julius had saved Olek.

He should have been torn in half, but the angle was wrong. The claws only grazed his ribs.

Julius dropped to his knees, his breath ragged, his arm hanging by a shred of skin.

The panther landed, snarling, frustrated by its failed kill.

And Oliver had been waiting.

He moved in from behind, silent, precise, deadly.

His plasma blade drove deep into the panther's side, piercing through fur and flesh, burning as it sank into its stomach.

The panther roared.

For the first time—it felt pain.

BAM! BAM!

Roki fired two more rounds, both bullets tearing through the creature's hind legs.

It collapsed, blood pooling beneath it.

And then, for the first time, the panther hesitated.

For the first time, it felt fear.

These humans—they were different.

They had fought like prey that refused to be eaten.

The realization flickered through the panther's fading mind.

And then—

"SIZZLE."

Two plasma blades spun through the air.

One from Lazar.

One from Zeke.

Both struck at the same time.

One buried itself in the panther's skull.

The other drove straight through its throat.

The beast jerked violently, its massive body convulsing, claws twitching—

Then—

Silence.

The red glow in its eyes faded.

Its body collapsed.

And just like that—the hunt was over.