5.Allies and Training
The scorching sun already dominated the sky when Kauã dragged himself back to camp, his once-majestic wings now trailing in the dust like dead feathers. Every muscle burned, heavy as if soaked in molten lead. The hunt, which had been so effortless at first, had turned into a battle of attrition. The deer had learned. Adapted. And now, every strike demanded twice the effort.
He could barely keep his eyes open.
The group had enough meat—bloodied piles still being butchered near the fire—but Kauã was spent. His body begged for rest, his instincts screamed for refuge. Moving slowly, almost mechanically, he crawled to the pyramid's entrance and collapsed onto the stone steps, where the shade still resisted the sun's advance.
From there, he saw everything:
McCoy issuing orders and distributing supplies with steady hands, his revolver gleaming at his waist like a badge of authority.
Travis the sly, slinking between tents to steal barely cooked chunks of meat, his hungry eyes scanning for witnesses.
The civilians, finally quiet, chewing in silence, their stomachs temporarily satisfied.
Through the fog of exhaustion, his predator's eyes still caught every detail.
The hot wind coiled around his feathers, carrying the smell of burning fat and the distant murmur of voices. The sun climbed higher, relentless, and with it, the afternoon heat tightened like a vise.
Kauã watched.
And his thoughts cut like claws:
'They depend on my hunting… but for how long?'
His gaze swept over the camp, analyzing every face, every movement. McCoy commanded with the confidence of someone who still believed in the power of a gun. The civilians bowed their heads, obedient as sheep. The truth was obvious, painfully clear:
'Soon, they'll adapt. Soon, they won't need me anymore.'
His fingers twitched involuntarily, claws scraping against the pyramid's stone, leaving shallow marks on the rough surface.
McCoy was no fool. A civilian with power was a threat. And threats were not tolerated.
The scenarios unfolded in his mind, sharp as knives:
1. A knife in the back during a lone hunt.
2. An "accident"—a "misfired" bullet, an "unexpected" fall from a cliff.
3. The entire group, united by fear, turning against the monster who fed them.
The midday wind carried the sweet, greasy scent of roasting meat—his meat, his hunt, his fleeting worth. Kauã smiled, a bitter twist of lips that never reached his eyes.
'Time is running out.'
——
The danger was as clear as the edge of a blade. If the military turned the group against him, it would be over. Kauã sat on the pyramid's ledge, fingers drumming against the cold stone as his gaze swept over the camp below.
A plan began to take shape in his mind, piece by piece, like a predator sizing up its prey.
First step: Play the human.
He needed to remind them he was still one of them. Gather firewood for the elders, help fetch water, pretend concern for the wounded. Small, calculated gestures that would make the civilians whisper: "He's not like the other Chosen… he cares."
Second step: Make himself indispensable.
Being useful wasn't enough—he needed to be a hero. Save someone from a beast attack, lead a dangerous expedition, offer up his own kill. He'd cement his image as the protector, the one they couldn't survive without.
McCoy wouldn't dare touch him then. Any move against Kauã would be seen as betrayal—and even the military needed the herd's loyalty
But for that, he needed allies. Someone inside McCoy's inner circle, someone who could whisper to him about the hushed conversations behind closed tents. Maybe Jean, always hungry for power, or that spider-legged woman throwing herself at him—she seemed like the type who craved attention.
Kauã let out a low laugh, the sound swallowed by the wind.
The military men were few. Just a handful of armed men trying to rule a world that no longer belonged to them. The old nations couldn't back them up; this planet now belonged to the Chosen, to those who had been selected for this new world's colonization. Soldiers wouldn't last with these powers—soon, they'd be the ruin of civilization.
"Soon, very soon… the military will fall."
His muscles tensed beneath his skin, as if something inside him agreed—hungrily. Kauã didn't know if it was the power speaking or just his own ambition, finally free from the chains of the old world. He didn't want to be just another survivor.
He wanted to be the law.
The wind stole his words as he whispered them, but they echoed in his chest like an oath:
"New world… new rules."
———
The scent reached him before the sound of footsteps—a mix of wild herbs and sweat, laced with something uniquely Julia's: the ghost of an old life, of a world that no longer existed. Kauã didn't need to turn; his sharpened senses had detected her long before his ears caught the faint crunch of dry leaves beneath her feet.
Julia was there. Watching.
She'd been studying him for days. While the rest of the group wavered between fear and desperation, he remained as still as the pyramid's stones—unshakable. Unhuman.
His face was no longer fully human. With his hawk-like features, his emotions were unreadable—and perhaps that was his greatest strength. While others screamed, wept, or begged, Torphon simply watched.
Julia knew what that meant.
In this new world, the more animal traits a person bore, the stronger they became. The weak still looked human. The strong… well, the strong were becoming something else entirely.
She'd caught her reflection in a puddle that morning and barely recognized the face staring back. It terrified her.
But Torphon… Torphon was different.
If she could earn his trust—or, failing that, his protection—she knew she'd survive. No one would dare lay a hand on someone under the predator's wing.
The scent of fresh blood still hung in the air as Julia approached, her long, jointed legs dragging slightly over the damp earth. Kauã didn't need to turn—he already knew it was her. That metallic tang, mixed with the sweat of struggling to move in limbs she hadn't yet mastered, was unmistakable.
"Thank you for letting me sleep beside you last night," she said, her voice steadier than she'd expected.
Kauã kept his eyes fixed on the horizon, where the sun was beginning to stain the sky blood-red. His wings, half-spread against his back, quivered faintly in the morning breeze.
"Don't mention it. You seemed… like you needed it."
He didn't need to finish the thought. They both knew what it meant to spend the night hounded by the sounds of the forest—and the hungry eyes watching from the shadows.
Julia sat beside him, hesitant, as if afraid her elongated, razor-sharp legs might accidentally cut him. She still hadn't mastered their movement—her steps were clumsy, like a spiderling learning to walk. Kauã glanced at them, noting how the dawn light glinted off the chitinous bristles covering her limbs.
"How are you holding up?"
Noticing his gaze, she shrunk in on herself, pulling her legs close as if to hide them.
"I'm... managing,"she murmured, her still-human fingers nervously gripping her knees. "I mean, it's not easy going from downtown apartments to a jungle overnight, you know?"
Kauã made a low sound—something between a laugh and a growl.
"You're right. But you'd better get used to this new way of living." His green eyes locked onto hers, unrelenting. "Otherwise, you're just easy prey for the things in these woods."
The silence between them was split by the distant shriek of an unknown creature. Julia flinched, but Kauã didn't so much as twitch.
"...Though honestly? You should fear the humans here more than the monsters."
He finally turned to face her, and for the first time, Julia saw something beyond cold calculation in his gaze—a warning.
The biting morning wind carried away the last trace of hesitation in Julia's voice. Her eyes remained downcast, but her words hung in the air like a poised knife.
"Will you teach me to survive?"
Kauã studied her face—the tense jawline, the white-knuckled grip of her human fingers against her spider-legs. He'd noticed the way the men looked at her, their gazes thick with hunger and calculation. Julia wasn't foolish. She knew weakness in this world was an open invitation for violence.
And she was right.
His wings lifted slightly behind him, casting an elongated shadow over her.
"Why would I do that?" His voice was neutral, but golden eyes gleamed with interest.
Julia inhaled deeply, the scent of damp earth and iron—dried blood still clinging to her clothes—filling her lungs.
"Because… you don't seem human anymore," she murmured, dark eyes locked onto his as if searching for some shred of compassion behind the feathered mask of his face. "People fear your hawk's gaze... Soon enough, they'll look at my extra spider legs with the same terror."
"And you know that without help—" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "—I could end up dead… or worse."
The silence between them stretched, broken only by distant rustling leaves. Kauã tilted his head, falcon-like, assessing an intriguing prey.
"What guarantees you won't betray me later?"
Julia didn't hesitate.
"These legs." She extended one, letting sunlight glint off every razor-edged joint. "If I wanted to run, I'd have tried already. But I need to learn to use them… or they'll kill me before the men even get the chance."
Kauã made a low sound—almost a laugh.
"Training you means making you a threat." His gaze slid toward the distant camp where McCoy spoke with his men. "And threats don't last long here."
Julia clenched her fists.
"Then teach me to be so dangerous no one dares lay a finger on me."
For a long moment, Kauã simply watched her. Then, in one fluid motion, he rose, his wings spreading like a cloak.
"We start at sunset. And Julia?" He leaned in until his face was mere inches from hers. "Disappoint me, and I'll end you myself."
The smile she gave him was sharper than her spider-legs.
"Fair enough."
——
Kemar Whittingham watched from the shadows of dead trees, restless fingers tracing circles in the dry earth. His eyes—already darker than they should be, pupils black as a raven's—followed Torphon's every move.
'He isn't afraid.'
That's what fascinated Kemar. While the rest of the group cowered at McCoy's shouts or hid at the first sign of danger, Torphon moved like the world belonged to him. As if the old rules had never existed.
Kemar grinned, revealing teeth that were growing unnaturally sharp.
The cracks in the military's control were obvious. They were few—a handful of men armed to the teeth but with dwindling ammunition and even lower morale. Kemar had heard the whispers in the tents, seen the glances exchanged between civilians. Soon, very soon, this fragile balance would collapse.
And when it did, everyone would have to choose a side.
'Better secure my place now.'
Torphon was the logical choice. Not just for brute strength—those wings that cut through air like blades, those claws that tore through flesh like paper—but for something rarer: he understood the new world. While McCoy tried to enforce old hierarchies, Torphon embraced the change. He was among the first to master his abilities, to relish becoming more than human.
A shiver ran down Kemar's spine. He was changing too. His wings, his heightened reflexes... but he refused to be controlled by someone who feared their own potential. He needed a leader who'd push him to explore every new instinct, every transforming piece of himself.
And Torphon was exactly that.
With a final glance at the camp—where McCoy was berating a group of civilians for stealing rations—Kemar made his decision.
The sun bathed the camp in golden hues as Kemar spotted the two of them. Torphon and Julia stood too close—almost nose to nose—their bodies still as statues under the sunlight. Something about the scene made Kemar's new instincts thrum.
'Interesting.'
He should have walked away. Waited for another time. But curiosity proved stronger. Moving soundlessly (another ability he'd barely realized he'd developed), he approached until he was just steps away.
"Excuse me," his voice emerged like a whisper, carefully calibrated not to startle, yet Julia still jumped like a spooked cat. "Don't mean to interrupt, but... could I speak with Torphon?"
Julia whirled around so fast one of her chitinous legs scraped the ground, kicking up dust. Her eyes were wide, breathing uneven.
"You're not interrupting anything! We were just... talking. That's all." The words tumbled out in a rush, and Kemar didn't need enhanced senses to smell the lie—and something else. Shame?
Torphon, meanwhile, hadn't so much as twitched. His green eyes gleamed in the light, locked onto Kemar as if reading every hidden thought.
"I'll, uh... see you later, Torphon," Julia muttered, sidling past them with awkward movements. "Excuse me."
She disappeared into the crowd, but not before Kemar caught the flush on her cheeks.
The silence left behind was thick enough to carve with claws. Kemar kept his posture relaxed, but every muscle was coiled tight. Torphon kept watching him, head now slightly tilted like a raptor deciding whether to strike.
"Was it important?" Torphon finally asked, his voice as soft as rustling dead leaves.
Kemar smiled, showing more teeth than strictly necessary.
"Depends. Do you consider survival important?"
The wind lifted the black feathers of Kauã's wings as he rose, his body casting an elongated shadow that swallowed Kemar whole for a moment. Those green eyes—so like an eagle's yet something more—scanned the man before him, assessing every detail:
The folded wings (not as large as his own, darker than moonless night).
The wicked smile (teeth too sharp to be human).
The relaxed stance (yet muscles coiled, ready to spring or flee).
Kauã remembered the three boys who'd tried to flee into the forest during the first week. Kemar had been one of them—one of the two who survived.
'Interesting.'
"An alliance?" Kauã laughed, the sound rough and echoing. "What's in it for me? Why not join the military? McCoy would love a hound with your... talents."
Kemar didn't flinch. Instead, he leaned in as if sharing a filthy secret:
"Because McCoy fears what people are becoming. Terrified of losing control over them." His eyes glinted, reflecting the distant firelight. "But you... you relish using this freely. Just like I do."
Kauã crossed his arms, claws lightly scraping his own skin.
"And why should I trust your loyalty?" His tone mocked, yet interest lurked beneath. "Everyone who pledges allegiance ends up with a knife in their back."
Kemar spread his arms like a merchant displaying wares.
"Because I'm not stupid enough to betray the only man who can keep me alive when chaos comes." His smile vanished, replaced by something feral. "McCoy's days are numbered. And when the group turns on the military... I want to stand with whoever remains on top."
The final word hung between them like a challenge.
Kauã studied him for a long moment, then stepped forward until mere inches separated them. His scent—earth, dried blood, and something electric—enveloped Kemar.
"Alright then, partner." Kauã's whisper was as soft as the rustle of a deathly leaf. "But know this: if you betray me..."
A single claw rose, lightly brushing Kemar's throat where the jugular pulsed.
"...I'll make you wish you'd stayed with McCoy."
Kemar swallowed hard but didn't retreat. Instead, he smiled again, this time with something almost like admiration.
"Fair enough."
"My name is Kemar."
Kemar's face twitched, facial muscles contorting into an expression balancing nonchalance and urgency. His black wings—still clumsy like a fledgling's—partially unfolded with an unnatural creak.
"So... since we're allies now," he began, fingers drumming against his own wing joints. "Maybe you could teach me to fly?"
Kauã didn't blink. Those green eyes stabbed through Kemar like daggers, assessing every tremor, every microexpression. The silence stretched until it became almost unbearable
"You can't fly?" Kauã's voice slashed through the air like a claw strike. "You have wings and can't use them? Exactly how do you plan to be useful?"
The disdain was palpable, but Kemar didn't flinch. Instead, he shrugged with practiced casualness, making his black feathers rustle like dead leaves.
"That's why I sought you out," he countered, the edges of his mouth quirking upward. "No one in the group has mastered their beast-skills yet. Apparently it's harder for... our kind."
The emphasis on those last words didn't go unnoticed. Kauã studied him a moment longer, his own instincts sniffing out the truth beneath the statement.
'I have greater control because of my enhanced beast powers. That could be useful.'
Kauã's thoughts aligned as swiftly as a wingbeat. If Kemar was truly willing to learn, he'd make a valuable ally. If not... well, there was always the option of pushing him off a cliff later.
"Fine," Kauã finally conceded, stretching his wings to their full span, blotting out the distant firelight. "I'll teach you to use them. And maybe we'll spar afterward."
The old term—street slang from his past—rolled naturally off his tongue. Kemar grinned, recognizing the challenge in his tone.
Kauã felt the warm air rush against his face as he spread his wings, their black feathers glinting under the pale moonlight. His back muscles tensed for an instant before propelling him upward in one fluid, powerful motion.
"Let's go," he commanded, his voice rough but firm.
Before Kemar could respond, Kauã gripped his arms, feeling the weight of his new ally against his claws. With two strong wingbeats, their feet left the ground, and the world below blurred into shadows. Wind whistled past their ears, mingling with Kemar's ragged breaths.
"Finally!" Kemar shouted—more to the sky than to Kauã—with an excitement that nearly made him laugh.
The scent of woodsmoke rose from the Fig Trees below, blending with the forest's earthy aroma. Kauã adjusted their flight, banking slightly to avoid a stronger air current.
Kemar murmured to himself:
'Finally.'
——
The sun's heat bathed the stone mountain, turning Kauã's wings into living shadows that rippled against the wind. Kemar stood at the cliff's edge, the fifty-meter drop below stealing the breath from his lungs. His black wings—beautiful but useless until now—quivered nervously.
Kauã circled him like a shark scenting blood.
Wind howled through the Obsidian cliffs, carrying the scent of damp earth and ancient moss. Below them, the abyss spat silver mist into the sunlight.
"Fly."
Kauã's voice cut through the silence like a razor.
Kemar swallowed hard, dirt-crusted hands gripping his thighs.
"So I just... jump and flap?" His feathers ruffled, revealing the messy plumage of a complete beginner.
Kauã flashed a grin that would leave scars on tougher men.
"If it were that easy, even Julia would be flying by now." He took a step forward, closing the distance to the cliff's edge. Loose pebbles tumbled into the void without echo. "You need to feel the wind. Let it carry you like a leaf in a whirlwind."
Kemar glanced back, neck muscles taut as bowstrings.
"You'll catch me if I fail, right?"
Kauã didn't answer.
The push came as sudden as a snake strike.
"Better find out fast if you're a bird or a meat sack!"
Kemar's scream tore across the sky.
His arms flapped like a moth trapped in a spider's web. Wind howled in his ears, flooding his lungs with icy air. Primal instinct forced his wings to snap open in a jerky spasm—all wrong, completely wrong.
Kauã glided beside him, black wings slicing through air with surgical precision.
"Lock your feathers, dumbass! You trying to swim through air or flap like a rotisserie chicken?!"
The ground rushed up like a monster's gaping maw.
Kemar choked down panic. Closed his eyes.
'Feel the wind.'
Then - miraculously - his wings found alignment. Not rigid, but like sails harnessing a storm's fury. The death-plummet became a dive, then an awkward glide - clumsy, uncontrolled, but unmistakably flight.
"HOLY SHIT, I'M FLYING-"
WHUMP!!!
The impact blasted the air from his lungs. He tumbled like a bag of broken bones, kicking up a storm of dust and dead leaves. But he was breathing. Alive.
Kauã touched down with falcon's grace, claws scraping dust.
"Congratulations. You've officially upgraded from useless to barely-functional." He extended a hand but didn't help pull Kemar up - just watched him writhe in the dirt. "Tomorrow we work on not nearly dying."
Kemar clutched his dislocated shoulder, but his grin stretched ear to ear with pure adrenaline-high.
"There's a tomorrow?"
Kauã turned away, his wings folding into shadow.
"That depends. First you'll need to learn how to land without impersonating a potato sack thrown from a skyscraper."