Chapter 2: Plan
Fin's heart hammered in his chest as he stared at the monster he'd just punched. It wasn't dead—not yet. The scaly beast shook its head, dazed, then let out a guttural roar that made his stomach twist.
Sure, he'd absorbed something from that dead monster corpse, and yeah, he felt stronger than ever, but this thing? It was still terrifying. Its claws glinted in the light, and its jagged teeth snapped at the air.
This wasn't a video game. This was real, and Fin was *not* ready.
"Crap, crap, crap," he muttered, stumbling back. His newfound strength buzzed in his limbs, but his brain hadn't caught up. The monster lunged, swiping a claw at his chest.
He dodged—barely—but the tip sliced through his hoodie and grazed his skin, leaving a stinging red line.
"Ow! Son of a—" He swung his fist again, aiming for its head. The punch connected, a wet crack echoing as the monster's jaw twisted sideways.
It staggered, but Fin's confidence faltered when it roared again, louder, angrier. He wasn't a fighter. He was a scrap-hauler with a dumb power. What was he doing?
The monster charged, faster this time, and Fin panicked. He threw himself to the side, but not quick enough—its claws raked across his arm, tearing through fabric and flesh. Blood welled up, hot and sticky, and he yelped, clutching the wound.
"Okay, that's it!" he shouted, fear turning to frustration. He didn't care how scared he was anymore—he just wanted this thing dead
He rushed forward, ducking under another swipe, and slammed his shoulder into its gut. The monster wheezed, stumbling back, and Fin didn't stop. He grabbed its arm—scaly, slimy, disgusting—and yanked with all his strength.
There was a sickening pop as the limb tore free, black blood spraying across his face. The monster screeched, thrashing wildly, but Fin was done playing nice. He swung the severed arm like a club, smashing it into the creature's skull. Once. Twice. On the third hit, its head caved in, bone and brain splattering onto the ground. The body twitched, then went still.