As night descended upon the village, the warm glow of torches flickered against the thatched rooftops, casting wavering shadows that stretched and swayed as if they had lives of their own. The air carried a peculiar stillness, an uneasy tension mingled with the quiet hum of village life. Somewhere in the distance, the low murmur of voices and the occasional crackle of burning wood punctuated the night.
"Papa, Papa!" A young boy's voice rang out, high-pitched with excitement as he darted between the gathered villagers.
"The hunters have returned!" another voice called, cutting through the night air.
From the darkness beyond the village's borders, figures emerged, burdened yet triumphant. The first group of hunters strode into the village, their bodies slick with sweat and dust from the long trek. Six strong men carried their prize—a massive, buffalo-like beast with curved horns that gleamed under the firelight. Though its limbs were tightly bound, the creature still struggled weakly, its nostrils flaring as it let out a low, guttural sound.
The gathered villagers murmured among themselves, their faces flickering with emotions—relief, awe, and a quiet reverence for the skill and strength of their hunters. Elder Gido, the village’s respected leader, stepped forward, his weathered face illuminated by the torchlight. With a commanding voice, he addressed the crowd.
"Tonight, we must remain vigilant. The hunt was successful, but danger still lurks beyond our borders. Volunteers are needed for the night patrol."
A heavy silence followed. Many of the hunters, their bodies weary from the arduous chase and capture, hesitated. But duty called, and soon, a handful of men stepped forward, their expressions resolute. Armed with torches, spears, and swords, they readied themselves for the long night ahead.
Joba, the appointed leader of the patrol, surveyed his men with a practiced eye. "We'll split into smaller groups," he instructed. "Cover more ground, stay alert, and if you see anything unusual—sound the alarm."
With those words, the patrol moved into the darkness, their figures swallowed by the night as they set out to protect the village from unseen threats.
"Joba," a voice called out, breaking the stillness of the night. Joba turned, his sharp eyes scanning the darkness until he saw Yato approaching with a steady stride.
"Oh, Yato. What is it?" Joba asked, noting the serious expression on his fellow warrior's face.
"I need to step away for a bit. There's something I need to take care of, but I'll be back," Yato explained, his tone calm yet firm.
Joba studied him for a moment before nodding. "Alright, be careful. I'll expect you to return."
"Understood. I’ll be back," Yato assured him before vanishing into the shadows, his form quickly swallowed by the night.
In a small wooden house constructed from thick branches and rough-hewn logs, a man in his early thirties sat in a dimly lit corner. The flickering light of a single oil lamp cast elongated shadows across the walls as he worked, his hands steady, his movements methodical. Each stroke of the whetstone against the spear’s blade sent a soft, rhythmic scraping sound through the quiet space.
The man, Tino, had the look of a seasoned warrior—broad-shouldered and wiry, with eyes sharp as a hawk’s. His focus never wavered as he sharpened his weapon, ensuring its edge was honed to deadly perfection.
Then, a sudden knock at the door disrupted his concentration.
His grip on the spear tightened slightly before he called out, "Who is it?"
"It's Yato," came the familiar voice from outside.
Tino sighed, setting the whetstone down beside him. "What do you need?"
"Do you want to join the patrol tonight?"
A pause. Tino glanced at his spear, running a calloused thumb along its blade. "I’m sorry, but I can’t. I have something important to do." He resumed sharpening the weapon, his voice firm but not unkind.
"Oh, alright. Be careful tonight," Yato warned. "Elder Gido mentioned that a beast has been spotted roaming nearby."
Tino halted for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Thanks for the warning. I’ll be cautious."
"It’s not just a warning—it’s a serious alert," Yato emphasized, his voice laced with urgency.
Tino finally looked up, his expression unreadable. "Understood. Take care, Yato."
"You too," Yato replied before stepping away, his silhouette fading into the night.
As the door closed, Tino sat in silence for a moment, his thoughts dark and determined.
"So, the beast is near."
His grip tightened around the spear. This wasn’t just any creature—it was the one responsible for the recent attacks, the one that had stolen livestock and left nothing but bloodied remains in its wake.
"Whatever you are, beast, you won’t escape me tonight. You’re dead."
With a final stroke, he finished sharpening his weapon. He ran his fingers along the gleaming edge, nodding in satisfaction.
Rising to his feet, he grabbed a torch from the wall and stepped outside. The cold night air greeted him, carrying the distant sounds of rustling leaves and the occasional cry of nocturnal creatures. His eyes turned toward the chicken coop—the most recent site of an attack.
"It’s time to hunt," he muttered under his breath, determination hardening his features.
Tonight, he would put an end to the terror that haunted the village. Tonight, vengeance would be his.
Meanwhile, in a muddy swamp surrounded by tall grass, the only sounds were the chirping of crickets and the faint glow of fireflies. The wind blew strongly, adding an unsettling chill to the atmosphere. 
From the mud, a pair of glowing eyes opened, piercing through the darkness.  
“It’s time,” Fang Mu muttered to himself. After a fierce battle with a beast earlier, he had sustained injuries to his chest, though they were no longer severe. What troubled him more was his gnawing hunger. Desperate for food, he had even resorted to eating insects, which he despised, just to regain some strength.  
Fang Mu leaped toward the village, his movements swift and silent. As he approached, he noticed the patrolling men carrying torches.  
“This might be harder than I thought,” he mused, observing the vigilant guards.  
“Let’s see if you can catch me,” he whispered to himself. Instead of leaping, he began to walk cautiously, maneuvering stealthily toward the chicken coop. 
He noticed that only nine hens and five chicks remained. Slowly, he crept closer, then pounced with lightning speed, slipping into the coop unnoticed. Unbeknownst to him, a pair of watchful eyes observed him from the shadows.  
Fang Mu targeted one of the smallest hen . with his sticky tongue, swiftly pulling it into his mouth. Despite the hen’s size, his elastic jaws allowed him to swallow it whole with ease. 
“That should do it,” he said to himself, patting his now-full stomach with satisfaction.  
The remaining hens, sensing danger, began to cluck nervously, their agitation growing. Fang Mu, fearing the noise would alert the patrol, decided it was time to leave.  
“Time to go,” he thought.  
But as he turned to exit, he was blocked by a tall, middle-aged man—Tino. His eyes burned with anger as he gripped his wooden spear tightly.  
“You beast! Did you think you could outsmart me?” Tino growled. He took in Fang Mu’s grotesque appearance: three eyes, rough green skin, a chicken-like body with a disproportionately large head, two bulging growths on its chest, and a small tail.  
“Dammit,” Fang Mu muttered.  
“Die!” Tino shouted, thrusting his spear toward the creature.  
Fang Mu dodged the attacks with agility, but his full stomach slowed him down, and a few strikes landed. However, his thick, tough skin absorbed most of the blows. The commotion caused the remaining hens to squawk loudly, adding to the chaos.  
“Catch me if you can, you fool!” Fang Mu taunted, evading Tino’s strikes with ease.  
In his fury, Tino accidentally struck some of the hens and their eggs, but he paid no mind. His sole focus was on killing the beast. A critical hit sent Fang Mu flying, reopening his old wounds from the earlier battle. Blood began to seep from his injuries.  
Realizing he couldn’t afford to prolong the fight, Fang Mu took a deep breath and regurgitated the hen he had eaten earlier, hurling it at Tino’s face.  
“F*ck!” Tino exclaimed as the slimy, saliva-covered hen struck him, momentarily disorienting him.  
Fang Mu followed up with two quick strikes of his tongue, hitting Tino’s shoulder and arm. The venom began to take effect, causing Tino’s arm to stiffen and drop his spear. His legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground, paralyzed.  
“Heh heh heh,” Fang Mu sneered. “What should I do with you now?”  
Tino lay helpless, his body immobilized, his mind racing with fear and anger. Fang Mu stepped on his face mockingly, savoring the man’s humiliation.  
An idea struck Fang Mu, and he turned his attention to the remaining hens. Their frantic clucking was like music to his ears. With a flick of his whip-like tongue, he began to torment the hens, each strike causing them to writhe in pain.  
Tino watched helplessly, rage and confusion battling within him. This was no mindless beast—this creature was intelligent, cunning, and cruel.
One by one, Fang Mu devoured the eggs and chicks, delighting in Tino’s helpless rage. After finishing his meal, he continued to torment the hens until they lay lifeless.  
“Okay, time to go,” Fang Mu said, glancing toward the exit. But as he reached the door, he paused, trembling with excitement.  
He returned to Tino, who lay paralyzed and covered in filth. With a wicked grin, Fang Mu defecated on Tino’s face, laughing maniacally.  
“Good art,” Fang Mu remarked playfully, admiring his handiwork.  
With that, he slipped out of the coop and disappeared into the night, leaving no trace of his presence behind.