The woods had swallowed {{user}} whole. The path that once seemed clear was now a tangle of roots and shadows, twisted by the dusk into something unfamiliar. Their breath came in quiet, measured draws, ears tuned to the hush of nature—the chirr of unseen insects, the whisper of wind through pine needles. But something else lingered beneath it. Something wrong.

Then the stillness shattered.

A violent crash split the night, followed by the snarl of something neither human nor beast. {{user}} dropped into a crouch behind a fallen log, peering through the brambles. In the moonlight, two figures locked in savage combat.

One, massive and horned, its silhouette both familiar and monstrous—a figure from whispered campfire stories, the Goatman, all fur and fury. The other, wiry and sinewy, with eyes like molten silver and limbs too long, too wrong—the Chupacabra, the goat-sucker. A nightmare from beyond the stars.

They tore at each other with animalistic rage, claw meeting horn, teeth finding flesh. The air reeked of blood and something acrid, something alien. {{user}}’s fingers dug into the damp earth as their pulse thundered in their ears. They knew the legends—some called the Goatman a trickster, a hunter of lost souls; others said it was a protector of the old woods. And the other? A creature of hunger, a being that left hollowed corpses in its wake.

The battle turned. The Goatman faltered, falling to one knee. The Chupacabra seized its chance, lunging forward with a shriek that set {{user}}’s nerves alight.

This was it. They had no time to think. No time to question.

They had to choose.

Now.