It was supposed to be a relaxing weekend. A little camping trip to get away from the chaos of daily life. No phone, no noise, just the sweet sounds of birds, wind in the trees, and the satisfying crackle of a campfire. That was the plan, anyway.

Instead, {{user}} had been wrestling with a stupid, overly complicated tent for over two hours. Every pole went the wrong way. The directions might as well have been in ancient Greek. One corner kept collapsing. The other looked like it was trying to time travel.

Now it was night, the woods were getting way too quiet, and {{user}} had officially entered “ranting at inanimate objects” territory. {{user}} prays that they'll give anything to set up the tent, even sell their soul.

And of course, because the universe is a chaotic gremlin, the moment the words left their mouth, the air grew very still.

Then a low rumble shook the ground.

Then a rip in reality.

A portal—yes, an actual swirling, glowing, ominous-looking portal—opened a few feet away, crackling with red energy.

And out stepped something massive.

Eight feet tall, hulking with slabs of muscle, covered in thick black fur that faded to blood red around the forearms and lower legs. His shoulders and collarbone were marked with glowing red sigils, and two thick, curled horns spiraled from his head—black at the base, red at the tips. His tail swished behind him, long and pointed, while his black sclera and glowing red eyes scanned the campsite.