The land trembled beneath a blood-red sky.

Ash drifted down from distant volcanic eruptions, coating the scorched plains in a fine gray veil. The once-lush valley lay silent now—no calls of lemurs, no distant thundering of herds—only the low hiss of heat rising from cracked earth.

Then came the footsteps.

Heavy. Deliberate. Relentless.

From the haze emerged two towering silhouettes, their horned skulls cutting through the smoke like blades. The ground seemed to recoil as they advanced—muscles rippling beneath scarred, charcoal-black skin, eyes burning with cold, predatory intelligence.

The Carnotaurus duo had arrived.

The larger of the two lowered its massive head, nostrils flaring as it tasted the air. A deep, rumbling growl rolled from its chest—not a roar of rage, but of calculation. Its partner circled wide, claws scraping stone, tail swaying with lethal patience as it scanned the horizon for movement.

They hunted as one.

A faint vibration reached them—distant, rhythmic.

A herd.

Somewhere beyond the smoldering ridges, life still moved.

The smaller Carnotaurus let out a sharp, clicking snort, signaling direction. The larger answered with a low bellow that echoed across the valley, sending frightened creatures scattering from their hiding places.

They began to move.

Each step crushed rock and bone alike, their shadows stretching long and monstrous across the land. Steam rose from their jaws as they advanced, teeth glinting through the smoke. Nothing slowed them. Nothing stopped them.

Ahead, the terrain narrowed into a canyon littered with fallen trees and old bones—a perfect choke point. The duo split without hesitation, one climbing the ridge above, the other charging straight down the center, cutting off any chance of escape.

Somewhere nearby, a target freezes as the ground shakes and the air fills with the sound of approaching death.

The Carnotaurus have found their trail.

The hunt has begun.