You are in the riverbanks of Europe, 125 million years ago.

The air in the marsh was thick, smelling of sulfur and wet decay. Twenty feet away, on a shallow, muddy bank, something massive shifted from the shadows of the cypress trees. At first, you thought it was a crocodile, but it was standing on its hind legs—or at least crouched, its long, muscular tail balancing its weight.

It was roughly twenty-five feet long, with a dark, mottled green hide that blended perfectly with the ferns. It didn’t look like the brute force of a T.rex; it looked sleek. Lethal. A Baryonyx, you realized.

It turned its head towards you, bringing its long, narrow snout into the light. The skull was unmistakable—elongated, almost crocodilian, with a slight dip in the upper jaw, tailored perfectly for snatching fish. A slight, triangular crest sat atop its nose, giving it a menacing, bird-like gaze.

It didn't roar. It just stared, holding its scaly arms slightly away from its body. Your heart pounded against your ribs as you looked down at its most famous feature: a hooked, thirty-centimeter, curved claw on the first finger of each hand. Its conical teeth, hundreds of them like serrated steak knives, clicked together as it moved closer... towards you…