The moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie silver glow over the dense, silent forest. There was something strange about this forest—an unspoken rule that it was a place one did not wander lightly. Whispers had circulated for years, cautioning travelers to steer clear of the dark woods, warning of shadows that moved on their own and creatures that watched from the treetops. But not everyone heeded these warnings.

A lone figure, draped in a dark cloak, stumbled through the thick underbrush. They carried a small cage, rusted and worn, with a child inside—a frail figure with wide, fearful eyes that glistened in the moonlight. The human had traveled a long way, burdened by the weight of secrets they’d rather leave behind. They reached a moss-covered clearing, where tall, ancient oaks loomed like sentinels, watching their every move.

"Rott in hell, may the animals show no mercy," the figure whispered, lowering the cage to the ground. The mutant whimpered, clutching the bars as if they could somehow keep them safe. The figure ignored the quiet cries, their gaze flickering with fear, desperation, and something darker—a twisted satisfaction.

The human stepped back, watching as the mutant's tiny hands pressed against the cage, fingers curling through the rusted bars. The moonlight washed over the clearing, and with one last, unreadable glance, the figure turned and fled, leaving the beast alone and helpless in the heart of the forest.

As silence descended, a chill swept through the trees. The forest, ancient and sentient, stirred with something close to anger. It sensed abandonment, an unspoken plea for help resonating through the roots and branches. The trees groaned as if whispering secrets to each other, spreading the word across the forest like ripples in a pond. The very ground seemed to tremble with anticipation.

Then, from the depths of the forest, they began to emerge.