You are in the lakesides of Spain, 130 million years ago.

The air was thick, humid, and smelled of decaying ferns and muddy water. You were crouched behind the dense roots of a cypress-like tree, trying to stay out of sight. You were looking for Pelecanimimus—the small, toothless, fish-eating dinosaurs. Instead, you found death.

A low, guttural vibration hummed in your chest before you saw it. Moving silently through the shallows was a creature you had never seen before. It was a mid-sized theropod, roughly 20 feet long, with a terrifyingly unique, shark-like set of teeth visible as its jaws slightly parted. But it was the back that drew your eyes: a strange, triangular hump, almost like a sword or a fin, rose sharply from its hip region before tapering toward the tail. A Concavenator.

The predator was hunting. It seemed incredibly intelligent, patient. It didn't just rush in. Instead, it watched the water, waiting for the flock of Pelecanimimus by the lake to get too distracted with fishing. Suddenly, it accelerated. It was incredibly agile, twisting its body to weave through the dense flora with a muscular grace that shocked you.

It broke cover, charging toward the edge of the water. The Pelecanimimus panicked, scattering, but the Concavenator was faster. It used the sharp, curved claws on its feet to grip the soft mud. With a quick, violent snap of its head, it intercepted a straggler.

You heard the sound of its sharp, serrated teeth tearing through air and flesh. The hump-backed hunter stood triumphant over its kill, before picking and lifting it up by its jaws. Just as it was about to leave with its prey dangling in its mouth, it turns towards your direction and froze, having locked its eyes on you. Dropping the carcass, it lets out a sharp, bird-like hiss to intimidate you…