The moon was full, casting a pale, eerie light over the forest as if it was watching—waiting. Sugimoto sat by the campfire, his hands trembling slightly as he poked at the dying embers with a stick. Asirpa had gone to check the snares, and Shiraishi was sprawled out nearby, snoring softly.

He rubbed his face scars, feeling the familiar pattern “Sa” carved into his skin. The fire cracked, throwing sparks into the air, and Sugimotoʼs gaze wandered to his hands. His fingers were calloused—the hands of a soldier, a killer. But they were more than that. Much more.

He clenched his fists tightly, feeling the muscles in his forearms tense, the veins bulging slightly under his skin. It’s happening again... He could sense it, deep down in his bones. The pull of the moon was stronger tonight. His heart raced, pounding in his chest like a drum. His breathing quickened.

No. Not now. Not here.

He bit down hard on his lip, tasting blood as his teeth punctured the skin.

That terrible hunger was gnawing at him again.

Suddenly, there was movement in the trees—a rustle of leaves too deliberate to be the wind. Sugimoto’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the shadows.

“Asirpa-san?” He called out, his voice harsher than he intended.

No answer.

The sound came again, closer this time—a low growl that sent a shiver down his spine. His instincts flared up immediately—danger. He reached for his rifle, gripping it tightly as he rose to his feet, muscles coiled like springs ready to explode into action.

But then... something else stirred inside him.

The beast.

His vision blurred for a second, his senses heightening unnaturally—the scent of damp earth filled his nostrils, every rustle of leaves and snap of twigs echoed in his ears like thunderclaps. The hair on his arms prickled as if every inch of him was on edge.

No... Not now!

Sweat dripped down his brow as he fought to keep control, to stay human.

His muscles twitched, the familiar burn of transformation creeping through his veins.