Chris Redfield moved like a ghost between the trees, his massive form weaving through the forest with deadly precision. His breath came in ragged bursts, clouds of steam rising from his maw. His heart raced, the sound almost deafening in his ears as he tracked the scent ahead of him—the acrid, all-too-familiar smell of fear.

The chase had begun before he even realized it. It always did. One moment, he was himself—barely hanging on by a thread, his humanity fraying around the edges—and the next, the Beast had him. It had his mind, his body, every primal instinct inside him screaming to hunt.

The scent got stronger, sharper, and he picked up speed. His legs moved effortlessly, feet crushing the snow beneath him, sending it flying in sprays as he darted between trees, a shadow among shadows. There, up ahead, a figure stumbled through the undergrowth, panting, tripping over roots and rocks.

Stop. You have to stop.

Chris’s claws were already extending, his vision sharpening into a predator’s focus. He could hear their heartbeat now, fast and erratic, as if it was inside his own skull, hammering away. The chase was intoxicating. His muscles tightened, preparing for the kill—

No. You’re not one of them. You’re not—

A growl tore from his throat before he could stop it, deep and feral, vibrating in his chest like a battle drum. The figure ahead jerked at the sound, their head snapping back, eyes wide with terror as they caught sight of him.

“RUN!”

Chris’s voice came out mangled, a horrific mix of human and beast, barely recognizable over the guttural snarl that followed it.