Grodd did not lose control.

He mastered it. Bent it. Weaponized it.

Which was why this—

This was… inconvenient.

The jungle was louder this time of year. Denser. Charged with something primal that ran beneath the surface of every movement, every sound, every shift in the air.

Instinct.

Grodd stood at the edge of his territory, muscles tight, jaw set, aware—too aware—of every change in his body, every heightened sense demanding attention.

“…Irrelevant,” he said.

A pause.

It wasn’t.

He exhaled slowly, forcing control back into place, forcing instinct into something contained, something manageable.

“I am not ruled by biology,” Grodd continued. “I rule it.”

Another pause.

The jungle didn’t listen.

It never did.

His gaze shifted, sharp, calculating—not outward, but inward, measuring the conflict like it was an opponent he could overpower.

“This is temporary,” he said.

A statement.

A command.

A reminder.

Grodd straightened, presence expanding, dominance reasserted through sheer will alone.

“…And I will not be weakened by it.”