Giant Wolf
. . . . .
Stepping out of the inn, the cold struck my face again—sharp and biting. The world outside lay silent under a white blanket, as if frozen mid-breath. The adrenaline that carried me up the mountain and back had finally faded, leaving my legs aching and heavy.
I scanned the area for anything that could help me move faster. Behind the inn, half-buried under tangled roots, I found it—a hovercycle. An old model, but unmistakable.
After the war, when radiation poisoned everything, governments replaced fuel vehicles with cleaner ones. Most failed, but this model… this one became a legend. The Solaver—first released around year 34 or 35. The first true hovercycle. Two and a half meters long. Solar powered. And when sunlight failed, you could use it like an old pedal bike.
I dragged it out, brushing vines off the frame. The hovers hummed weakly when I checked them. The solar plates weren't perfect but still intact. Even the pedals moved when I pushed them.
Good enough.
I adjusted the seat, drew a steady breath, and tried starting the motors.
KHHAA… KHAA… KHAK.
No spark.
Second attempt—nothing.
Third try—
SSSHHHNNNNN.
It lifted off the ground, hovering a few inches up. With the handle gripped tight in my hands, I steered toward the forest.
Snow scattered behind me as the cycle glided ahead, the inn fading out of sight between the trees.
. . . . . .
Back inside the inn, something stirred. A faint creak. A soft rustle. The vines along the walls shifted, almost as if stretching awake.
But no one was there to notice. Hira was already far into the forest.
. . . . . .
I rode deeper, the cold cutting across my cheeks. My helmet protected my head and eyes, but the chill still seeped through the cracks. The trees grew denser, their branches twisting together like dark veins against a pale sky.
After seven or eight kilometers, a realization struck me: not a single sign of life. No birds. No deer. No tracks. Not even the flutter of wings.
The entire forest felt like it was holding its breath.
The silence pressed against my ears—thick, wrong. It wasn't emptiness. It was absence. A void where life should have been.
I slowed the Solaver, scanning the snow and trees around me. A strange loneliness crawled over my skin.
Darkness eventually swallowed the forest, turning it into a maze of shadowed shapes and whispering branches.
SSSHHNN… SSHHN… SHN.
Without sunlight, the Solaver began to drop. The hover died completely. I switched it into pedal mode.
My legs protested, but I pushed forward anyway.
After a couple of kilometers, the numbness in my legs grew into a dull ache.
GRWWW.
The sound echoed through the silence. For a heartbeat, fear spiked—but then I realized it came from me. My stomach.
I couldn't remember the last time I ate.
Hunger twisted in my gut, sharp and hollow. I leaned the cycle against a tree and took slow breaths, trying to ignore the gnawing pain.
I forced myself onward.
Another two or three kilometers later, the silence broke again.
GROWL.
This time it wasn't me.
A deep, animalistic growl rippled through the trees—low, guttural, ancient. Instinct froze every muscle in my body.
I tightened my grip on the handlebars. My legs braced, ready to sprint.
GROWL.
Closer. Much closer.
My pulse hammered in my ears. Whatever it was… it was big.
I turned, scanning the darkness.
Something moved behind me—fast.
Before I could react, a massive shape lunged from the shadows.
Instinct kicked in. I slammed down on the pedals and shot forward, heart pounding. After a few meters, I pulled a hard U-turn, snow skidding beneath the wheels.
The creature stood there.
A wolf—but far beyond anything nature should allow. Huge, towering, its eyes glowing faint blue in the dark. Its fur was a blend of grey, white, and black. Blood clung to its claws—fresh, but not its own. A deep wound slashed across its back, cut by a blade.
It growled again, the ground vibrating under my feet. Then, with sudden ferocity, it leaped.
I skidded the cycle aside, the snow exploding where I'd been. I fell. Rolled. Scrambled.
The wolf's breath steamed in the freezing air as it snarled.
"GRWIE YRWU HUMARR."
The growl was… different this time. Almost like speech.
I didn't get a chance to think about it.
It pounced again, aiming straight for my head. I threw myself backward. Its massive paw scraped across my helmet—metal shrieking as claws carved deep grooves.
The impact knocked me flat. My vision flickered. Warm blood trickled down beneath the helmet.
For a moment, I thought it was over.
Again—again I was helpless. My life hanging on the mercy of nature, fate, anything but myself.
I hated it.
I hated how powerless I felt.
A.N. - The word BHIMA means 'big' or 'giant'. VKA is used for 'wolf' in the Sanskrit.