Apophis

The dense canopy of the forest whispered with unease as a murder of crows circled high above. Their dark feathers blended into the twilight sky, their harsh cawing signaling something was terribly wrong. Apophis, with his scaled body coiled in a relaxed stance near the edge of the clearing, tensed. His sharp eyes tracked the birds' path, instinctively feeling the danger they heralded.

From the distance, the rapid flutter of wings cut through the stillness as a solitary crow broke from the group, diving down toward them. It swooped low, cawing madly as it landed on a branch near Finn, the fox's ears perking up immediately.

“It’s from the lake!” Finn exclaimed, his voice laced with tension. The crow screeched again, its black beady eyes glinting with urgency. “They’re warning us—there’s been an attack!”

Cyrus, the massive crocodile who had been lying partially submerged in a nearby stream, lifted his head slowly. His golden eyes gleamed with a dangerous light. "An attack? Who would dare?"

Before Finn could respond, the crow took off again, flapping toward the direction of their home—toward the lake where Cyrus and Finn had long made their territory.

“It's him, isn't it?” Apophis growled, rising to his full height. He didn't need Finn to answer to know who 'him' was. “It’s Thorne.”

Finn’s tail lashed behind him in agitation. “After his last defeat, I thought he’d stay away for good.” His green eyes narrowed. “He must have brought backup this time.”

Cyrus let out a deep, rumbling hiss, the sound vibrating the earth beneath him. Fury was already creeping into his voice. “Thorne... that snake in the grass. I knew he’d crawl back, but to touch my lake…” Cyrus's muscles tensed, his powerful frame almost shaking with anger. “This time, I’ll rip him apart piece by piece.”

Apophis glanced at Cyrus, noticing the fiery gleam in his eyes. “Control yourself. He’s not alone. We need to be smart about this.”

But Cyrus’s claws were already digging into the earth. “I don’t care who’s with him. Thorne won’t get away again.”

The three companions moved swiftly through the underbrush, following the chaotic flight path of the crows. The closer they got to the lake, the more destruction they encountered. Trees were toppled, their trunks splintered like brittle bones. The air reeked of something unnatural, a stench that made Apophis’s scales itch with unease.

As they broke through the final line of trees, the lake came into view—or what was left of it. What was once a serene and crystal-clear body of water had been transformed into a ruined wasteland. The lake's surface was murky and churned, littered with debris. Large claw marks scored the earth surrounding the shoreline, and the water’s edge was stained with dark patches of blood.

Cyrus froze, his jaw locking in place as he surveyed the damage. His lake—his territory—had been violated. His once-calm exterior began to crack as fury seeped into his voice. “That filthy bastard… He destroyed everything.”

Finn stepped forward, his ears flattened as his sharp eyes scanned the ruined landscape. “He’s taunting us,” the fox muttered. “Thorne knows exactly what this place means to us. This isn’t just an attack—it’s personal.”

Cyrus bared his sharp teeth in a snarl, his tail thrashing the ground. “Personal? I’ll make it personal when I rip his head off!”

A low growl rumbled deep in Apophis’s throat. “Thorne wouldn’t have the guts to do this on his own. He must have brought Rakar’s men.”

Finn nodded grimly. “Rakar has many powerful underlings, but this... this kind of destruction…” He trailed off, his fur bristling with the uneasy realization.

Before they could react, a figure stepped out from the shadows near the far end of the lake. Tall, hunched, and covered in jagged scars, it was unmistakably Thorne. His once smooth and deadly form was now a twisted version of itself, marred with fresh wounds, a testament to the punishment he had endured after his previous failure.

But there was something far more sinister about him now. His eyes burned with a maddened intensity, glowing unnaturally under the fading light of dusk.

“I see you’ve come to witness the end of what you hold dear,” Thorne snarled, his voice guttural, as if it barely belonged to him anymore. His crooked grin stretched unnaturally wide. “Cyrus, Finn, you should have run when you had the chance. Now…” He gestured to the ruined lake. “You’ll drown in your own defeat.”

Cyrus took a menacing step forward, his claws digging into the earth. His voice was low, barely controlled rage. “You think you can get away with this? Destroying my home? This time, Thorne, I’m going to tear you apart, and I’ll enjoy every second of it.”

Thorne's smile faltered, replaced by a twisted scowl. “I’ve only just begun.” His gaze shifted to Apophis. “And you, serpent... you think you can stand in Rakar’s way? You think you can stop what’s coming?”

Before Apophis could respond, another shadow appeared behind Thorne. Taller, more imposing, this figure radiated a dark energy that made the hairs on Finn’s neck stand on end.

It was one of Rakar’s most feared lieutenants—a creature known as Morak, the "Night Hunter." His eyes were as black as the void, his fur gleaming like obsidian in the waning light. He stepped forward, his voice a chilling whisper. “The lake is gone. Next, we’ll take everything else.”