West Virginia. Ancient forest highway.
A hulking deformed figure crouched in the thick bushes, bow drawn tight. Its arrow was aimed straight at the car crawling along the remote road.
As the eldest son of its twisted clan, feeding the family was its sacred duty.
Hunting wasn't just about meat. It was about pleasing the Mother Goddess hidden deep in these woods.
Twang!
The bowstring sang. The arrow sliced through the air.
The deformed freak grinned with rotten teeth as the car jerked to a stop. It licked its cracked lips and quickly nocked another arrow.
This time it targeted the man stepping out of the vehicle—the one in the dark red coat.
In its sick mind, it could already picture the arrow punching straight through that skull. Beautiful.
It wanted to watch this human drop screaming, then drag the body back to camp for slow, delicious preparation.
Twang!
The second arrow flew.
But the cruel smile froze on the freak's face.
The man never even turned around. He just lazily reached behind his back and snatched the arrow out of the air with one hand.
The deformed creature's eyes widened. Its underdeveloped brain short-circuited.
How the hell?!
How could any human catch one of its arrows bare-handed?
Before it could process what it was seeing, purple-red flames exploded across the man's body. The air around him warped from the heat.
He's burning?
Cold sweat rolled down the freak's temple. It blinked in terror.
When its eyes opened again, the man had vanished from beside the car.
Where?!
It whipped its head around in panic, sweat slicking its grip on the bow.
"You looking for me?"
The voice came from directly above.
The deformed freak snapped its head up.
There he was—standing on a thick branch, looking down like a predator.
Backlit by the sun, only two glowing crimson points were visible in the shadows.
Their eyes met. The freak felt its heart being squeezed in an iron fist.
Soren stood on the branch, staring at the ugly creature below. Its features looked like they'd been thrown together by a drunk sculptor.
This reminded him of that old movie—Wrong Turn. Inbred hillbillies in the woods, setting traps for tourists.
The deformed thing let out a shrill screech and bolted deeper into the trees, firing arrows wildly over its shoulder.
This was its favorite game—using the forest terrain and its unnatural strength to play cat-and-mouse with its prey. Wear them down. Let the whole family enjoy the torture.
Even if it couldn't win outright, it could lead them into traps and finish them slowly.
"Like playing hide and seek, huh?"
Soren's lips curled into a cold smile.
He snatched another incoming arrow out of the air.
"Then let me show you what a real hunter looks like."
Demonic power erupted. Soren launched himself forward like a missile, smashing straight into the fleeing freak.
BOOM!
He clamped one hand around its throat and slammed the creature into a massive tree trunk. The impact snapped the ancient tree in half.
Flocks of birds exploded into the sky in panic.
Soren drove the mutant to the ground, flipped the arrow in his grip, and drove it straight down into its skull.
Crunch!
The arrowhead punched through bone. Red and white sprayed everywhere.
The freak's limbs twitched uselessly for a second, then went still.
It never even got to scream.
Soren stood up slowly and turned toward the second deformed figure that had been drawn by the noise of the falling tree.
The creature saw its kin die and let out a piercing wail. It turned and scrambled desperately deeper into the forest.
"No rush. I'll give you a head start."
Soren rolled his shoulders. His joints popped loudly.
He'd been driving for days straight with no decent motels. His body felt rusty. These freaks were the perfect warm-up.
He crushed the dead mutant's head under his boot and casually followed the fleeing shadow.
…
Deep in the woods. An abandoned logging camp.
Of the original seven or eight people filming that cheap wilderness reality show, only one was still alive.
Vegan influencer Nina sat frozen in a chair, too terrified to move.
Rusty spiked chains bound her wrists. Any struggle just drove the spikes deeper into her flesh.
She stared in horror at the three-fingered freak sharpening a massive cleaver in front of her.
At the dinner table, several other deformed creatures were noisily eating. The bodies of her crewmates hung upside down nearby like sides of beef in a slaughterhouse.
"This was never a survival show…"
Nina's whole body shook uncontrollably. Fear and despair swallowed her completely.
The three-fingered freak grinned at her terror, showing yellowed teeth. It raised the cleaver toward her throat.
Right then—
BOOM!
A mangled corpse smashed through the wooden wall and crashed onto the center of the dinner table. Blood and guts splattered across the freaks.
The disgusting chewing sounds stopped instantly.
One smaller mutant growled in rage—until it recognized the body.
It was its mother.
And its wife.
"Looks like I made it just in time for dinner," Soren said as he stepped through the broken wall, eyeing the scattered limbs and organs. "Don't you know wasting food is a sin?"
He slowly scanned the room full of these grotesque, misshapen monsters.
"ROAR!"
The three-fingered freak bellowed in fury. That corpse had been its wife too.
It yanked a rusty axe from its belt and charged at Soren.
Soren's expression didn't change. He summoned his shotgun into his hand.
BOOM!
The charging freak staggered. Massive holes the size of fists blew through its chest.
It looked down in disbelief at the wounds, then back at Soren's weapon.
In all its years of hunting, it had been shot before—but never by anything this powerful.
Its eyes went dull. The body collapsed.
The rest of the freaks howled in grief at the death of their strongest member. Instead of running, they grabbed crude weapons and rushed Soren with bloodshot eyes.
Then something strange happened.
Thick black mist suddenly poured from the dead three-fingered freak's corpse.
"Oh?"
Soren's eyes narrowed with interest.
He could feel powerful demonic energy leaking from the lifeless flesh.
In the original story, these mutants were supposed to be the result of drinking polluted water from a chemical plant. Simple inbreeding and toxins.
But this was clearly more.
Regular mutated flesh couldn't resurrect. And it definitely couldn't produce real demonic power.
"Followers?" Soren muttered.
Cultists who served a higher entity, offering sacrifices in exchange for power.
The black mist wrapped around the three-fingered body. Wounds closed rapidly. The corpse jerked upright.
Its size exploded—from around six feet to over seven. Dirty clothes tore apart as muscles swelled.
Two bloody antlers burst through its scalp. Thick black fur sprouted across its body.
In seconds, it had fully transformed into something half-human, half-demon.