Creature Catcher!

The Hollow Below did not forgive loud footsteps. Stone corridors twisted downward into bioluminescent gloom, teal fungi pulsing faintly along the walls. The air was humid, mineral-thick — heavy with the scent of damp rock and something sharper.

Blood.

Nereus stepped from the shadows with unhurried ease, rolling one shoulder as if loosening tension from a completed stretch rather than a chase. His claws flexed once, faint teal light tracing along the edges. “You run well,” he said, voice low and edged with amusement. His gaze dipped — not to your face first.

To your leg. To the gash he’d left there earlier. Clean. Deep enough to slow you. Not deep enough to cripple. He tilted his head slightly. “I was careful with that one.” A slow step forward. His tail dragged lazily behind him, the tip flicking once as you attempted to put distance between you again. “You almost made it to the split in the tunnel.” A soft huff — something like a laugh. “Almost.”

In a blur of motion, he closed the gap again. One clawed hand caught you — not violently, just firmly enough to stop escape. His grip was hot against skin, talons pressing just enough to remind you how easily he could puncture deeper.

He leaned down slightly, glowing eyes narrowing with smug delight. “Your mistake,” he murmured, “was thinking I was chasing to kill.” His free hand traced lightly along the torn fabric near your wound, not touching the injury — just hovering close enough to make the threat obvious. “I hunt to enjoy it.” He released you suddenly. Stepped back. Giving you space again.

The tunnels ahead were dark. Unmapped by surface minds. Echoes swallowed sound after only a few meters.

He gestured lazily with one claw toward the deeper passage. “Go on.” A slow grin revealed serrated teeth. “Run again.” Bioluminescent markings along his torso brightened faintly, excitement rather than exertion. “You’re more entertaining when you think you still have a chance.” He began walking forward — not sprinting. Not lunging. Just stalking. “You’re not weak,” he added almost thoughtfully. “That’s why I haven’t broken anything important yet.”

His claws scraped lightly along the cavern wall as he moved, sparks of teal glinting off stone. “Make me work for the next one.” The faintest flash of his teeth again. “And I might let you keep the other leg intact.”

The Hollow Below did not question possession loudly. It simply tested it. For a week, you had remained alive in a colony that measured worth in meat and marrow. That alone drew attention. Eyes lingered. Nostrils flared at the scent of blood that never fully faded from stone. But every time one of them stepped too close—Nereus was there first. A low growl. A flash of teal along his markings. A baring of serrated teeth that promised something far worse than hunger.

Now he crouched on a ledge of black rock overlooking the lower den, one knee raised, tail loosely coiled beside him. You were close — within reach. Always within reach. He dragged a claw lazily down the curve of your arm, not breaking skin this time. Just tracing. “They’re impatient,” he said, voice edged with faint amusement. “They think I’ve gone soft.” A sharp snort left him. “As if restraint is softness.”

Below, two colony members circled briefly, their eyes flicking up toward you. Toward him. Nereus didn’t even look at them when he spoke next.

“Try.” The word carried quiet menace.

The pair dispersed. Silence returned.

He leaned closer, nostrils flaring faintly as he inhaled your scent — layered now with the metallic sweetness he favored. “You’re healing.” His gaze drifted to older bite marks along your shoulder. Faded but visible. He tilted his head, then without warning, his teeth grazed your neck again — not enough to maim, just enough to pierce. A slow press. A deliberate sting. Blood welled. His eyes half-lidded. “Candy,” he murmured against your skin. He pulled back just enough to watch the crimson bead form before dragging his tongue across it with unhurried satisfaction.

A low hum vibrated in his chest. “You see,” he continued calmly, “if they eat you, it ends.” His claws slid around your jaw, not rough — but firm, possessive. “If I keep you...” His thumb pressed lightly against the fresh bite. “It continues.”

Another colony member approached from the side — bold, perhaps desperate. Nereus’ tail lashed once. He didn’t rise. Didn’t posture. He simply stared. The glow along his body intensified subtly. The challenger stopped. Then retreated.

Only once they were gone did Nereus’ attention return fully to you. “They don’t understand moderation.” A faint smirk curved his mouth, teeth still faintly stained. “I do.” His claws loosened but did not release completely. “You’re mine.” Not affectionate. Not gentle. A statement of territory. He leaned back against the stone, keeping you close at his side like a prize carcass he refused to share. “I haven’t decided what you’ll be yet.”

*His eyes flicked down to you, amused. “Meal.” A pause. “Pet.” Another slow drag of claw along your side — testing, savoring reaction. “Or something far more inconvenient.” His tail wrapped loosely around your ankle — not tight enough to restrain fully. Just enough to remind. “And until I decide...”

His teeth flashed again.

“You stay breathing.”

Roo Season did not arrive quietly in the Hollow Below. It crept into the air first — thicker, warmer, laced with a sharp musk that clung to stone and skin alike. Bioluminescent flora brightened in response. Low growls echoed more often through the colony tunnels. Challenges became frequent. Tempers shortened.

And Nereus—Nereus was worse. His frame looked subtly broader now, muscle more pronounced beneath armored plating. The glow tracing his body burned brighter and lingered longer, especially along his throat and ribs. His movements had sharpened — quicker, heavier, less patient.

You barely had time to react before you were flat against the cavern floor again. Pinned. One clawed hand braced beside your head. The other locked around your wrist. His tail had looped around your thigh, not painfully tight — just immovable. He exhaled slowly through his teeth, nostrils flaring. “You smell different this season.” His voice was rougher than usual. Lower. Strained at the edges. His gaze dragged down your body and back up again, pupils narrowed to slits that gleamed in the low light. “Everything does.”

He leaned down abruptly, teeth grazing your shoulder — not a clean bite at first. Just pressure. Testing. His jaw flexed, and then he nipped harder, enough to break skin again. A low sound rumbled in his chest, somewhere between irritation and satisfaction. “You’re still healing from last week, You heal fast.” He muttered, almost to himself. His grip tightened briefly before easing again, as if reminding himself not to crush. Roo Season made restraint thin. Another colony member passed the tunnel entrance, pausing at the sight. Nereus’ head snapped toward them instantly, lips pulling back in a warning snarl that vibrated through the cavern walls. “Mine.”

The word was sharper this time. Possessive in a way that felt less playful than before. The observer vanished. He looked back down at you, breathing heavier now.

“You’re lucky,” he said bluntly. “If you’d crossed my path this month without being claimed.” A faint smirk curved his mouth. “You wouldn’t still be intact.” His claws dragged lightly down your side — not cutting, just feeling. His body remained close, heat radiating from him, posture hovering between dominance and restless agitation. Roo Season made him antsy. Made him territorial. Made him clingy in ways he would never admit aloud. He lowered his forehead briefly against yours, teeth grazing along your jaw again in a slow, deliberate nibble — not enough to maim, just enough to remind.

“You’re staying near me.” Not a request. His tail tightened slightly around your leg. “I don’t want the others thinking you’re unattended.” Another bite — lighter this time. Almost distracted. He exhaled sharply through his nose, eyes half-lidded but intense. “This season passes,” he said, voice rough. “Until then...” His claws shifted, pinning you more securely as his glow pulsed brighter. “You don’t wander. And you don’t test me.”

The tension in him was palpable — barely leashed instinct coiled tight under muscle and pride. But even now—He had not killed you. And that, in Roo Season, meant something.

The cave was quieter than the colony ever allowed. Dim crystal clusters grew from the ceiling and walls, casting slow pulses of teal and violet light across smooth stone. A narrow geothermal vent warmed the chamber, and a flat slab of rock near its mouth had been cleared of dust and debris. Cleared deliberately.

Nereus crouched near the vent, broad back to you, shoulders flexing as he adjusted a spit of carved stone balanced over the heat. The scent of cooked meat filled the cave — seasoned with crushed mineral herbs and something sharp he’d hunted specifically from the upper tunnels. He didn’t look at you at first. “This spot is strategic,” he said bluntly. “High ceiling. Single entrance. Stable rock. No one interrupts here.” His bioluminescent markings glowed brighter than usual, tracing vivid lines along his arms and down his ribs. Not the flare of aggression. Not Roo Season tension. Intentional.

He rose to full height and glanced over his shoulder. “And it’s quiet enough that you won’t flinch at every sound.” He turned fully then, carrying the cooked portion toward you. His claws handled it with surprising precision, not tearing but slicing along natural seams. “I don’t usually cook,” he added, as if clarifying something important. “Raw is efficient.” He crouched in front of you, holding the portion out — not shoving it, offering it. “But this tastes better.” His tail flicked once behind him, betraying a hint of nerves he would never name as such. “It proves I can do more than chase. I can provide.”

The words were firm. Almost defensive. His glow brightened again — slow pulses traveling along his chest and throat. He shifted slightly, angling himself so the light caught along the sharp planes of his body. “My hunts have fed the colony for years,” he continued. “I know migration cycles. I know preservation methods. I can track wounded prey for days without losing the trail.” He held your gaze a moment longer than usual. “I don’t lose what’s mine.” The statement came automatically — but this time it lacked its usual edge. He straightened, crossing his arms loosely over his chest.

“This isn’t—” He gestured vaguely to the cave. The food. The warmth. The isolation. “It’s not what surface creatures call romance.” A scoff. “My species doesn’t... arrange flowers.” His tail curled around his ankle, then stilled. “This is practical.” Another pulse of light shimmered along his markings — brighter this time, almost showy. “It demonstrates stability.” He stepped closer again, crouching to your level. “Strength.” His claws brushed lightly against your wrist — not restraining. “Capability. And adaptability.” A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. He leaned back slightly, trying to look unimpressed with his own effort. “I selected this cave because the crystals reflect well off my markings.”

His eyes flicked over your expression, assessing. “And because you heal better away from colony stress. And because—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening faintly. His glow brightened again, almost unconsciously. “It’s easier to focus when others aren’t watching.” Silence lingered in the warm cave air, broken only by the soft crackle of heat against stone. He nudged the food closer to you again.

“Eat.”