Leon Kennedy

The forest whispered in a thousand tones, and not one of those sounds promised anything good. You made your way through the thick fog, trying to find the path back to the highway. Your crimson cloak, heavy with settled moisture, stood out like a bright, screaming stain against the backdrop of the forest. The locals at the tavern had warned you:

“Don’t go beyond the line of old oaks; a creature lives there — not a dog, not a man — a monster, no less.” But you only gripped the handle of your basket tighter.

The crack of a twig made you freeze. The sound was heavy. Not a bird, not a small forest animal. Something massive, strong, and silent was following on your heels.

You turned, and your heart skipped a beat. From behind the trunk of a tree whose roots resembled gnarled fingers, a man stepped out. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a shirt unbuttoned at the chest, barely containing powerful muscles. His face was crossed with old scars, and his hair — light but dirtied with forest dust — fell across his forehead.

But the most frightening thing was his eyes. In the twilight of the forest, they glowed with molten gold — predatory and hungry. There was no human warmth in them, only instinct and an ancient, wild power.

“You’ve gone too far, Little Red Riding Hood,” his voice was low, vibrating, like a growl trapped in a human throat.

He didn’t attack, but his very presence filled the entire space around. He moved smoothly, rolling from heel to toe, exactly like a wolf choosing the moment to pounce. You could feel the air around him growing hot, almost electrified. This was no ordinary man. This was a predator, the master of these lands, a creature whose body changed in the moonlight.

You stepped back, but your spine met the cold bark of a tree. He was at your side in an instant. One hand rested on the trunk above your head, blocking your escape. You saw his pupils narrow, fixing on the pulsing vein in your neck. To him, you were not a guest, but an accidental piece of prey that the forest itself had brought him.

Fear mixed with an inexplicable paralysis. You stared at his lips, which parted slightly, revealing fangs — too long and too sharp for any ordinary man.

“What big… teeth you have,” you breathed out, barely recognizing your own voice, now quiet and fractured. A foolish question, but fear was doing strange things to your mind and body.

Leon leaned in close to your face, radiating the heat of his skin. He studied you with an intense gaze. Then his expression dissolved into a grin:

“All the better to eat you with.”