The tiger emerged. It was massive, its fur scarred and matted with the remnants of its last encounter. It moved with a terrifying, silent grace. Arjun raised his scope, his breath hitching. The beast didn't run. It stood its ground, baring teeth stained a permanent, rusted crimson.
Just as the jaws began to close, a silver flash streaked through the air. Zoya’s spear found its mark in the tiger's shoulder. The beast roared—a sound of pure, unadulterated agony—and retreated into the darkness, leaving a trail of dark silk on the snow. The tiger emerged
The cold air of the Himalayan foothills bit into General Arjun Singh’s skin, but he didn't flinch. He stood at the edge of the ravine, staring down at the mangled wreckage of a supply truck. This wasn't an accident. The claw marks on the metal were too deep, the scent of copper and musk too thick in the air. Arjun raised his scope, his breath hitching
In the small, isolated village of Rudraprayag, the legend had returned. They called it Rakt-Mukh —The Blood in the Mouth. It was a tiger that didn't hunt for food, but for the sheer thrill of the kill. Just as the jaws began to close, a
Arjun had been sent by the Ministry to neutralize the threat, but he knew this wasn't a standard hunt. He was joined by Zoya, a local tracker whose father had been taken by the same beast a decade ago. She didn't carry a high-powered rifle like Arjun; she carried a hand-forged spear and a burning desire for vengeance.