His prey was bleeding badly. Kris grinned as he stalked through the mangrove swamp which was his home. The silence pressed in on his ears, only broken by the bugs screeching and buzzing, and by the crash of brush caused by his prey stampeding through the undergrowth, not even bothering to hide his tracks or conceal his presence. Kris paused in his hunting, worried by the apparent lack of caution in his victim. What was he hunting that simply could not hide itself? A bug flicked his nose with its wing, drawing him back to his senses. Kris shook his heavy orange and black fur, making a slight rustling noise, eerie like leaves on a tree shaken by a soft wind. Kris hurried onward; his prey was nearly beyond his hearing.

The full moon above cast the world below in surrealistic shadows. In the darkness and dappled light, Kris was nearly invisible; his striped fur matching with the darkness and the silence of his padded feet made him one of the most formidable hunters ever. The only thing to betray his presence was the silencing of nearby bugs sensing him as he passed, and the slight glow of his deep blue eyes reflecting the faded moonlight. As Kris stalked through puddles and dense undergrowth, he could feel his muscles rippling under his fur, his paws flowing steadily and silently across the moist, muddy ground, and overall, the thrill of the hunt.

His prey continued to crash onward, getting tangled amongst the thick mangrove roots, leaving blood drops with growing frequency as he was scratched innumerable times by the thick brush. Still it was nothing compared to what would happen when Kris caught him. Kris stopped once more, this time to sniff the still warm blood of his quarry, but as he crouched to smell, he was startled by a splash and a muffled yell. Kris looked up in alarm, and charged onward, throwing caution to the wind. The trees began to thicken, and he had to climb through many of the roots poking out of the steadily moistening ground. He climbed onto one of the larger tree roots as the ground gave way completely to water. He stopped in a hurry as he saw his prey swimming across a large expanse of water, frantically beating the water with his puny arms and legs, almost drowning himself in the process. Kris growled in rage, and clawed at the air in front of him. Quickly enough, he jumped in the water himself.

Blood coated the water like oil, almost overloading Kris’s senses as he swam steadily after his quarry. Even though Kris was a much stronger swimmer, his victim reached the island far before Kris, stumbling ashore amongst the mangrove trees, he was soon lost amongst the roots. As Kris charged onto the island himself, he realized he could no longer hear his prey. His chest bulged as he took on as much air as he could hold, his jaws opened wide, revealing fangs as long as a human’s index finger, and he roared with fury. Animals for miles around went silent as the roar seemed to last forever. Kris kept on for as long as he could, his fur rippling, and leaves on trees shaking from the sheer force of the sound. He soon went silent once more, and animals all around began to chatter in panic. Birds took flight, if they hadn’t already, and many animals raced for dens and hollows, seeking to escape the fierce predator Tiger in their midst.

As the animals fell silent, Kris stalked onward, sniffing out the coagulating blood of his victim. He soon found the trail once more, and proceeded carefully as the trail grew steadily warmer.

His prey was collapsed in a clearing, the moonlight gleaming upon his flaming orange hair. His sides were heaving with extremely labored breaths, and he was writhing in pain it seemed. As he flipped onto his back, Kris saw that he was one of those humans that so often invaded his territory, catching fish from the river and stealing honey from the bees. As he watched, his prey drew himself onto all fours, and vomited from sheer exhaustion. He collapsed once more into his own bile, and lay there, breathing raggedly, yet not so laboriously. Soon he picked himself up again, his back towards Kris once more; he began to survey his surroundings.

Kris realized that now was the time to strike. He stalked onward, slowly and silently, his jaw already doing the unconscious spasm that would snap the spinal cord of his quarry. As he drew to the edge of the tree line, he began to get lower to the ground. When he could go no further without risking exposure, he was flat upon the ground. His muscles coiled and tensed with such power that his rump began to shake. His pupils widened and expanded to fill almost his entire eye, leaving only a rim of blue around them.

As the pressure in his muscles built to an unbearable level, he charged. His prey’s head whipped around, and time seemed to stand still. Kris saw, looking back at him, himself. His own human face contorted with fear, the eyes widening to an unbelievable size. His copy tried to stand, and escape once more, his limbs scrabbling at the dirt in a pathetic attempt at survival. He realized that he had never been a tiger, and with this realization, their roles were switched. Kris saw the tiger reaching out for him, the claws fully extended, and all of them deadly. He felt his body trying to escape, even though he knew it was useless, Kris had laid the trap too well for himself. As the tiger reached out for him, its jaws opened and a roar was eschewed from its dark depths. Kris was on the receiving end of his own roars, and he was paralyzed with fear. His eardrums popped and he began to bleed from his ears. The claws sank into his soft, vulnerable flesh. He yelled out himself as the jaws snapped shut around his throat, crushing his throat. He could yell no more. The mighty tiger latched onto him completely and began to thrust with his hind paws. The flesh tore from his stomach completely and his innards began to seep out with each thrust. He felt his vision fading, and he saw himself from above as his soul fled its desiccated shell. His eyes were bulging almost out of his sockets, his mouth wide open in a silent and eternal scream, and the tiger, latched onto the dead body, still kicking fiercely, adding more cuts to the already butchered body. He looked at his own soul, to avoid the carnage before him, and saw an ethereal tiger. He looked at himself in horror as the real tiger roared one final time, this time in triumph. As his vision began to fade once more, a voice yelled, as if from a far and lofty height, echoing down upon him.
Shamir!