The Titanoboa rose like a tower of black scales, its colossal body breaking the surface of the canal with a roar that echoed through the swamp like the thunder of a primordial storm. Fetid water cascaded from its curved fangs, each the size of a human arm, dripping venom that hissed upon touching the undergrowth. The air vibrated with the stench of ancient rot, and the serpent's yellow eyes fixed on the group, pupils dilating like portals to a hungry void.

  Renn cursed, stepping back, but his voice came out firm: "Net! Now!" He tossed one of the heavy backpacks to the ground, revealing the iron mesh interwoven with poisoned barbs. Garr, with muscles tense like bowstrings, drew his broad sword, eyes narrowed against the spray of water. Lira, quick as a shadow, pulled out two curved daggers, positioning herself beside Varig. "Don't look into its eyes," she murmured. "That's how it paralyzes its prey."

  Varig felt his left arm pulse under the bandages, a wave of gray energy spreading through his body like liquid fire. Vitor's voice echoed in his mind, soft like a familiar whisper, validating the resentment burning in his chest: "Feel its essence, pup. This beast is ancient, full of life stolen from the depths. But look at those pigs beside you—they kick you, use you as a mule. Let the serpent harvest them. Isn't that what they deserve, after all?"

  The snake struck first, its body slithering with terrifying speed for something so immense. Its tail whipped to the side, aiming at Renn, who rolled aside in the slippery mud, barely avoiding the impact that cracked a nearby tree like straw. "You bitch!" he shouted, getting up and hurling a short spear that embedded in the side of the beast's neck. The poison on the barbs began to take effect, but slowly—the Titanoboa was resilient, its skin thick as dragon leather.

  Garr advanced, slashing with his sword in a wide arc that cut through a row of scales, releasing a gush of green, viscous blood. The serpent hissed, turning toward him, its mouth opening into an abyss of fangs. Lira seized the moment, leaping over an exposed root and plunging a dagger into the creature's left eye. The eyeball exploded in a yellow goo, and the Titanoboa recoiled, thrashing, its tail sweeping the air and creating waves that nearly toppled the group.

  Varig acted with subtlety, the hatred for the betrayal in South Village guiding his movements. As Renn positioned himself to throw the net, Varig "accidentally" tripped on a loose rope, pulling it so that the iron mesh tangled around the brute's feet. Renn cursed, trying to free himself, but the hesitation was fatal—the serpent's tail struck him full force, crushing his chest with a wet crack of broken bones. He flew into the canal, sinking into the black water while gurgling a final scream, his body swallowed by the depths. Vitor's voice murmured in approval: "See how the fat one fell, pup? The same weight he used to kick you now drags him down. Fair, don't you think? He reaped what he sowed."

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  Garr, distracted by his companion's death, hesitated for a second—enough time for Varig to lightly push a submerged root into his path, disguising it as a slip in the mud. The serpent attacked, its fangs closing around Garr's leg, injecting venom that made him howl in agony. He slashed desperately with his sword, but the Titanoboa dragged him under, the mercenary disappearing in a whirlpool of bubbles and blood, his last curse echoing in the air. Vitor whispered again, with an almost paternal tone: "And the other? So many mocks, so many stumbles he caused you. Now it's him who vanishes in the mud. You just sped up the inevitable, pup. They were never your allies."

  Now, only Varig and Lira remained. The serpent turned toward them, its flaming eyes fixed on the woman who had blinded it on one side. Lira fought with ferocity, plunging the second dagger into the side of the beast's body, but the Titanoboa hit her with a tail strike that threw her against a tree, the impact stealing her breath. She slid into the mud, gasping, the serpent approaching for the final blow. Varig felt panic—not for himself, but for her, the only one who had treated him with a shred of humanity.

  At the last instant, as the snake's fangs descended upon them, Varig tore off the bandages, revealing the gray arm to Lira. Her eyes widened in shock, but there was no time for questions. The arm extended like a spectral claw, pulsing with a ghostly light, and grasped the serpent's jaw. Vitor's hunger flowed through him—a primordial suction that drained the beast's vitality. The Titanoboa froze, its movements slowing, while Varig pulled Lira away with his other hand.

  Lira, catching her breath, leaped and plunged her dagger into the base of the creature's skull, twisting until she heard the crack of bones breaking. The serpent collapsed with a boom that made the swamp tremble, its immense body sinking partially into the mud, its remaining eyes glazed in defeat.

  Silence returned, broken only by Varig and Lira's heavy breathing. She stared at him, her eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and suspicion. "What... what is that?" she murmured, pointing to the arm.

  Varig retracted his hand, but not before noticing the changes: black veins more prominent snaking across the gray skin, like roots of a shadowy tree, and the fingertips beginning to elongate into light claws, sharp as incipient blades.

  They didn't waste time. Lira, still stunned, drew a hunting knife and began the dirty work of skinning the beast. "The skin is worth a fortune at the docks," she said, cutting along the belly with precision. Varig joined her, pulling the thick layers of scales and revealing the pale, fibrous flesh underneath. They collected pieces of meat, cutting fillets that could be salted and sold as an exotic delicacy— Titanoboa meat, said to cure ailments and strengthen the body.

  As the setting sun tinged the swamp red, the two packed their prey—skin rolled into bundles, meat in waterproof sacks. The way back would be long, but laden with promised gold and dark secrets. Varig felt the weight of the collar, the hatred for the betrayal in South Village now tempered with growing power. Lira walked beside him, but said nothing more about the arm. Her silence hung in the humid air, an invisible blade—would it be gratitude, or the prelude to a nocturnal betrayal? The swamp watched them, silent, as if knowing that greater monsters were yet to come.