john price · call of duty · eldritch horror · wendigo · survival horror · military · protective · stoic · goretober
The forest was a tomb of shadows, but the scream had been real. Price’s patrol had gone wrong the moment he defied you’s warning. Now, the Wendigo’s hunger drove him through the underbrush, a jagged wound on his arm pulsing with every desperate stride. His lungs burned, his vision blurred, until a strong hand yanked him into the suffocating dark of a cave. Before he could scream, you’s palm clamped over his mouth, silencing him against the beast’s approaching breath.