In a clearing, Carol lay bound hand and foot, thrown to the ground like garbage. Her body was stained with blood—Carl's blood. She wanted to scream, but a dirty rag stuffed in her mouth reduced her cries to helpless whimpers.
At the edge of the clearing, Salro crouched in the bushes, gripping a trigger cord. He knew anacondas were drawn to the scent of blood, and they preferred live prey. That's why he had used Carol as bait instead of Carl's corpse.
He had set a large net in the center of the clearing. The plan was simple: when the anaconda appeared, he would pull the trigger and trap it.
Everything was deathly quiet. In the distance, birds suddenly scattered into the air. A smile crept onto Salro's face.
Moments later, a faint, putrid stench drifted into his nostrils. Experienced as he was, Salro instantly recognized the scent—an anaconda was nearby. Likely watching, waiting.
He tightened his grip on the rope, eyes fixed on the clearing. Carol was crying, but he didn't care. All he wanted was the anaconda—and the sweet million-dollar prize for capturing it.
The rustling grew louder. The foul smell intensified. Still, there was no sign of the anaconda.
Suddenly, the light around him dimmed, as if something enormous was blocking the sun. A cold dread crept down Salro's spine. He slowly turned his head—and saw a one-eyed anaconda, towering above him, its massive head watching him silently.
The next second, the serpent lunged.
Its jaws clamped down on Salro's torso. Pain exploded through his body. Before he could scream, the snake jerked its head, hurling him into the air.
Before he even hit the ground, the powerful coils wrapped around him. The snake began to squeeze.
Bones cracked under the monstrous pressure. Salro cried out in agony.
From the center of the clearing, Carol—hands and feet still bound—watched in sheer terror. The one-eyed monster began to swallow Salro whole, starting from the head.
One meter… one and a half… two…
Carol screamed. The rag in her mouth dislodged from the force.
Today had turned into a day straight out of hell. First, someone had been chopped into pieces before her eyes. Now, another was being eaten alive.
Head. Waist. Legs…
Carol squirmed backward. Through the snake's thick body, she could see a swollen section—where Salro's body was trapped.
After devouring its meal, the one-eyed anaconda stopped moving. It lay still, casting a chilling stare at Carol with its one remaining eye.
Carol immediately shut her mouth. But just as quickly, she let out another piercing scream—another giant anaconda had appeared at the edge of the forest.
Sensing a rival, the first anaconda lifted its head again. The two titans now faced off from a short distance apart.
Carol trembled uncontrollably. Both anacondas were terrifyingly close. Thankfully, neither paid her any attention. She recognized them now: the one-eyed anaconda was the same beast that had been hunting them previously, and the newcomer seemed to be the one that attacked them near the pond earlier—possibly the original owner of this territory.
The one-eyed serpent was visibly longer—at least nine meters—while the new arrival was about eight.
Neither backed down.
The two anacondas circled each other, testing, waiting.
Suddenly, the one-eyed anaconda writhed and opened its jaws. Incredibly, it regurgitated Salro.
Carol screamed again.
Salro fell to the ground beside her. His body was covered in corrosive digestive fluids. The stench was unbearable. Worse, his flesh was partially dissolved. But one of his eyes was still moving.
He was alive.
"AHHHHH—!"
Carol's scream tore through the forest. It was like a signal—like the blare of a war horn.
The two anacondas lunged at each other.
Anacondas fighting each other was no different than when they fought other creatures. The two giants wrapped around each other, each trying to crush the other.
Their fangs were useless here—it was pure muscle-on-muscle warfare. They rolled and twisted, smashing down trees and crushing the underbrush beneath them.
Two 250-kilogram monsters locked in combat was not a fast or graceful fight—but it radiated a suffocating power.
The massive serpents rolled closer and closer to Carol. Desperately, she tried to wriggle away.
Just when the coils were about to crush her—
A hand yanked her sideways.
By a hairsbreadth, she escaped death.
Her heart thundered in her chest. She turned to see what had saved her—and found herself staring at Salro's pulverized remains. She nearly fainted.
Then she looked again.
It was Monica.
Monica held a finger to her lips—shhh.
Carol nodded rapidly. Monica quickly cut the ropes binding her limbs and silently led her away.
They ran.
Not until they had put a good distance between themselves and the battle did they finally slow down. The two anacondas would be fighting for a while. Without vocal cords, they wouldn't make much sound—but the destruction would be real.
Carol was still haunted by the image of the one-eyed anaconda vomiting Salro. It would likely haunt her forever.
"Why?" she suddenly asked, breath still shaky. "Why did that thing spit him back out after swallowing him?"
Fresh out of a near-death escape, that was the question she chose to focus on.
Monica didn't understand her priorities, but still explained, "An anaconda is at its weakest after eating. It needs days, even weeks, to digest a large meal. If it's attacked while digesting, it'll regurgitate the prey to ready itself for battle."
Carol paled even further. The explanation didn't help at all. But Monica wasn't planning to linger—after a brief rest, the three of them continued moving farther away.
…
Elsewhere in the rainforest, Owen was locked in fierce combat with a burly white man.
The man was a monster—easily over two meters tall and built like a truck, twice Owen's size.
With both hands, the giant lifted Owen and slammed him toward the ground.
But Owen's legs coiled upward, wrapping around the man's neck.
The brute tried to hurl him off, but Owen clung tight. Using the opening, Owen delivered a brutal double strike to the temples—both fists hammering down.
The giant staggered, ears ringing. His balance wavered—and he crashed to the ground.
Owen quickly mounted his chest and drew his combat knife, plunging it down toward the back of the skull.
But the blade met resistance—the thick skull stopped it.
Gritting his teeth, Owen took a vicious backhand. Blood filled his mouth, but he didn't stop. Again, he drove the blade down—but still it didn't penetrate.
The brute's second strike was coming.
Owen shifted, raised his free hand—and slammed his palm down on the knife's pommel.
The full force drove the blade through the bone and deep into the brain.
The massive hand, frozen mid-strike, suddenly went limp—flopping to the side like a cooked noodle.
______
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