Do You Know the Wendigo?
Do you know about the monster called a Wendigo? No? That's not strange. Unless you're deep into fantasy, most people have never heard of it.
The Wendigo is a monster originating from cold northern regions—a kind of spirit. And it's called a monster for good reason: it's an evil spirit. People usually imagine spirits as cute, helpful, benevolent beings, but just as the world isn't full of only good people, spirits aren't either.
Among those evil spirits, the Wendigo stood out as particularly unique. Though called a spirit, it had a physical body. The problem? That body looked far more like a monster than a spirit. A bipedal creature wearing a deer's skull over its head—no matter how open-minded you are, you wouldn't mistake that for a spirit. Legends also painted it as ill-tempered. In the already harsh north, it wielded snow, frost, and chill to torment people, hunting those lost in the woods. No wonder it was seen as a malevolent force. Some tales even claimed the souls of the forest dead were captured by the Wendigo, doomed to eternal suffering.
Of course, such stories meant nothing to ordinary folk. On Earth, the Wendigo was just a legend.
"The problem is, I've become a Wendigo."
In the Snowy Forest, his reflection shimmered on the river's thin ice. It matched the Wendigo he knew from lore. The only difference? Instead of a deer's skull helmet, a shell resembling one protected his head.
He—no, the Wendigo—examined his hands. Too large for human, with claws sharp and vicious enough to terrify. Legs weren't human either: reverse-jointed, supporting a lean yet muscled, eerie frame. Nothing human about him.
He wished it was a dream, but his mind was too sharp, too vivid.
Staring at the sky, the Wendigo sighed. "Couldn't you have made me a dragon or a wyrm instead...?"
While others possessed world-ending dragons or wyrms, he'd ended up in a Wendigo. Talk about rotten luck.
The Wendigo shook off his confusion quickly. Crying wouldn't turn him human again. Better to ponder his next moves—a far more productive use of time.
Sure, becoming a monster sucked. But he had to survive first.
First things first: adapt to this body... and secure food, shelter, clothing.
Thankfully, movement felt natural. Maybe because it resembled a human, minus the reverse joints, claws, and skull-like shell.
At least it's not a dragon or wyrm. Wait, no—that's worse.
He shook his head, abandoning forced optimism. Dragon beat Wendigo any day.
Wandering aimlessly, he paused before a sturdy tree, its bark radiating nature's raw power. Perfect for testing.
He stroked the bark—solid. Ideal subject. Placing a claw against it, he prepared to gauge its sharpness and strength.
It's a legendary monster. Can't be weak.
He wasn't dreaming of troll or ogre levels. Just better than a bear. Claw marks like a bear or tiger would suffice—plenty against beasts. Essential for survival.
Half-excited, half-wary, he scraped gently... and the claw sank in like tofu.
Stunned, the Wendigo stared at his claw embedded in the tree.
Seconds passed. Jerking it free, he left a clean hole, as if always there.
Inspecting the claw, then the hole—frost rimmed the edges.
Cold aura on the claws?
Odd, but fitting for a legendary beast. He swung harder for confirmation.
Kraaaack! Like a chainsaw, the tree scarred deeply, frost blooming anew.
Amazed, he marveled. That "scar" was a third of the trunk gouged away. Bear-shredding power.
Stronger than I thought.
Beast hide and flesh would yield easier than wood. No worries about unarmed weakness.
Overjoyed, he pumped a fist. Problem: his height—twice a man's. The fist rocketed toward the tree.
Idiot—swinging at the tree!
Bracing for pain, he winced.
Crack!
"...Huh?"
No pain—just the sound of something breaking. His fist was fine; the tree wasn't. Bark exploded, trunk split. A rotten log with a sledgehammer couldn't match this.
Blinking, he thought: Living as a Wendigo instead of a dragon? Not so bad.
He had to admit it: his body was freakishly... superior. Beyond superior—astonishing.
He outran a startled deer in seconds. Kicks shattered boulders. His 3-meter bulk moved silently; the deer hadn't noticed until it breathed.
"And cold manipulation too. Not a single flaw in this body."
Gripping his ice sword—formed from chill—the blade held against his monstrous strength. Legendary indeed.
One swing halved the tree.
No more fears of weakness. Confidence surged. Monster or not, survival's what matters!
"Shelter, food, clothes. Food's beasts. But clothes and house?"
Tapping his shoulder with the sword, he pondered. Minimal loincloth sufficed, but shelter was key. Monster-unfriendly world—hide thoroughly. Deep forest cave: spacious, cozy, adventurer-proof.
Resolved, he headed upslope—likely toward mountains, deeper wilds. No human encounters there. Hunt beasts and fruit for hunger; skins for clothes.
Solid plan.
Satisfied with his calm, a distant bear roar echoed.
Pausing, he debated: Can I take a bear now?
Impulsive, but he'd never tested on live prey. Barely a day in this world. Time to try—beating a bear meant mastering lesser beasts.
I can do it. Strength, weapons. Bear should be easy. Worst case: run.
Reshaping sword to spear, he dashed toward the roar.
Trees blurred by. Spotting the bear from afar, its back clear.
No hunting experience, but media taught: ambush best. Backstab lethal for beast or man.
Aiming the spear: Never thrown one. Modern guy yesterday.
Sneak and stab safer? Nah—throw it. Fights ahead; misses were lessons. Experience trumped perfection.
He hurled.
No ordinary spear: over 3 meters, massive blade—like a ballista bolt. His strength propelled it, tearing air.
It pierced the bear dead-center.
"Kyaaaaak!!!"
"Yes! Hit... wait?"
The shriek pierced ears—not bearlike. Too girlish, clear. Even deer couldn't match it.
The bear toppled. Someone ahead: a woman. Unmistakable, no matter the blinks.
The Wendigo exhaled wordlessly.
"Fuck."
Correction: a curse-laden exhale.
His "no humans" plan? Busted on day one.