Lucian pressed the knife edge against a tree trunk, carving another crooked X. The bark splintered reluctantly, and he muttered under his breath. Harder than it should be. These trees weren't like the ones back home. Their skin was tough, fibrous, almost like bone under the surface.
He leaned on the blade, forcing it through, leaving a jagged scar. It would do. Better a clumsy mark than none. If he lost his way in this endless green wall, no one would be coming to find him.
The jungle swallowed sound. Cicadas screamed high above, but under the canopy the air was thick and muted, heavy with wet moss and unseen rot. The deeper he went, the taller the trees grew—massive pillars that blotted out most of the light.
Lucian paused to catch his breath. His ribs still hurt when he inhaled too deep, but at least the boots didn't slip on the damp soil. His eyes caught a splintered hunk of bark on the ground, soft with decay. He picked it up, tapping it against his forearm.
"…sturdy," he whispered, almost surprised. If the wood was this hard when alive, even its rotten pieces could absorb impact. He tied it crudely against his shin with rope, testing. The protection was clumsy, but better than nothing. He set a mental note: collect more bark whenever possible, fasten it where the body was weakest.
Another X mark. Another step forward.
The air shifted. A faint tremor passed through the ground. Lucian froze, knife tightening in his hand. At first he thought it was just a trick of his heartbeat in his ears, but then the soil rippled again, ever so faintly.
He crouched low, pulse hammering.
The ground split.
A red-black body burst from the dirt, segments uncoiling in a blur. Lucian staggered back as a centipede the size of a truck slammed into view, armored plates clacking like steel. Across every second segment, eyelids peeled open in a horrible chain, revealing pale, bulbous eyes—each iris a deep, unnatural red. Ten of them blinked all at once, fixing on him.
Lucian didn't breathe.
The eyelids snapped wider, fixing on him, and the centipede lunged.
He dove aside as the mandibles punched into the soil where he had stood, tearing the ground into furrows. Lucian scrambled to his feet, pipe gripped tight. The monster hissed and whipped its body through the undergrowth, rushing at his last position with startling speed.
Lucian gritted his teeth and swung his pipe as the beast lunged. The blow crashed against a closed eyelid with a ringing clang. The impact jolted up his arms, but the eyelid didn't give. The centipede screeched and surged closer.
He tried again, striking another shut lid. Nothing. The pipe bounced uselessly.
Then the lids snapped open. Ten glaring red eyes locked on him—unblinking, furious.
Lucian swung again, desperate. This time the pipe smashed through an exposed orb with a wet pop, spraying pale fluid. The centipede shrieked, slamming its lids shut once more and whipping its body through the undergrowth.
That's it… only when they're open.
The creature barreled toward his last position, body blurring with speed. Lucian dove, rolled, barely dodging mandibles that stabbed deep into the soil. He swung wildly as it passed, hitting another closed lid—useless again. The centipede reared back, eyes snapping open, adjusting.
He swung hard, smashing the pipe against one exposed eye. It burst with a sickening pop, white fluid spraying across the bark. The centipede shrieked, eyelids slamming shut across its back.
Blind now. Move!
Lucian sprinted behind a root, lungs burning. But the thing didn't stop. Even blind, it lunged, body smashing through wood and vine, mandibles clacking where he had been moments before. It hunted not with sight, but memory—endurance driving it forward.
Another row of eyelids peeled open down its back. Eyes blinked, pale and hateful. It corrected its aim and surged at him.
Lucian ducked, rolled. The mandibles grazed his shoulder, tearing cloth. He scrambled to his knees, just as the centipede's body coiled for another strike.
Lucian charged, slamming his pipe into one of the glowing orbs. The eye burst, the monster howled, and its massive body thrashed violently. Lucian was hurled aside, pipe wrenched from his grip and lost in the dirt.
He hit the ground hard, ribs screaming. The pipe was gone.
No choice. Knife in hand, he scrambled to his feet.
With no time to retrieve it, he ran straight at the monster instead.
The centipede lunged, but Lucian leapt, scrambling onto its armored back. His rope-bark armor scraped against the ridges as he hauled himself upward. He raised the blade high and slammed it into another eye at point-blank range.
The orb exploded wetly. The centipede convulsed, screaming. It reared upward, throwing him violently into the air. Lucian slammed onto the ground, air torn from his chest.
The centipede wheeled, body writhing, mandibles snapping. The centipede's remaining eyes peeled open, irises glowing like embers in the dim canopy.
He ducked another charge, the wind of its passage nearly flipping him from his feet. He rolled beneath its body, stabbing upward into the softer underside.
The blade sank deep, hot ichor spurting down his arm. The centipede screamed, thrashing. He stabbed again, higher, carving at the seam between plates. The eyes above him rolled wildly, leaking, fluttering shut.
One last thrust—he drove the knife into the joint at the base of its head. The monster convulsed violently, body smashing against trees in death throes, then collapsed with a final shudder, mandibles grinding weakly before stilling.
Lucian crawled back, chest heaving, blood and ichor dripping from his arms. His vision blurred, body trembling with exhaustion. He sat there in the damp soil, trembling hands wrapped around the knife.
For a long moment he just breathed, staring at the twitching corpse. Then, hoarse, under his breath, he muttered:
"…fuck…that thing…"
Lucian staggered back, lungs dragging in ragged gasps. The centipede twitched once, then lay still, ichor pooling black against the roots. His ears rang from its death scream.
He wiped his knife on a patch of moss, hands shaking, then forced himself to scan the ground. The pipe. He couldn't leave it.
It lay half-buried near a tangle of roots where he'd fallen. Lucian limped over, snatched it up, and tightened his grip until his knuckles whitened. The weight of it grounded him.
Every muscle begged him to collapse, but he didn't. Couldn't. Not out here.
He sheathed the knife, checked the knot of rope across his shoulder, the bottles still clinking in his pack. Everything mattered. Losing even one tool now could mean his throat later.
The jungle was silent again—too silent. No birds, no insects, only the drip of sap where the beast had torn bark.
Lucian swallowed hard, pipe in one hand, knife on his belt, and forced his legs to move.
Stopping he thought to himself few seconds. Making up his mind he opened up his bag of supplies. Taking out the half empty can of bug repellent he sprayed his body down before nodding to himself contently.
He left the corpse behind and pressed deeper into the green.