The closer Lucian drew to the tower, the more the jungle resisted him. The air grew denser, thicker with moisture, as though the vines themselves exhaled a humid breath. The ground beneath his boots shifted from soil to fractured stone, grass spilling through cracks like veins creeping over old bones. The ruin's silence pressed against his ears, smothering the usual insect whine or the distant, mournful cries of beasts. Nothing moved. Not a bird, not a shadow.
It was too quiet.
Lucian slowed, one hand resting against the trunk of a vine-choked tree, his other tightening on the dull combat knife. The pipe clinked softly against the rope tied to his pack, and even that small sound felt like betrayal. The jungle around him wasn't merely still; it was listening.
The tower rose above the canopy like a jagged spear, impossibly tall, its upper half wreathed in mist. Vines thick as his torso spiraled around it, anchoring it to the jungle as if the forest itself were holding the structure upright. He remembered the way one of those vines had recoiled at his touch days ago, as if alive, as if aware. His stomach twisted.
He marked an "X" into a tree with his knife before stepping into the ruins proper.
The silence followed him inside.
Crumbled archways bent under their own weight, toppled statues lay half-buried in moss, their features eroded to nothing. Shattered vases littered the pathways, fragments crunching under his boots as he walked. Once, his mother's voice returned to him, faint and uninvited — her offhand comments about digging through ruins in foreign countries, about lost civilizations and their strange, ritual artifacts. Back then, he'd dismissed it as idle nostalgia. Now, it felt like a warning he'd never understood.
He shook the thought away. Dwelling on the past wouldn't keep him alive.
The base of the tower loomed ahead. A gaping stone arch, swallowed in vines, marked its entrance. Beyond the threshold, the air cooled sharply, carrying the scent of stone dust and damp rot. He hesitated, listening. Still no sound.
He reached the base of the tower, craning his neck to follow its ascent. The vines here were thicker, coiling up the stone like constrictors, their roots burrowing deep into cracked masonry. Strange markings carved into the stone had long since been obscured, though every so often a humanoid face jutted out from the wall, eroded but still watching.
Resolving himself he began his ascent of the tower.
Each step groaned beneath his boots. His thighs burned, lungs strained, but the greater weight was not physical — it was the suffocating presence of the place. Every dozen steps, he froze, sure he had heard something. A breath. A scrape. A growl from above.
He adjusted his grip on the knife, the only thing between him and whatever waited. The wood armor on his chest rubbed noisily against the stone railing when he brushed too close, and the sound made his skin crawl. Too loud. Far too loud.
When the first shadow stirred, Lucian nearly slipped.
And then he saw it.
At first, only a shadow in a crack high above. Then another, this one curled into a ball on a ledge. Then more. His heart stuttered. Dozens — no, hundreds — of creatures sprawled across the tower's interior. Gaunt, baboon-like bodies clung to the walls, slumped in piles, even dangled upside-down from the ceiling by clawed feet. Their chests rose and fell slowly in sleep, each breath whistling faintly through their split cheeks.
Lucian's pulse hammered in his ears. He pressed his back to the wall and lowered himself, moving step by step, each motion deliberate. His makeshift wood armor suddenly felt unbearably heavy, every bound piece creaking with the faintest shift. He glanced up at the beasts again — jaws slack, cheeks split unnaturally wide even in sleep, revealing rows of jagged teeth. Their appearance alone was monstrous, but he didn't miss the way their bodies, though gaunt, coiled with hidden strength.
If he tried to sneak past with the armor on, he'd be heard.
He crouched low, fingers fumbling at the knots, and one by one he loosened the bindings. The bark plates slid off and clattered faintly to the stone.
He froze.
One of the creatures twitched, a claw flexing against the wall. Its lips peeled back, jaws unhinging slightly before it settled again into slumber. Lucian didn't breathe until the silence returned.
The rope around his chest followed. The relief of weight lifting off him was immediate, but his body felt naked, exposed. Still, he forced himself to keep moving.
The climb was agony. The stairways crumbled, forcing him to scale ledges with his boots scraping stone. He hugged walls slick with moss, pressing his body flat to avoid slipping. The higher he climbed, the thicker the air grew — not heavier, but charged, humming with something unseen.
When he finally emerged onto the tower's open top, the jungle unfolded beneath him like a living ocean of green. Mist drifted between colossal trees. Rivers glimmered like silver veins. For the briefest moment, awe softened his fear. This world was deadly, cruel, and unnatural… but it was also beautiful.
At the center of the platform stood the Totem.
It was larger than he'd expected, a cube of dark stone large enough that he would need both hands to lift it. Five of its faces bore sculpted visages — twisted human expressions captured mid-emotion. Sorrow, Bliss, Rage, Despair, Fear. Each face glared outward, features exaggerated and uncanny, as though carved by someone who only half-understood humanity. The sixth side broke the pattern. Where serenity might have belonged, there was instead the cold, simple carving of an eye. Its pupil was a hollow groove, etched so deep it seemed to stare back into him.
Lucian's chest tightened. That symbol — he didn't know why, but it felt wrong. Familiar, almost. A brand, not a face.
He hesitated only a moment longer before reaching out. His fingers brushed cold stone.
The Rage face opened its eyes.
They glowed red, pulsing like hot coals. A deep hum shuddered through the tower, rattling stone under his boots. Lucian staggered back as the vines coiled tighter around the pedestal, trembling violently before relaxing all at once, as if a great breath had been released. The hum spread downward, racing into the tower's depths, into the roots that spread through the jungle.
And then came the screams.
The tower erupted with sound. From below, from above, from every crevice — inhuman screeches, deafening howls, throats tearing open in rage. The beasts woke.
One by one their eyes snapped open, jaws yawning wide, cheeks splitting further to amplify the cacophony of screeches that poured out. The tower shook with their howls. Claws gouged into stone, bodies skittered along the walls like spiders, hundreds of them converging upward.
Lucian seized the Totem, hugging its weight to his chest. Around him, debris began to lift — shards of stone, boulders, entire slabs of masonry rising into the air as though gravity itself had been overturned. The sky darkened, clouds swirling, a curtain of rain sweeping toward the tower.
There was no going back the way he came.
With a desperate curse, Lucian sprinted and leapt onto one of the floating stones. It wobbled under his weight, nearly throwing him. He jumped again, boots slamming onto another drifting boulder, the Totem clutched tight. Behind him, the first screeches drew closer, claws scraping stone. Shapes swarmed from the tower's openings — dozens of twisted baboon-things scrambling after him, their split maws stretching wide to unleash shrieks that rattled his skull.
One leapt. Lucian hurled himself aside, landing on a large stone platform rising into the air.
Lucian tore a vodka bottle from his pack, jammed cloth into the mouth, and sparked the lighter. The flame caught just barely against the damp wind. He hurled it behind him.
The bottle shattered, fire roaring bright for a heartbeat but already rain hissed down, threatening to smother the fire. A wall of flame flared high enough to cut off the closest of the beasts. Their screeches became frenzied as they circled wide, buying him precious seconds.
Lucian didn't wait. He leapt again.
Slipped. Caught himself against jagged stone. His palms split, blood smearing across the rock. He didn't stop.
At last, his boots struck mud. He landed hard, knees buckling, but he forced himself up. The Totem throbbed against his chest, heavy as lead, its pulse matching the thunder above.
The jungle itself rose against him.
Vines lashed from the ground, whipping at his arms and legs. Roots erupted upward like spears. Branches clawed down, snagging his clothes. He slashed and hacked with the knife, cutting through as fast as he could.
Then the vines moved.
One whipped around his leg thicker than the others, lifting him off the ground. Lucian screamed as it hauled him upside down, the Totem nearly falling from his grip. He slashed wildly with his knife, striking once, twice, three times — green sap spraying his face. The howls drew closer — the beasts were coming, fast. Panic surged, his body thrashing.
"C'mon, c'mon cut you dull bastard please!"
He stabbed again and again until finally the knife bit deep, the vine splitting with a wet tear. He fell, slammed into the mud, breath punched from his lungs. His ribs screamed, but he staggered up, coughing, clutching the Totem. He ran again.
No time. No time.
He ran and ran, lungs burning, boots hammering the ground. Through the sheets of rain, he spotted one of his crude "X" marks carved into a tree. Relief burst through him. He sprinted toward it, then to the next, and the next — the trail he'd carved in preparation now his only lifeline.
They blurred past in the rain, carved into trunks guiding his way like beacons through the madness. Left. Straight. Right. His mind couldn't hold directions anymore, but his hands had carved them, and his eyes followed them blindly.
Everywhere, shadows moved. Shapes leapt through the trees, clung to the canopy, skittered across the ground. Screeches echoed from all directions, but they never quite caught him.
He didn't dare slow down.
Lightning tore the sky open. Rain poured harder, soaking him to the bone. His muscles screamed, lungs burned, cuts stung raw without the protection of his shed armor. The Totem's hum vibrated through every nerve, urging him onward, heavier with each passing step.
Behind him, the screams never ceased.
He didn't stop when the jungle thinned. He didn't stop when the ruins fell away and broken asphalt appeared under his boots. He didn't dare. His body screamed in protest, cuts burning along his arms and shins where claws and vines had caught him, but he kept running.
The ruined city stretched ahead, lightning flashing off shattered glass and rusted steel. Behind him, the jungle writhed, vines snapping just short of the boundary.
The beasts howled from the shadows, but none crossed.
Lucian didn't look back.
He kept running.
The storm swallowed the sound of his ragged breath as he fled deeper into the skeletal city, the Totem clutched tight, its pulse thundering in his arms.
He didn't know if the monsters still followed. He didn't dare find out.