Pushing himself up from the ground, Theon wiped the blood from his face, the eerie quiet of the alien forest closing in around him. It was the second time today he was getting up like this.
He began his journey again, moving with cautious yet deliberate steps. The ground was soft beneath his feet, muffled by the thick, spongy moss that covered it. Each step seemed to absorb sound, making his movement eerily quiet. The only noise was the faint rustling of leaves above, stirred by a breeze that carried the strange, sweet scent of the forest.
His eyes flicked toward the towering trees, their gnarled trunks stretching high into the darkness. Seeking higher ground, he approached one with sturdy, twisting branches and leapt, gripping the rough bark with practiced ease. He scaled it swiftly, muscles protesting with every movement, until he reached a thick limb where he could settle, pressing his back against the trunk. From this vantage point, he surveyed the landscape, taking in the eerie stillness of the forest below.
Though he allowed himself a brief moment to recover, true rest was impossible. His injuries ran too deep for mere sleep to mend, and uncertainty loomed over his supposed refuge. who knew if he was actually safe on the trees, he had scaled it because there didn't seem to be any immediate danger like the zombies that traversed the land.
Minutes passed. He remained still, his breathing steadying as he focused on regaining his strength and burning through the groceries that had been brought with him. Though others would have tried to ration their remaining supplies, Theon knew better.
Not only was he special in that he could survive up to weeks without food, water and even sleep, albeit in less than optimal condition, trying to ration in his current weakened conditions without knowing what other threats existed was not a risk worth taking.
The forest around him remained undisturbed, the thick canopy above casting shifting shadows over his perch. Yet, the longer he sat there, the more his unease grew. Something gnawed at the edges of his awareness, a quiet, insistent warning from his instincts.
His fingers tensed against the bark.
Then it hit him.
The silence. It had remained after the zombie's death.
Not just an absence of noise, but an oppressive void where sound should have been. No distant chirping of insects. No rustling of small creatures in the underbrush. Even the wind, though present, felt strangely muted. The entire forest had gone still, as if holding its breath.
He had initially thought that it was a result of the zombie, but it had remained even after the zombie's death. This meant one of two things. The first, though unlikely, was that the planet had decayed to such an extent that all wildlife had died off, leaving only the foliage without its accompanying bugs and pests. But Theon dismissed this almost immediately, he had seen insects, even larger animals, while traversing the terrain.
That left the second, far more troubling possibility. Something was out there, something capable of silencing the forest itself.
A supreme predator.
The unnatural silence pressed against Theon's eardrums like a physical weight. He stood motionless, the zombie's dark blood still dripping from his blades, and wondered.
Was it him?
As a foreign presence who had just felled one of this forest's predators, perhaps the local fauna now saw him as the greater threat. But that theory dissolved as quickly as it formed. Unless the very trees bore witness and shared a collective consciousness among themselves,there was no way his victory could have been communicated so completely, so instantly. His gaze swept the shadowed undergrowth. Nature didn't work this way. Even the most skittish animals didn't universally recognize outsiders as predators.
'It has to be something else.' he thought as his muscles coiled, breath slowing as his senses sharpened to the brink of paranoia. Every fiber of his being on edge, waiting.
Then—
"Grrrrr."
Speak of the devil and he shall appear was the quote wasn't it? Almost as if he had been speaking his train of thought out loud, he got the answer he was looking for.
A low, guttural growl rumbled through the air, deep enough to vibrate in his chest. It wasn't the wind. It wasn't his imagination.
Theon froze. Slowly, deliberately, he turned his head toward the sound.
Through the dense foliage, a pair of glowing eyes stared back at him—unblinking, predatory, and patient.
And then he heard it again—a low, rumbling growl that sent a chill down his spine.
The creature that emerged from the shadows was unlike anything Theon had ever seen—a hellish amalgamation of predator and nightmare. With a body covered in thick, matted fur that seemed to shift and shimmer as if alive, its form was massive, easily taller than Theon, with long, sinewy limbs ending in claws that gleamed like polished obsidian. The beast's face was a grotesque fusion of features: a broad, flat snout with rows of serrated teeth, eyes that burned with an unnatural crimson light, and jagged, bone-like protrusions that jutted from its shoulders and spine.
But that wasn't what made Theon's blood turn cold.
Dark, swirling tendrils of energy coiled around the beast's body, crackling with a sinister purple light. The air around it seemed to warp and twist, as if the very fabric of reality was bending to the creature's will.
'What the fuck is that…'
Though the creature was nothing reminiscent of anything back on Spectra, he had faced beasts and predators before, some even mutated and enhanced, it wasn't anything foreign. But…. Theon had never seen anything like the tendrils. He had seen cybernetic augmentations, artificial limbs, grotesque modifications grafted onto flesh. Yet this…. this was different.
Theon had been operating under Spectra's common sense thus far. He had seen more than most back on Spectra and for him, even zombie's weren't too far-fetched an idea, it could just be that wherever he was had superior technology when it came to their production. But those swirling tendrils….. Theon tried to tether them to his mindframe—they could just be parasites that had formed a symbiotic relationship with the beast or just a unique evolutionary trait....but Theon's instincts told him otherwise….those tendrils….they were something else.
And in a situation like this, encountering the unknown wasn't just dangerous—it was deadly.
Theon barely had time to process the implications before the beast moved. One moment, it was a pair of glowing eyes in the darkness; the next, it was launching itself upward with terrifying force. Branches snapped like brittle twigs under the sheer momentum of its leap, and in an instant, it was upon him.
Theon twisted, throwing himself off the limb just as massive claws tore through where he had been perched. Bark exploded in a shower of splinters as he caught hold of a lower branch, his muscles straining to halt his fall. But the creature wasn't done. It twisted midair, its tendrils lashing out with a mind of their own, seeking him even as gravity dragged it back down.
One struck true. A searing pain tore through his arm as a tendril raked across his skin, leaving behind a burning sensation that spread unnaturally fast. Theon gritted his teeth, ignoring the flare of pain as he swung himself onto another branch, daggers already in hand.
The beast landed heavily below, its claws digging into the earth with a sickening crunch. It didn't hesitate. Muscles coiled, and with a powerful leap, it was airborne again, barreling toward Theon's perch with terrifying precision.
Another tendril shot forward. Theon ducked, narrowly avoiding its grasp, but in doing so, he lost momentum. A split-second misstep—his foot skidded off damp bark, and before he could correct himself, another tendril wrapped around his ankle.
A vice-like grip yanked him downward.
Theon twisted midair, daggers flashing as he slashed at the tendril. The first strike barely cut through the writhing mass, but the second severed it, releasing him from its grasp.
Too late.
Momentum carried him downward, branches snapping against his body as he plunged toward the forest floor. He barely managed to angle himself before impact, rolling as he hit the ground to disperse the force of the fall. Even so, pain flared through his body, his back slamming against a tree root before he finally skidded to a stop in the dirt.
A second later, a heavy thud sounded nearby. The beast had landed, standing between him and any chance of escape.
Still crouched, Theon exhaled slowly, daggers held tight as he prepared himself to take the brunt force of the beast's attack.
The impact of their clash sent a shockwave through Theon's body, the force of it nearly knocking him off his feet. The beast's strength was overwhelming, each of its blows like a hammer striking an anvil.
Theon's first instinct was to run. He didn't need to evaluate the situation to know that fighting this creature was a losing battle.
But running was not an option. If he fled, the beast would hunt him down with ease. He needed some sort of advantage.
With a roar, the beast lunged again, but this time Theon was ready. He sidestepped at the last possible moment, bringing his dagger up in a swift, arcing motion that caught the beast's shoulder. The blade sank deep into muscle, but instead of the expected resistance, Theon felt his dagger meet something far more insidious—the dark energy that protected the beast. The tendrils coiled around his blade, dragging it down, and with a surge of power, flung Theon backward.
Pain detonated across Theon's ribs as the impact slammed him into the earth. Dirt filled his mouth, his lungs screaming for air as he forced himself upright—just in time to see the beast pivot, its hulking form wreathed in that same unnatural darkness. The tendrils lashed around it like living chains, pulsing with a sickly violet glow that made Theon's vision swim.
His body protested every movement—bruised muscles, cracked ribs, the metallic taste of blood thick on his tongue. The beast didn't tire. Didn't falter. And Theon was running out of time.
Desperation surged through Theon's veins, forcing him to act with a ruthless immediacy. The beast charged again, its massive form crashing through the underbrush, earth trembling under its weight. Theon didn't move. Didn't breathe. He waited—until the stench of rotting flesh and ozone flooded his nostrils, until he could count the jagged teeth in its gaping maw—
Now.
He pivoted, channeling every ounce of remaining strength into a single, brutal downward strike. Steel met skull with a wet crunch, the impact shuddering up his arms like a lightning strike. The blade lodged deep, ichor spraying in a blackened arc. Theon's blade met bone, the impact reverberating through his arms as the blade bit deep into the creature's thick hide.
But the beast was far from finished. It reared back, its massive jaws snapping shut just inches from Theon's face. The beast's dark energy surged, crackling and swirling around its form. The air seemed to thicken, as though the very essence of the forest was suffocating him. He could feel the energy leaching into him, sapping his strength, draining his will to fight. It was unnatural, malevolent.
Their eyes locked—Theon's emotionless, calculating, more inhuman than the beast burning with a feral rage. He didn't need to hear its roar to know: he had mere seconds before it tore him apart.
With a ferocious twist, Theon wrenched his blade free, the sound of it scraping against bone like nails on a chalkboard. This was his chance. Without hesitation, he turned and fled, the beast's enraged roar echoing behind him, its guttural bellow shaking the very trees around them. The ground trembled as it surged forward, massive paws pounding the earth with a terrifying rhythm.
Theon's heart raced, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. He could hear the creature's heavy footsteps gaining on him, its breath hot on his heels. His mind raced, calculating each step, but the pain in his body made it harder to focus. A split second of hesitation was all it took—just enough time for the beast to snap its jaws shut, missing him by a hair's breadth.
He didn't stop. He couldn't.
He pushed himself harder, sprinting through the dense underbrush, dodging trees, rocks, and roots. The taste of copper and pine needles filled his mouth with each panting breath. His muscles burned with exertion, and his limbs screamed in protest, but he kept running, knowing that one wrong move would be his last. The sheer power and size of the creature made it clear—this was not a foe he could defeat in direct combat.
Yet little did Theon know, this weakness of his, this weakness of being prey, was the only reason he was alive.