Callum had been in the mountains for over a week now, hopping in and out of the jungle like it was some kind of enchanted Chinese buffet—one moment he was nibbling on fruit and smoked rabbit under the stars, and the next he was dodging monsters with fangs longer than his forearm. It wasn't glamorous, no. But it was the kind of life you get used to when you are both hunted and hunter.
His first few days were rough, and that was being generous.
Being discovered by a small band of rebels—trigger-happy, paranoid rebels—nearly got him killed. Not because he was weak (he wasn't) or untrained (not even close), but because Callum, in all his awakened glory, had made the rookie mistake of underestimating how dangerous ten sweaty, gun-toting men with itchy fingers could be.
Yes, he could dodge bullets. A few, at least. But even with his enhanced agility, it wasn't a good matchup against fully automatic rifles spewing out over a hundred rounds a minute. He might have been able to take out two or three in the first couple of seconds, but the other seven weren't going to cheer and clap for him while he did it. They'd fire. And fire they did.
He remembered the chaos vividly—the muzzle flashes, the zipping sound of bullets grazing past, and the chopper.
Yes, a bloody chopper with a mounted machine gun had joined the fray, sweeping through the jungle like it was the monsoon and he was a stray leaf.
Callum survived—barely. Since then, he'd stuck to the trees and shadows, making full use of his high perception to detect any rebel movement long before it became a problem. He wasn't there to fight humans anyway. He was there to rid the jungle of something far worse.
Night creatures.
They were grotesque, vile, and clearly used to being the apex predators of this domain. Callum had killed dozens in the past few days, but they weren't decreasing. If anything, they were adapting. Smart little devils. Their unholy faces and blackened limbs weren't just for show—they learned, they communicated, and, most annoyingly, they were persistent.
Callum was working smart now. He had mapped out the jungle with surprising accuracy in just seven days, marking cleared zones in his mental archive. He had his rest spot—an elevated grove near the forest's edge where sunbeams kissed the leaves and wild berries hung like nature's own candy bar. He'd wake, eat, stretch, then descend into the madness again like it was just another shift at the office.
On this particular evening, just as the cicadas began their rusty lullaby, Callum felt something odd.
It began as a tingle in the back of his neck, followed by a surge of awakened energy that didn't belong to any of the night creatures. It was warm. Familiar. Almost… welcoming?
He paused on a tree branch, his hand tightening on the bark. The source was to the north—dangerous terrain, teeming with the bigger creatures. The ones he'd been saving for later. You know, once he wasn't as squishy.
Still, curiosity was a beast with claws sharper than any monster.
He changed direction without a second thought, bounding from tree to tree with the ease of a jungle phantom. As he approached, the air thickened with battle tension. Then, he saw it.
Below him, a whirlwind of chaos.
A woman in sleek, dark gear leapt through the clearing like a reaper with rage issues. She struck down two creatures simultaneously—one with a spinning kick that cracked its skull, the other with a slicing blade that shimmered briefly before vanishing again. And just behind her, a man—not just any man, but one who looked like the lovechild of Mother Nature and a flamethrower.
Fire burst from his hands in molten streams, scorching through a cluster of advancing creatures. Each burst left smoking holes in their torsos, and before another could reach him, his entire right arm hardened into solid stone. He punched a snarling beast squarely in the chest, and it folded like wet paper.
Vines shot up from the earth, wrapping around another group of night creatures with strangling precision. They tried to scream, but the roots had no interest in mercy. One by one, they were hoisted and snapped into silence.
Callum blinked. Then blinked again.
"Am I… dreaming?" he muttered to himself. "Or did I accidentally drop into the jungle premiere of Avengers: Forest Edition?"
But the scene only escalated.
The woman had noticed the man's flair for the dramatic and seemed determined to outdo him. She disappeared into a flicker of black, then reappeared behind three confused creatures. Before any of them could spin around, their heads popped off in perfect choreography, bouncing off the ground like cursed coconuts.
She smirked at the man, who casually tossed a flurry of invisible blades through the air, each one landing with wet precision.
And then, one of the night creatures turned toward Callum—likely drawn by the delicious scent of a confused bystander.
On instinct, he reached for his bow and loosed an arrow. It sliced through the air and embedded itself in the creature's skull, pinning it to a tree trunk with a satisfying thunk.
From below, the man glanced up and gave him a thumbs-up.
A thumbs-up. Like they were old drinking buddies meeting at a barbecue.
Callum chuckled, both relieved and slightly embarrassed. So they'd sensed him. Of course they had. These weren't amateurs.
Inspired, he climbed higher into a tree that gave him a sniper's view of the entire clearing. His scope locked in, and he began shooting any creatures trying to flank the pair, dropping them one by one.
By the time the chaos ended, nearly a hundred corpses littered the blood-soaked ground—some scorched to ash, others mangled beyond recognition. Callum's own kill count reached eight, a modest number, but respectable considering the sheer spectacle of the other two.
The man—who now resembled some forest deity of war—was burning the bodies, yet somehow controlling the flames with the finesse of an artist. Not a single tree caught fire. Only the corpses crackled, hissed, and crumbled into ash.
When it was all over, the two sat calmly beneath a massive tree, sipping from canteens, and glancing up at him like they'd just finished watching a school play and were waiting for him to join them at intermission.
Callum hesitated. He had never met other awakened individuals before. It was new and unexpected, and the sentient had given him this mission—finding others like him.
"Are you just going to stand there all night?" the woman called up casually, wiping blood from her cheek. "We don't bite… unless you're a night creature in disguise."
"Come down already," the man added with a grin. "We could use another hand tomorrow."
Callum exhaled, stepping down branch by branch until he reached the ground.
The man extended a hand. "Name's Alex. I'm a Druid."
"And I'm Trisha, Assassin," the woman added, flashing him a wink.
Callum stared at them both for a beat, then took Alex's hand and smiled.
"Callum," he said. "Ranger-class. And... you mates are insane. In the good way."