Azel quickly regained himself mid-air, twisting his body to cut through the rope wrapped around his leg with one swift slash of his dagger.
The blade tore through it like a knife through butter.
He landed on one knee, the ground crunching beneath him.
"Well, that went bad quickly," he muttered, dusting off his cloak as he looked around.
He was deep in the forest now.
The air here felt natural… It still had that natural feel that regular forests had, well if you ignored the fact that the leaves were black and not green.
The path ahead looked trampled, patches of soil turned over and trees scarred with claw marks.
It didn't take a genius to realize this was where Vargan and the others had passed earlier during their hunt.
"But where did that rope come from then?" he wondered aloud, scanning the trees.
There was no movement neither any sound except the rustle of leaves and his own breathing. It was completely quiet for a forest full of bloodthirsty monsters.
