I woke.
The first breath hurt.
Everything hurt.
No softness. No warmth.
Just pain.
And noise.
For the first days of my life that's all I knew.
Pain and noise.
I didn't even know why. Just hurt. All of it.
Cold wind scraped across my skin. Wet leaves slapped my face. My throat burned from screaming. Screamed till it bled.
That was my first death. Drowned in my own blood. The darkness came slowly.
Then woke.
Again.
I was back. Same place. Same body. Same pain.
More screaming.
Eyes? Useless. Light stabbed in. Blinding, white pain. Shapes twisted and moved like monsters made of smoke. Ears? Full of roaring. Or maybe my voice. It was all noise and fury and pain.
Everything smelled wrong. Too strong. Too thick. Rot and shit and blood and bark.
And I was wet. Always wet. Piss-wet. Slime-wet. Cold mud on my back, stinging where skin tore open on sharp roots.
I was soft. Too soft.Skin tore easy. Bones broke just from moving. Things bit me. Everything had teeth.
Even the grass cut.
Even the rain.
Everything had teeth.
And then... fire. Fuck fire.
Lightning came down. A flash. A crack. A scream that didn't come from me, or maybe did. Didn't matter.
The tree beside me caught blew up.
The fire came fast. I couldn't move. Couldn't crawl. Could only scream. Scream I did.
Watched the flames eat the leaves, then the branches, then the dirt.
Then me.
That's when I learned the true power of pain.
My skin peeled. My eyes boiled. I tasted myself cooking before I passed out.
Darkness.
Then light again.
Still screaming. Still bleeding. Still helpless.
I died again.
And again.
And again.
No god spoke. No hand reached down. Just death and return. Death and return. Every time the sun rose from the edge of the sky, so did I.
Crying became coughing. Screaming became silence.
I learned.
I remembered. Every time. Every death. Every cut and burn. All of it burned into me like brands. I never forgot. I tried.
I couldn't. Memories burned into my blood.
I learned what was food and what would kill me. I died eating berries that burned my throat from the inside out. Mushrooms that made me see things... vines crawling with eyes, rocks that whispered. I saw the shape of something big moving behind the trees that wasn't there.
Or maybe it was.
The island didn't care if I lived. Everything wanted to kill me. Even the vines tripped me. The ants bit my eyes. The monkeys tore at my hair and pissed on my face when I screamed.
But I got stronger.
By four months I could crawl. Ugly, shivering, bleeding movements. But I moved.
I found fruit. Rotten, mushy. I ate it. Vomited. Ate it again. Better than dying.
Birds tried to take my eyes. I threw dirt. Missed. Missed again. Then hit one. Broke its wing. Smashed it with a rock until it stopped moving.
Ate it raw. Gagged, but kept it down. Felt heat spread through my chest. Like a fire kindling in my belly. Like something waking up. Small, but real.
That night I didn't die.
First time in weeks.
I slept. Really slept.
The next day a snake bit me and I died again.
But I remembered the heat.
Fire came later.
I didn't know the word "fire." Just knew it scared the wolves. Made them back off. Watched lightning hit again and again, trees burst into flame.
I tried to make it.
Rubbed sticks. Hit rocks. Screamed at it. Failed. Lost fingers. Burned half my face. Learned how skin bubbles.
But I kept trying.
One day... a spark. A flicker.
The first fire I made.
I didn't eat that night. I just stared at it.
My fire.
My light.
The jungle watched me, but stayed back.
That night I laughed. My throat tore from the sound.
I burned down half the forest two days later. But that didn't matter.
I could do it again.
By the time I was five, I didn't cry anymore.
I could walk. Run. Jump.
I built spears from sharp rocks and hardwood. Made ropes from vines. Wove bags from leaves. Carried meat. Made traps. Most failed. Some worked.
Learned what parts of animals were softest. Where to stab. Where to cut.
The tree-dwellers hated me.
They'd hunted me when I was weak. Torn me up. Chewed my arms. Laughed while I bled.
Now, I hunted them.
Their eyes followed me through the trees. I could feel it. Hear them whisper in their chittering growls. But they didn't come close anymore. Not often.
Some nights, when the moon was high, I'd feel something else watching. Bigger than the tree-fucks. Older. Smarter. Deadlier.
I saw shapes in the leaves. Faces that weren't faces. Heard whispers in dreams.
One time I died in my sleep. No wounds. No sickness. Just… didn't wake up.
Came back the next sunrise. Heart pounding like it had been screaming the whole time.
Didn't sleep after that.
The jungle wanted me dead. But it couldn't have me. I always came back.
And I was learning to take.
Not just food.
Not just life.
Strength.
Each death left something behind.
Fingertips calloused harder. Muscles formed thicker. My bones stopped breaking. I bled slower. Scars stayed. Skin thickened.
I was changing. More than just learning. Becoming.
By six, I wasn't prey.
I was a hunter.
I followed jaguars. Hawks. Learned how they stalked. How they moved. I copied them. Mimicked the silent step, the sudden strike.
Quick. Clean. Merciless.
I didn't smile. Didn't laugh. Not like before.
But I remembered every time someone… something... made me suffer.
Especially him.
The Fat-Fuck.
Big bastard. Black fur. White tusks. Eyes full of hate.
I'd been four when he first gored me. Caught me drinking at the stream. Charged me from the brush. No warning.
Tusks in my gut. Lifted me. Threw me.
I remember looking down and seeing my intestines spilling like ropes into the grass.
I died slow that day. Hours. Screaming with flies in my mouth. Blood steaming like morning mist.
Came back. Furious.
I avoided him for years. Watched from the trees. Learned how he moved. He'd grown fatter. Slower. But still brutal.
Now? I was ready.
That night, I tracked him.
Barefoot. Silent. Spear in hand. Burnt wood. Carved tip. Soaked in old monkey fat and snake venom to sour the wound.
The jungle was alive with noise. But I was quieter. Part of it now. One of its sons.
I crouched low. Muscles coiled. Breathing slow. Every part of me listening.
Then I saw him.
Snorting. Rooting at the dirt. Dumb. Ugly. Big as a horse. The Fat-Fuck.
Scar on his right flank... one I'd given him with a jagged knife months ago.
I grinned.
No joy. Just teeth and fury.
This wasn't about food.
This was justice.
Payback.
Stone-cold revenge.
I moved. Fast. Quiet. A shadow made of bone and rage.
He looked up. Too late.
I screamed. A sound like lightning. Like everything I'd ever lost all at once.
The spear aimed straight for his eye.
And in that moment. Just before I hit him... I felt it.
Something in me lit up.
Not just fury. Not just instinct.
Something… deeper. Ancient. A spark behind my ribs. A pulse like the throbbing in the earth before a quake. It roared through my blood.
I didn't know what it was.
But I knew it was mine.
Like I was waking up again.
But for real this time.
I became... me.