Ethan crouched behind the cracked stone statue, lungs still burning, heart still rattling inside his ribs like a trapped animal.
That thing… that thing was going to kill me.
The air reeked of wet moss and iron. Distantly, bones snapped. Flesh tore. A sound like wet leather being ripped apart cut through the overgrown ruins. Hesitant, he turned his head—just a peek.
Over the jagged rubble, he spotted the two monsters locked in savage conflict. The larger predator had pinned the veiled giant against a collapsed column, its scythe-like claws buried into its prey's chest cavity. Chunks of mutated muscle rained to the ground in grotesque fountains.
Then the veiled beast turned its head—barely.
Its dozens of eyes, some ruptured and dripping, others flickering with dim awareness… locked with Ethan's.
It was crying.
Or something like it.
Thick, jelly-like tears leaked from the membrane across its face as its body twitched under the weight of the onslaught.
Ethan's stomach turned.
"No, no, no—" he whispered, ducking behind the statue again. His back hit the stone with a dull thud. The image clung to his mind like oil—even monsters can suffer? It only made the world feel worse. More cruel. More real.
He breathed through his teeth, trying to calm down—but instinct was screaming louder than thought.
You need to move.
He glanced around, scanning for an escape. That's when he saw it—a jagged incline covered in roots and rusted rebar, leaning diagonally against a shattered wall. Its base was hidden behind fallen concrete and vines, but it extended upward like a collapsed highway ramp, or maybe part of a toppled skyscraper's interior frame, tilted and swallowed by nature.
If he could climb it, he might reach high ground—get a better view, figure out where the hell he was.
But then—thunderous steps.
A different sound this time.
From his right.
He turned—and went still.
A pack of beasts was barreling toward the carnage. Six of them—twice his height, lean but massive, covered in split sinew and glistening armored scales. Their mouths hung open in anticipation, tongues whipping like vines, eyes glowing pale green. They looked like a twisted cross between hounds and lizards, built to run, kill, and strip bone.
And they were coming straight from the path he needed to take.
Ethan froze. His eyes darted from the predators to the slope.
No other exit.
He thought about hiding again. Thought about turning back. Maybe they won't notice me. Maybe I can wait it out.
But that thought died as quickly as it came.
These weren't animals. These things were tuned to blood. And they'd smell him eventually.
He clenched his fists, sweat dripping from his chin.
"Dammit…"
He looked down at the cleaver in his hand. The evolved blade hummed faintly, as if sensing his desperation. Still caked with dried gore from the simulation. It suddenly felt heavier. Real.
If I hesitate, I die.
His grip tightened. His breath shook. He looked at the path one last time—and then at the charging beasts.
"…Screw it."
He ran.
Straight toward them.
If this was going to be his new life—then he'd take the blood with it.
Even if it meant killing to stay alive.
Ethan's legs moved before his brain could stop them.
Run. Run. RUN!
He bolted toward the incoming pack of monsters, eyes squeezed shut, muscles screaming. His cleaver bounced wildly on his back with every desperate step.
What the hell am I doing?!
This wasn't courage. It was panic given motion—his limbs obeying sheer survival instinct. Like a moth diving into flame, he charged straight at death.
The pack noticed him instantly.
A low, guttural clicking rippled between them—mouths twitching, eyes narrowing. They were smart. Not human-smart, but something close. Like wolves bred in nightmares, they shifted formation without a sound, fanning into a wide curve, coordinating silently.
Ethan cracked one eye open—and nearly stumbled.
They weren't charging.
They were positioning.
His boots skidded across the moss-covered concrete as he tried to halt, but it was too late—they had him surrounded. Six grotesque beasts closed in from all sides, lean bodies flexing, muscle sliding beneath slick, scale-covered skin. One snapped its jaws in the air, teasing him.
Ethan backed into the center of the circle.
Sweat poured from his forehead.
I can't do this.
They were coordinated, calculated—moving like they'd hunted creatures far more dangerous than him. And now he was cornered. His breath grew ragged. His grip loosened around the cleaver's hilt.
Move. DO something.
But his body wouldn't listen.
Not until one of the beasts lunged.
It was the smallest of the pack, faster than the rest—a blur of bone-white fangs and sinew.
Ethan flinched—his broad axe-cleaver lifted on reflex.
THWMP.
The edge barely touched the creature.
Just a graze.
But that was all it took.
The moment metal met flesh, the weapon roared.
A deep, guttural vibration exploded through Ethan's arms as the axe-cleaver sucked the beast inward, its entire body spiraling into the blade like shredded silk. Limbs snapped and vanished in less than a second. There was no blood, no scream—just a wet churning sound and a violent gust of displaced air.
Then—SPLAT.
Chunks of meat exploded outward in a misty spray—raining shredded gore across the moss.
The other beasts halted instantly, their snarls curling into low, hesitant growls.
Ethan stood there—motionless.
His eyes wide.
His jaw slack.
The weapon in his hands… hummed.
A dark pulse ran along its surface, just for a second. A faint glimmer, almost smug, as if the weapon itself had whispered:
> "This is how strong I am."
Ethan slowly looked down at it, hands still trembling.
"W-what the actual f*ck was that…?"
The beasts didn't wait to find out.
They backed away.
Then turned—and vanished into the jungle like smoke dispersing in wind.
Ethan was left alone in a circle of gore, axe-cleaver dripping with what remained of his would-be killer.
The fear hadn't left him.
But something else had crept in.
Power.
Real, undeniable, dangerous power.