Chapter 10: Crossing the Limits of Humanity
As the island appeared on the horizon, the sea was raging, and the fog coiled around the ship like ghostly fingers.
The waves roared and crashed violently against the boat's sides, while the cold spray of seawater stung their faces.
Adam stood at the bow, his long hair clinging to his shoulders from the moisture, his white robe soaked and heavy, yet he remained unmoved — steady. His eyes locked on the rocky coastline, where colossal trees stood like silent sentinels, and dark clouds hung overhead like a warning.
Gyro sat behind him, knees hugged to his chest, watching his master in silence, heart pounding with tension. The air was thick with the scent of salty mud and wild herbs, laced with a sharp trace that smelled like wet fur and old blood.
Adam didn't speak at first. He stared at the sandy shore, reading the signs of this new world: massive footprints pressed deep into the mud, beast bones scattered among the rocks, and the piercing cry of a strange bird echoing above. Finally, he muttered, voice heavy with experience:
"This isn't an ordinary island. Here, those who don't change… are devoured."
He stepped off the boat in calm, deliberate strides. For a moment, Gyro felt as if the whole forest was watching them — and everything around them pulsed with danger.
Weeks passed on the island. Each day was a new test of survival and strength.
The weather was unforgiving: sometimes choking fog, sometimes torrential rain that turned the ground to sludge, and sometimes a blistering sun that mixed sweat with dirt on their skin.
Adam and Gyro woke at dawn to the screeches of giant insects. They waded into the thick forest, feet sinking into cold mud, touching the rough bark of trees that felt like reptile hide, smelling the rot of mold and overripe fruit.
They hunted beasts and strange birds, confronted metallic hues Adam had never seen before, and sometimes had to hide from sudden storms or winds that tore through branches like blades.
Each evening, they returned with meat to the old sailor waiting on the worn-out ship.
Adam observed everything — noting the differences between this world and his own, learning how to survive in an environment that offered no mercy.
One day, while tracking a strange bird's trail, a cry tore through the sky.
A massive eagle appeared above the trees — its wings pure white and shockingly large, casting a shadow over half the valley.
This eagle was unlike any Adam had seen — a genetic anomaly with snow-white feathers and wings wider than any bird's. Despite its size, it moved with swift precision, diving like a dagger, its eyes glinting with predatory cunning.
Adam whispered to Gyro as they watched the creature soar:
"Watch closely… That's no ordinary bird. Its wings are its power… and its weakness."
The eagle suddenly dove — its speed defied its bulk.
In a flash, Adam felt the air slap his face as white feathers rained down.
He shoved Gyro aside and slipped beneath the bird's wing, which swung down with colossal claws.
The eagle's talons carved deep gashes into tree trunks, the sound like steel scraping glass.
Adam grabbed hold of the wing, feeling the coarse feathers and the pungent smell of bird oil. Then he drove his blade into the joint where feathers met bone.
The eagle retaliated, slamming him with its massive wing. Adam nearly fell from the trunk, but clung tight. Blood from a shallow gash on his arm mixed with the cold rain.
The eagle screeched and flapped its wings, trying to escape. But Adam had anchored himself, every muscle taut like a drawn bowstring.
With brute force, he tore the wing's tendons. Warm blood poured over his hands. He climbed the beast's back and delivered blow after blow until the creature went limp.
The sound of tearing feathers and the eagle's cries filled the forest. The scent of fresh blood mingled with wet soil.
Adam sat panting atop the white wing, then split open the bird's chest and pulled out its heart — eating it slowly.
He chewed the pure white feathers, devoured the wing muscles, trying to imitate their structure within his own body using his fruit's power — breaking down fibers, integrating them into his shoulders and back, crafting wings he could summon or hide at will.
But the pain was unbearable — sometimes it felt like his bones were burning from within. He dressed his wounded arm with bitter, sticky herbs and bit down on them to stop the bleeding.
Each night after the hunt, he sat in the shadows, testing his new wings — opening and closing the joints, studying how to control them without losing balance.
In those moments of pain and progress, he closed his eyes and remembered his early days on Earth — when pain meant the end. But here, it was only the beginning of a new strength.
Days passed in recovery and experimentation. With each short time-jump, Adam improved in controlling the wings, until he could summon and retract them at will, though each use left a lingering ache in his bones.
Deep in the forest, Adam sat atop an ancient tree stump, white robe draped around him.
His eyes watched Gyro standing in the middle of a dirt clearing, panting, face smeared with sweat and dust — but in his eyes, a new determination burned.
Adam said calmly:
"Your fruit isn't just for escape. The door is a weapon… if used right."
Gyro raised his right hand, focused deeply, then kicked the air.
In that instant, a small portal formed behind a fake tree target — the "enemy."
He shot through it and struck from behind.
Adam gestured:
"Good. Now from the left. Imagine your enemy watching you… open the door in his face."
Gyro shifted, kicked off with his left foot, and a purple portal appeared before a wooden dummy.
He emerged and punched the dummy square in the face.
He repeated the drill: kick right — door behind target — strike from behind. Kick left — door in front — direct hit.
Sometimes the door misfired, appearing in the wrong spot. He'd crash to the ground and laugh through the pain. Other times, he screamed in frustration or cried in silence.
One night by the fire, staring at his trembling hands, Gyro asked hoarsely:
"Master… will I ever be strong? Or will I always just run away?"
Adam looked at him for a long moment, then answered:
"Strength isn't about hitting hard. It's about getting up after every fall. Every failure is a lesson. The real door… opens in your mind first."
One morning, Gyro challenged Adam in friendly training:
"If I open a door behind you now… will you catch me?"
Adam chuckled:
"Try. But remember… I learn faster than you."
In a blink, Gyro opened a portal and dashed through it — only to find Adam waiting on the other side, patting his head.
For the first time in a long while… they laughed together.
Days of training and hunting passed — until they heard a roar that shook the forest.
It was deep — carrying the stench of raw flesh and scorched scales.
A giant black bear emerged, fur thick and tangled like natural armor, its yellow eyes glowing faintly.
It wasn't exaggeratedly large — just enough to make the earth tremble beneath its steps.
The bear's scent was a mix of old blood, wet fur, and smoke. Its roar sent birds fleeing from their nests.
Adam froze, stunned by the beast's sheer size — nothing in his old world compared to it.
The bear moved in, hunting.
Adam waited for the right moment, then sprinted behind it, using the agility of his new wings.
He felt cold, sticky mud underfoot and the crushed herbs beneath the beast's weight.
He leapt onto its back, wrapped his arms around its massive neck.
The bear howled, thrashing, claws ripping through the air and slicing into trees.
In a sudden charge, it lunged at Gyro — who tried to open a door to escape but stumbled and fell. The bear nearly clamped its jaws down on him.
Gyro screamed.
Adam, enraged, tightened his grip around the beast's neck, muscles trembling. He heard bones crack under his pressure.
The pain tore through his shoulders. Old wounds reopened. But he didn't let go — not until the bear finally dropped, trembling, then still. Its last breath mingled with the whispering wind.
After the fight, Adam sat panting, arms and shoulder bleeding.
Gyro approached, eyes wet, and began dressing Adam's wounds with herbs he had learned to use.
Adam said between breaths:
"Sometimes… strength is holding on even when you think you can't."
They sat beside the bear's corpse, sharing the silence.
Gyro said quietly:
"I was afraid I'd die today."
Adam replied:
"Fear doesn't shame you. Courage is facing it — not denying it."
In the final days, Adam tended to his wounds with care, wrapping them in torn cloth and washing them with boiled herbs.
Pain interrupted his sleep, and sometimes made him hesitate to attack or train. But each time, he rose with fresh resolve — refusing to submit to weakness.
One night, Adam and Gyro sat by the fire, speaking of the past.
Gyro asked:
"Do you miss your old world, Adam?"
Adam was silent for a while, then answered:
"Sometimes. But I'm here now. And you're my only family. I want to see you stronger — even if the path hurts."
On the final day before departure, Gyro stood before a massive tree and carved into it with his knife:
"Gyro and Adam were here."
Adam smiled and said:
"Every place we leave a mark… we become part of it."
That night, Adam sat at the bow of the ship, white wings folded behind him. The breeze carried the scent of the sea — mixed with mud and blood. The waves hummed alongside the screech of giant insects behind them.
He stared into the horizon, where the sea awaited, and said quietly:
"What we've learned here… will carry us far. But every step forward will be harder than the last."
Gyro sat beside him, clutching his small fists, still wrapped in iron blades. His eyes shimmered with both hope and fear.
The old sailor called from the helm:
"The wind's changed! We sail tonight!"
Adam cast one last look a
t the island — then boarded the ship with Gyro.
And in the deep sea ahead… the future waited.
Full of dangers and chances only those who live among monsters could understand.
End of Chapter 10