The rapid beeping in Ethan's head made his heart jolt. He pulled up the treasure-hunting radar, and sure enough, the signal on the display pulsed wildly, almost vibrating off the screen. Something was right here—so close he could almost feel it in his bones.
He turned toward the direction of the signal, eyes narrowing as he scanned the muck and shadows. At first he saw nothing. Then his breath caught.
There, sprawled in the shallows beneath the fallen tree, lay a crocodile. Not the kind you'd see in a zoo enclosure or on a nature documentary—this thing was colossal. Its armored body stretched the length of a small bus, its ridged back glistening with swamp water. Its eyes, round and yellow as lanterns, locked onto him.
Ethan froze. His blood ran cold.
The monster stirred, lifting its snout, teeth gleaming in the dappled light. Then it lunged.
He bolted. Mud sucked at his boots as he scrambled toward the bank, heart hammering. The beast hit the water with a sound like a boulder dropped in a lake, surging after him with terrifying speed. For something so massive, its movement was impossibly fluid.
It was on him in seconds. The jaws opened wide, wider than his shoulders, the raw power behind them radiating a promise of instant death.
Ethan dove sideways, rolling through the muck. The crocodile's bite snapped shut where his leg had been a heartbeat before, the sound of clashing teeth like a gunshot. He scrambled up, slipping, stumbling—only to see the beast turn with shocking speed, surging again.
This time, there was no space to dodge.
But fate, for once, intervened.
From across the river, a chorus of shouts rang out. The tribesmen—those relentless hunters—hadn't given up. They hurled spears with savage force. Most missed Ethan entirely, but several struck the crocodile instead, burying deep in its armored hide.
The monster thrashed violently, bellowing in rage and pain. More spears whistled through the air, some piercing straight through its body, pinning its massive bulk against the mud. It writhed, tail lashing, jaws snapping in fury—but the weight of wood and iron pinned it down, its thrashing slowly weakening.
Ethan hadn't realized. He was still on his back, kicking wildly at its lip, convinced he was seconds from being torn apart. His boot slammed against its teeth, his legs flailing.
Then a familiar voice echoed in his mind:
"Congratulations. You have discovered a Level 3 Biological Treasure: Prehistoric Freshwater Crocodile. Estimated length: six meters. Weight: three tons…"
He didn't hear the rest. A spear clattered off his chest, driving him to the mud. His armor absorbed the impact, but it rattled his ribs, knocking the air out of him.
Gasping, he staggered upright. His throat burned, metallic blood slicked his tongue. He spat crimson into the dirt and glanced at the crocodile. It was still alive, twitching, but its great body was nailed to the swamp floor like a grotesque trophy.
Across the river, the tribesmen howled in frustration, hurling insults he couldn't understand. They had run out of spears. All they could do now was shake their fists and glare at him with burning eyes.
Ethan wiped his mouth, steadied himself, and—because he couldn't resist—raised his middle finger in a slow, deliberate salute. When their faces twisted in confusion, he followed it up with an exaggerated boxing uppercut, just to rub salt in the wound.
Then, grinning through the pain, he turned his back and limped into the dense wall of trees, disappearing into the shadows of the jungle.
On the other side of the river, the savages raged. The leader's son wailed in frustration."He's gone! He ran straight into Bapu territory! We can't follow him—if we cross the border, they'll take us instead!"
The hunchbacked leader's jaw tightened, but then he sneered."It doesn't matter. Did you not see? Our spears cannot pierce his body. That means his flesh is hard as stone—too tough to eat. Let the Bapu break their teeth on him. Better them than us."
The son's tears dried instantly, replaced by a cruel smile."Then let him be their problem. Let him ruin their jaws! Hah!"
Ethan didn't care what schemes they whispered behind his back. He was too busy trying to stay alive.
The forest here was thicker, the ground uneven and treacherous, gouged with ravines and flooded with foul water. His boots squelched with every step, the stench of rot clinging to the air. He didn't waste time wondering why the others hadn't followed. He had one thought only: finish the task. Get out of this cursed place before it killed him.
He pulled up the system interface in his mind. The mission bar flickered. 7/10. Just three more Level 1 treasures, or one more Level 3. That was all he needed.
His jaw tightened. He could almost taste escape.
Scanning the radar again, he forced himself to move slower this time, cautious. Some of the signals darted erratically across the map. Moving targets. Beasts. He wanted no part of that. He filtered them out, focusing only on the bright, steady signals that suggested something buried, unmoving.
Finally, one caught his eye—close, bright, and perfectly still.
He set off, shoving branches aside, slogging through the sucking muck. The air grew thicker with every step. His legs sank deeper, mud climbing from shin to knee, then higher. Panic fluttered in his chest. The ground was turning to swamp.
He snapped a branch and prodded ahead as he walked, testing the depth. The water rose steadily, dark and foul, lapping higher against his thighs. The smell of stagnant decay clung to his nostrils.
Sweat rolled down his back. His nerves screamed at him to turn around. Swamps hid monsters. He had seen what lurked in the rivers—what lay waiting beneath still waters. If he wasn't careful, he'd vanish into a pit of mud and teeth before he ever saw the treasure.
He hesitated. He was about to turn back when a new sound crept through the jungle.
A droning hum. Low at first, then growing louder, thicker. Like a swarm of flies, amplified a hundredfold.
His stomach dropped.
He turned. The bushes behind him rippled as something moved. Then the air blackened.
A storm of insects erupted into view, skimming low across the water. They swarmed in unison, wings thrumming like chainsaws. And as they drew closer, Ethan's breath hitched in disbelief.
Mosquitoes.
Not the tiny nuisances he knew. These things were monstrous. Their needle-like proboscises gleamed like metal skewers, some nearly as long as his finger. Their wings flapped with the force of fans, sending ripples across the swamp.
And there were thousands of them.
The sight alone chilled him. A dark cloud of hunger, advancing as one.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me…" Ethan's voice broke into a whisper.
They had smelled him. His sweat, his blood. And now they descended in a furious swarm.
He bolted, thrashing through the muck, but his legs couldn't outrun wings. Within seconds, they were on him. The hum became a roar as the first needle pierced his sleeve, another stabbing into the exposed skin of his arm. He screamed, swatting wildly, crushing a dozen at once with his stick. Their bodies burst like ripe fruit, but more took their place instantly.
They didn't hesitate, didn't test. They fed.
He staggered, beating at them, but the swarm wrapped around him, choking, smothering. Their bodies battered his face, their needles digging through his skin, tearing at his arms and legs. The armor saved his torso, but everywhere else—every gap—was fair game.
He stumbled, lost his footing, and crashed headlong into the reeking water. Mud closed over him. For a moment, he thought he'd shaken them. He pressed himself low, hoping they'd scatter.
But the water was shallow. Too shallow. Long proboscises punched through the surface, stabbing into his skin even as he tried to hide. His lungs burned. He burst upward, gasping, only to be swallowed again by the swarm.
Panic clawed at him. This was it. Not torn apart by claws or teeth—no, he'd be drained dry by a cloud of bloodsuckers. What a pathetic way to die.
Then, from his pocket, a shrill, ridiculous sound rang out.
Ringtone.
A cheerful, electronic jingle.
For one stunned moment, Ethan blinked. Then his mind caught up. His phone.
In the middle of this nightmare, his phone was ringing.
(End of Chapter 16)