It had been two days since Rue learned self-consciousness and decided that wearing a set of garments would be beneficial—for obvious reasons.
During this time, instability came.
The Dullen Woods was a place that had always clenched the guise of desinence. Masking the unsettling truth, that every single movement you made through this place was constantly being tracked or stalked by a larger and stronger predator.
Though, for some odd reason, this notion was being challenged.
Throughout the past forty-eight hours, Rue had only come across three beasts.
All of which were merely in the Third Destination.
He hadn't seen any of these beasts visually but had sensed them within his perception.
Whenever the creatures sensed the weight of his presence, they hastily aligned their aims with self-preservation and scurried away.
At first, Rue had reasoned that this part of the forest housed a particularly powerful beast, and with its aura, they would indirectly ward off any of the weaker beasts that happened to stride past as a consequence.
However, as time passed and Rue examined the surrounding woods, he quickly realized his assumption was incorrect.
That feeling that usually came with the undertone of the presence of a more powerful beast was absent, but… what was his reasoning?
His advanced spatial awareness.
Rue possessed a terrifyingly large and methodological perception when compared to others in the Fourth Destination.
He was exceptional, and this unique trait that set him apart from others had saved his life on more than one occasion.
The inquisitor firmly believed in the ability of his spatial awareness.
Trust was a fool's reason.
Progress and results were both the pedestals that set a person's abilities apart from others.
If a person showed stagnation in the past, then that person was more likely to repeat those same actions.
This same sentiment could also be said for a virtuous person who displays a desire for constant growth.
Repeat offenders were a great example of this. Those who broke the law were more prone to continue breaking it.
The same was shared with addicts or those who attempted to rehabilitate themselves from the clutches of their vices. Four times out of ten, people relapse
Sweet words meant very little in the grand scheme of things. A person could be clever, using a skilled silver tongue to gradient themselves in a higher spotlight, but that was all they possessed.
What truly bore the weight of trust were results, and Rue trusted his inherent spatial awareness because of the proven results.
Other than the odd lack of beasts, everything was the norm.
The sticky dampness within the air, the apparent standstill the world seemed to possess, and that constant ailment within the air from the fog's composition that served as a natural impediment, limiting his perception—meagerly to a kilometer.
'Should I be glad or wary of this prospect?' Rue thought during his sprint across the landscape.
Swish!
Shifting his body to his left, Rue bounced on the balls of his feet—narrowly dodging a large pine that blocked his path.
With the dexterity of his current raptor legs, he was able to perform these quick-actioned feats without much difficulty. This was due to his intentional design of his raptor legs; the wiry and high-tension muscle tissue internally was responsible for their flexibility and adaptability.
Out of nowhere Rue frowned, on his own obligation.
His emotions were thrown out of their neutral equilibrium, and that feeling was returning.
The ground trembled from an unseen powerful force—the air waned, perverted from its natural stillness.
That feeling of despair
The same type of despair that comes along when the hollowed, spiraled space opening of a gun's barrel is pointed at you.
The thundering of your heart's rapid pulse in your ear, the urge to release your bladder, the dryness that parches your mouth like the Sahara, and the simple system of fight or flight.
Lodged into the back chamber of that gun was a bullet that could end your life in an instant.
Rue felt that type of primal fear swelling through him.
Death!
Death!
Death!
…
…
DEATH!
YOU WILL DIE!!
His perception warped—his special awareness overwhelmingly brewed up a storm of warmings.
A headache threatened to pass over.
BANG!
BOOOOM!
The ground vibrated with the combined force of a thousand panic-stricken feet making contact with the ground.
"....."
Without any comedic utterance to ease the tension, Rue joined the rumbling.
Behind the inquisitor birthed a massive stampede with numbers in the hundreds if not thousands of beasts ranging from the Second Destination all the way to the Fourth.
From a distance Rue couldn't see, came the cries of loud ruptures of explosions that would pale the detonation of a million bombs.
SWOOOOSSHH!
The heat from the unseen destruction exploded forward, reaching speeds that outstretched the weaker beasts.
Those below the Third Destination collapsed, lifeless.
Unknown from observing their exteriors, each of the fallen beasts' entrails began to mushen and melt into a fleshy soup composed of blood, muscle, fat, and other internals.
Pinkish-red liquid spilled from every orifice, but these sights of carnage were ignored as the stronger beasts trampled over the fallen in their own desperate attempt at survival.
Summoning his Initial, Rue aggressively began to force a large sum of Will into his lower body.
His bones popped from the strain, the epidermis stretched as the muscle bulged outwards in disgustingly large proportions.
BUUUUURRST!
The ground caved below him and his body flew into the distance. The beasts that were catching up to him began to accelerate their own pace.
Many of the opportunists within the stampede took advantage of this disarray of their brethren and were slaughtering and splurging on their carcasses.
CHOMPP!
SLICE!
Rue swung his great axe horizontally, connecting with the body of a feline-like creature. The beast's body flung into the distance, severed in two.
BANG!
EEEK!
CRUNCHHH!
The silent sounds of bones crunching in between teeth and wails of pain quelling were diluted into obscurity within the vast orchestra of chaos that sang its jagged—unpredictable melody.
Beasts with white leathery skin and large perforations launched from the ground like killer whales at sea, clasping within their maw's small packs of Third-Destination beasts.
It was hell.
Everywhere within this once silent woodland was chaos—beasts picked relentlessly picked off one another, and those too weak to resist the flagrant heat ushering from behind were ended.
Despite all of this, Rue found himself smiling, resisting the urge to laugh.
It was exhilarating… It was a way to forget—to distract, to hide, to live as if he didn't have a tower of glass in the form of his personal problems.
It was a means of escape, a gift in the form of chaos.
It was an uncanny scene.
A madman clad in rugged appearance, dual-gripping a large oversized otherworldly silver axe to their front, all while leading a riot of beasts that were frantically rushing in the opposite direction from that feeling of death, seemingly imposed by the wrath of a vexed ancient evil seeking blood.
Brandishing his armament ahead, Rue heightened his limbic system, clenching fight like a vice while neglecting flight.
This was true freedom.
SLINK!
Blocking a top ward strike with the axe's blunt side, Rue clenched his fist, plunging it into the air where he caved in the head of a lizard creature, before following up with a sky kick.
With a final motion, Rue brought down his axe, splattering the debilitated lizard into a bloody mist.
A bloody splash back covered Rue's front, but this was ignored as he continued to charge forward at a furious pace.
Slice!
Slice!!
SLICE!
SLICE!!
SLICE!!!
The wind combined with Rue's precise, agile—sharp movements made his coat wave in a rhythmic fashion, giving him the appearance of a stewardly saint and berserker hungry for battle.
Ten minutes passed.
Then an hour.
Then two…
Three…
Four.
And eventually, after what had felt like days, the distant explosions had finally receded, but the tremors of the rumble still raged on, having yet to digress.
The number of beasts in the stampede had stretched thin compared to the beginning.
It was the battle of the fittest.
The weak, the unlucky, or even a powerful beast losing focus for a second—that second would cost them their lives as another beast exploited it.
Those who entered with a relatively weak battle-strength and with the grace of Lady Luck herself, managed to survive, would undoubtedly leave as an incomparable version of themselves.
~~~
~~~
~~~
Cough!
A painful headache formed.
Rue felt like his stomach was churning.
Bearing his armament to his chest, a powerful punch connected with the metal surface.
Crack…
A portion of the great axe's blunt side spiderwebbed with a fracture.
Rue was sent into the distance from the sheer kinetic force possessed behind the attack.
The inquisitor's Initial trembled violently—ready for its assault.