It's been a week.
A week of wandering through this cursed forest, a place that feels less like wilderness and more like a prison. The air is damp and heavy, the shadows cling to me no matter where I turn, and the silence is always broken by distant roars or the rustle of something stalking me just out of sight.
Everywhere I go, something tries to kill me. Claws, fangs, stingers, wings—I've seen it all. And every time, I fight back, striking faster, harder. Every time, I win.
But victory is meaningless here. Whenever I try to skin the beasts, their bodies rot away before my eyes, turning into tar-like sludge that bubbles, hisses, then sinks into the earth as if the forest itself is swallowing them whole.
I haven't eaten in days. My stomach should be screaming, but instead it feels… quiet. Wrong. I can't eat the plants either; I've learned the hard way that the vines twist and lunge like serpents, roots clawing out of the soil to grab anything within reach.
This place doesn't just try to kill me. It wants to consume me.
By all rights, I should already be dead. No food. No water. No safe shelter. Nothing but endless night and endless predators.
But I'm not dead. Not yet.
All because of this body.
It still feels alien to me, even after a week. My shell is as hard as iron, gleaming faintly in the dim light, like the carapace of the beetle I used to collect as a child. Blades bounce off me. Claws scrape without leaving a mark. The cold wind that sometimes sweeps through the trees can't pierce my armor. Even blows that should have crushed me only glance away.
And the strangest part—this body doesn't need the things my human one did. No food. No sleep. No water.
Of course, I could still eat if I wanted to, but right now I have nothing. And honestly… I don't even feel the hunger anymore.
But there's a price. A steep one.
Not only have I lost the needs of a man—I've lost the feelings of one too.
I can't feel rage. Can't feel joy. Can't even feel sorrow for the family I left behind. The best I get are flickers: a spark of annoyance when something goes wrong, or mild frustration when I stumble. But beyond that? Nothing. A hollow shell.
And maybe that's all I am now—hollow.
The worst part, though… I can't forgive it.
I tried to deny it, ignore it, pretend it wasn't true. But reality won't let me.
I'm small.
Child-small. No taller than a five-year-old, with limbs to match.
The realization gnaws at me more than hunger ever could.
Why? Thirty-five years of life, gone in an instant.
Now, I wander this nightmare in the body of a bug-like child.
At least one thing remains intact. My junior survived the change. Small mercies.
---
I trudged through the trees for nearly an hour, the crunch of dead leaves the only sound I made, when I saw it—a faint white glow cutting through the gloom.
Not the strange, haunting light of the symbols that float above me sometimes. No, this was steady. Clean. Artificial.
Man-made.
My heart—if it still beats—lurched. I broke into a run, twigs snapping underfoot, until I stumbled into a small clearing.
A campsite.
A fire crackled weakly in a stone ring, giving off a thin line of smoke. A single tent sat nearby, its canvas lit faintly from within.
I crouched, scanning the clearing. Nothing moved. Nothing breathed—except for the faint rise and fall of someone sleeping inside the tent.
Cautiously, I crept closer. My claws brushed the fabric aside just enough for me to see her.
A girl. At least, she looked like one. Her skin was bright red, broken with patches of white spots, and a pair of small horns jutted from her forehead.
Was she another beast? No… beasts don't build fires. Beasts don't pitch tents.
I leaned in and whispered, "Hello?"
No response.
I tried again, louder. Still nothing.
Finally, I reached out and touched her shoulder. Her skin was warm against my clawed fingers.
Her eyes snapped open. In a blink, she yanked a knife from under her bedroll and brandished it at me, her voice sharp and shaking.
"Who are you?!"
"I… didn't mean to scare you. I just need help getting out of this forest," I said quickly, trying to keep my voice calm.
"You better start talkin', or I'll start stabbin'!" she barked, her words carrying a faint country twang.
"I just said I needed help," I replied, confused.
"Look, I don't want no trouble. Just take what you want and leave." Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the blade tighter.
And then it hit me.
She couldn't hear me.
Slowly, I touched my face. My mouth—or at least, where it should be.
There was nothing. Smooth, featureless. But beneath that smoothness, I felt… something. Pressure. A seam waiting to split.
With a sickening crack, my jaws tore open. A loud creak followed as they spread wide, revealing rows of jagged, needle-like teeth.
I forced air through the opening.
"Hi," I growled, my voice deep, gravelly, monstrous.
Her eyes went wide, then rolled back into her skull. She collapsed in an instant, knife slipping from her hand.
I snapped my jaws shut, trembling in shock at what I had just done.
"Great," I muttered, the word dripping with irritation.