The salt spray stung Victor Valentine's eyes, a bitter mockery of the tropical paradise he was supposed to be enjoying.
Instead of sipping cocktails by a resort pool, he was here, sitting on the coarse, white sand of a nameless, godforsaken island, watching his fellow survivors fracture into two camps.
The argument had started almost as soon as the initial shock of the plane crash wore off.
"We stay by the shore," declared Mr. Harrington, a man in his forties whose expensive polo shirt was now torn and stained. He gestured broadly at the vast, empty horizon. "A search party will come. Our best chance is to be visible. We can collect rainwater and fish."
A younger man, Liam Groff, who had been on the rugby team back at university, shook his head, his voice tight with frustration. "And do what when it rains? When the sun scorches us? We need proper shelter. There are fruits in the jungle, fresh water sources. We can't just sit here and hope."
Victor watched it all from a distance, his back against a skeletal piece of wreckage. His body ached, his mouth was parched, and a simmering rage was building in his chest.
This wasn't his problem. He was a business major, not a boy scout. His only concern had been getting through this semester and then enjoying this trip as a reward. Now, that reward had become a death sentence.
His gaze, sharp and bitter, drifted across the group and landed on her.
Sienna Moore.
Even now, with her blonde hair tangled and her designer sundress ripped at the hem, she looked devastatingly sexy. The way the damp fabric clung to her curves was a distraction no man on this island could ignore. Least of all him. They had dated for six months. He had thought it was real.
He remembered the chaos of the crash, the screams, the terrifying lurch. In those first frantic moments on the beach, he had found her, his instinct to protect her overriding his own fear. He had reached for her, but she had flinched away, her beautiful eyes wide with a new kind of fear—fear of him.
"Don't, Victor," she had whispered, her voice trembling. "You can't… you can't do anything here."
The unspoken words hung in the air between them: You're not strong enough. You're not useful.
Then, he had watched, his gut twisting into a cold, hard knot, as she turned and hurried towards Liam Groff, the rugby-playing Adonis. She had placed a delicate hand on Liam's arm, looking up at him with those wide, pleading eyes. "Liam, what should we do? I'm so scared."
And Liam, the hero, had put a brawny arm around her. "Don't worry, Sienna. I've got you."
That was the moment something in Victor shattered. The humiliation was a physical blow, more painful than any injury from the crash. He wasn't the promising student with a future here; he was just another liability. His money, his charm, his carefully constructed life—it was all meaningless. In this primitive place, he was at the bottom of the food chain, and she had just confirmed it.
The argument on the beach grew louder, the two factions solidifying. He couldn't listen to it anymore. The sight of Sienna clinging to Liam, the sound of their pointless debating—it was suffocating. Without a word to anyone, Victor pushed himself off the wreckage and stalked towards the dark, menacing line of the jungle.
"Hey where are you going!?"
The air inside the forest was thick and heavy, alive with the buzz of insects and the strange calls of unseen birds. Vines snagged at his clothes, and the uneven ground threatened to twist his ankles.
He walked until the sound of the ocean and the voices faded, replaced by the oppressive silence of the wilderness. His anger was a fire in his veins, fuelling him long after his body wanted to quit.
Finally, exhaustion won. His legs gave way beneath him, and he slumped at the base of a large, gnarled tree, its roots twisting out of the ground like serpents. He dropped his head into his hands. This was it. He was going to die here, forgotten, a nobody. And the last thing he would be remembered for was being rejected by a shallow girl on a beach.
A dry, rustling sound, too methodical to be the wind, reached his ears. He lifted his head slowly. Coiled not ten feet away, half-hidden in the dappled shadows, was a snake. It was thick, its scales a mosaic of earthy browns and greens, and its head was a distinct, menacing triangle. A low hiss escaped its mouth, and its black, beady eyes were locked on him.
Panic, cold and absolute, seized him. He scrambled backward, but his body was leaden with fatigue.
The snake moved with shocking speed, a blur of muscle and scale. A searing, white-hot pain exploded in his calf. He cried out, more in shock and fury than anything else, as the creature's fangs sank deep.
Rage, pure and undiluted, erupted from him. "Not you too!" he snarled, his voice a raw gash in the silence. He wasn't even thinking about the venom. All he could think about was being attacked, being preyed upon. He was tired of being the victim.
With a strength born of pure spite, he grabbed a heavy, jagged rock from the ground beside him. The snake, still attached to his leg, tried to recoil. Victor brought the rock down with all his might.
Once. Twice. A third time. The sound was wet and brutal. He didn't stop until the serpent's head was a pulpy, ruined mess and its body lay limp in the leaf litter.
He shoved the dead creature off his leg, his breath coming in ragged, painful gasps. The twin puncture wounds on his calf oozed dark blood. He knew what this meant. He'd seen enough documentaries. Neurotoxic venom. Paralysis. A slow, suffocating death, alone in this hellhole.
A hysterical laugh bubbled in his throat. Of course. This was the perfect end for Victor Valentine. Betrayed, humiliated, and killed by a random reptile. He leaned his head back against the tree, waiting for the dizziness, the numbness, the end.
But it didn't come.
Instead, a strange warmth spread from the wound, up his leg, throughout his entire body. It wasn't the heat of fever; it was a feeling of… power. A surge of raw, primal energy. His vision sharpened, the colors of the jungle becoming unnaturally vivid. He could hear the individual rustle of every leaf.
Then, a voice, cold, mechanical, and utterly alien, resonated not in his ears, but directly in his mind.
[Host has successfully consumed a life form: Jungle Viper.]
[Analyzing biological data…]
[Predator System initializing…]
[+50 Points awarded.]
Victor stared, uncomprehending, at the dead snake. He hadn't eaten it. He had killed it. But the word "consumed" echoed in his skull. Had his rage, his act of domination, been a form of consumption?
[Welcome, Victor Valentine. The Apex Path awaits.]
[Point Total: 50. Access System Menu?]