The world was a blur of shadows and whispers. Alan's eyes fluttered open, and the first thing he noticed was darkness—a suffocating, clinging blackness that pressed against his chest, making it hard to breathe. Somewhere above, the twisted canopy of the Black Forest let through only slivers of pale, trembling light, casting jagged patterns across the gnarled trunks. The air was thick, heavy with damp decay, and carried a rhythm… a strange, almost unnatural rhythm, like a heartbeat that did not belong to him.
Alan's body shivered violently. He tried to recall… something, anything. But his mind was empty—a void stretching endlessly. The memories of who he was, where he came from, everything… gone. Panic clawed at him.
"Where… where am I?" he whispered, his voice trembling as it fractured against the oppressive silence. "I… I can't remember anything… nothing… ah…"
Pain tore through him then, sharp and unforgiving. Every muscle, every joint, every nerve screamed in agony. Alan fell forward, clutching his sides, gasping as if the act of breathing itself had become a punishment. The forest around him seemed to pulse with a life of its own.
Then he saw them—hallucinations, or perhaps glimpses of some horrifying reality. Blood rained from the trees, crimson streams weaving like rivers through the roots. A figure in black drifted through the mists, ephemeral and terrible, disappearing whenever he tried to focus. Screams echoed from nowhere and everywhere at once, a cacophony of agony that rattled his very bones. His brain felt as if it were splitting in two. He collapsed onto the forest floor, the damp earth cold beneath him, and his vision swam.
When the hallucinations stopped, a heavy silence remained, only broken by his ragged breathing. "Who… am I?" he murmured, clutching at his head. His mind shivered against the dark unknown.
Then the forest spoke.
A low, guttural growl rose from somewhere behind the twisted trees. Alan froze. The sound was… alive, predatory, and undeniably aware of him. Every instinct screamed at him—run, hide, survive. He pushed himself up, pain lancing through his body like fire, but his legs obeyed. He could not stay here.
The creature sensed him.
A rustle to his left. Alan dropped down behind a tree, heart hammering. His soul felt as though it was slipping from him, trembling on the edge of existence. Every snapping twig beneath his foot sounded like a cannon shot in the deafening silence. The creature moved closer, rhythmically, like some monstrous predator stalking its prey.
Alan shifted quietly to another tree, pressing his body against the rough bark. He dared not breathe too deeply. He dared not move. His body ached in protest, his mind screamed in terror.
Then came the snap.
A branch beneath his foot cracked like bone. The sound exploded through the forest. In an instant, the presence behind him stiffened, and then it roared—a sound so terrifying, so primal, it made Alan's blood run cold. The earth seemed to shiver under its scream.
Before him, emerging from the shadows like a nightmare given flesh, was the creature. Ten feet tall. Human-like, yet grotesquely distorted. Its skin was pale and veined, stretched taut over muscles that seemed too strong, too defined for any human. Long, black hair fell in ragged strands, framing a face dominated by a wide jaw and teeth sharp as knives. From its back protruded jagged, spiked bones that glimmered in the faint forest light, like the forest itself had been twisted into a weapon. Its eyes glowed faintly, cruelly.
Alan's legs froze, his chest heaving. Fear was a tidal wave in his mind, yet a strange, defiant flame ignited in his chest. He would not… he could not die—not here, not like this.
The creature lunged.
Alan stumbled back, each step a torment as pain ripped through him. The forest blurred around him as he ran, limbs barely holding together, heart hammering like a drum. Trees became obstacles, roots became snares, every branch and stone a threat. The creature followed, relentless, its distorted growls echoing through the Black Forest like an orchestra of terror.
A branch caught his foot; he tumbled, scraping his palms against the earth. Pain exploded in his arm—he looked down to see a crimson line blooming across his left arm. But he could not stop. Not now.
He leapt to his feet, forcing his body to obey, forcing the last of his strength into motion. He darted between trees, ducked under branches, and vaulted over roots. Every nerve screamed. The creature was close—so close he could smell its fetid breath, hear the sickening crunch of its heavy footfalls on the forest floor.
And then, as if the forest itself had chosen that moment, a narrow opening appeared between two massive trunks. Alan's heart surged with a desperate hope. This—this might be his chance.
He ran, sliding into the gap, the trunks scraping his shoulders. Behind him, the creature followed, but the space was too tight. It slammed against the trees, its screams shattering the silence, reverberating off the twisted canopy. For the first time, Alan saw something in its eyes—not just rage, but pain, struggle, something almost human buried beneath the monstrous form.
And then Alan acted.
He spotted a rock, jagged and heavy, just lying in the mud. His hands closed around it, gripping it as if his life depended on it—which it did. With a scream that tore from the depths of his lungs, Alan hurled the rock at the creature's skull. Blood spattered the trunks, dark and thick, and the creature shrieked, staggering back in pain.
Pain did not stop it. But neither did fear stop Alan. Every strike he threw, every scream he let out, every ounce of life in his trembling body was poured into the act of survival. His hands were raw, his muscles screamed, his breath came in ragged gasps—but he hit again and again, relentless.
The creature's movements slowed, its terrible roar turning into hoarse gurgles. Finally, it fell, trapped between the trees, thrashing helplessly as Alan stood over it, trembling, drenched in sweat and blood.
He did not stop. Every strike echoed through the Black Forest, reverberating against twisted branches and misty shadows. And then, finally, silence. The creature lay still, a grotesque monument to Alan's sheer will.
Alan collapsed, chest heaving, vision blurred, pain screaming in every fiber of his being. He murmured, almost inaudibly, "I… I'm not going to die…" His voice cracked, ragged and broken, and then his body gave in. Darkness claimed him.
The forest stood silent again, but it was not at peace. Shadows moved in corners of vision. Strange rhythms pulsed through the roots and leaves. Alan's will had survived the night, but Arathen itself was watching, waiting, and testing him.