Damien stood still for half a second too long.
The forest wasn't unfamiliar in a fantastical way. It was unfamiliar in a practical one. The trees were too tall. The canopy was too dense. The air carried a faint resistance, like breathing through pressure.
People were scattered across the clearing in loose clusters. Some cried openly. Some stared in silence. A few were already shouting, voices sharp with panic.
"Chris!" Damien called.
No response.
He scanned the area. Uneven ground. Thick roots. Glowing moss clinging to stones. No paths. No structures. No sign they had landed anywhere meant for people.
A man stumbled past him, eyes unfocused. "My phone—where's my phone?"
"It won't work," someone snapped. "We're not even on Earth."
Damien didn't argue. He was listening.
Something moved deeper in the trees.
Not fast. Not loud. Just heavy.
Damien forced his body to move.
First rule: don't freeze.
He stepped toward the nearest group—eight or nine people, mostly from the diner. A woman crouched on the ground with her hands over her ears. Another kept whispering that this wasn't real.
"Listen," Damien said.
No one reacted.
He raised his voice. "LISTEN."
A few heads turned.
"We don't know where we are," he said. "We don't know what lives here. If we scatter, we die alone."
Someone laughed, brittle. "You sound real confident for someone who just watched the planet disappear."
"I'm not confident," Damien said. "I'm practical."
The leaves ahead shifted.
Something stepped into the clearing.
It looked like a boar—until it didn't.
Its body was massive, shoulders humped with muscle. Dark plates ran along its back like fused armor. Its tusks were long and jagged, the edges glowing faintly, as if heated from within.
It sniffed the air.
People backed away.
Its eyes locked onto the group. Not confused. Not startled.
Assessing.
A man screamed and ran.
Damien moved without thinking and grabbed his arm. "DON'T."
The man tore free.
The creature's head snapped toward the movement.
"You run," Damien shouted, "it picks you."
Too late.
The boar charged.
It crossed the clearing in seconds. The runner tripped. The tusks came down.
The sound ended the screams.
Silence followed—thick and stunned.
The boar lifted its head, blood dripping from its tusks. It shook once, then looked back at the remaining group.
Not at one person.
At all of them.
Damien didn't move.
His body felt different. Not stronger—faster. Like the gap between intent and action had narrowed. Breathing felt easier, deeper, as if the air carried more than oxygen.
Mana, his mind supplied, and he didn't question it.
The boar stepped forward.
Damien picked up a fallen branch, thick and heavy. He held it low, two-handed.
"Back up," he said. "Slowly. No running."
This time, they listened.
The boar charged again.
Damien planted his feet and inhaled.
Warmth moved through his chest and down his arms.
The branch snapped against the boar's shoulder plates, but the impact slowed it—just enough.
Damien twisted aside and shoved against its neck.
It shouldn't have moved.
But it did.
The tusks missed him by inches. The boar swung back, furious. Something scraped his forearm, hot and sharp.
Three thin lines of blood.
The pain faded too quickly.
Damien didn't have time to think about it.
The boar slammed into him, knocking him off his feet. His ribs screamed. The air left his lungs.
It advanced.
Damien rolled and pushed himself up, hands raised instinctively.
The warmth surged.
The air in front of his palms distorted—not solid, not visible enough to trust.
The boar hesitated.
That hesitation saved his life.
Damien grabbed another branch and threw it straight at its eyes. The boar jerked its head aside, snorting in rage.
"MOVE!" Damien shouted.
He ran for the edge of the clearing where the ground dipped into dense brush.
Six people followed.
Chris burst through last, gasping. "That thing—"
"No time," Damien said.
They broke through the trees into a narrow gap between trunks. Ahead, a stone outcrop rose from the ground, steep and narrow.
Damien pointed. "Up."
They climbed. Hands slipped. Someone almost fell. Damien went last.
The boar burst into the clearing and stopped.
It circled once, testing angles.
Damien threw a stone. It hit the boar's snout. The creature backed up, irritated but cautious.
Then it did something worse.
It waited.
Not charging. Not retreating.
Learning.
Damien sat against the stone, forcing his breathing to slow. The warmth in his chest had settled into something steady.
Below them, the boar remained still.
Watching.
Damien looked out over the endless forest.
No roads. No shelters. No signs of help.
Only the hum in the air—and the certainty that whatever Genesis had created, it hadn't created mercy.
He'd learned the first rule of this world.
Don't freeze.
Don't scatter.
And never assume the predator is stupid.
Because it was already adapting.