I confirm the previous message on my HUD: Prey.
So that's how it's going to be.
I already have an idea of what to do. I just need to know how to execute it and find out the details of this place.
My eyes scan the perimeter, analyzing the "Prey" status. In the lower ranks, people think Prey means a monster is stalking you. Veterans know better. Prey means the environment itself is the predator. The terrain is hostile. The air is against you.
And we are standing right in its mouth.
I remain motionless, crouching low in the mud while chaos starts erupting around me.
A scream tears through the humidity, sharp and terrified.
To my left, a middle-aged woman in a floral nightgown stumbles. Before she can regain her balance, the canopy descends.
The entire crowd freezes, paralyzed by the sight.
Long, grey vines drop like pythons. They don't just grab her; they coil and constrict instantly. The sound is sickening—a wet, rapid series of cracks as her ribs collapse under the pressure.
What kind of hell is this? I wonder, stunned. This is a Level E arrival zone?
She doesn't even have time to beg.
The vines jerk her upward, dragging her into the fleshy trunk of the nearest tree. The bark splits open like a scabbing wound, swallowing her whole. A moment later, the wood seals shut.
And then, a new face pushes out from the bark. Her face. Her mouth opens in a silent, wooden scream, joining the choir.
It started.
"Shit," I whisper, forcing my breathing to remain shallow. "I need an answer. Now."
I drop into a defensive stance, keeping my center of gravity low, but I don't move my feet. I just watch.
How are they targeting us?
I analyze the trees. No eyes. No noses. No visible sensory organs.
Pheromones for easy targets? I wonder. Is the scent of fear triggering them?
Suddenly, a vine whips down, hissing through the air. It dives straight for my head.
I flinch, bracing for the impact, but I force myself not to move my feet.
But it doesn't hit me. It rushes past my ear, missing me by an inch.
I turn around to see.
The vine wasn't aiming for me. It snatched a man walking right behind me.
He was wearing a torn business suit, walking forward like a zombie. He wasn't screaming. He wasn't crying. His face was blank, almost bored—completely dissociated from the horror around him. He didn't reek of fear; he looked numb.
Yet, the tree took him anyway. It crushed his spine against the trunk before he could even blink.
I discard the pheromone idea instantly.
If the trees tracked the scent of fear, that guy would have been the last to go. He was the calmest person in the splatter zone.
It's not smell. And it's not emotion.
If it were smell, the wind would carry it everywhere. They would attack all of us at once. They aren't. They are picking targets. Specific targets.
Why him? Why her?
"Help me! Please!"
A girl, maybe sixteen, rushes near me. She's looking at Marcus—the big idiot waving the branch—like he's a savior. She takes a step toward him.
Click.
It's faint. Barely audible over the screaming crowd. A dry snap, like a twig breaking under a boot.
My instincts scream.
I lunge forward, grabbing her wrists, trying to anchor her, to pull her back before the trap springs.
My survival instinct wanted to help.
My fragile body didn't have the strength, but my soul remembered Lili. I wanted to save her the way I couldn't save my sister.
"Don't—"
I'm too slow. Or rather, the tree is too fast.
A bladed branch whips down faster than a guillotine.
There is no pain at first, I just feel a sudden lack of weight.
I fall backward, landing hard in the mud. The impact sends a shockwave through the knee-high mist, dispersing it for a split second.
Time seems to freeze. My brain struggles to process the image, but in that brief window of clarity, before the mist rolls back in, I see it.
Where the girl stepped, the mud is disturbed. A thick, pulsating root lies exposed—broken. She stepped right on it.
The mist returns as fast as magic. The girl is gone just as quickly.
I look down at my hands.
I'm holding her arms. They end at the elbows, severed clean.
"Holy Crap..."
I throw the limbs away, scrambling backward on my ass, wiping the blood on the mud, fighting the urge to vomit.
Focus, Dryden. Focus or die.
My first entrance in my past life was a playground compared to this slaughterhouse.
I stare at the spot where the mist cleared. Slowly, I reach out, patting the ground as if touching the finest silk, searching.
Then, I feel it. A tremor.
It's not random.
It's the roots.
They are everywhere under this fog. An invisible web of biological tripwires. The trees are blind, but they can feel. The moment you step on a root, you send a vibration straight to the trunk.
It's a radar system. And we are walking blindfolded through a minefield.
We are screwed…
I look at the crowd, still panicking, still running toward Marcus. Every step they take is a gamble.
I wipe the sweat—and blood—from my eyes.
I can't see the roots through the mist. But I don't need to see them.
I just need to see where they step.
I try to summon my Status Window for the first time, desperate for any advantage. But instead of my stats, a gray message flickers:
[Synchronizing... Please wait.]
Synchronizing? That's impossible. In ten years, I've never heard of a system lag like this.
The Codex is testing me? It's making me earn my survival the hard way.
Marcus brandishes his splintered branch like a scepter, his eyes wide with a manic sort of hope.
"We can't hold this position!" he bellows, his voice cracking. "Form up! Grab whoever is closest to you! Groups of three or four! If we move as a unit, we can beat them back!"
It's tactical suicide. You can't intimidate a forest that eats flesh. But fear makes sheep look for a shepherd, and these terrified strangers obey him instantly.
People clutch at each other, forming desperate, mismatched clusters. A businessman in a torn suit grabs a teenager's arm. A woman in pajamas clings to a mechanic she's never met.
"Move! Now!" Marcus screams.
The first phalanx charges into the mist.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Their collective weight hammers the mud. The subterranean network vibrates instantly.
Today will rain blood… is the only thing I can think.
To my left, a group of three runners sprints past a gray, gnarled oak.
Snap.
A vine descends with the speed of a striking cobra. It bypasses the two on the flanks and coils around the man in the center. He barely has time to gasp before he's yanked violently into the canopy.
The other two freeze, paralyzed by the horror, staring up at the stranger being consumed. They are standing directly on the root system. They are perfectly vulnerable.
I hold my breath, waiting for the second strike. Waiting for the forest to claim the set.
But... nothing happens.
The tree is entirely focused on its prize. The trunk splits open with a wet tearing sound to accept the offering, ignoring the other two trembling morsels at its base.
The survivors scramble away, sobbing, untouched.
I shift my gaze. Another disparate group. Four people holding hands. One tree attacks. It claims the woman on the left. The other three keep running, screaming, pulling away from her grip. The tree doesn't pursue.
The logic clicks into place.
It's not just a cooldown. It's a biological cap.
One tree. One victim.
Until the entity finishes constricting and absorbing its prey, its offensive capabilities are locked. It's a single-target trap mechanism.
I timed it. Twenty to twenty-three seconds.
I look at Marcus, waving his stick and gathering more terrified people into tight clusters.
A cruel smile touches my lips. He thinks he's saving them.
In reality? He just organized a buffet line.
And I intend to be the first one to check out.