Chapter 2: The Repetition of Blood
Once again, he found himself at the beginning of his trial. Given his nature, the anomaly did not surprise him—only a cold, calculated acknowledgment. The environment remained unchanged: the damp air, shards of sunlight piercing through the canopy, and the heavy scent of decaying leaves.
He stood in silence, his mind racing through possibilities. Perhaps closing his eyes triggered the reset?
He dismissed the thought as illogical. After all, during his two-hour hunt for sustenance, he had blinked countless times—far too many to count. Yet he tested the theory. He walked twenty paces and closed his eyes.
Nothing happened. He remained precisely where he was. The wind whispered through the leaves, nothing more.
A new hypothesis emerged: Was the fruit poisonous? Had death claimed him the instant he closed his eyes? Logic resisted the idea, yet the absolute unknown of this world gnawed at his mind. Am I immortal here?
The question held little weight. His stomach still ached with hollow hunger, a problem he refused to ignore. Seeking answers, he returned to the source and consumed the fruit once more. Nothing changed. Even eating with his eyes tightly shut failed to produce a reset. On one hand, this pleased him—restarting from zero every time he blinked would be a tormenting monotony. Yet a seed of unease had begun to take root.
To be immortal… was it truly a blessing?
He ate a few more fruits until the gnawing hunger subsided. Then he began searching for the faint path he had glimpsed earlier—a ghost of a trail where the undergrowth had been trampled.
He followed it.
Two hours passed. The scenery remained a stagnant loop of identical trees beneath a silent sky, while the air grew increasingly dry.
Boredom settled in. Thirst followed.
Why is there no water here? he wondered. I've walked this far without a single stream or spring. No matter. If I keep moving, water will reveal itself.
With that singular focus, he pressed on.
Then a piercing scream tore through the forest's stillness.
Birds fell silent instantly. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. Only that sound—a jagged mixture of agony and terror—hung suspended in the air.
Fuz moved toward it. The trees thickened, the air grew humid, and the stench of rot intensified. Shifting shadows danced across the uneven ground as sunlight struggled through dense branches.
The scene before him shattered the forest's earlier tranquility.
A group of men—faces hardened and clothing ragged—had surrounded a creature resembling a human, yet bearing long, pointed ears and flowing golden hair. An Elf, a being from legend. Its hands were bound, knees sunk into the mud, lips trembling in silent prayer or fear.
Fuz's gaze fell to the ground. A stone. Heavy. Cold.
He did not hesitate. He threw it.
It struck one man's face with a sickening crack. He recoiled, clutching his shattered features and screaming. Fuz moved with the precision of a predator. Blood seeped through the man's fingers from a ruptured eye.
"WHAT IS HAPPENING?!" the second man roared.
Fuz did not answer. He snatched a jagged branch and lunged, driving it deep into the second man's shoulder. The man collapsed, screaming in pain.
But the third man was faster. He grabbed a knife from his fallen comrade and slashed at Fuz. The blade bit into his side. Hot blood. Sharp pain. Fuz did not flinch.
The last man seized the Elf from behind, pressing a blade to its throat.
"DON'T MOVE!" he bellowed.
The Elf's eyes met Fuz's. "No…" it whispered.
Fuz advanced with an absolute void of emotion. One step. Another.
"I said STOP!" the man shouted, his hand trembling.
It was too late. The blade drew. The Elf went limp.
In that instant, Fuz stopped. His eyes locked onto the man. There was no rage—only a terrifying emptiness.
"You chose this," he said, his voice calm yet icy.
He lunged, wrenched the knife from the man's hand, and ended him. A question flickered in his mind: Why do I understand their language? And how can they understand mine?
The thought did not linger. If it was a gift, it was useful. If not, it simply made the situation more dangerous.
The forest fell silent once more. Only the sound of blood dripping onto leaves remained. Fuz knelt beside the Elf. There was no life left to save.
He rose slowly and scanned his surroundings.
"So, in this world, merely surviving is not enough," he whispered to the void.