Excerpt 15

  (Page 55, Section 1)

  Of all the creatures in the forest, none evoke a deeper, more primal fear than the vines. Yes—the vines. They do not roar, nor do they howl—but they wait. And when darkness falls and your eyes close in trustless sleep, they move. Silently. Patiently. Slithering like sentient cords of muscle. They coil around your limbs, your throat, your lungs—until you wake in a choking silence, far too late. Even worse is when they stalk you unseen, waiting for the moment your attention is split—perhaps during a battle—then lash out to devour both prey and predator alike, without mercy or noise.

  And beware the trees. You may think them passive sentinels of the forest—but there is a reason they endure untouched, unmoved, and uncut. It is not because they are harmless. It is because the forest knows better. Trees, when starved of the minerals they crave, do not simply wither—they awaken to feed. Starvation stirs something ancient within them, and when they rise, the very earth groans beneath their roots. As they walk, even the apex predators of this realm—creatures born of flesh and blood—fall silent. For when the trees hunt, it is not out of rage or fear, but the simple, merciless hunger of ancient things that remember a time when the world fed them freely.

  Source: Forest Dwellers – Hunter Jahr'ek

  Excerpt 15 End

  Hassan pressed a hand against the rough trunk of the tree, grounding himself. The coarse bark scratched his palm, but the sensation was reassuring compared to the dangers lurking in the underbrush. There was no way he was crawling into a bush again. Not after what happened last time.

  He scanned the dimming forest, thick with shadows and strange noises. Night was closing in, faster than he liked. He still needed to find shelter, a real one—not just some pile of leaves where anything could be hiding. A part of him considered turning back, retreating toward the edge of the forest before it was too late. But if he could find a proper place to sleep, tucked high or hidden well, he could survive the night.

  While Hassan weighed his options, a sudden rustle to his left made him freeze. His instincts took over before thought could catch up—he dropped low, pressing himself against the base of the tree. His breathing slowed as he watched the undergrowth.

  A few tense seconds later, something emerged. At first, Hassan thought it was a rabbit. But as it hopped closer, he realized it wasn't like any rabbit he had ever seen. Its body was a patchwork of leafy green and earthy brown, blending almost perfectly with the forest floor. Its size startled him—it was nearly as big as he was.

  What caught his attention most, though, was the creature's skin. There was no fur. No soft coat to speak of. Instead, its surface looked more like flexible bark or toughened leaves, as if the forest itself had shaped it to move unseen among the trees.

  Hassan's fingers found the smooth weight of a rock he had tucked away earlier. He shifted it between his palms, considering. Should he try to hunt the creature? It would be risky—but the chance to practice hunting was too tempting to ignore.

  He had been training his throwing whenever he found spare time. After that encounter with the predatory bird, he realized he needed a way to strike from a distance, a way to protect himself before danger closed in.

  Deciding he had nothing to lose, Hassan crouched lower and slipped into a throwing stance. He planted his feet firmly, feeling the ground’s give beneath him. He raised his arm, narrowing his eyes at the leafy rabbit, calculating distance and weight, gauging the force he needed.

  He hurled the rock with all the focus he could muster. It sailed through the air—but halfway to the target, the rabbit's head jerked toward the incoming threat. With a powerful spring, it leapt out of the way.

  The rock slammed into the ground just a few inches from where the creature had been. Even if it hadn’t moved, Hassan realized grimly, his aim had been just wide enough to miss.

  Frustration coiled in his chest. He needed more power. More precision. More training.

  Hassan expected the rabbit to bolt into the forest after the near miss. Instead, it stayed rooted in place, staring at him with an unnerving stillness. Its leafy body blended so well with the forest floor that he might have lost sight of it if not for the intense focus it seemed to fix on him.

  A cold unease crept up Hassan’s spine. He tightened his grip on another rock, ready for whatever might happen. Then a thought struck him—this creature was fast, unpredictable. It would make excellent target practice.

  He shifted his footing, aimed carefully, and hurled the second stone. As expected, the rabbit darted aside with sharp precision, but this time the rock missed by only a hair’s breadth.

  Encouraged, Hassan gathered his remaining stones. One after another, he threw them, adjusting for the creature’s speed and erratic movement. He focused on leading his shots, trying to anticipate where it would dodge instead of aiming directly at where it stood.

  A few throws came tantalizingly close, skimming the air just behind its ears or thudding into the dirt where it had been a moment before. But no matter how fast he adapted, the rabbit stayed just ahead of him, dancing between his shots with uncanny agility.

  When at last he ran out of rocks, Hassan let his arms fall to his sides, breathing heavily. The training had sharpened his aim and reflexes more than he realized. He gave the rabbit one last look—it had already turned away, hopping lazily toward a thicker cluster of trees, disappearing into the gloom.

  As Hassan made his way deeper into the trees, his gaze fell on the thick vines draping from the branches and coiling along the ground. They were everywhere, twisting and knotting around trunks and rocks like living ropes. Maybe he could use them. If they were strong enough, they could make a decent shelter for the night.

  He moved carefully through the undergrowth, searching for a spot dense with vines but not too exposed. He estimated he had maybe four hours before full darkness swallowed the forest. That would have to be enough.

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  Finding a vine within reach, Hassan grabbed it with both hands and pulled. It resisted easily. He tried scraping it against the bark, twisting it sharply—nothing. It held firm, thick and fibrous. That was good enough.

  He spent the next hour gathering as many vines as he could carry, dragging them into a loose pile near a sturdy tree. Then he got to work, tying and weaving them together into a rough shelter suspended off the ground. It wasn’t pretty, but it would keep him above whatever prowled the forest floor.

  By the time he finished, three hours had slipped by. His muscles ached, and sweat clung to his skin, but the structure held. It would have to be enough.

  Next came food and water. Fortunately, he had thought ahead—he still had a small stash of grass paste from the plains tucked away. It would keep him fed for now. Water, though, was another problem.

  Hassan peered into the darkening forest, listening. He didn’t like the sounds creeping in as the sun vanished behind the treetops. Finding water now would be too risky. He would search once morning came.

  With what little time he had left, Hassan turned back to his vine shelter and began reinforcing it. Every knot tightened, every seam inspected. Tonight, survival would depend on it.

  After reinforcing the shelter as much as he could, Hassan noticed there was still some light left outside. The sight filled him with a gnawing sense of wasted time. Restlessness stirred in his chest, refusing to let him sit still.

  He had a sense, a low and growing instinct, that he was close to another breakthrough. His body felt heavier lately, muscles thicker, stronger. But something was missing. He needed a stronger stimulus to push himself over the edge.

  Back in the grass plains and during his time in the large tent, he had trained using bodyweight movements—push-ups, squats, and their simple variations as well. They worked for a while, but he had adapted. Progress had slowed. He needed something harder. Something new.

  Though he didn’t expect to break through immediately, he knew progress didn’t happen overnight—it happened over time. And it had been a while since he had last pushed past his limits.

  He scanned the shelter and the surrounding forest. Opportunities were everywhere if he looked carefully: branches for pulling, roots for balancing, stones for lifting. All he needed was the will to use them.

  First: pull-ups. After searching for a while, Hassan found a low-hanging branch thick enough to grip and sturdy enough to hold his weight. He jumped up, grabbed it tightly, and began pulling himself up.

  One. Two. Three. Each repetition burned a little more. By the time he reached seven, his arms gave out, and he dropped heavily to the ground.

  After resting, he set up two thick roots close together to attempt dips. Lowering his body between them, he forced himself through nine slow, grinding reps before collapsing again.

  Gritting his teeth, Hassan returned to the branch and tried something different—hanging knee raises. He gripped the branch, let his body dangle, and pulled his knees to his chest. The strain in his abdomen was immediate and intense.

  Halfway through the set, something went wrong. His muscles seized, refusing to respond. His grip slipped, and he crashed back to the ground, gasping.

  A familiar electric shock erupted through his limbs. He had felt this once before—when his body talent advanced. But this time, it was fiercer.

  The surge raced through his muscles, his bones—and then, terrifyingly, into his brain. Pain blossomed inside his skull, blinding and relentless. His vision swam, his thoughts shattered. With a final jolt, he lost consciousness.

  #####

  Hassan stirred from unconsciousness, not from rest, but from a gnawing, hollow ache in his stomach. Hunger clawed at him, sharp and urgent.

  The forest around him was pitch black, alive with the whisper of leaves and distant, insect-like clicks. Hassan spun in a frantic circle, senses straining, desperate to find something—anything—he could eat.

  Then he remembered the shelter.

  He sprinted toward it, lungs burning, dodging roots and low branches. As he stumbled into the crude structure, his eyes locked onto the small stash of grass paste tucked carefully against the tree trunk. Without thinking, he threw himself at it, scooping the rough, bitter mash into his mouth with both hands, barely tasting it as he swallowed.

  It barely took the edge off. His stomach still growled, demanding more.

  Desperation gnawed at his mind. His gaze shifted to the vines woven around his shelter. Were they edible? He didn’t know. But if he didn’t find something soon, he might not live long enough to regret it.

  Hassan grabbed a vine and ripped a section loose, the fibers tearing apart with a dry snap. He slammed one end against a rock, trying to mash it into something—anything—he could chew.

  At first, nothing happened.

  Then the vine twitched.

  A shiver ran up his arm.

  Before he could even drop it, the vine sprang to life, coiling around his torso like a striking snake. It tightened with terrifying strength, squeezing the air from his lungs.

  Hassan staggered back, clawing at the vine as his ribs creaked under the crushing force. His vision blurred. His body screamed for air.

  He threw himself onto the ground, rolling hard, trying to rip it off—but it clung stubbornly, tightening even further. Thinking fast, he scrambled upright and hurled his body against the nearest tree with all the strength he could muster.

  The impact jarred him, but it also loosened the vine's hold. Hassan staggered back and slammed himself again. And again.

  At last, with a reluctant snap, the vine loosened and slithered off him.

  Gasping for breath, Hassan didn’t hesitate. He sprinted away from his shelter, heart hammering. There was no going back. That place wasn’t shelter anymore. It was a death trap.

  Hassan had barely put a few steps between himself and the shelter when a thick vine dropped from above, striking at him like a whip.

  He jerked to the side just in time, the vine slicing through the space where he had stood a heartbeat earlier. His sharpened senses saved him—but only barely.

  A chilling realization struck him. The vines weren't limited to his shelter. They were everywhere.

  The trees. The ground. The branches above. The entire forest was alive with them.

  Panic flared, but Hassan crushed it down. Survival came first.

  Without wasting another second, he mentally triggered the exit command for the training space. The system acknowledged him with the one-minute countdown.

  Sixty seconds.

  It felt impossibly long.

  The vines attacked without pause, lashing and lunging from all sides. Hassan ducked, rolled, and weaved between them, his movements fueled by pure instinct and the agility he had painstakingly built over weeks of training.

  Each dodge was closer than the last. The vines seemed to learn from his patterns, tightening their attacks with every passing second.

  But none of them touched him. Not yet.

  When the countdown dipped below thirty seconds, Hassan dared to believe he might make it. His movements were sharper now, flowing from one dodge to the next without hesitation.

  But then a massive vine dropped across his path, thick as a log, cutting off his escape.

  He skidded to a halt, heart pounding.

  Without thinking, he pivoted and sprinted toward another gap between the trees—only for another vine to slam down, blocking it too.

  He darted left. Blocked.

  Right. Blocked.

  The realization hit him hard. He was surrounded.

  The vines had anticipated him, herding him into a trap.

  And yet, strangely, Hassan felt no fear. A breathless, wild laugh bubbled up inside him. It was almost funny how determined the forest was to kill him.

  Five seconds left.

  All around him, the vines coiled back like snakes ready to strike.

  They lunged.

  At the very last instant, Hassan dropped flat to the ground, pressing himself into the dirt as the vines slashed overhead, tearing through empty air.

  Three seconds.

  Two.

  One.

  The world blinked—and the training space ended.