Excerpt 17

  (Page 374, Section 1)

  It is easy to revel in your strength. To stand tall, to believe yourself mighty.

  But true survival begins with a far crueler lesson: knowing how small you truly are when greater, higher creatures stalk the same earth.

  Ignore that truth—and you will not die by the danger you see coming. No, it will be the unseen that devours you. The unknown that tears you from the world.

  A forgotten spawn slithering in from beyond your sight. A hidden swarm breathing just beyond the veil of trees. Death wears a hundred faces—and most of them are strangers.

  So how do you measure your place in such a world?

  There are two simple ways:

  First, take the mean strength of the creatures around you—and find where you fall along the scale.

  Second, seek out the ten strongest and the ten weakest, and ask yourself this:

  Are you prey to the strong?

  Or will the weak devour you before you ever rise above them?

  Either way, you must watch. You must listen. You must think.

  Not just to survive—but to keep from vanishing without even the dignity of a scream.

  Source: The Silent Extinction – Vanrich the Unburied

  Excerpt 17 End

  Hassan froze, barely able to comprehend what he was seeing. Not only had his physical attributes surged, but his physical talent itself had grown stronger—and to his amazement, so had his other stats.

  Even his Zamongarai’s Soul talent had somehow risen in rank, something he hadn't even thought possible so soon.

  As he sat there, overwhelmed by the flood of changes, a familiar voice drifted into his ears, strange yet oddly recognizable. He turned sharply, heart thudding against his ribs—and stiffened.

  There, standing near the entrance of the tent, was the same strange old zamongarai.

  What was he even doing here, inside the caregiver’s tent?

  The elder was speaking animatedly with the caregiver, hands carving wide gestures through the air as if recounting an amusing tale. Their conversation flowed easily, as if Hassan weren’t even there, as if nothing extraordinary had happened between them hours ago.

  But that wasn’t the only thing that made Hassan's head spin.

  A rich, mouth-watering aroma wafted through the tent—roasted meat.

  Hassan blinked in disbelief. He hadn’t seen, much less smelled, any meat since he’d arrived in this settlement. In fact, outside of the other children, he had never seen a single adult zamongarai eat anything at all.

  He sat up reflexively, swallowing hard against the sudden flood of saliva. But almost as quickly, a wave of sadness washed over him. Even if there was meat, he couldn’t chew it.

  Frustrated, he ran his tongue along his gums, feeling the familiar dull bumps where teeth should be—only to jolt in surprise. Tiny points were breaking through.

  His teeth were finally coming in.

  A surge of hope lit his chest. Soon, he wouldn’t have to mash everything into a disgusting paste just to eat. He could chew—he could tear.

  While he was caught up in that thrilling thought, a sudden hush fell over the tent.

  Hassan turned his head slowly, only to find both the caregiver and the elder zamongarai staring directly at him.

  A chill crept up his spine. Instinctively, he averted his gaze, pretending he hadn’t noticed, willing them to simply return to their conversation and forget about him.

  The last thing he needed was another strange spell cast over his soul.

  But luck was not on his side.

  The elder approached with slow, deliberate steps and scooped him up without ceremony. Hassan stiffened, bracing himself for whatever strange trial was about to be inflicted on him.

  Instead, he heard a deep, booming laugh.

  Startled, he looked up. The elder's shoulders were shaking in mirth, their face creased with a kind of genuine amusement Hassan had never seen before.

  Confused and slightly disarmed, Hassan allowed himself to be carried over to the firepit, where the elder settled down and placed him carefully on their lap.

  The two adults resumed their conversation, speaking over his head as though he were little more than a bundle of cloth.

  Hassan sat rigidly, not knowing what to make of this surreal situation. A part of him wanted to squirm away and go to bed pretending to sleep, but another part—the cautious, calculating part—knew better than to cause a scene.

  His eyes wandered to the firepit, and what he saw made him stare harder.

  A thick slab of meat, almost the size of his body, was roasting slowly over the flames. Judging by the sheer size of it, it must have come from a massive beast. Yet what struck him most was the strange way it cooked—the fire licked at the flesh with perfect, even heat, turning it slowly without any visible spit or rod. Some kind of magic, no doubt, probably woven casually by the elder without a second thought.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Time dragged. Minutes passed as the adults spoke in low tones. Hassan nearly dozed off before he caught a sudden movement: the elder stood, setting him gently aside, and walked straight into the firepit.

  Bare hands reached into the roaring flames.

  Hassan’s breath caught in his throat.

  Without even a flicker of hesitation, the elder plucked the meat from the heart of the fire, lifting it out as if it were no hotter than a loaf of bread. Their hands showed no sign of burns, no singed fur, not even a wisp of smoke clinging to them.

  Is nothing normal in this world?

  Trying to regain his composure, Hassan turned his back on the spectacle and trudged toward his bedding. He had testing to do—new strength to explore—and he wasn't about to waste any more time being a doll.

  Or so he thought.

  Just as he reached the edge of his bedroll, he heard a soft swishing sound—and suddenly he was lifted once again, this time by the caregiver.

  Annoyance prickled at him. He sighed inwardly. Fine. If I can’t train the body, I’ll train the mind and soul instead.

  Settling into the caregiver’s arms, he closed his eyes, trying to center his thoughts.

  Then the elder’s voice boomed across the tent, loud and grandiose, shattering his concentration.

  Hassan cracked one eye open, glaring inwardly. What did I do to deserve this?

  The elder waved a hand toward the firepit. Instantly, the flames shifted, swirling into vivid shapes and colors.

  Before Hassan’s astonished eyes, the fire painted a story.

  He watched, rooted in horror, as colossal monsters clashed within the swirling blaze. Some were vaguely humanoid, others were twisted and alien beyond recognition. Flames and shadows danced together, throwing vast, nightmarish shapes across a battlefield that seemed to stretch beyond the horizon.

  Amid the chaos loomed a creature unlike anything Hassan could have imagined—a monstrous hybrid of mammoth and elk, its blue-furred bulk blotting out the sky. Its sprawling antlers stretched across the sky like frozen lightning. Compared to it, everything else looked like shrubs before a mountain.

  Even through the illusion, Hassan felt the ghost of its strength—a phantom tremor that made the very ground seem to crack beneath him.

  Through the smoke and devastation, Hassan caught sight of a figure that seized his attention. A lone zamongarai, armored from head to toe, towered over the battlefield—or would have, had the mammoth-elk not turned his imposing stature into something almost laughably small. Compared to the monstrous titan, the zamongarai seemed no larger than a sapling standing before a cliff face. And yet, there he stood, spear raised in defiance against the impossible.

  The mammoth-elk reared back and let loose a deafening roar, a sound so powerful it shattered the sky itself. Even through the illusion, Hassan could feel the shockwave—a phantom tremor rattling the ground beneath him.

  Creatures toppled like broken dolls; some were flattened into red smears against the earth.

  The beast stamped down with its front legs. The terrain shattered—mountains collapsed, valleys surged upward—and in the wake of the destruction, a terrible stillness descended.

  Everything froze. The entire battlefield turned into a graveyard of ice.

  But it had made a mistake.

  Thirty-five fighters survived.

  Among them, a heavily armored zamongarai stood tall, spear poised to strike.

  Without hesitation, the survivors rallied. Spears flashed, claws raked, fangs tore. They swarmed the towering beast in a desperate, furious assault. The zamongarai charged at the forefront, his spear glinting against the firelit gloom as he drove it again and again into the mammoth-elk's thick hide.

  But the battle was a massacre.

  One by one, the warriors fell—trampled, crushed, hurled aside like scraps of broken wood. Every charge was met with cataclysmic force. Every moment of defiance was punished by unstoppable destruction.

  The battle raged on, and the numbers dwindled.

  At last, after what seemed an eternity of blood and ruin, the mammoth-elk staggered. A massive wound tore open across its heart, the once-proud titan brought low by sheer, stubborn fury.

  With a final, thunderous crash, the colossal beast collapsed, shaking the shattered world around it.

  When the dust finally settled, only three figures remained standing amidst the wreckage.

  The battered zamongarai was one of them, his armor cracked but his spear still gripped tightly in his hand. To his right stood a colossal earth-raccoon, its stony hide fractured but unbroken. And on his left loomed a hulking wolf-tiger hybrid, its bloodied fur matted and torn, breathing heavily from the brutal fight.

  Victory—if such a thing could be claimed—belonged to them.

  But even in its final moments, the mammoth-elk refused to grant peace.

  Its massive body stirred. A single, hateful eye cracked open, gleaming with the last flicker of malice. With the remnants of its strength, the beast conjured a portal beneath its dying bulk and slipped into the void, leaving the three survivors stranded—too wounded, and too late, to follow.

  For a long moment, none of them moved. The zamongarai, the earth-raccoon, and the wolf-tiger stood alone amidst the ruins of the battlefield, silent and wary of one another. A fragile, unspoken truce seemed to form between them, born not from trust, but from exhausted survival.

  Slowly, the firepit before Hassan crackled and faded back into ordinary flames. The vision ended, but the weight of what he had seen lingered long after.

  Hassan sat frozen, heart pounding.

  How? How can something live with its heart destroyed?

  A soft murmur broke his thoughts. The caregiver spoke with a grave tone, the words too hushed for Hassan to catch, but the despair on their face said enough. The elder nodded solemnly in response.

  Panic tightened Hassan’s chest.

  Was that creature coming after them? Because of that zamongarai warrior?

  But then, to his utter disbelief, he saw the elder offering words of comfort, gesturing toward Hassan himself—as if he were the solution to all their problems.

  Hassan stared, dumbfounded. Me? What in the world is this mad elder even thinking?

  There was no way—no way—he could ever hope to face such a creature. Even if he somehow could, risking his life wasn’t part of the plan. He had a home to return to, a life waiting for him back on Earth.

  The caregiver seemed to share his sentiments, casting the elder a look that clearly screamed are you insane?

  The elder chuckled, speaking a few more words before standing up to leave.

  Hassan’s gaze flicked back toward the firepit, wondering idly about the meat—only to realize something unsettling.

  The elder’s mouth glistened with grease.

  And the firepit held no meat.

  What?!

  Had the elder really decided the battle story was so entertaining that it deserved a private feast midway through?

  The absurdity left Hassan momentarily speechless.

  As the elder departed into the swirling snow beyond the tent, the caregiver seemed lost deep in troubled thought, distracted enough for Hassan to wriggle free from their hold.

  He crept toward the far side of the tent, mind racing.

  This world was far more dangerous than he had ever imagined—soul readings, colossal creatures that waged great wars, and a monster capable of shattering continents beneath its feet.

  Yet among the terror, one gleaming hope took root inside him: portals.

  If that colossal beast could make portals, then portals existed.

  And if they existed, he could find a way to master them.

  A way to return home.

  For the first time in days, excitement flared through him, bright and fierce.

  Without wasting another moment, he steeled himself, ready to test the new strength coursing through his veins.