Perspective: Zhuge Han
I didn't know that forest.
Not its name, not its origin, not the kind of spiritual energy that fed it.
But I knew — with the bitter certainty only fear can bring — that I would never forget it.
Every tree.
Every shadow.
Every ragged breath that escaped me as I ran.
Everything there engraved itself into me, as if the world wanted to make sure that if I died in that place, at least the scenery would remember.
The sound of footsteps behind me was constant — eight pursuers.
Eight trained assassins, moving as one.
The forest seemed smaller by the second, the trees closing in, branches weaving into a network of natural spears that forced me to dodge with short jumps and quick turns.
The air reeked of iron and damp soil.
The dry leaves under my feet cracked like breaking bones.
Blood dripped from my flank, soaking the fabric, and each time the cloth brushed the wound, the heat of it flared anew.
The spear was still in my hands — steady, even if the rest of me wasn't.
A sharp whistle split the air.
Instinct.
I rolled aside.
A spiritual blade sliced through where my neck had been a heartbeat ago, cleaving a tree in two with a dry, thunderous snap.
Fragments of wood struck my face and shoulder.
I rose through the haze and spun, holding the spear horizontally.
Two of them had come too close — one in front, one from the right.
The first leapt, short sword aimed at my chest.
I twisted and lifted the shaft, diverting the strike, and with the same motion drove the tip of my spear into his abdomen.
The sound was muffled — a mixture of flesh and metal.
He fell backward, blood pooling in circles on the carpet of leaves.
The second tried to take advantage of my distraction, coming from behind.
I tightened my grip and swung the shaft back, slamming it against his knee.
The crack of bone mixed with his cry.
Before he could recover, I brought the blade down across his neck.
A clean cut.
Silence.
Two down.
But my breath was fading fast.
My pulse throbbed. My chest burned.
I ran again, vaulting over roots and moss-covered stones.
The shadows of the trees blurred past too quickly, distorted by speed and pain.
The voices behind me grew louder — short, coordinated orders.
They wouldn't relent.
The whistle of blades cutting through the wind returned.
Another attack.
This time, no chance to dodge.
A spiritual dagger grazed my shoulder, carving a fresh wound.
The blow sent me stumbling, but I kept going.
Not out of strength — out of habit.
My mother had always said: "A soldier only falls when his body stops obeying. Until then, he runs."
The body obeyed.
I pressed deeper into the forest.
The trees grew taller, older — thick trunks draped in dark green moss, branches so high they swallowed the light.
Everything there felt alive.
Watching.
The forest had eyes.
The sound of pursuit returned.
Three of them emerged ahead, blocking the path.
The first wielded a short spear, the second hurled a compressed Qi sphere that exploded near my feet.
The blast threw me against a tree.
Something cracked inside me — probably a rib.
Pain turned the world white.
But I still had the spear.
The first attacker lunged, his weapon gleaming.
I moved by instinct, his blade scraping my arm, drawing blood.
Using the momentum, I spun and drove my own spear into his chest.
The impact echoed like muffled thunder.
I yanked it free and jumped back, dodging another strike.
The second man came roaring, sword raised.
I ducked low and swept his ankle with the spear's butt — his balance snapped.
In the same motion, I brought the tip upward and pierced beneath his chin.
He collapsed heavily, the ground swallowing his blood.
But the third came right after.
His blade slashed the air, opening another deep cut along my side.
Hot blood poured freely, soaking the fabric.
The pain came seconds later — in waves.
I gasped and kept running.
Their breathing behind me was the sound of inevitability.
The forest was tightening — trees so close I had to slip between them, avoiding roots and low branches.
The world spun, and my body began to fail.
The spear felt heavier. My arm shook.
Each step was a broken promise between will and flesh.
And then, suddenly, the sounds stopped.
The ground changed — no longer solid earth, but loose stone.
Two more steps… and the world opened up before me.
A cliff.
Vast. Deep. Bottomless.
Mist below swallowed whatever lay beneath — heaven or hell.
The wind surged upward in violent currents, blending the scent of forest and void.
Behind me, footsteps drew near again — the scrape of steel, the brush of cloaks, the steady breathing of men who knew they'd cornered their prey.
I gripped the spear with both hands and stared into the abyss.
My heart pounded. Blood ran freely.
And for the first time since the chase began, I understood the irony.
The trees would remain forever — witnesses to the path I'd taken.
But I… perhaps not.
The sounds came first — boots crushing damp earth, branches pushed aside, the quiet breathing of men who knew exactly what they were doing.
Then came the shadows.
Four of them, stepping out one by one, filling the space between the trees and cutting off any hope of escape.
Even at a distance, I could see their faces.
Hardened men, eyes trained to kill — and forget.
And yet, there was something human in them at that moment — something almost joyful.
The kind of satisfaction only hunters feel when the prey finally stops running.
Victory hung in the air.
They knew.
I knew.
There was nowhere left to go.
Behind me, the wind from the cliff roared, calling like a living thing.
In front of me, four assassins of the Yuan He Clan formed a perfect semicircle.
The spear was heavy in my hands.
Blood dripped warm down my side, and each breath stabbed like molten iron in my chest.
One of them stepped forward — tall, thin, eyes a pale gray like wet stone.
He spoke softly, almost kindly, as if he truly believed he was doing me a favor.
"Boy… just accept death."
The words echoed between the trees and the abyss.
So simple.
So absurd.
I looked at him.
Then at the leaf-covered ground, the cliff behind me, and finally the distant, overcast sky — that mocking, unreachable sky.
And for some reason, I smiled.
"Pray I don't survive," I said.
The words came out low, hoarse — but steady.
And in that moment, something inside me went still.
There was no plan.
No strategy.
Only a choice.
The wind rose again, stronger this time, tugging at the edges of my cloak.
The distant roar of the abyss sounded almost like a call.
And then… I jumped.
For a fleeting instant, the world went silent.
No screams.
No wind.
No pain.
Only the void —
and the echo of my own madness.