The jungle was alive with whispers. In the southern reaches of the Amazon Rainforest, where the canopy locked out the sun and the air hung heavy with damp breath, the world moved with its own strange rhythm. Slow, patient, and watchful.
To the untrained eye, it was paradise, a cathedral of endless green. But the silence between the calls of birds told another story. Beneath the roots and rivers, something older stirred, creatures called Revoltures, twisted echoes of life that should never have been.
They left no tracks, no cries, only the faint scent of decay and the feeling of being watched. Some said the forest itself gave birth to them, while others theorized they came from the void into our world. And as dusk began to bleed into the canopy, even the insects fell quiet, as if the jungle knew one of its monsters was about to awaken.
Without warning, a dark shape crashed through the canopy above. Leaves and branches cracked beneath him, then the ground slammed into his body with a deafening thud and a sharp crack echoing through the jungle.
Pain radiated through his leg like fire, and the pounding in his skull made it impossible to focus. The headache that had been clawing at his temples all morning flared violently, distorting the sounds of the forest into a chaotic roar.
"A—AHHH!" His scream tore from him, raw and ragged, as he groped blindly along the forest floor. Fingers scrabbled at his leg; the shock of bone snapping sent another wave of agony through him. He couldn't see the gory evidence of the break, but the brutal reality of it was undeniable.
Every nerve screamed, every heartbeat throbbed in his skull, and the forest around him seemed impossibly silent, as if holding its breath, waiting. All he could do was clutch the shattered limb, fight back nausea, and strain to make sense of the world through sound, touch, and the relentless, pulsing pain that blurred everything into chaos.
Panic clawed at him as he realized he could no longer see. He tried to trace the reason, to summon the memory that might explain his sudden blindness, but nothing came to mind. The past was a blank, stubborn and unyielding. His thoughts were thick and muffled, fogged by a headache so fierce that no ordinary person could endure it without collapsing into unconsciousness.
Yet, through the haze of agony, he forced himself to push forward, gripping reality with every ounce of willpower as the world around him dissolved into shadow and pain.
Trembling, he reached out blindly, fingers brushing against rough bark, damp moss, and the uneven earth beneath him. Every texture, every scent, was a message, a clue he struggled to decipher. Nothing felt familiar. This was no sterile lab with cold steel floors, humming machines, or the faint tang of antiseptic.
This was alive, breathing, unpredictable. The air carried the heavy, sweet rot of decomposing leaves and the sharp tang of wet soil, scents that made his stomach twist in confusion. A faint rustle in the undergrowth made him freeze, heart hammering.
"W-where is this place? Where am I?" he whispered, voice trembling, fingers scraping desperately at the roots beneath him. Instinct screamed that he wasn't alone, that this wild, alien place had rules he had yet to learn, and he had no choice but to adapt, or it would consume him.
The sunlight was fading, spilling in cold, thin shafts through the dense canopy, and the forest's shadows grew long and oppressive. Silence pressed down around him, thick and heavy, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or snap of a twig. He tried to rise, but his legs betrayed him, buckling under his weight again and again.
Agony shot through his body, mingling with the relentless pounding in his skull. "I… can't… stand… there must be… something… help me…" His words stumbled out, broken and uneven, more a stream of instinct than thought. Hands scrabbling blindly across the uneven forest floor, he grasped a cluster of sticks.
He had no memory of why or how to use them, yet some deep, unthinking instinct guided him. Testing their length and sturdiness, he planted them against the ground and pushed, feeling the leverage carry his weight. Inch by excruciating inch, he forced himself upright, sticks quivering under his grip but holding, his mind hazy and fogged by the unendurable pain, yet his body refused to surrender.
Standing with excruciating effort, he tested each movement, and finally managed to take a step, then another, slow and uneven. One hand clutched the long stick that bore most of his weight, trembling with the effort, while the other groped ahead, seeking anything to steady him.
His fingers brushed against rough bark, and he found the solid trunk of a tree. Leaning against it, he let his weight rest, heart hammering and breath ragged. The forest stretched endlessly in every direction, alien and alive, and he had no idea where to go or what to do. Every sound, every rustle, every scent was a question, and all he could do was hold on to the stick and the tree and try to make sense of this unfamiliar, oppressive world.
I might die here… The thought barely formed when a sudden surge of pain ripped through his skull, sharper than any headache before. In that fleeting agony, fragments of images tore through his mind. Other children, writhing in terror, some twisting into grotesque monsters, others in a white coat melting into a pulpy mess of flesh.
The memories vanished almost as quickly as they came, not because he couldn't hold them, but because some invisible force snatched them away. Yet the flash was enough.
A primal, survival instinct buried deep in him, the same one honed in the laboratory has been ignited. His expression hardened, cold and merciless, like a killing machine awakening. His heartbeat slowed, as if he could command it, each pulse deliberate; his senses sharpened, every sound, every vibration in the ground, every shift of air registering with terrifying clarity. The stick in his hand felt like an extension of himself, and the forest around him no longer mattered. Eyes or no eyes, he moved with purpose, steps measured, balance restored. Slowly, steadily, he advanced through the dark undergrowth until the pale light of the twin moons filtered through the canopy, guiding him forward into the unknown.
As the night deepened, he pressed on, ignoring the fatigue that clawed at his muscles, the searing pain in his leg, and the lingering ache in his skull that was finally beginning to fade.
Then, faint but unmistakable, the sound of running water reached him a stream! Its source seems to be 500 meters away. No normal person could have detected it from this distance, but in his current state, it was as if he possessed some unnatural power, a sixth sense guiding him combined with his improved 4 sense. He moved toward it cautiously, navigating the rough, muddy terrain with painstakingly slow steps.
He stumbled repeatedly, mud sucking at his barefeet, but each time, his body recovered with unnerving precision, rising as if the falls had cost him nothing. After an excruciating hour, he reached the stream, moonlight glinting off the water and illuminating the grime and dirt coating his body.
Instinctively, he knelt, cupping the water with one hand while keeping himself balanced with the other, lifting his injured leg to relieve pressure. The cool liquid touched his lips, sharp and refreshing, not the like the kind of water that the laboratory always gave him.
For the first time since he could remember, he broke down. The small reprieve offered by the cool stream did nothing to shield him from the flood of exhaustion, fear, and loneliness that crashed over him all at once. "N-no… why… why me…" His voice trembled, choking into broken gasps, and then it dissolved into raw sobs, "Hhh… ahh… I can't… I can't…" Tears fell unbidden, streaking his dirt-smeared face as he collapsed onto his back beside the river, chest heaving with ragged breaths.
The twin moons hung low in the sky, silver light spilling over him, cold yet strangely comforting, watching silently as if acknowledging his pain. He was still just a child... fragile, confused, and powerless in a world that had thrust him into this wilderness. He hadn't asked for this. He hadn't done anything wrong. In his heart, he had always tried to be good. Yet here he was, abandoned by fate, left with nothing but questions that had no answers. The moons, familiar yet distant, tugged at some forgotten corner of his mind, a name, a dream, a memory of something the researchers had once spoken of, now gone, lost to him. And this forest, though alien and unforgiving, stirred something deep within him, a yearning he could not name, a pull toward something he had never known but somehow recognized.
His cries gradually slowed, ragged breaths replacing sobs, until the exhaustion overtook him. The cold, hard ground beside the river pressed against his body, rough and unyielding, but he hardly noticed. At last, he could rest, if only for a little while. His grumbling stomach and the searing pain in his broken leg faded into the background, muted by the heavy weight of sleep pressing down on him.
He curled slightly, hands instinctively drawn close to his body, face still streaked with dried and dampened tears.
The forest around him remained still, silent and vast, yet it no longer intimidated him; for the moment, nothing could reach him, and nothing could demand anything more. The moonlight poured softly over his small, exhausted form, casting faint shadows that shifted with the gentle rustle of leaves.
At last, he surrendered to slumber, fragile and human, letting his body and mind rest after the night's relentless trials.
---
Deep into the night, the silent forest stirred. A creature emerged, four meters long and two meters wide, its grotesque, humanoid form twisted with blood and flesh, jagged, saw-like teeth glinting in the moonlight.
The reason the forest had remained so quiet became clear: this was the ruler of the territory. Hunger drove it forward, scavenging for prey, its senses honed by the barren surroundings that had long since emptied of ordinary animals.
Though it had no nose, eyes or even ears, it could sense scent in a way that defied comprehension, using long, sharp, gecko- and snake-like appendages to probe the air.
Thud! Thud!
As it moved closer, the ground beneath him trembled, faint vibrations racing up through the soil, announcing the approach of a predator that seemed more nightmare than living thing.
---
Back at the river, the twin moons still hung in the sky, their pale silver light spilling across the water and illuminating the small, exhausted form of the child. He had slept for only four hours, a fraction of the time most children would need to fully recover, yet it had been enough.
His body, though battered and bruised, seemed to draw strength from something deeper, instinctive, as if some hidden reservoir within him compensated for the brief rest. How he needed only half the normal amount of sleep, and yet woke sharper and more alert than he could have imagined, remained a mystery even to him.
The cool night air pressed against his skin, carrying the scent of wet earth and decaying leaves, and for a moment, he lingered on the riverbank, listening to the subtle symphony of the forest: the gentle rush of water, the distant calls of nocturnal insects, and the soft whisper of leaves brushing against one another. Every sound, every vibration, was a signal, a map of his surroundings that he had come to trust more than sight itself.
He muttered softly, "How…." His words faltered, unfinished, as he tried to express the sight he could not see. The two moons danced across the sky, one larger than the other, silver and pale, casting a delicate shimmer over the forest and river below.
He wanted to describe it, to capture the beauty and symmetry in language, but no words came. The fragments of memory and lessons instilled in the laboratory jumbled his thoughts, twisting what little he could recall into incoherence.
Yet this inability did not mean he was dull. Back in the laboratory, the researchers had called him the "Perfected Being," though he had never known what that truly meant, nor could he remember now. Even so, some deep, instinctive part of him recognized the harmony above, the elegance of the moons, and it stirred something unfamiliar yet comforting in his chest.
Then the tremor came. Subtle at first, a low, rolling vibration through the ground, like distant drums beating in rhythm with the earth itself.
His eyes... or what remained of their function, could not see it, but every nerve in his body screamed that something enormous was moving toward him. His survival instinct, honed by instinct and pain rather than memory, jolted him awake. The tremors grew stronger, each pulse telling him the creature was at least a kilometer away, closing the distance albeit slowly.
It was no rational predator, no hunting beast following reason or routine... It was pure hunger, pure killing force, a wide, unstoppable entity on a spree after days of starvation! Without knowing its form, its name, or its intentions, he felt the warning like a current in his blood: I need to get out of here now! His muscles coiled, senses heightened, and every fiber of his body prepared to move with precision and speed that belied his small, broken frame seemingly back to the powerful state he was in.
He didn't see it. He didn't need to. The ground shivered beneath him, the air thick with hunger, and somewhere in the shadows, the forest's ruler was coming. And he had no choice but to run.