The moment Talia stepped beneath the canopy, the forest swallowed her whole. The air changed—thicker, wetter, humming with a kind of pressure she could feel against her skin. Shadows stretched deep between the trunks, and the underbrush rustled with too many frantic movements. She inhaled once, steadying her legs.
"Easy. Just a forest," she muttered. "A demon-infested, apocalypse-tier forest, but still. Trees, and I love trees."
She started running.
Her body slipped into the familiar rhythm almost instantly—knees lifting over roots, boots landing soft on moss, weight shifting as she veered around half-rotted trunks. She ducked under a low branch, vaulted a fallen log, caught herself with one hand and swung over a narrow creek. For a few seconds, she felt like she belonged here—fluid, fast, the forest bending around her steps.
A rustle above her broke the rhythm.
A possum launched from the canopy like a furry cannonball.
Talia didn't break stride. She slashed upward without even looking, catching the creature mid-drop. A second possum followed immediately—she twisted, ducked under it, stabbed upward as it sailed over her shoulder, and it dissolved before it hit the ground.
She barely got three breaths in before the next wave appeared ahead.
Three feral cats bolted out from the brush, ears pinned back, teeth bared. Behind them lumbered a boar twice the size of the last one she fought, its snout gouging deep trenches as it thundered toward her.
"Oh great. Woodland combo pack."
The cats darted first.
Talia leapt sideways, slashing one from jaw to shoulder. The second lunged for her throat; she blocked with her bracer and kicked it away. The third landed on her back and raked down her shoulder blades—her new leather vest absorbed the worst of it, but the force still knocked her forward. Swiftly finishing them off. Talia shifted back to the last opponent.
It charged.
She dodged left at the last moment, grabbed a thick low-hanging branch, swung her body upward, and let the boar crash head-first into the trunk behind her. The impact shook the entire tree. Bark split. Leaves rained down.
"Ten points for self-sabotage," she panted as she dropped back down.
While the boar reeled, she lunged in and slashed deep across its throat. It bellowed and dissolved seconds later.
Her shin throbbed where she'd clipped a hidden root earlier. Her shoulder pulsed in a dull, angry ache. Both arms stung from fresh scratches. Sweat stung her eyelids.
This wasn't fatal—not yet—but the exhaustion was already starting to peer at her from around the edges.
"Exposure therapy," she muttered. "Fast-track emotional conditioning. Great. Fantastic. Wonderful. Love that for me."
She continued deeper.
The forest floor grew rougher—more roots, more uneven stone, more strange flattened patches where beasts had clearly stampeded through. Talia crouched low as she inspected one cluster of prints.
Too many. All going in the same direction.
Toward town.
Her chest tightened. "That's bad. That's… really bad."
She stood, exhaling sharply, and kept running.
Her vision flickered with the faint glow of an update.
[Kill Count: #17]
[Reward #15 Pending → F-Rank Armour]
"Reward time. Please be something that doesn't suck."
A small icon blinked.
She tapped it mid-stride, and something materialised against her forearms—dark leather, reinforced.
Fixing it in place, she twisted her wrists experimentally, the brace hugged her skin with just enough give to allow movement.
"Oh. Oh yes. This is going to save a limb."
She smiled. A tired, grim one, but real.
Ahead, the terrain sloped upward—steeper than it looked. She slowed, legs aching from the sudden incline. Her breathing sharpened.
The pressure in the forest shifted.
She stopped. Something was coming. Glancing up the slope.
The hill trembled as six beasts barreled downward— A family of boar, a pair of wolves and something heavier, a bull—all sprinting in a tight line. Their momentum made them even deadlier; they weren't just running—they were falling with intent.
Talia bolted sideways.
The pack turned with her.
"Nope. Nope. No thank you!"
The first beast slammed the ground where she'd been. Dirt exploded upward. She struck its throat, pivoted, ducked under the second beast, used its back as a stepping platform, and flipped over the third while stabbing downward.
Her rhythm kicked in. Dodge, strike, move, dodge.
Then her vision blurred.
A foresight surge shoved into her brain like a sledgehammer.
Not now—
The flash of white panic completely disrupted her footwork. A wolf latched onto her forearm. She felt the pressure bite into her new bracer, teeth scraping leather hard enough to vibrate her bones.
"I JUST got these!"
She slammed her knee up, twisted, and stabbed the wolf under the jaw. It fell limp.
She staggered, blinking sweat and pain away. The pack lunged again. She clamped down the rising vision like she'd practiced—hard, cold, angry—and forced it back.
Her breath returned. Her focus sharpened.
She fought like someone possessed.
By the time the last beast dissolved, her arms shook, her thigh throbbed, and her lungs burned. She dropped to one knee, gripping her hair with both hands.
"I'm alive," she gasped. "I cannot believe I'm alive."
She wiped a hand across her forehead. Sweat, dirt, and a little blood smeared across her skin.
"Break time. Five minutes. Maybe two. One. Ugh."
She sat long enough to force her pulse down.
Then she tested her control.
She reached for the vision she'd shoved aside earlier.
It responded—like tugging a thread.
She followed it.
Grandma's sewing circle appeared first. Nine elderly women barricaded in the community hall behind a wall of tables and bookcases, still yelling at each other about missing pincushions. Grandpa, Mum, and Brielle arrived—Grandpa swinging a tyre iron, Mum wielding a red nail gun like a cowboy, Brielle with an axe in each hand.
Talia covered her mouth to muffle a hysterical laugh.
They shepherded Grandma and another elderly neighbour out—fighting through cats, mice, and a demonic terrier.
The vision tugged. Dav this time.
He was in the capital, at the frontline. The world exploded around him. Tens of thousands of corrupted beasts surged like a black living wave. Tanks fired. Soldiers screamed. But Dav—her eldest brother, the one who trained with her every morning—moved like he was carved from instinct itself, cutting down beasts before they even lunged.
But for every one he killed, ten more replaced it.
Talia felt cold. The vision tugged again.
Theo.
He had found Dad. They'd recruited Allen and two young women from the complex. And then they proceeded to commit organized, strategic, surprisingly effective "zero-dollar shopping."
She watched Theo break into a sporting goods store and whisper, "Dad, we're liberating essentials," before grabbing six machetes and a camping stove.
All four of them had space pockets now. They fought in sync, helped neighbours and moved in formation.
Talia's chest warmed.
The vision faded.
Branches cracked behind her.
She bolted upright and shoved her half-eaten ration bar into her space. Whatever stalked her would crest the hill soon.
"Moving! I'm moving!"
She sprinted for the ridge, feeling her legs protest, but adrenaline shoved her onward. She crested the top, saw nothing behind her yet, and dropped down the other side.
Her watch blinked: 12:00 p.m.
Halfway to the hut.
Despite everything—she was making good time.
"Thank god for Dav's hell-tier cardio runs," she muttered. "I complained so much. I take it back. He was right. Almost."
An old animal trail cut through the trees ahead. Narrow, damp earth, tangled roots. Perfect for speed. Perfect for disaster.
She hesitated only half a second before taking it.
Bad choice.
Movement erupted on all sides.
Dogs to her right. Three foxes ahead. A deer charging from behind. And a giant tomcat dropping from above—she barely rolled aside in time to avoid being flattened by a furry bowling ball.
"Oh COME ON!"
The cat landed on her back, claws scraping across her scalp. Pain flared hot as blood trickled down one temple.
The deer reared and slammed its hooves into her shoulder blades, smashing Talia to the ground, tomcat leaping away. Her vest absorbed most of the force—most, not all.
Rolling, 'Danger', shoulders screaming, she forced herself to twist and slash upward.
The cat yowled, stumbled, dissolved.
Scrambling upright & disoriented, she had committed a grave sin in battle. She'd lost sight of her enemy.
Talia settled herself, reasoning 'they're coming for me anyway.'
The dogs lunged again. One bit at her leg, but only tore fabric and grazed the skin—she stabbed backward without looking. The foxes swarmed under her guard, snapping at her shins and ankles.
She needed space.
Space she didn't have.
"Break the circle," she snarled through clenched teeth. "Break it!"
She charged the foxes.
They scattered—but only just enough. She slashed one down, pivoted, stabbed another, ducked under the deer's next stomp, rolled, came up under a dog's belly, drove the knife up, tore sideways.
Her world narrowed to teeth, claws, blood, and breath.
It was messy. It was desperate. It was ugly.
But it worked.
Slowly, painfully, she carved her way out.
Finally, the last deer collapsed, dissolving into ash.
Talia dropped backward into the dirt, arms spread, chest heaving like she'd run a marathon uphill while being stabbed repeatedly.
Sweat stung her scalp. Blood trickled down her cheek. Her entire back throbbed, bruises upon bruises.
Then she laughed.
A breathless, half-delirious laugh that bubbled up from deep in her chest.
"I won," she whispered. "I actually—won."
Her Kill count floated softly in her peripheral.
[Kill Count: #31]
Her lips twitched.
"Not enough yet. Not nearly enough."
Pain radiated through her body. Her limbs trembled. She probably looked like a dirt-coated disaster.
But for the first time, since the world fractured beneath her feet, something fierce sparked inside her.
She could survive this.
And she would not die before she reached her family.