I collapsed onto the jagged earth, my lungs burning as I clawed for air. Every breath felt like a chore, a desperate struggle for a body that didn't seem to know how to function.
Whoever lived in this body must have never lifted a finger in his life, I cursed internally.
Compared to my previous self, this new vessel was pathetic. It lacked the raw strength, the honed reflexes, and the basic stamina required for a real fight or even ambush attacks. Looking back at the carnage, I didn't even know what to say.
"Heck... why am I even doing this? I could still die here."
The thought lingered.
I was fragile.
I could be snuffed out by the next creature that crossed my path. For a split second, I considered just giving up, but the memory of those things defiling that dead woman flashed through my mind. A cold shiver that had nothing to do with the wind ran down my spine.
No. That was not an option.
Gritting my teeth, I forced myself up. My gaze landed on one of the fallen creatures. My lip curled in disgust, and I looked away before I lost my lunch.
I grabbed the bag I'd scavenged and began to rummage through it.
I sat on the hard, crimson soil of the ravine's narrow cave, spreading out the "spoils" of my struggle. It was... underwhelming.
"Some rags, a bit of food, water, and a ring," I muttered.
The bag had felt so heavy that I'd expected a hoard. Instead, I found two sets of clothes—one for a man, one for a woman. Likely belonging to the two I'd seen earlier. A flicker of guilt touched my chest for not being able to save them, but I pushed it down. Survival didn't have room for "what-ifs."
I tossed the woman's dress aside and swapped my blood-stained rags for the man's outfit: a simple black short-sleeve shirt and sturdy trousers. It wasn't much, but it felt like a luxury compared to the tatters I'd been wearing.
Then came the food: a loaf of bread and some raw meat. It baffled me. Why were those two so poorly prepared? No real weapons, barely any rations... it was like they hadn't expected to fight at all. I shook my head. It didn't matter. They were dead, and I was hungry.
I tore into the bread. My eyes widened.
"Delicious..."
It was soft, sweet, and better than anything I'd tasted in a lifetime. I realized then how long it had been since I'd eaten anything that wasn't stale or rotting. I finished the entire loaf in seconds. A few gulps of water followed, leaving me in that awkward state of being neither full nor starving. I stared at the raw meat, considered it, then decided to save it. I wasn't that desperate. Not yet.
Finally, I picked up the ring. It was silver, etched with strange, twisting engravings. The moment I tried to focus on the markings, a white-hot spike of pain shot through my brain. I gasped, nearly choking on the remnants of the bread. It felt like a locked door in my mind was being kicked from the inside.
I shoved the ring back into the bag. Not now. Definitely not now.
I looked toward the cave entrance. The sky was bruising into a dark purple. Night was coming. I heard a distant, mournful howl and decided that the cave, as cramped as it was, was the only place I was staying tonight.
I had no fire, no light. I huddled at the back of the cave, using the bag as a makeshift pillow. I thought I could tough it out, but I was wrong.
Every time a draft of the night wind whistled into the cave, my body racked with shivers. My muscles tensed until they ached. I stared at the discarded woman's clothing across the cave, regret bubbling up. I should have kept them as a blanket. Pride was a cold companion.
It was a restless night. Every time I drifted off, the sound of wings or the wet crunch of bone from outside would snap me awake. The flying beasts had arrived to scavenge the "skinned" creatures I'd killed. I stayed silent, holding my breath until the sun finally bled through the entrance.
I woke up stiff, irritated, and feeling like I'd been beaten with a rock. For breakfast, I forced myself to chew on the raw meat. It was rubbery and foul, but it was fuel.
I checked my gear—the new dagger and my makeshift branch spear—and stepped out. I stretched, my spine popping like a string of firecrackers.
I looked up at the towering walls of the ravine. "How the hell am I getting up there?"
The plan was simple:
Use the weapons as pitons. But would they hold? If the branch snapped or the dagger bent, I was a dead man.
"Screw it."
I found a small ledge, lunged upward, and drove the dagger into the rock. It bit deep. I slammed the spear into a crevice, and to my shock, it held firm. I climbed with my eyes half-closed, waiting for the sound of snapping wood, but it never came.
When I finally hauled myself over the top, I lay flat on my back, gasping. This body was a curse. But as I checked my weapons, I felt a spark of hope. Not a single crack.
The forest above was a silent, crimson nightmare. The trees were dead, the soil the color of dried blood. It was unsettling, but at least it was quiet. Maybe I'd cleared the area? I started walking, keeping my guard up.
GRAWR. SHRIEEK.
I spoke too soon. The silence didn't last. The forest was crawling with life—horrible, distorted life. I spent the next hour playing a deadly game of hide-and-seek. I ducked behind rotted trunks as massive birds tore apart carcasses; I froze in the shadows as small, twitching things scurried past.
But then, the sounds stopped. Again.
The transition was jarring. One moment, the woods were a chorus of growls; the next, it was like the world had gone deaf. My body tensed. Every instinct I'd honed in my previous life screamed at me to run.
I stopped dead. Sweat beaded on my forehead.
Before me, slithering through the dead trees, was a nightmare of obsidian.
It was a reptilian beast, half as tall as the trees themselves. Its skin looked like cracked volcanic armor, with a dull red glow pulsing from the fissures. Its head was a fusion of a serpent and something demonic, with thick horns sweeping back from its skull.
The pressure it radiated was suffocating. This wasn't like the scavengers from before. This thing didn't want "pleasure" or "food." It was the embodiment of the hunt.
I stood paralyzed, gripping my branch spear until my knuckles turned white. The beast's crimson eyes locked onto mine. It analyzed me for a long, agonizing minute. I felt like an ant under the gaze of a god.
Then, with a flick of its tail, it simply... turned away. It slithered off into the red gloom, silent as a ghost despite its massive size.
My legs gave out.
I hadn't just "survived." Survival implies a struggle. I had been ignored. I was so insignificant that the apex predator of this hellscape didn't even think I was worth the calories to kill.
"I'm alive," I whispered, the fear finally hitting me in waves.
That was why the forest had gone silent. The other creatures weren't gone; they were hiding. The beast moved without a sound, leaving no tracks, breaking no branches. It was a silent assassin the size of a house.
I scrambled to my feet, my heart hammering against my ribs. I didn't wait for it to change its mind. I ran.
Hours passed. My legs felt like lead, and my vision blurred with exhaustion. I pushed up one last hilly slope, certain that I'd taken a wrong turn, that I was destined to wander the red wastes until I dropped.
But as I reached the crest, the red faded.
Below me was a sea of lush, vibrant green. Real trees with leaves. The sound of actual birds—not monsters—chittering in the distance. The air felt cool, clean, and peaceful.
A weak, disbelieving smile played on my lips.
"I made it."
Three days of hell, and I'd finally reached the Green Forest.