4

The boar realized Vander had no plans to stop and raised on its two back hooves and used its massive size and affinity with earth to slam its full weight on the ground. A crater formed, and the entire forest shook from the boar’s power.

Vander’s dad nearly stumbled, but Vander grabbed his old man’s arm and dragged him forward. Even if his legs nearly turned to jelly, he refused to let either one of them die there. When the old man got stable, he redoubled his efforts and continued forward, putting himself between the swarm of Terror Monkeys and his dad’s retreating back.

Their legs pumped furiously, motivated by the squeaking and yipping of the monkey horde behind them. With no regard to stealth or concern for any other predator appearing—they knew better than to mess with a pissed-off death squad—the pair of hunters didn’t need to worry about being accosted by anything new.

That didn’t mean the things chasing them would make their lives easy. With a dizzying snort they heard even from out of line of sight, the ground shook as if the entire forest of trees was toppling over around them.

The Erymanthian Boar was coming after them. The constant shaking and near-liquifying force shooting through their bodies was the result of its massive body stomping its way behind them, brutalizing anything in its way.

Death monkeys, trees, or otherwise.

Its figure blurred. The smart Terror Monkeys got out of its way. The smarter ones hopped on its back and held on for dear life.

Fuckers!

The boar moved too fast for even his senses to catch. He didn’t let that bother him and focused on doing whatever it took to stay alive. And at that moment, more running.

His new world dad didn’t have the same luxury. Vander easily kept pace, and the old man started to drag. They’d trained their bodies and skills, but hunts usually didn’t drag on for so long. This mad dash to survive wasn’t something the old man’s body or skills seemed capable of dealing with.

So it comes to this. His frantic running slowed as his dad’s back disappeared deeper into the forest. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, feeling the ground trembling through his feet. If I can’t do at least this, I should just die here.

The rampaging steps of the enraged boar and sounds of pissed-off death monkeys drew closer. He stayed absolutely still until the last moment, the moment before the massive boar would have pancaked him.

Now!

Vander threw himself to the side and transitioned into a fluid roll-hop that put him back on his feet. Now that the old man was out of sight, all the beasts decided a Vander snack would taste even better.

Pushing the extent of the running skill to the max, he tore through the forest with the bogies hot on his tail. However, now that he didn’t need to limit himself to the speed of his old man, the forest blurred around him.

The colors, brush, and trees all mixed together in a way that made him afraid he’d mess up once and become a splatter of Vander paste. Running at terminal velocity might seem fun, but the air alone felt like knives cutting into his skin.

At some point, he forgot he’d been trying to escape all the pointy bits of the beasts in the first place and just got lost at a slower, more sustainable pace. The smells of the fresh forest air and the feeling of the wind blowing through him, causing his cloak to flutter behind him, all captivated him in a way he’d never truly experienced before.

Is this what the running skill can really do? I wonder how much of the speed I can maintain comes from the skill and how much comes from my increased attributes? He finally came to a stop, long since losing his pursuers.

Having run so fast he couldn’t identify the area he was in left him dazed and out of sorts for a few minutes. His years of training, both past and present, calmed his excited heart enough for him to focus on gathering his bearings.

The first step was to backtrack until he found something he could identify. The moisture in the air and density of the foliage clued him in to a realization that made his heart skip a beat.

I almost fucked up big time. Too much farther… I don’t even want to think about what those fuckers would’ve done to me.

Vander returned the way he’d come. Wariness in every move, he skulked through The Snarl until he started recognizing the terrain. The deep, bone-shuddering fear in his gut abated. His movements eased up, far less cautious but still attentive.

Finally out of danger. Hope Pops made it back alright, he thought.

He continued back the way he’d come, curious to see if he’d be able to tail the giant boar or get a read on the Terror Monkeys’ current state. Those spiteful bastards held grudges, so he wouldn’t be surprised to find a few stragglers lurking around.

But also, Vander was anything but an optimist. When he’d drawn the attention of the beasts, he hadn’t been able to see if all the death monkeys had actually followed him in their rage. His gut told him no.

He’d never been their target from the beginning. Vander wasn’t the one who’d kicked the infant Terror Monkey. Seeing how many of them chased after him could give him a good measurement of probability for whether or not his new world dad survived.

The thought of new world dad dying stung in a way he didn’t want to think about, so he kept moving. He didn’t have to walk long to find a grand mess of things. Tracking picked up way too many details all at once and caused Vander’s head to throb.

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“Holy hell,” he muttered.

A bloodbath occurred, probably after the beasts lost track of him. The Terror Monkeys would never stop their death-squad slaughterfest once initiated, even if they killed something completely innocent and not at all the cause for their rage.

So the fact dozens of Terror Monkey corpses were strewn everywhere didn’t surprise Vander. Nor did all the fallen trees. The amount of blood didn’t make sense though. Matted fur littered the ground, as did chunks of boar meat.

From what Vander saw, another predator had stepped in. Given the amount of blood present, he didn’t find that surprising. Not even slightly. Even he’d smelled the thick tinge of blood in the air long before reaching the boar versus monkey battlefield.

Considering the current situation and the involvement of another potential predator looking for an easy snack, Vander decided that retreating and finding his new world dad would be the best option. Even if he couldn’t get a grasp on the state of the Erymanthian Boar or the Terror Monkeys, finding and supporting the old man would be the better option.

Because staying here any longer with a predator lurking around that could threaten that bastard boar, even injured, meant the lines of the predators had shifted. Because of them, a predator likely killed the weakened boar and claimed its territory. If that were the case, it also likely went after the rest of the monkeys and followed the scent back to the old man. Maybe, maybe not. It had already claimed a lot of territory, and the boar was large enough to fill its belly and Core.

He gave the boar’s tracks one last backward glance as he retraced his steps. Shortly after, he broke away from the paths to beeline straight back to their previous camp. Enari might have sent a signal to them for reinforcements, but all things considered, his dad should’ve retreated back to their previous camp or a hideaway near the vicinity.

Seeing as nothing but the camp had been set up in the area, Vander didn’t need to consider too hard where he should head. He cut through the trees and brush, making his way towards the camp.

The entire time, he replayed the events in his head. Something unsettled the old man enough for him to irrationally lash out at the infant Terror Monkey, despite knowing leaving it alive would draw a whole horde their way.

Does he have a death wish? Vander wondered. His intuition, born from observing the old man’s lifeless eyes and defeated disposition over his life, screamed yes. But… why now?

Vander kept his spear at the ready as he jogged through the forest towards the camp. If the fire had been lit by his dad, he should’ve been able to see it by now. There were so many factors he didn’t know, he couldn’t make any conclusive deduction from the events that happened.

The biggest unknowns were the amount of Terror Monkeys that chased after his old man and… if the old man would even fight back if they caught up to him. The thought that the old man would just give up on life irked Vander and made him increase his pace from a slight jog to a quick, measured run.

He made haste to the rendezvous point, the old camp they’d just abandoned, yet… he did so in a way that dragged the trip out longer. He detoured to scout, checked the nearest locations in a zig-zag pattern, and checked any traps in his path, resetting them with his improved skills once he finished.

The whole situation turned to such shit, Vander didn’t know if moving faster or slower would be better; if collecting whatever he could find would be a bigger benefit to showing up as fast as he could. His new world dad wasn’t a slouch when it came to his ability to fight off the beasts in the outer circle of The Snarl.

But his will to live… That was questionable on a good day. And this day didn’t seem to be one of those.

Vander slinked through The Snarl’s shadows by habit, keeping himself fairly safe out of habit. As he moved closer and closer to the inevitable conclusion of their failed hunt, he thought about what his dad told him before they left.

My mother was a Zealot. She was one of the bastards that supported murdering children…

No matter how hard he may try to think of literally anything else, those words continue haunting him and forced their way to the forefront of his mind. Logically, he knew he should’ve hurried to get to the rendezvous point to meet his dad and resupply for the trip to Enari…

But I need to be alone. I need to breathe, to think, to really consider who and what I am.

The reincarnation from Wanda to whatever the fuck this world’s name might’ve been really threw him for a loop. He’d seen potential in the whole deal when he talked to the goddess Amany. The potential for something new, refreshing… a life of freedom. All of that tempted him when he’d met with her, but the Zealots robbed him of his first two reincarnations.

They’d made him an enemy when he’d never have known any better. If they just left him alone—but no. Of course he had to be reborn into the body—twice!—of the person they hunted for. He couldn’t just be left alone to live his life peacefully after serving as the DMHA’s dog for so long.

Nope, no way. Of course not. No peace to be found here.

Artemis’ first memory played back in Vander’s mind. The cloudy recollection of events, caused by the passage of a great amount of time and fractured by all the tragedies the man experienced, was of Andromeda. The goddess Artemis fought so hard to save over so many reincarnations, so many lives. She’d laid there over the hunter’s broken corpse. Tears spilled from her eyes, falling upon his broken, dying body like a piteous rain. Her blessing, the curse Vander inherited from Artemis, spirited the hunter away.

Even as his soul was being claimed by another and thrown back into the cycle of reincarnation, his determined persistence kept him there long enough to see the chains of The Mad God wrap around her, draining her of power.

The chains of the Mad God. That, more than anything else, was clear. Everything else just blurred and blended into nothingness.

Do I—do I even care? Doesn’t really seem like my problem, even if I inherited Artemis’ body and curse. Plus, when Artemis died, he could barely even remember her face anymore. Already, he’d long since forgotten the sound of her voice calling to him.

Vander pondered the dilemma as he continued to move, trying his best to distract himself from the nagging in his stomach.

Really, all that remained was a dull yearning for something he’d once lost, a love he never truly got to experience. As shitty as it may seem, there’s no reason for me to save her.

The thought left a sour taste in his mouth. He considered all the lives Artemis had lived, feeling as if each and every one were meaningless. Vander couldn’t help but consider all the struggles over who knew how many millennia to be nothing but a huge waste of time.

Each time he thought of abandoning Andromeda to her unfortunate fate, a gut-wrenching sense of indignation grew deep within his chest.

I don’t know what to think anymore. This is in no way, shape, or form my problem, but this body seems to think otherwise. It’s almost as if a piece of Artemis’ soul has been left behind to make me feel shitty if I don’t do things that progress his own goals, Vander grumbled internally.

However, he had more pressing issues to face. He’d kept himself from seeing the result of the failed hunting excursion long enough. There was nothing else left for him to check before he reached the camp. No matter how hard he thought about what he could do to avoid the inevitable, he couldn’t bring himself to delay any longer.