Chapter 3: Fruit

Elliot groaned awake, Day 3 in this godforsaken jungle. His HUD flickered into view as his eyes adjusted to the dappled light filtering through the canopy:

[Status: Fatigued. Hydration Level: 58%. Hunger: Moderate.]

The readout mocked him. He’d barely slept—perched in a knotted tree like some deranged bird—and he still felt every bruise from yesterday’s scramble through thorn-covered underbrush.

“I need to get out of this fucking place.” he muttered, swinging his legs over the branch and nearly losing his footing. “No food, no clean water, and even taking a shitting is scary.”

Last night’s disaster was still fresh in his mind. He’d just finished his business when he reached for what looked like a perfectly good leaf. The moment he pressed it to his backside, he’d felt the pinch—a sharp sting that made him yelp loud enough to scatter nearby creatures. Then came the notification:

[Encyclopedia Entry: Living Leaf. A small, deceptive mimic that blends with foliage. Known to deliver painful defensive bites. You are unlucky.]

Unlucky didn’t begin to cover it.

He dropped from the tree, his knees bending with practiced ease. A quick glance around confirmed no immediate threats—just the eerie, too-quiet stillness that set his nerves on edge. He adjusted the crude satchel slung over his shoulder and tapped his wrist to pull up the map overlay. The HUD flashed a crude rendering of the area he’d scouted so far: dense jungle, a small stream to the south, and a suspiciously open clearing ahead. That clearing would be his focus today.

It took about an hour of cautious hiking to get there. The path was oddly uneventful, which only deepened his unease. No skittering creatures, no predator calls, nothing. “Too quiet means too dangerous,” he whispered, trying to shake off the rising paranoia.

When he finally reached the clearing, he exhaled. The space was unremarkable—flat ground, sparse trees—but that was the appeal. Nothing remarkable meant fewer reasons for wanting it as a lair. He climbed a tree to get a better vantage point, scanning the horizon. To the west, he spotted a brook that shimmered an unnervingly clean blue, but it was the lack of animal trails around it that gave him pause. Still, water was water.

Jumping down, he began scouring the area for materials. His inventory system buzzed to life as he picked up a stick:

[Branch: A standard piece of wood. Weight: 0.6 kg. Attributes: None. How thrilling.]

The sarcasm in the descriptions wasn’t new, but it still felt like the HUD was mocking him. He found it strange that it had a personality. Weird fucking aliens. “Yeah, thanks for that,” he said under his breath.

The hours passed in a blur of gathering and sorting. Sticks, vines, leaves—anything remotely useful went into his inventory with a satisfying buzz. The HUD kept track, which was one small mercy. Still, the eerie stillness didn’t fade. His instincts whispered what his mind didn’t want to admit: if there was nothing here, it was because something bigger had claimed it.

He shivered, gripping a sturdy branch tight enough to whiten his knuckles. “I’ll deal with that later,” he muttered. “For now, shelter first. Survival later.”

With his inventory loaded and the sun high overhead, Elliot crouched in the clearing, sketching plans in the dirt with a stick. His HUD pinged again, almost impatiently:

[Reminder: Hunger increasing. Water required. Danger level: Low (for now).]

“For now,” he echoed grimly, shoving down the unease.

The panic was building, seeping into Elliot’s thoughts like water through a faulty dam. His supplies were meager, and food had been scarce during his foraging. The notifications on his HUD weren’t helping either:

[Hunger: Increasing. Hydration Level: 52%.]

He muttered a curse under his breath, pushing deeper into the forest, scanning for any edible foliage or fruit. After what felt like hours of trudging, he stumbled upon it—a tree so massive it seemed like it belonged to a fairy tale. Its trunk was a gleaming silver, the bark twisted into flowing patterns that almost looked deliberate. Silvery branches stretched high into the canopy, and hanging from them were fruits—plump, round, and faintly glowing.

Elliot’s mouth watered. The tree practically screamed off-limits, but the gnawing in his stomach won out. He stepped closer, cautiously at first, every nerve alert to the possibility of traps or predators. Seeing and hearing nothing, he darted forward, snatched one of the fruits, and hid behind a nearby tree to inspect it.

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[Lotus Fruit: A rare and coveted delicacy. Enhances physical strength temporarily. Guarded fiercely by the Watcher. Highly dangerous to obtain. Proceed with extreme caution.]

Elliot stared at the words, his fingers tightening around the fruit. "Oh god," he muttered, his voice a shaky whisper. "Guarded?"

The ground beneath his feet trembled—a subtle but unnerving vibration that seemed to pulse in time with his racing heartbeat. He heard it then, a sound that didn’t belong in any forest: slow, deliberate movement, impossibly heavy yet disturbingly quiet.

Without waiting to see the source, Elliot bolted. His lungs burned as he weaved between trees, clutching the fruit against his chest. Whatever it was, it followed, its presence pressing on him like an unbearable weight. The sound of its movement grew louder, closer, until it was suffocating. Then, just as suddenly, it stopped.

“Where do you think you’re going with my fruit, human?”

The voice came from his left. Deep, distorted, and wrong, it sounded like it came from everywhere and nowhere, as though the forest itself was speaking. Gravelly and jagged, each word dragged across his ears like broken glass. Elliot froze, his breath catching in his throat. Slowly, as if compelled by an unseen force, he turned his head.

It stood mere feet away, tall enough to blot out the moonlight filtering through the trees. Its body was grotesquely elongated, its arms and legs too long, bending at unnatural angles. The creature’s skin rippled and shimmered like oil on water, a shifting mass of mottled gray that seemed alive. A dark, oppressive aura clung to it, heavy and choking, pressing Elliot to the ground.

But it was the eyes that undid him. Twin orbs of faint, sickly light, their glow was subtle but piercing, like the flickering remnants of a dying star. When Elliot’s gaze accidentally met them, his mind reeled. Images—horrors he couldn’t comprehend—flashed before him: writhing shadows, twisted forms, screams that seemed to echo from the deepest pits of existence. He wrenched his eyes away, his entire body trembling, bile rising in his throat.

“Well?” The Watcher tilted its head, a slow, deliberate motion that seemed to stretch time itself. “What made you think you could just take my fruit? Do you think me blind? Stupid?”

Elliot’s voice faltered, his words caught in his throat. Urine trailed the back of his leg. God, he had pissed himself.

“Little fucker.” The Watcher barked a laugh, the sound resonating deep in Elliot’s chest like an earthquake. “Or are you so dull you can’t even form an apology? You humaniods always stumble into my domain, always touching what doesn’t belong to you. Like children fumbling in the dark.”

“I-I didn’t know,” Elliot stammered, the words barely audible over his pounding heart.

“Didn’t know?” The Watcher leaned closer, its presence an unbearable pressure. “Ignorance is no excuse, human. Do you think you are worthy of what you hold?”

“I’m sorry,” Elliot whispered, his hands shaking. He tightened his grip on the fruit, its faint warmth the only comfort in the suffocating cold of the Watcher’s aura.

The creature seemed to study him, the glowing eyes narrowing. “Pathetic,” it muttered, though there was an edge of something else in its tone—boredom, perhaps, or something resembling pity. “I’ve killed and played with far too many like you. It’s grown... tiresome.”

Elliot didn’t dare respond, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

“Still,” the Watcher continued, its tone shifting to something disturbingly casual. “You seem... useful. Perhaps I’ll spare you. This once.”

The weight of its presence grew heavier, forcing Elliot to his knees. “Y-you mean it?” he croaked, his voice barely audible.

The Watcher’s aura seemed to pulse with disdain. “Do not mistake my mercy for kindness. You are nothing, human. Now give me the fruit before I decide you’re worth more as fertilizer.”

With trembling hands, Elliot extended the fruit. “Here,” he whispered, barely able to meet the creature’s presence, let alone its gaze.

The fruit dissolved from his hands, vanishing as though it had never existed. The Watcher held it now, its elongated fingers curling reverently around it. Slowly, its gaze returned to Elliot. Those eyes, still faintly glowing, still showing him unspoken horrors. Elliot kept his own eyes down, unable to face them again.

“Good boy,” the Watcher said mockingly, the words dripping with venomous amusement. “Now run along, little thief. And remember: no fruit. No exceptions.”

The oppressive aura began to recede as the Watcher’s form wavered, its edges fraying like smoke in the wind. “Oh,” it added, its voice now faint and echoing as it dissipated, “do try to survive. You’re... amusing.”

And then it was gone.

The silence that followed was deafening, the forest itself seeming to hold its breath. Elliot collapsed to the ground, gasping for air, his limbs shaking uncontrollably. His HUD chimed softly:

[Alert: Stress levels critical. Recovery recommended.]

“Yeah,” Elliot croaked, forcing himself to his feet. “No fruit. Got it.”

He staggered away, his mind still reeling from the encounter. All he could think about was putting as much distance as possible between himself and the Watcher’s tree.