Hours had melted away since Gabriel's entrance into the Dark Forest. It was aptly named, not for any malevolent intent harbored within its trees, but because of the dense canopy that shrouded it in perpetual darkness. Even the most seasoned of hunters shied away. But for Gabriel, with danger nipping at his heels, the Dark Forest was a refuge.
Guided only by an internal compass, he pressed onward, aiming south. However, the labyrinthine expanse of the forest deceived his sense of direction repeatedly. Obtrusive trees with twisted roots diverted his route, and sprawling thickets clutched at his feet. The very earth seemed to conspire against his progress. He walked by a cluster of trees that seemed eerily familiar.
“Am I walking in circles?” he whispered. Then again, all the trees looked similar. I can’t stop. They’ll catch me if I do.
As Gabriel treaded onward, every step sent a jolt through his aching ankle. After what felt like an eternity, a lone ray of sunlight pierced the dense, green canopy above, illuminating a solitary tree. “I’m such a fool! I’m going the wrong way,” he yelled at the trees. The light was peeking from the east. I’ve been walking westward rather than to the south. Despair hung heavily on his chest.
Thirst clawed at him, insistent and unyielding. His lips cracked from dehydration, and every attempt to swallow felt like sandpaper against his raw throat. Seeking solace, he leaned into the rough embrace of a nearby tree, inhaling deeply to steady his racing heart. He crouched to massage his aching ankle, throbbing as the protective veil of adrenaline dissipated. Weariness tugged at his eyelids, a reminder of the sleepless night behind him. Doubt clouded his thoughts. "How do I press on?" he murmured, half-expecting a whisper from the rustling leaves above. Steeling himself, "I need to move. Find water, some sustenance." With a brisk slap to his cheeks, he summoned a burst of resolve. "Stay strong, Gabriel. Push through."
With every step, a fierce internal struggle raged on — his body's desperate plea for respite clashing with his mind's determination to persevere. To distract himself, he counted each laborious stride, the methodical rhythm a brief respite from his dire predicament.
Eventually, fatigue overpowered his tenacity. Collapsing amidst the fallen leaves, he lay staring upwards. Removing his soiled boot, he assessed his injured ankle. He could flex it, but sharp twinges of agony rebuked every movement. Though he discerned no severe injury, the implications of walking in such agony were grave. Faint bluish bruises marred his skin, but more concerning was the pronounced swelling.
"I need to compress it," he said.
Gabriel drew his mother's knife, he paused, noting the dried blood marring its blade. After cleaning it with a corner of his tunic, he sliced a strip from his shirt and bandaged his ankle. His hands fumbled, and uncertainty about the bandage's stability lingered. Hope was all he had left. Hope that it would hold firm, hope that he would survive long enough to regret his actions.
Remaining seated, he resisted the temptation to lie down, knowing that sleep would soon claim him if he did. A creeping drowsiness blurred the edges of his consciousness, causing his eyelids to grow heavy. With a jolt, he forced himself awake, recognizing the danger of succumbing to sleep now. Carefully rising, he plucked several leaves from a nearby branch. Desperate for any hint of moisture, he pressed them between trembling fingers, but they relinquished only a few scant drops. Their bitter taste further emphasized his parched throat.
Regret consumed him. If only he'd paid more heed during lessons on forestry and hunting. Such knowledge would have been invaluable now. He felt dangerously out of his depth.
With a limping gait, Gabriel ventured deeper into the woods. Suddenly, a soft rustle and the telltale snap of a twig had him spinning around, alert. "Who's there?" he called out.
Once more, there was no reply. He held his breath for a moment, straining his ears for any further sounds. The same noise echoed, but it was softer and more distant. It must be an animal. “Come here, whatever you are.” Silence, his new friend, stayed resolute.
"They likely caught my scent and kept their distance. I can't fault them for that."
While he had grown somewhat accustomed to the foul stench of blood and grime that clung to him, it was still repugnant. On a hopeful note, he thought, if they've unleashed hunting dogs, perhaps this very odor might mislead them. Still, doubt plagued him. If they found out he'd escaped through the sewers, he could only hope he'd secured a significant enough lead.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
If there are animals, then there must be a water source nearby. I just have to find it. Hopefully, on my trek southward, I’ll find one.
He halted. “Damn it to Ash.” The noise distracted me. I don’t remember which direction I came from.
He scanned his environment, trying to recognize any familiar landmarks, but it was in vain. Glancing downward, he attempted to identify any footprints or signs of his recent passage, but he didn't even know what to search for. I can’t even trace my own footsteps. I’m doomed.
With the sky obscured by the dense canopy, Gabriel could only guess his direction as he resumed his trek. The forest seemed to play a cruel game, its appearance constantly changing, disorienting his fatigued senses. But then, a burst of color captured his gaze — a bush laden with ripe, gleaming berries. In the subdued light, they seemed almost mythical, reminiscent of the alluring fruits of ancient tales. Hunger clawed at him, tempting him to pluck and taste, yet caution held him back. What if they’re poisonous? I can’t risk it. Not yet. Drawing on every ounce of his willpower, he left the tantalizing berries untouched and continued on his path.
With each passing hour, his vitality ebbed away. His strides, once purposeful, became languid and labored. By his tally, he had halted thrice and had taken precisely 23,132 steps before fatigue riveted him to the earth. Nightfall cloaked the forest, plunging it into an impenetrable obsidian. Tremors seized him, the oppressive dark evoking memories of the sewer's abyss he had navigated.
Searching for refuge, he settled into the embrace of an ancient tree, its roots fanning out like the protective grasp of a guardian. The tree's rugged bark provided a modest shield from the piercing chill of the night, a comfort for which Gabriel was deeply thankful. Inevitably, he succumbed to the night, his slumber plagued by haunting dreams.
Visages tormented him. The men he had slain materialized before him, their vacant stares piercing through him, searching the depths of his conscience. Their faces contorted with pain and recrimination. Among them loomed the Demon, eyes ablaze with malevolence, his mouth stretching into a grotesque grin. The Demon whispered taunts that melded with the wind, filling the forest with sinister laughter. It was as if the very essence of the Dark Forest conspired with his own guilty conscience to torment him.
Tossing and turning, Gabriel fought through the night, caught between the unforgiving reality of the forest and the even more brutal world of his dreams.
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The vast, oppressive stretch of the Dark Forest loomed endlessly ahead. With every step, the burdens of Gabriel's past seemed to drag him further into its claustrophobic grip. The glimmer of hope for a water source became his beacon, a frail strand preventing his spirit from being entirely submerged in despair. He lifted his gaze skyward, yearning for even a sliver of sunlight to gauge his direction, but fortune was not on his side.
During his aimless trek, Gabriel stumbled upon another bush heavy with berries. Desperation swiftly eclipsed caution. Without hesitation, he greedily devoured a handful. Their sugary burst was a fleeting solace on his desiccated palate. However, the momentary relief soon morphed into a stabbing pain in his abdomen. He clutched at his stomach, pressing firmly in a vain attempt to dull the agony. The mere sight of blood once made him queasy, but that sensation paled compared to this torment. Doubling over, he found himself on all fours, violently expelling the meager contents of his stomach. The world around him became hazy, and his perceptions spiraled out of control.
In the enveloping twilight, vibrant hues and shifting patterns danced before his eyes. The very forest around him seemed awash in a surreal palette of color. He reached out, seeking some semblance of reality amidst the vivid tableau, but instead of the familiar touch of bark or leaves, his fingers closed around the frigid grip of a sword stained with fresh blood.
Holding it up, he tried to find his reflection in the blade, but it trailed eerie afterimages, giving the illusion of multiple swords swaying in tandem. Its obsidian sheen mirrored the black stone of his necklace. The world around him warped, colors bleeding into one another, shapes blurring and reforming. The muffled sensation enveloped him, as if he was beneath the surface of a still pond.
A murmur, barely discernible above the leaves' whispering, resonated in his ears. "Why, Gabriel?" The sorrow-laden voice of his mother reverberated, looping endlessly.
She materialized from behind a tree, her emerald eyes unsettlingly luminous. A macabre crimson stained her attire, originating from a grievous wound she cradled in her hand.
"Ma," Gabriel murmured, his voice choked with sorrow.
"Why, Gabriel?"
His eyes swelled with tears, voice breaking. "I never wanted any of this."
"You've become a monster. You took my life."
"No, Ma, I swear I didn't," he pleaded, anguish evident in every word.
She drew closer, every ounce of her features contorted in a fusion of pain and wrath. Her hands closed around his throat, squeezing with a force that threatened to extinguish his very life. "Ma, please," he choked out. "Please, stop."
But his pleas fell on deaf ears. In desperation, Gabriel grasped the sword and drove it into her. Her eyes locked onto his, their depth carrying an unspeakable pain. "You've killed me. Why, Gabriel?" Matilda’s voice was a heart-wrenching blend of question, accusation, and mournful lament.
Time seemed to splinter as the scene replayed — each scream, each crimson spatter, each tear amplified the unbearable weight of his guilt.
With every iteration of the ghoulish vision, the notion hammered more deeply. I've slain my own mother. The thought crescendoed into an overwhelming, tormenting refrain, pinning him within the confines of his remorse-laden psyche.
Eventually, darkness swallowed Gabriel, and he sank into the depths of unconsciousness.