Alonso knelt by the water’s edge, watching the ripples in the shallow tide. It had taken him the better part of the morning to set up this rudimentary trap. Testing the leeches had been an interesting, if not unnerving, experiment.

They were drawn to blood quickly, like sharks to a drop in the ocean, but without the scent of blood, they still came—just much more slowly. This led him to believe they relied on a combination of motion and chemical detectors to hunt, sensing vibrations in the water and the scent of a potential meal.

He had improvised a setup right on the beach, using the sand and a bit of ingenuity. He dug a shallow pit near the water’s edge, just deep enough to hold his bait—a small amount of his own blood mixed with shredded leaves to simulate a larger, moving target. He used some gathered debris and sand to weigh the mixture down, ensuring it wouldn’t be washed away too quickly by the tide.

The setup was simple but effective. The pit allowed him to stay out of target while keeping the bait in place, just within reach of the approaching leeches. His EM waves swept the area, constantly scanning for any vibrations that would signal the arrival of one of the ugly bastards.

He had already caught and killed more than a dozen of them, each time becoming a bit more efficient with his strikes. The task was repetitive, almost mind-numbing, but it served its purpose. If the cap was the same as with the worms, he estimated he’d need to kill 30 more to reach the 49 cap.

As he crouched near his makeshift fishing pit, he felt the tension in his muscles gradually ease. The rhythm of waiting, watching, and striking had a strange, almost meditative effect on him. The endless repetition, combined with the steady sound of the waves, lulled him into a state of focused calm.

His thoughts drifted back to those rare fishing trips with his dad. They weren’t expert anglers by any means, just two amateurs enjoying a day on the lake. They would spend hours in a small rented boat, casting lines into the water, more often than not catching nothing at all. But that wasn’t really the point. The quiet companionship, the gentle lapping of water against the boat, the occasional shared smile or laugh—it was all about being present in the moment, together.

Here, on this desolate beach, with the sun beating down and the sea stretching out endlessly before him, Alonso felt a distant echo of that same calm. It was absurd, really—fishing for deadly leeches in a life-or-death situation, yet finding a twisted sense of peace in the act. The waiting, the anticipation, the focus on the water's surface—it was all eerily similar.

He could almost hear his father’s voice, offering a quiet word of encouragement or a joke to pass the time. They would both sit in silence for long stretches, just waiting for the telltale tug on the line. And when it finally came, there was always that brief moment of adrenaline—a quickened heartbeat, the sudden shift from stillness to action.

As another vibration rippled through the water, his body responded on instinct. The leech lunged, and with a swift, precise motion, his sword sliced through the air, severing the creature. The tension in his muscles released as he watched the orb rise to the surface.

Alonso reached down to collect it.

> Stage 1 - 1.288%

As he settled back into the rhythm of waiting, something in the distance caught his eye—a subtle movement far out on the horizon. His attention snapped to the source, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. He squinted against the glare of the sun, trying to make out what it was.

Another human?

His heart skipped a beat. Could it be Chiara?

"Please God, if you’re out there, don’t let it be her."

“Since when are you religious, Houston?”

Alonso chuckled, shaking his head as he set his trap back. In any case, it was about time he gave it some maintenance and injected a bit more of his blood.

But his thoughts quickly returned to the figure approaching in the distance. He couldn’t afford to take any chances, so he grabbed his sword, holding it firmly as he prepared for whoever was coming his way.

As the figure drew closer, his initial hope faded. It wasn’t Chiara, nor was it a woman at all. The person jogging toward him was a man—tall, with long, disheveled hair and an unkempt beard. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, only some tattered shorts, and like everyone else he had encountered here, he had a sword in hand.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Alonso watched as the man approached, noting his casual gait and the easy smile on his face. The man didn’t seem to be in a hurry, jogging lightly along the shore until he came to a stop just a few meters away.

“Hola, ¿cómo estás?” the man greeted, his Spanish clumsy and clearly not his first language.

Alonso frowned, slightly surprised that the man had spoken in his native language. Did he look so stereotypically Latin that the man could guess? Still, he knew Spanish wouldn’t take them far. “English, perhaps?” he suggested.

The man chuckled and nodded. “Yes, that’ll be better,” he agreed, switching to English but speaking with a strong accent Alonso couldn’t quite place.

"Name’s Jonah," the man introduced himself, his voice warm and friendly.

"Alonso," he replied evenly.

Jonah’s eyes swept over Alonso, taking in the scars and dried blood. "Looks like you’ve had a rough time with the bloody worms too," Jonah said with a grin, gesturing to the marks on his own body. "This place has a way of testing you, doesn’t it?"

“This guy is screaming his intentions. Talking about being subtle. Anyway, be ready. He probably has more progress than you if he’s hunting humans. Try not to die on this one.”

Alonso’s face remained neutral as he nodded. "It does."

Jonah took a few steps closer, still smiling. "I’ve been trying to find a way off this island and out of all this surreal mess, but no luck so far. You?"

"Same here," Alonso responded, keeping his voice calm. He stood his ground as Jonah edged a bit closer, maintaining a comfortable distance between them.

"You know," Jonah continued, his tone still light, "if we team up, we might stand a better chance. Two swords are better than one, right?"

Alonso remained silent for a moment. "I'd rather stick to myself, Jonah," he replied, glancing at the shoreline. "But it’s good to see another face." He glanced back at him. "Take care."

Jonah's smile didn’t waver, but there was a brief flicker in his eyes as he absorbed Alonso's words. "I get it," he said, nodding slowly. "Everyone has their own way of handling things. Can’t blame you for wanting to stick to your own. But I’ve seen creatures out there, especially at night, that aren’t meant to be faced alone. Trust me, there’s a reason we’re put together here."

“Damn. He’s not backing off. Shit. Stay calm, okay.”

Alonso shifted his stance slightly, his grip on his sword tightening imperceptibly. "I appreciate the warning," he said, his tone remaining calm, "but I’ll take my chances. I’ve managed so far."

Jonah's eyes flicked down to Alonso's sword, and then back up to meet his gaze. "I’m sure you have," he replied, the warmth in his voice hardening ever so slightly. "But I wouldn’t want to see anyone get hurt because of a misunderstanding. You know how this place is—it’s every man for himself, but sometimes… well, sometimes you need to think about survival over pride."

“He’s waiting for an opening. He thinks he has the upper hand. Don’t let him get inside your guard.”

"Survival’s all I’m thinking about," Alonso said, his voice cool. "And I know what I’m capable of. I’m not looking for trouble, Jonah."

Jonah’s smile faded just a bit, the tension between them palpable now. "Neither am I, Alonso," he said softly, almost too softly. "But sometimes… trouble finds you."

The subtle shift in Jonah’s posture was all the warning Alonso needed. He caught the slight twitch in Jonah’s arm, the way his weight shifted forward.

“Now!”

In an instant, Jonah lunged, his sword slashing through the air toward Alonso. But Alonso was ready. He stepped back just enough to dodge the initial strike, his own sword coming up to deflect the blow with a sharp clang of metal.

“Jonah, this isn’t worth it,” Alonso said, his voice steady despite the tension. “There are other ways to get stronger, to make stage progress. We don’t have to do this.”

Jonah didn’t respond immediately, his eyes narrowing as he sized up Alonso. He took a quick step forward, testing Alonso’s guard with a feint to the left. Alonso didn’t bite, holding his ground, his sword poised to counter.

“Maybe,” Jonah finally said, his voice a low growl. “But this is the fastest way.”

He lunged again, his sword aimed at Alonso’s midsection. Alonso parried the strike, the clash of metal echoing across the beach. Jonah was fast, faster than Alonso expected, and there was a strength behind his strikes that he could feel with each clash.

Jonah followed up with a quick series of strikes, testing Alonso’s defenses from different angles. Alonso deflected each one, his movements precise and controlled, but he could feel the pressure mounting. Jonah was relentless, his attacks flowing seamlessly from one to the next, giving him little time to recover. It was definitely not his first time fighting a human like this.

Alonso countered with a quick thrust aimed at Jonah’s shoulder, but Jonah twisted away, barely avoiding the strike. He retaliated with a diagonal slash, forcing Alonso to pivot and parry. The two of them circled each other, swords clashing with every step, their movements a deadly dance on the sand.

“Jonah, back off,” Alonso urged between breaths. "This isn't worth dying over."

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he replied, his voice cold and resolute.