(Day 1)

Darius stood in the middle of the forest, surrounded by trees so big they could probably charge rent. Massive. Ancient. Like giants. Honestly, they looked like the kind of trees you’d name something regal, like “Gerald, Guardian of Squirrels” or “Reginald, Lord of Acorns.”

But Darius wasn’t here for tree-naming. Nope. He had a job to do. Or at least that’s what he told himself.

He gripped his stone axe. Well, “axe” was a strong word. More like a rock tied to a stick with a string that tried its best. Not exactly champion material. But hey, you work with what you’ve got.

Darius took his first swing. More of a tap, really. Like a polite “excuse me” rather than a proper chop.

The tree didn’t even seem to notice. It just stood there, all oak-y and majestic, probably thinking, “Is this guy serious?”

But did Darius complain? Absolutely not.

He gripped that sad excuse for an axe tighter. Each swing at the tree was like a prayer. But not the kind you say before a meal. More like the desperate kind when you’re about to fail an exam you didn’t study for.

Every hit sent a shockwave through his arms, like the tree was laughing at him, “Oh, you thought this was going to be easy? Cute.” Chips of stone flew off. But the tree? Barely scratched.

Still, he kept going, picturing the warm fires and everyone depending on him. If he had to chop down this giant tree with a rock on a stick, by the gods, he was going to do it.

Hours passed. The sun lazily crawled across the sky, probably placing bets on when he would give up. The tree? Barely dented. Darius? Sweaty, exhausted, and looking like the “before” photo in a spa commercial.

But did he quit? Nope.

By the time the sun set, and darkness whispered, “Dude, go home,” Darius wobbled like a newborn deer. Legs were jelly. Arms were noodles. But his spirit? Still going. Somehow.

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(Day 2)

At the crack of dawn, before even the birds could think of singing, Darius was back. The tree looked the same. Massive. Majestic. And now slightly scarred. It might as well have been mocking him, “Oh, back for more? Adorable.”

But Darius wasn’t backing down. He swung. Again. Again. Muscles on autopilot. His brain? Not needed.

The axe got dull, as expected. Darius stopped, pretended he knew how to sharpen it, and got back to work. It felt oddly satisfying. Like he was preparing for some epic showdown.

The tree still stood there, silently judging him.

But Darius didn’t care. He swung with a vengeance. His movements turned into a weird dance. Like a tragic performance titled “Man vs. Tree: The Struggle.”

His hands were blistered. His entire body screamed in protest. But the thought of the village kept him swinging. Plus, he wasn’t about to be the guy who couldn’t chop down a single tree. That’s not the kind of reputation you want.

(Day 3)

It was no longer just about wood. This was personal.

His hands were basically one big blister. His shoulders felt like they were on fire. And yet, here he was.

He gripped the axe like it was his only friend. And honestly, at this point, it probably was.

Each swing was focused. Like chopping away all his stress.

The tree? Still standing. Still unimpressed.

He swung harder. Bad action movie style. Birds fled. Even they knew better.

His breaks were shorter, just enough to catch his breath and convince himself he wasn’t insane.

The tree was starting to look… well, not “small,” but maybe “slightly less invincible.” Progress.

(Day 4)

Darius could feel it. The end was near. The oak swayed. That tiny victory was enough. He could almost hear it groaning, “Fine, you win, human.”

No mistakes now. Darius adjusted his grip. Breathed deep. One last swing. The tree groaned. Collapsed.

The crash echoed through the forest. Birds took off in terror. And Darius stood there, drenched in sweat, feeling like a hero.

He did it. Not just for himself, but for the village. Now all he had to do was chop it up and drag it back. Easy, right?

(Day 5)

Today was all about getting that wood home. He made a sled out of branches. But let’s be real. It was more of a “please hold together” than a proper sled.

It creaked. Groaned. Much like Darius.

The logs? Heavy. The path? Rough. His legs? Two wrong moves away from quitting.

But he kept going. The forest seemed to part for him, like it understood what he had been through. His entire body was screaming. But the thought of the village kept him moving. One step. Another. Each one a small victory.

And then, finally, the village came into view. The houses looked like a beacon of hope. And with one last burst of energy, he pulled the sled into the campsite.

The logs hit the ground with a heavy thud, like they were saying, “We made it.”

As night fell, Darius stood tall. Well, wobbled slightly. But still proud. He had chopped down the giant oak. He had won.

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Chapter 9 Video/Audio version: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r4ExW6Edw-U