It was the first lunar month, when the crimson moon hung like a wound in the bleak sky over the southeastern region of the Four Symbols Desolate Continent.

The moon's baleful light painted the world in shades of blood, its radiance seeming to pulse with malevolent life. Beneath its glow, shadows writhed and twisted, as if the very darkness had gained awareness. When the light touched the ground, it left behind traces that gleamed like fresh gore, turning the barren earth into a tableau of ancient slaughter.

The wastelands of Gray Haven stretched on endlessly, an expanse of desolation in the south of the continent where even the scattered vegetation stood as testament to decay rather than life. What plants remained had not the vibrant green of living things, but rather the dark, twisted forms of life corrupted, or white as if drained of life.

The Greenstone Forest stood out from these pale wastes like a dark green monument to survival. Its stonewood trees, harder than iron and older than memory, stood as silent watchers over their domain. Their branches intertwined above, weaving a canopy so thick it denied even the crimson moonlight’s passage to the forest floor. From within this darkness came the sounds of life and death—the faint chirps of birds mixing with the low growls of beasts, a constant reminder that in this place, everything was either predator or prey.

This forest was more than just a collection of trees. It was a nexus of resources necessary for both survival and evolution, drawing creatures from across the wastes. The desolate beasts that called it home had made it their hunting ground, their breeding ground, and their killing ground.

Here, beneath the giant roots of the ancient stonewood trees, tangled in creeping vines that seemed eager for fresh sustenance, lay the evidence of humanity's place in this savage hierarchy. Corpses and skeletons of men and women who had dared to enter this realm littered the ground, their remains deemed unworthy of even being devoured by the forest's denizens.

Somewhere beneath the canopy, against some roots lay a mother's corpse, skin stretched grotesquely over bone, her lifeless arms still locked around her infant child. The climbing vines showed no reverence as they crept over both bodies, nature already beginning its cruel reclamation.

A pale white hare darted through the forest's underbelly, its ruby-like eyes gleaming with an unnatural light. It paused atop the mother and child, ears twitching as it surveyed its surroundings. The corpses were just another part of the landscape to it, no different from fallen logs or scattered stones.

The hare's ears suddenly perked up, sensing danger. Its thick legs tensed to leap away, but it was one heartbeat too late. A shadow descended from above, its back bristling with steel-like thorns that transformed the Muscle Rabbit's flesh into a bleeding sieve.

The Thorned Rat's thick tail waved vigorously with force atop its belly as its prey's struggles weakened. Instead of immediately devouring its kill, it curled cautiously on the ground, using its tail to carefully force the hare from its thorned back, mindful of the blood spillage.

In the shadows of the nearby undergrowth, darkness split open to reveal two glowing green orbs. The orbs studied the scene with calculating precision before fixing upon the successful hunter. Though still merged with the shadows, the hidden watcher crept forward, closing the distance until it lurked mere feet from the preoccupied Thorned Rat.

The rat hissed in warning but faltered before the feline's steady gaze. The Shadowfang Cat's size alone—four times larger than the rat—and its thick muscles beneath black fur made threats unnecessary.

The rat's confidence crumbled as its bluff failed. While Thorned Rats usually hunted in packs, this one was an outcast. Alone, it stood no chance against a Shadowfang Cat.

It backed away carefully, and the feline let it go. Not from mercy—in this forest, even a minor wound could mean death. The feline's choice was made by pure survival instinct.

Some distance away, nestled between the cracks of a jagged cliff, a skinny figure curled up in the shadows. His breath was shallow, his body still as the stone beneath him. His thoughts drifting with the baleful winds.

I can only hold out for at most another day, then I will have to call this one a failure.

For six days, the young scavenger had waited, hunger gnawing at his stomach, his muscles locked in a painful stasis. The wastelands of Gray Haven had no mercy, the weak were slaughtered every few breaths. As an ordinary mortal, he was at the bottom of the food chain in these lands, incapable of hunting these incarnations of terror himself.

Fortunately, heaven always leaves a way out. Many desolate beasts were picky eaters and didn't always eat to kill or kill to eat—there were herbivores, those who ate only eyes, those who preferred bones, and many varieties. As scavengers, they sought out these fragmented corpses from other beasts' hunts and skirmishes.

As it so happened, while ordinary humans were most certainly the weakest existence, they still had to compete with weaker desolate beasts also incapable of hunting for themselves for ownership of the prized leftovers.

Scavenging was not a human-exclusive profession.

This worsened the situation for human scavengers; venturing into the dens of monsters trying to remain undetected was already a tall order, but even after doing so they had to compete with other weak desolate beasts for wealth; who were more than capable of ripping them apart.

It was a high-risk profession with many perishing in their first or second years even while being careful. In fact, living for a few months as a scavenger was already quite praiseworthy.

Here atop the cliff, the young scavenger was making a gamble, one with a rare minimal risk of death from occupational hazards. This gamble hinged on scraps of knowledge gleaned from his mentor's yellowed notes and the muttered assurances of an info broker.

“I hope he wasn’t exaggerating the migration patterns.” The young scavenger hoarsely muttered to himself giving his petrified vocal cards some work.

Somewhere below, a horde of Thorned Rats should cross paths with a herd of Ivory Head Rhinos. The odds of the two forces colliding? Slim—maybe a one in ten possibility. But if they did, with the power gap between the inferior level and superior level black iron desolate creatures, chaos would follow in the form of a stampede.

A stampede meant death.

Death meant corpses.

And corpses meant a scavenger's belly was full and they could live for another week.

It was common practice to hunt once and live off the hunt for days or even weeks before venturing out again. Each expedition was a brush with death in the face of desolate beasts.

Desolate beasts were practically a force of nature. These magical beings that could directly harness the vitality of heaven and earth were both a danger and a treasure from head to toe. Their saliva could be used for healing, making potions, and disinfecting wounds. Their hides could be used as armor, protecting one against harm and injury. Their blood and vital organs could be processed into food and gene potions, giving one a chance to attain great power.

But even the weakest desolate beast could slaughter dozens of men by itself. So, hunting one was a pipe dream for a mere mortal, the only option was to seek out the leftovers from the hunts of true predators hoping to find a bargain, some fresh blood, intact organs, anything that could be sold.

Most days, he returned empty-handed, pockets lined with dust and hope worn thin. Yet he endured. The scavenger's creed was etched into his soul: fortune favors those who wait.

Even here, in the den of monsters, the young scavenger clung to that resolve.

Blocking out the ache in his stomach as the last of his fasting powder was long gone, he felt the biting wind tearing at his skin. Every ounce of energy was hoarded, and every thought was controlled.

It was a low risk bet to begin with, so I lose nothing. Still, I might as well wait until the end.

As his hope smoothly extinguished itself, it was once again reignited when the silent earth began to whisper.

A very faint vibration tickled his fingertips where they gripped the stone. Thrum. Thrum. His breathing hitched as he focused on his senses.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

The rhythm grew into a drumbeat. Thud. Thud. Thud. The young man's eyes snapped open as his dark world rushed back into focus, the tiny gap in the cliffs serving as his telescope.

A hazy shroud of dust spread across the valley. Though his heart raced, he remained still, controlling his breath.

Something's wrong. The sound is too loud.

His scavenger's instincts screamed of danger. Even Ivory Head Rhinos shouldn't shake the earth this violently.

The vibrations intensified beneath his fingers. Thrum. Thrum. Thrum. Claws scraped stones, hooves thundered, merging into a deafening crescendo.

They were too close, and advancing too quickly.

Then came the roar.

A roar that cut through the valley like a blade, shattering thought and flesh alike.

RAAAAAWWWR!

The force slammed into him, more physical than sound, shaking the cliff beneath him.

The air seemed thinner yet denser at the same time. His body seized instantly. Muscles locked, breath caught, his mind shouting for movement that wouldn't come. He felt trapped in a prison of his own flesh.

This was different from his past encounters with desolate beasts, while scary it was never to such an exaggerated degree, this instinctual fear was at the cellular level… his body was reacting to a higher existence, so it could only be from a… Beast Lord.

The roar's echoes struck the cliffs again and again, each wave drowning him deeper in terror. This wasn't a sound meant for insects like him. It was a declaration of absolute power to all in the forest.

So the legends were true after all.

Stories spoke of a single ruler in Greenstone Forest. Most laughed at the idea of countless ruthless desolate beasts bowing to one creature. But now he understood why.

A mere roar from miles away had turned him to stone.

Everything else vanished before it—the thundering hooves, the scratching claws, all buried under that sound. His sharp mind cracked like glass. He could only sit there trembling as the echo faded into silence. His body never felt so foreign to him.

Just as his thoughts began to clear, a second roar shattered the air.

Another one?

Somethings off… This one's a little different.

If the first roar was that of a pure beast, the second carried the shrill cry of a bird.

At this time, the stampede of beasts burst through the dust clouds. Only then did he recognize why the stampede was louder than expected.

There were not just Thorned Rats and Ivory Head Rhinos rushing away.

They also hadn't clashed from different directions as he had hoped. Instead, a chaotic exodus of monsters of different shapes and sizes fled together. Feathered and scaled, hulking and small, agile and slow, all were heading in the opposite direction from the roars.

They had sensed the clash of titans before it fully erupted and were rushing to get away.

The sight of these beasts, each capable of ruining entire settlements fleeing together snapped his mind back to reality.

His thoughts aligned with the escaping horde.

Escape. Get away!

He struggled to control his body, still paralyzed from the previous roars. Move. Move!

His previous wait spanning several days had already numbed his muscles, the added impact of the beast lords’ roars further amplified his stone-like state.

Now the only thought on his mind was to get away, nothing good ever came from being involved with a beast lord. They were beings feared by higher level shelters, large hunting teams, and even the distant and noble beastmasters. All feared these hegemony existences.

Now instead of hoping to pick up a bargain from nothing, as was the scavenger's creed, the highest of the thirty-six ancient stratagems dominated his mind—Retreat. Sadly, he couldn't move, he couldn’t even worry in face of the overwhelming dread.

Time passed and the violent stampede of creatures had finally passed.

Sometime after, he regained full control of his body by then it was already daytime. He quickly exited his cramped hiding place with limited visibility to the lower valley.

He slowly scanned the terrain of destruction. The lingering dust clouds had almost dissipated revealing the aftermath.

That’s !!!

As he looked down, the instinctual urges telling him to run disappeared.

He had to pinch himself a few times to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating; indeed, this was reality.

His eyes slowly widened with a strong sense of shock and disbelief.

Down below was beyond a scavenger's wildest dream, desolate beast corpses scattered everywhere. There were so many! His eyes were dazzled by the wide array of corpses. It was probably more than the entire scavenger population of Grey Tulip had ever collected since its establishment 50 years prior.

Escape? Or go down?

He hesitated for only a moment before making his decision.

Gritting his teeth he began his descent.

Birds die for food, and men die for wealth.

He couldn't give up such a once in a lifetime opportunity.

The young scavenger, Ilven Rosary, had the break of his career, but even he would not expect the sequence of events that were to follow.

***

Ilven halted at the cliff's base. The beasts that ruled over life and death, that commanded the terror of thousands, now lay scattered like common grass.

The mangled corpse of a Curly-Haired Baboon caught his eye, the very creature that had laid waste to a distant wisp settlement. Its steel-like arms lay twisted, bruised and broken.

A Black Smoke Dog was sprawled nearby; its skull split open. The same beast that had turned an entire scavenger team of twenty men to ashes.

The Thorned Rats he'd once feared to face were now nothing but bloody smears. Their guts painted the ground, limbs and tails torn away in the chaos of the stampede.

Death had made its own masterpiece here, raw and untamed. Blood, bone and gore spread across the dark earth.

It’s kind of beautiful somehow.

The carnage of those who trampled them like insects en masse somehow evoked a weird feeling in Ilven’s heart, but his instincts honed after five years spurred him into action. Staying in one place for too long enhanced the danger you would face, if there were blood and corpses this danger magnified severalfold.

Ilven quickly took out his tools, not daring to waste a second more. His eyes darted to and from finding the most valuable ‘sweet spot’ of corpses, soon he found it. Some of the strongest beasts ever known to scavengers such as himself, each piece an invaluable treasure concentrated in an area.

His partner through the years, his trusty alloy knife quickly began to harvest his new fortune.

Their entire bodies are treasures but it's too eye catching to bring with me, some of them are also too heavy, it's best to only take the most valuable parts to sell.

Ilven's mind moved quickly, his knife followed suit but even with the supposedly softest corpse of the Six Eyed Earth Toad, it failed to penetrate its flesh. He applied even more force.

Crack~

Then it broke, not lasting a second, only then did Ilven realize that he had never scavenged anything above the medium black iron rank before. His tools couldn't keep up with the advanced level of the prey, his head bobbled around looking for a sharp object, fortunately, a broken canine tooth from an unknown beast was nearby. It looked sharp enough.

Ilven quickly grabbed the broken tooth and attempted to cut into the toad’s thick earthy carapace, it was like a hot knife through butter breaking through with ease. Great!

With his new knife Ilven managed to penetrate the carcasses of his prey, his hands moving quickly and carefully with his ears perked for any new arrivals.

Every second was gold, for wherever there are corpses, there are scavengers. His human and inhuman competitors would soon arrive.

He harvested the beast cores from all monsters, the eyes, some glands and the stomach of the Six Eyed Earth Toad. The power tendon, right arm bone, eye and heart of the One Eyed Muscle Ape. All heads of the Kraven Chimera… It's talons, a few organs, anything that looked valuable.

The Kraven Chimera was a grotesque fusion of an eagle, a dog, and a rat, it lay collapsed in a twisted heap of feathers, fur, and scales. It was a creature of nightmares, one capable of single-handedly destroying hunting parties. Ilven had heard of its kind, but never in his wildest dreams did he expect to see one up close.

Crk~

As he was cutting through the chimera he felt a thick stone-like resistance.

Rummaging about the bloody corpse, he grabbed a unique gem shaped like an eye. It was a mixture of diamond and obsidian, the center was like a pupil, and a few streaks of dancing silver decorated the inside.

Ilven couldn't help but pause and his heartbeat quickened when touching the eye, as he stared the thick sense of mystery that surrounded the gem seemed to draw him in.

His heart skipped a beat as the faint glow within the gem pulsed stronger, more deliberate.

For a fleeting moment, a vision flickered in the depths of the object: shadowy figures, massive beasts, and something far darker lurking behind their forms. The sensation of being watched crawled over him, heavy and oppressive, and a sharp chill lanced through his chest.

Scree~

Wait that’s?... A distant call jolted Ilven out of his daze in a hurry. For now, there was no time to inspect this strange eye.

He gathered his loot swiftly, cut open an intact Thorned Rat corpse, and shoved everything inside before sewing it shut. He snatched up another Thorned Rat corpse, a Cat Head Windigo, and an Earth Harpy along with a few scattered internal organs into his largest beast skin bag then he fled in a hurry.

He froze for a millisecond seeing a few familiar smelling things, some hard and some soft, he quickly scooped them up placing them in a small satchel at his waist then sprinted away.

A few moments after he left, a dark cloud composed of Feathered Gargoyles descended from the sky, screaming in joy as they dug their bird-like breaks into the carcasses of the fallen beasts.

Ilven hurried along his predetermined escape path remaining alert, heading into the forest of tall stone wood trees, he felt some tension leave his body as he returned to the darkness under the forest’s canopy that blocked out the sun.

The valley was in plain sight, and you could be seen from a distance away which was quite dangerous, returning to the familiar darkness Ilven was a little more at ease but he knew better than to think it was safe now.

He didn't even dare turn on the travel lantern on his waist too soon, instead he relied on his senses and the image of the terrain in his mind to make his escape from the area.

A few glowing red orbs followed his steps but sniffing a familiar stench they quickly ignored him. Thanks to his preparation he was able to cover a lot of ground in very little time without issue.

Ilven made it to one of his hidden checkpoints before he felt safe enough to take a breather, although he hadn’t been sprinting, he was walking very fast and had to maintain pinnacle alertness to the lurking dangers in the forest.

After a while, he felt more energized and then continued his trek. Each step was a careful shuffle, the large dry leaves underfoot crunching faintly in the heavy silence.

The Ghost Moth Habitat is up ahead, I have to circle around. Although if I had to die I prefer a quick death with instant poison to being chewed alive, I’m still too young to die… by ancient standards.

Ilven wasn’t sure if the time when humans ruled the entire world was real or make believe, but it was comforting to think it did. He took a breath then slowly continued his return.

The journey wasn't over until you made it home.