A little longer of a chapter. I was sick the past two days, and sort of slept through yesterday. Man that was great. Anyways, here is the next chapter. Hope you enjoy!

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‘Thirsty… Hungry…’

Otis had yet to find either necessity, yet his body hadn’t stopped functioning yet. He figured if he died there wouldn’t much of a loss. He had nothing, and he knew it. Purpose was all but a foreign word to him at this moment. However, he plowed onward. He made no moves to actively survive, but felt queasy at the thought of ending himself. It would appear his instinct was at least partially intact.

After four days of straight walking, this was the result. He soon arrived at the edge of the shock wave's radius. Sand was slowly fading into brown dirt; and fallen trees although felled by the mighty blast, kept their trunks intact. The foliage was splayed outwards, as if pointing, inviting the boy to cross over and away from his recent past.

Otis stared at the ground, before moving his head upwards. A tan beige shifted to brown, before rapidly exploding into the green of grass and plant life. Roots, partially uncovered, wound their way up from the ground, before descending back into the earth as they neared the untouched area of the forest. It would make for quite the painting if there was someone around with an artistic sense. A shame Otis received no such inspiration.

‘This feels inviting. It largely resembles my home. But what is this tugging feeling at the back of my mind?’

Otis grasped a root, before pushing himself over the dividing ledge. Trudging onward, he was overtaken by a barrage of sneezes.

‘The pollen seems restless. The aftereffects of the fight?’ He thought, wiping his nose on his sleeve. Not the cleanest solution, but there wasn’t anyone to scold him. A while ago, thinking about the fight would have plunged him into even deeper despair, but now he simply felt empty.

Walking further into the forest brought about a nostalgic darkness. A wide canopy of intertwined branches created a ceiling with few imperfections. The light that did make it through found its way to the smaller vegetation. Miniature trees, still growing, seemed to flock to the falling rays, bending their fragile stalks gradually towards them. Small vine plants wrapped themselves around the thicker trunks of ancient trees, tempting those who entered the land to pick their poison berries. All across the ground, smothering the fallen timber, the green and white moss stretched its domain.

‘Yep. This is the closest to home I’ve felt in a few days. Now, to find some water.’

Focusing his hearing to the maximum, he heard the rapid flow of a stream about half a mile inwards. The sound water makes is very distinctive. There are very few things found in nature that can mimic the sensation of thousands of droplets crashing against rocks. Otis could safely conclude the source in such a vast place, not tracked by humans.

That could not however explain his sense of hearing. There were two reasons he could pull the feat off. Firstly, such a silent and peaceful atmosphere limited the number of distractions. Secondly, his new-found power.

‘This power is pretty handy. I used it many times to make sure I wouldn’t run into a monster back in the desert.’

The ability to focus one of his senses came with his physical power. He discovered it in a fit of paranoia, trying desperately to ensure his safety and avoid all forms of trouble. That was merely at the beginning, before he realized there was nothing alive anywhere near the barren land. Back in the Yoell Wasteland, there were no trees to block the wind, and his senses couldn’t extend nearly as far.

Halfway to the river, Otis heard a sound. Something moved, and it was close.

He focused on his hearing, searching again. This time, he could faintly hear the stealthy pitter-pattering of small, almost weightless footsteps.

Otis swiftly turned around, and was greeted with two cold amber eyes. Amber eyes could mean multiple things. But in the forest, it would either be a Tree-Prowler wolf, or a Brownwood Spirit. He hoped it was a wolf. At least with a wolf, he could fight back. A spirit had no physical body on this plane, and the only chance of hitting one was with magic.

‘Damn. I don’t know any magic, but I don’t think I’m fast enough to handle a wolf. I’m dead either way! wait… It’s highly unlikely a spirit showed up. They are rare beyond imagination. I could live in here for years, and not see one. So it’s probably a wolf. Good, Tree-Prowlers don’t travel in groups. But it still stands: How do I survive this? I can’t outrun one. They are blindingly fast.’

Although the boy didn’t seem to value his survival so much before, he could slowly feel that spark reignite. He was an ordinary human after all.

‘No panicking… I won’t break down… I… am strong. I will survive this!’

A cold feeling spread across his conscience, blanketing and nurturing his instincts, and sheltering that small part of his mind from unneeded emotions. His eyes darkened, his face slackened, and he stared straight back at the pair of eyes he spotted before.

The two creatures stared at each other for a few moments.

‘Good. It’s not a spirit. A spirit wouldn’t wait this long.’

The amber eyes disappeared, leaping outwards, a mass of grey and crimson fur rearing up behind them. Otis quickly held his hands upwards in an ‘X’ shape, blocking the swift claw strikes from the wolf. Blood oozed from his arms, trickling downwards from deep gashes and staining the entirety of his sleeves red.

Otis’s mouth twisted into a grimace, and he clenched his teeth together. He was pushed backwards by the force, but stayed standing. After all, even with his great power, his body was for some reason still weak. No sounds parted from his lips. The creature jumped back, using Otis’s block to propel itself through the air. After a few seconds, the wounds closed back up.

Only at this distance could Otis appreciate it's powerful look. Grey fur stuck out in a spiked pattern, while swirling red patterns adorned it's body. It's snout was slightly longer than your average wolf in comparison to it's body. The most striking feature that set it apart from other wolves was it's size. It was about 5 ft tall on all fours, almost as tall as a grown man.

The beast seemed hesitant to attack after Otis's display.

Someone had to take the initiative.

Otis dashed forwards, his arms still covering his face, save his eyes.

The wolf leaped once more, it’s jaws opened wide revealing yellowed pointed teeth.

The boy moved his left hand forward, slamming it into the wolf’s mouth. The creature bit down, piercing his flesh and holding tight.

And that was the end.

Otis’s right hand balled into a fist so tight his knuckles turned white. He swung it towards the wolf still clamped onto his left.

A cracking sound resounded across the forest, reverberating off the branches and columns of trees.

Pulverized chunks of meat hit the ground and the wooded trunks, blood splattered across the area.

The boy’s hand and wrist shattered once again, and flailed backwards.

And just as suddenly as it came, the cold feeling left him. He dared not look at his arm, but could already feel a numbing sensation creeping along it.

Looking at the wolf, he could feel his vision getting hazy and dark. He should have just looked at the arm. At least he could sort of tell what the arm was supposed to be.

Gathering his courage, Otis shifted his view back his kill.

“What kind of monster did I become… What should I feel more disgust towards: the remains of the wolf, or myself?’

He was covered head-to-toe in blood. The stench made Otis want to throw up, and he most certainly would've if he had something to throw up.

The coldness he felt before brought about a clearer mind, and sharper senses. However, Otis knew: that certainly was not him.

Frightened, Otis stood up. He no longer felt hunger. He was too repulsed by the sight in front of him. Turning around, he began to walk towards the river.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

‘I cannot become like that again. Ever.’

~+~

Landon returned with the girl in tow.

“Landon! We thought you got lost!”

“Or you died!”

He was greeted casually by the soldiers in an almost comedic fashion, however it was evident in their faces that they felt relief.

“Who the hell said I died?! I’m invincible! And stop addressing me so casually!” Landon barked at the soldiers, also half jokingly.

“Sure thing, Landon!” voiced the soldier nearest to him. “So, who’s the cute little girl you brought in tow?”

“This is.. err…” Landon couldn't recall, and prepared for the insult he would receive.

“Ouriel Farren! Remember it, asshole.” Ouriel stated, pouting slightly towards Landon.

“She has a mouth on her. Be careful. Anyways, she’s a survivor.”

“““What?!””” A large group of men exclaimed, many still with food stuffed in their mouths.

What followed next was a conglomeration of different conversations and questions.

Once the talking died down, she was asked to explain what happened.

“I heard a rumbling sound, and panicked. I realized the only thing that made sense would be that it was a horde of forest monsters, or raiders. So I quickly hid inside a cooling chest my brother used to play with potions, and waited for it to pass over. I don’t really remember anything from when I was in it, but when I woke up I was no longer in Yoell. I’m hoping to get an escort or ride back.” The girl recounted her experience.

“... Young lady… This is Yoell...” said a soldier, before holding his mouth to stop himself.

The words had already been said, and the reply was on the way.

“No. I’m pretty sure Yoell is a forest. A fucking HUGE forest, mind you. And this doesn’t look green to me.” She said, rolling her eyes.

Landon heaved a sigh. ‘This is going to be a hard night.’

(Author: I’m planning to have Ouriel’s story told in shorter parts, so as not to take too much time from our main.)

~+~

The first thing Otis noticed about the river was it’s muddy complexion. The shadows cast by the enormous trees surrounding it, and the carpet of dark green moss that coated the rocks around it did nothing to help that image.

The Second thing was he could not tell how deep it was. It was relatively wide, and could be shallow. But, a feeling in his gut told him it was deeper than he would guess.

‘It’s better than nothing I suppose.’ Otis thought, bending down and trying to scoop some of the murky brown water up with his hands.

This first drink tasted awful, like drinking mud.

The second drink cleared his throat, and left him feeling slightly more refreshed.

The third drink was interrupted.

The water exploded, speckles of water and splashed liquid parting ever-so-slightly to reveal a sharp tooth lined jaw.

Jumping back in panic, he was far too late.

The mouth closed onto his right arm, tearing through his muscle and lodging teeth into his bones.

The only thought that came to Otis’s mind before being pulled under was:

‘Why is it always my right arm?’

Underwater, Otis could once again feel the coldness.

For a few seconds he fought off the feeling.

‘Wait… Why am I fighting this? Don’t I want to li-’

His thoughts were cut short, before he was thrashed to the right. His vision flashed for a moment, and the force violently ripped at his arm, dislocating it. Out of pain Otis opened his mouth, losing precious oxygen before closing up like a clam.

‘I’m gonna die! I don’t want to die! Not yet!’

‘Damn it. God Damn it! OK! Just one more time! Come on! work!’

But the soothing, calming sensation did not come again.

‘Why isn’t it working?! What do I do?! I WANT TO LIVE!!!’

The monster whipped its head to the left this time, crushing Otis against the left side of the river.

Otis froze for a moment, processing the pain. He shrieked, and his last reserves of oxygen left him. 

Pulling strength into his uninjured arm, he tried to hit the creature below him. The force of the attack was weakened by the water, but it didn’t matter. His target was out of reach anyways. He then clawed at the dirty rocks that lined the body of water, but found no purchase.

His mind wouldn’t work. He was overloaded by the stress, and unconsciously kicked in an effort to keep himself up, not even realizing he could strike the monster with his foot. He swung blindly with his hand again. He flailed and flailed, but could not hit the monster.

But this time, his fist hit something.

His right shoulder.

The socket was crushed, and his arm burst from it’s rightful place: that place being connected to his body.

The water filled with blood, clouding the depths even more.

The weight of the monster no longer pulling him down, his kicking motions rapidly shot him upwards. His head broke through the calm atmosphere on the surface. He grabbed blindly, trying to reach the shore, until finally finding his objective and dragging himself back to dry land.

Gasping, his lungs greedily pulled the oxygen from his surroundings. 

He was in pain, but paid little attention to it. The adrenaline in his body lessened the feeling, but he knew it would hurt soon.

His right arm was healing extremely slowly, and still hadn’t stopped bleeding. The stump, although visibly repairing itself, didn’t regrow instantly like his previous experiences. The blood loss was causing him to feel nauseous.

‘Did it stop working? No… It’s regenerating. Just really slowly… ‘

He couldn’t tell why, but to an educated magician it would be obvious. The creature was venomous, and the poison slowed down his body’s magic regulation. Also, busting up an arm was one thing. Tearing it off however could upset the mana channels in a person’s body.

The pain came slowly back to him, his body weaning off of the adrenaline. But no tears fell from the boy’s face. No cries could be heard. All that could be seen was the resolute face of Otis.

‘Never again. I have decided. I will survive, even if I change forever. I will never get myself into such an unsightly situation again.’

Trying to get up, he felt an unconquerable force push him down.

No matter what he did, his body was losing strength.

Exhaustion took over, and he slept.