Christopher’s heart raced as he rushed through the bog.

He didn’t know when the fog became denser and the treacherous trees turned into swindling, changing paths that confounded his senses, but he pressed on, determined to find his way back to the alcove where he had spent the night.

It was now past the middle of the afternoon, and he hadn’t found the alcove yet. He should be close. He had to be close. Christopher had made sure not to venture too far into the swamp. And yet, finding his way back proved difficult. As difficult as resisting his growing hunger and the burning pain in his arm.

He undressed his T-shirt and tied it around his wound before covering his whole body with more of the disgusting mud. As the day advanced, the temperature got warmer, and the mosquito clouds redoubled their efforts to suck all his blood out of him.

The only comforting thought so far was that the monstrous wolf hadn’t appeared. Yet. The swamp was deserted of any life during the day if not for the mosquito clouds or the occasional cawing blackbirds.

The birds were similar to crows, fully covered in black feathers and with a curved, black beak. Christopher would have mistaken them for crows if not for the awkward extra wing on their back.

He didn’t understand what twisted evolutionary path would force them to evolve that way. But the way they tirelessly dived atop the fetid puddles before perching themselves on a leafless tree, feasting on fat mosquitos, proved the third wing wasn’t much of a hindrance.

Christopher looked up to the sky. The dim sunlight was rapidly retreating. He had to find a shelter soon. Either that or risk faring against the bog’s nightlife.

He stopped by an overhanging bank below the edge of a massive dark lake. Its surface was calm and clear, not a mosquito in sight. The dirt had given way, forming a hollow niche under the lake, the dirt walls secured in place by innumerable twisting roots.

The place was wet, uncomfortable, and paled compared to his cozy alcove, but it should be enough to keep him hidden and safe during the night, as long as the pond didn’t overflow or collapse on the top of his head.

Not long after he settled, the rainstorm returned, causing the lake’s water to overflow and splash near the entrance. Christopher sat against the mud walls, his knees against his chest and his arms around his legs, watching as the last remnants of light gave way to darkness.

So much for finding any tracks, he cursed. After two days of rainfall, any tracks that might have lasted would be washed away.

He bit his lip as a jolt of piercing pain spread through his arm. It had been bothering him ever since he left his alcove. Gritting his teeth, he untied the knot on his makeshift bandage. The wound was more infected than before, and the swelling was now spreading to the surrounding tissues.

Christopher knew he had to do something about it, or he would lose his arm before he even starved to death.

He put his left hand over the festering wound and closed his eyes. Just as he had done the day before, he directed his attention inward, delving into his body. This time, it was faster. A moment later, a golden labyrinth of veins and arteries surged forward, and his blood ignited.

Silently uttering the epistle's name, he guided the pent-up energy to his left hand, and soon, the itching returned as the flesh around the wound squirmed to life, reborn anew.

This time, Christopher didn’t pass out. He endured for ten minutes, watching as the wound closed, little by little, until only three superficial claw marks, oozing with orange pus, were left. However, no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t heal the wound completely. Lightheaded, he turned off the skill and bandaged his arm again.

No matter how convenient Crimson Proof was, it wasn’t enough to fully heal him. He guessed it was because of the orange pus. The wolf’s drool and blood were similar colors. It was most likely some poison that made it harder for his wounds to recover. For now, all Christopher could do was try to slow down the contamination process.

Outside, the cacophony of life had returned to the bog. The swamp life came together by the lake’s margins, and he could distinguish the mating calls of different creatures playing right outside his shelter. More than once, he felt creatures getting close to his shelter, but to his luck, they didn't seem to notice him.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Christopher cursed inwardly, regretting to have lost his cozy alcove.

A terrorized scream pierced the night, followed by a massive splash of water crashing right outside Christopher’s shelter, startling him. A brutal fight had started outside, and the swamp creatures howled in alert, fleeing in terror.

Christopher pressed his now-drenched body against the wall as hard as he could and lowered his head. Outside, the fight was not yet finished. A terrified animal thrashed on the water, bawling desperately. Occasionally, his bellow would be drowned by the water, only to return even more desperate and exhausted a moment later.

No matter how much it struggled, it was gradually dragged into the lake, powerless.

Half an hour later, the struggle stopped, and peace returned to the bog. This time, not even the croaking frogs could be heard. Whatever was inside the lake had scared all the wildlife away.

Christopher, who was considering fleeing, forced himself to calm down. If he ignored whatever slumbering monster rested inside the lake, this should now be the safest place in the swamp.

It didn’t take him long to fall asleep, tired as he was.

When he woke up the next morning, the rainfall had already stopped. He carefully exited his shelter, ensuring no hostile creatures were nearby. As he stepped outside of his hollow hole, he startled a bunch of three-winged crows.

They cawed in alert, their beaks stained with dark blood, before flying away to the top of leafless branches.

Christopher froze, realizing what the crows had been doing.

By the edge of the lake, crushed against the ground, was a pile of mangled flesh. It had been torn apart, with a web of intestines covering the floor, most likely the work of the crows or other scavengers. But he could tell those hindquarters belonged to a large herbivore from the hard hoofs on its feet.

He glanced towards the lake, his heart in his mouth. What kind of monster could have ripped the poor animal in half? Christopher had to resist the urge to flee right away. No matter how terrified he was, the other beasts wouldn’t dare approach the lake again after last night's display of strength—at least for a while. He could use that time to rest.

With his body lowered against the ground, he carefully made his way towards the carcass. The scavengers had consumed most of its organs and soft meat, but there was still a lot of muscle on the corpse.

He focused on a mangled piece of flesh about the size of his forearm. It was dirty with mud and there were visible signs of teeth on it. Despite the size, it was almost completely detached from the bone—a scavenger had tried to rip it off without success.

Christopher watched the lake’s surface once more. The black water was calm, reflecting the dim sunlight and the dark clouds from above.

Decisively, he stood up, grabbed the flesh with both hands and used his legs as leverage, tugging and pulling with as much strength as he could gather.

A wet, visceral sound filled the air as the meat separated from the bone. Out of balance, Christopher almost fell backward before rapidly maneuvering himself and falling to his knees.

His eyes darted back and forth between the lake's surface and the leafless trees. Assuring there was no danger, he rose and rushed back to his hole under the lake’s bank.

Christopher panted heavily before turning his attention to the piece of meat he had just gotten, his stomach growling loudly.

He thought it would be harder.

Christopher believed he would endure his gnawing hunger for another couple of days. In the end, he would be so weak and desperate that he would have no other choice but to take a bite out of the raw flesh.

But it wasn’t hard. He did struggle initially, as any other person would. Just the thought of eating a raw, dirty piece of flesh would cause people to vomit. But his empty stomach made it easy to ignore the gruesome details, and then, no other obstacle stood in his way.

He brought the flesh to his mouth with trembling hands and took a bite, tearing off a small piece of meat.

It was raw and chewy and had a metallic tang, but that was all. After chewing on it for who knows how long, he forced himself to swallow it. After the first piece, the others followed just as easily.

Christopher didn’t eat much. He hadn’t eaten ever since he fell into a coma and was unsure of how his stomach would handle the raw meat. After he finished, he put the leftover meat in his jacket and put it aside.

He waited for a couple of hours, and his condition slowly improved. Once he felt more invigorated, he used Crimson Proof twice, on the back of his head and on his arm. The aching pain on his head faded, but the oozing wound on his arm still refused to close.

That day, Christopher didn’t leave his shelter again. He knew he had to find a way out of the swamp eventually, but he was too tired.

As the night fell, he confirmed with a smile that his surroundings were calmer than before. He could hear noises in the distance, but they were more than a mile away.

Despite not having done much that day, Christopher was exhausted. He closed his eyes, his back against the wall, before a violent cough assaulted him.

He reacted quickly, using his hands to cover his mouth and try to muffle the noise, but it was too late. Attracted by the sound, something stirred inside the lake.