Extract from the -{ Tome of the ‘Forgotten One’ }- Divine scripture of the Church of the ‘Forgotten One’.

"As the beacon of deception shines bright, remember that true enlightenment lies not in its radiance, but in the clarity of darkness where falsehoods unravel." (The False Light 2:3)

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The forest loomed ominously as Asher's muscles protested with each careful stretch. His body, a patchwork of healing wounds and fresh scars, reminded him of the brutal battles he'd endured. The dwindling food supply gnawed at his thoughts, urging him to act despite his body's pleas for rest.

With practiced movements, Asher applied a mixture of paste and leaves to his more severe injuries. The concoction stung, but he welcomed the pain—a sign of life in this unforgiving wilderness. His knife, worn but dependable, sliced through the bear's hide with practiced precision. The leather, still carrying the musky scent of its former owner, would serve as his new armor.

Asher's fingers, calloused and scarred, wove vines through the leather pieces, creating a crude but effective protection. The wolf bones, bleached white by the sun, found new purpose as makeshift shields strapped to his forearms. Each piece of his cobbled-together armor was a testament to his will to survive.

The fire crackled, casting dancing shadows as Asher honed his blade. The rhythmic scraping of metal against stone echoed through the clearing, a discordant melody in the otherwise quiet forest. His supplies—meager as they were—were gathered with grim determination. The tattered bag, more holes than fabric now, served as a reminder of how far he'd come and how much further he had to go.

"Time to meet the neighbors," Asher muttered, his voice rough from disuse. The words hung in the air, a challenge to the unseen dangers that lurked beyond the treeline.

The forest welcomed him with a sinister embrace. Shadows seemed to reach for him as he moved deeper into the unknown. Asher's eyes darted from tree to tree, searching for the perfect material to craft a spear. Even though he worked best with swords, he had no idea how he would go about crafting one, unlike a spear which he could make by sharpening the harder bones using them as spearheads, and tying them to a shaft. The knife at his hip, while comforting, wouldn't be enough for what lay ahead.

His patience was rewarded when he stumbled upon a stand of peculiar trees. Their bark gleamed with an almost metallic sheen, dark and foreboding. Asher's fingers traced the smooth surface, curiosity warring with caution. The wood sang with potential, but he resisted the urge to test its properties further. Some mysteries were best left unexplored for now.

With efficient movements, Asher fashioned two bone spears, the shafts crafted from more mundane wood. The remaining spearhead found new life as a bone knife, its serrated edge promising swift and brutal efficiency.

As Asher approached the territory he'd marked earlier, a familiar sense of dread crept up his spine. His instincts, honed by countless life-or-death encounters, screamed of danger. Yet, the feeling was muted compared to before. Whether it was his improved preparedness or a growing numbness to peril, Asher couldn't say.

The forest grew denser, the air heavy with unseen threats. Asher's movements became more fluid, each step calculated to minimize noise. His eyes scanned the undergrowth, catching glimpses of small creatures that darted away at his approach. The larger prey—or predators—remained frustratingly elusive.

Suddenly, Asher froze. An imperceptible shift in the air, a stillness that spoke volumes. Without hesitation, he scaled the nearest tree, the rough bark biting into his palms. Concealed by a canopy of leaves, he strained his senses to their limit.

A distant howl pierced the silence, sending a chill down Asher's spine. In that moment, something within him changed. The world seemed to sharpen, colors more vivid, sounds more distinct. It was as if a veil had been lifted from his senses.

[ Mental limits surpassed perception increased. Mind +1, Intelligence +1 ]

The enhancement came with a price. Two dark shapes materialized in the distance, their movements purposeful and predatory. Asher's breath caught in his throat as he recognized the beasts for what they were using his skill ‘Eyes of Odin’.

[ Forest Dire hound ( Unawakened ): Forest Dire Hounds are predatory beasts that roam in packs through dense forests. Known for their agility and deadly coordination, they utilize their environment to ambush prey effectively. Their dark, fur-covered bodies allow them to blend seamlessly into the shadows of the forest, making them formidable hunters at night. While individually they may not be the toughest opponents, their strength lies in their numbers and pack tactics. Avoid engaging them alone.

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

Current status: Patrolling the territory looking for prey, separated from the larger group. Feeling hungry. ]

The hounds moved with an eerie grace, their massive paws silent on the forest floor. Asher's mind raced, weighing his options. The smart choice would be to retreat, to avoid conflict. But a darker part of him, a part that had been growing with each battle, urged him forward.

With practiced ease, Asher readied his spear. The weapon felt alive in his hands, hungry for blood. Time seemed to slow as one of the hounds passed beneath his perch. Asher's muscles coiled, then released in one fluid motion.

The spear whistled through the air, finding its mark with brutal precision. The hound's yelp of pain was cut short as it collapsed, the spear protruding grotesquely from its neck. Its companion reacted with lightning speed, hackles raised and teeth bared in a snarl that promised violence.

Asher's heart pounded as he locked eyes with the remaining hound. There was an intelligence there, a cunning that surpassed the wolves he'd faced before. For a moment, neither moved, predator and prey assessing one another.

The standoff shattered as the hound charged, its powerful legs eating up the distance between them. Asher's hands found his knives, one given by the hunter and the other crafted from the bones of the awakened bear, the familiar weight grounding him in the chaos of the moment. With a primal yell, he leapt from the tree, meeting the hound's charge head-on.

They collided in a tangle of fur, flesh, and steel. The hound's jaws snapped inches from Asher's face, hot breath reeking of decay. But Asher was ready. His bone knife found the soft palate of the beast's mouth, silencing its growl in a spray of blood.

Using the momentum of their fall, Asher rolled, pinning the thrashing hound beneath him. His other knife sought the creature's throat, finding purchase in the thick fur. With a grunt of effort, Asher drove the blade home.

The hound's struggles weakened, its life ebbing away with each labored breath. Asher held on, his face pressed against the beast's heaving chest. He felt its heart slow, then stop, mirroring the quieting of his own racing pulse.

As the adrenaline faded, Asher became aware of the pain blossoming across his body. His makeshift armor had held, sparing him the worst of the hound's claws, but bruises were already forming beneath the leather.

A mournful howl shattered the momentary calm. The wounded hound, still impaled by Asher's spear, cried out to its pack. Asher's blood ran cold at the sound. He knew what it meant—reinforcements were coming.

With grim efficiency, Asher silenced the dying hound. Its cries cut off abruptly, leaving an eerie stillness in their wake. But the damage was done. Even now, Asher could sense the approaching danger, like storm clouds gathering on the horizon.

He retrieved his spear, grimacing at the wet sound it made as he pulled it free. There was no time to clean the weapon or tend to his own injuries. Survival demanded movement, demanded action.

Asher's feet carried him to another tree, his body moving on instinct. As he climbed, his mind raced. The encounter had been close—too close. Yet a part of him thrilled at the challenge, at the dance between life and death.

From his new vantage point, Asher spotted them. Three more hounds, their sleek bodies cutting through the underbrush like shadows given form. They moved with deadly purpose, drawn by the scent of blood and the promise of violence.

Asher steadied himself, spear at the ready. The weapon felt different now, an extension of his will rather than a simple tool. As the lead hound passed between two trees, creating a perfect corridor for his attack, Asher didn't hesitate.

The spear flew true, its trajectory a perfect arc that ended in the hound's chest. The beast's momentum carried it forward, its body sliding gruesomely along the shaft before coming to rest in a heap of matted fur and spilled blood.

The fallen hound's companions reacted with unbridled fury. Their eyes, once a deep brown, now glowed with an unnatural red light. Foam flecked their muzzles as they charged forward, leaping over their fallen packmate without a second glance.

Asher felt something shift within him as he descended from the tree. The fear, the hesitation that had plagued him in earlier encounters, melted away. In its place, a cold clarity took hold. He welcomed the change, embracing the darkness that had been growing inside him.

His second spear found its way to his hand as his feet touched the ground. Asher's lips pulled back in a feral grin, mirroring the snarls of the approaching hounds. He started walking, then jogging, then sprinting towards the beasts.

"Come you little bitches," Asher growled, his voice barely recognizable as human.

The collision was brutal and swift. Asher's spear found the throat of the lead hound, the bone tip punching through flesh and sinew to emerge from the other side. Without breaking stride, Asher used the impaled beast as a shield, swinging it into the path of its companion.

The second hound, unable to check its charge, slammed into its dying packmate. In that moment of confusion, Asher struck. He released the spear, arms opening wide in a grotesque parody of an embrace.

"Come to Daddy," he snarled, meeting the hound's pounce with terrible eagerness.

They hit the ground hard, the impact driving the air from Asher's lungs. But he was ready. His left arm, wrapped in wolf bones, found its way into the hound's gaping maw. Teeth met bone with a sickening crunch, but the makeshift armor held.

Asher's right hand moved with deadly precision, driving his knife into the side of the hound's mouth. The beast's eyes widened in pain and surprise, its bite losing some of its crushing force.

With a roar that was more animal than human, Asher rolled, pinning the hound beneath him. His left arm remained lodged in the creature's mouth, keeping its deadly fangs at bay. With his free hand, he drew another knife.

"No, you don't," Asher growled as the hound tried to release its grip on his arm.

The knife flashed in the dappled sunlight, finding the soft flesh of the hound's throat. A quick, savage slash, and it was over. The light faded from the beast's eyes as its lifeblood poured onto the forest floor.

Asher rose slowly, his body painted in gore. The manic energy that had fueled him during the fight ebbed away, leaving him feeling hollow. For a moment, he stood there, trying to reconcile the person he had been with the creature he was becoming.

The sound of distant howls snapped him back to reality. More were coming. The pack wasn't done with him yet.

A mirthless laugh bubbled up from Asher's chest, growing in volume until it echoed through the trees. The darkness within him surged forward once more, eager for the coming bloodshed.

"HAHA, don't forget to bring your mothers. YOU FUCKERS!!!" Asher's challenge rang out, a promise of violence to come.

As the howls grew closer, Asher readied himself for the next wave. The forest seemed to hold its breath, waiting to see who would emerge victorious from the coming storm of teeth and claws.