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Undying Hunger
Chapter 9 Echoes of Sanity, Whispers of Madness

Chapter 9 Echoes of Sanity, Whispers of Madness

Chapter 9 Echoes of Sanity, Whispers of Madness

Two years had passed since the man first entered this strange, brutal world, and over that time, he had learned to survive its savage rhythm. He had honed his skills—hunting, making fire, foraging for fruits. His body was leaner, his instincts sharper. But even as he adapted to the relentless environment, something inside him felt heavier with every passing day.

Today, he crouched low in the underbrush, his makeshift spear clutched tightly in one hand and a coarse net in the other. His focus was absolute. He had laid out the bait—fruits scattered nearby, luring the giant horned rabbit that had been circling this part of the forest. It had been hours, maybe more, and his muscles burned with exhaustion, but he didn’t dare move. Not yet.

Patience. He reminded himself. His gaze never wavered from the motionless bush ahead. Just a little longer.

Then, a rustle in the undergrowth. His heart skipped a beat.

A massive rabbit—its fur black as night—emerged cautiously, its large, glowing horns dimming as it approached the bait. The sight of it sent a rush of excitement mixed with dread through him. This could feed him for days.

It was so close now. Just a little closer…

He held his breath, every muscle in his body coiled tight. The rabbit sniffed at the fruits, its twitching ears flinching at every sound. Now.

In one fluid motion, he hurled the net over the rabbit, trapping it with a sudden, wild EEEEK!. The creature thrashed, its glowing horns flaring desperately as it fought against the mesh.

The panic rose in his chest as the rabbit struggled. No… you don’t.

Leaning into the weight of the net, he tightened his grip, his hands trembling. The creature’s frantic shrieks only made his pulse pound harder. He drew his spear and thrust it forward, the tip sinking into the rabbit’s side. He muffled its cries by throwing a thick animal pelt over its mouth.

His hands shook. His breath came in ragged bursts. But he didn’t stop. Not now. He had been surviving on his wits and strength for far too long to falter. Pinning the rabbit down with his knee, he drew a jagged knife—a crude blade he had forged—and moved to end its struggle.

“Just die already,” he muttered under his breath, the frustration creeping into his voice. His gaze darted nervously over the landscape. He couldn’t afford to be distracted—not here, not now.

With one final twitch, the rabbit went still. Its glowing horns dimmed completely. The man exhaled deeply, sweat trickling down his brow as the tension slowly drained from his shoulders.

Hah… Looks like I’m eating like a king tonight, he thought, though his voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. But the weight of the kill lingered in his chest, a knot of unease that wouldn’t quite dissolve.

And then, the forest shifted. The rustling grew louder, closer. His heart skipped, his stomach churned.

No. Not now.

A large group of horned rabbits emerged from the trees—at least a half-dozen—charging toward him, their glowing horns flashing with deadly intent.

Shit.

His mind raced. There was no time to think. He quickly hoisted the massive rabbit onto his back, clutching the spear in trembling hands.

"They’ve come for me," he muttered, his voice tight. He ran, his legs burning, his heart pounding in his chest. Ahead, he saw it—the glowing line in the dirt. The safety barrier.

"Uoooo..." he grunted, pushing himself harder, his breath ragged in his throat. The rabbits were closing in, their eerie growls echoing behind him. Closer. Just a little closer.

The ground trembled beneath his feet as the herd bore down on him. He could feel their eyes, their rage.

“Damnit they’re getting close” he proceeded to pull a strange bag from his side and threw it at the pack, it exploded into a thick fog of powder blinding a few on the front” HAH that will slow them down”

He hurled the dead rabbit ahead of him crossing the line in a desperate bid to make his sprinting faster.

“Wooo!” he howled, throwing all his remaining strength into one final burst. With a desperate lunge, he leaped across the glowing line just as the first of the rabbits leapt toward him.

The creatures halted suddenly, their horns striking uselessly against the invisible barrier—one only he could cross. Panting, he stood there, chest heaving, staring back at them.

Hah! He let out a manic laugh, exhaustion and triumph mixing in his voice. You slowpokes can’t get me!

For a moment, he just stood there, letting the adrenaline settle. His gaze fell to the dead rabbit at his feet, and the gnawing weight of loneliness crept back into his chest.

Better get home before dark, he muttered, the familiar unease curling inside him. Don’t want to lose my way... again.

He trudged back to his burrow, the large rabbit still slung over his back. The path seemed longer now. Every step was a reminder of how far he had come—and how far he had fallen.

When he finally reached his shelter, he dropped the rabbit to the ground and set about building a fire. The familiar crackling sounds filled the quiet night. He began the slow, methodical process of dissecting the rabbit, setting aside its meat and placing the horn in the corner of the burrow. The firelight flickered in the darkness as he prepared his meal, puncturing the meat with a sharp stitch and nailing it close to the flames to cook.

As he waited, his mind wandered. He remembered a time when survival wasn’t a daily battle—a time when walls protected him, when comfort and rest weren’t luxuries. The memory of his apartment was faint now, but compared to this dirty hole in the ground, it felt like paradise. This burrow, no more than a shabby excuse for shelter, barely passed as a bird's nest.

If I ever get out of here… I hope there are people outside this forest.

“Why would you leave?”

The voice, velvety and teasing, came from the corner of the burrow. He turned, and there was Jeffry—the large floating blue cat with his ever-present cosmic yarn ball, drifting lazily in the air like a shadow that had learned to smile. Jeffry’s grin widened, stretching impossibly, his eyes glinting with an unsettling playfulness. The man had started hallucinating this creature eight months ago, and its image had never left him since—like a specter of his unraveling mind.

“You’ve built such a cozy little nest here,” Jeffry purred, spinning his yarn idly. “Why leave all this behind?”

The man sighed, rubbing his temples. “Jeffry, not now. I’m tired, and I’m not in the mood for your nonsense.”

“Oh, but nonsense is all we have,” the cat replied, circling him in the air. His voice carried a strange weight, like a whisper that wrapped itself around his thoughts. “Think about it. Out there, there’s no guarantee. No one waiting. No one caring. Here, though, you’ve got me... and all this.” His paw swept theatrically over the burrow, the rabbit, the dim firelight. “You’re thriving, my friend.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

The man frowned. “I’m surviving, not thriving. There’s a difference. I need to get out of here before this place drives me insane.” He muttered the last part under his breath, but Jeffry’s ears perked up as if he’d heard every word.

“Insane? Oh, you wound me,” Jeffry said, his grin never faltering. He drifted closer, his voice soft but with a sharp edge beneath the words. “I’ve kept you company, haven’t I? Kept you sane in this lonely little world? Who else do you have to talk to? The trees? The beasts? The rabbits?” He gestured dramatically to the cooking meat, his grin twisting slightly, teeth glinting in the firelight.

The man ignored him, returning his attention to the fire. “Jeffry, I don’t have time for your games. I need to prepare for tomorrow.”

“Fine, fine,” Jeffry said, his voice laced with mock exasperation. He floated higher, his silhouette framed against the dim light. “But if you’re so determined to leave, at least finish your meal first.”

Something about the way he said it made the man pause. The words were simple, but there was an undercurrent to them—a suggestion, almost a command. He glanced at the cat, whose eyes gleamed with a peculiar intensity, the yarn ball in his paws spinning faster and faster.

“Finish everything,” Jeffry continued, his grin splitting wider, his voice dipping into a sing-song tone. “You wouldn’t want to leave anything behind, would you? Everything here is yours. You’ve earned it. Take it. Devour it.”

The man’s stomach twisted, and unease prickled at the back of his mind. Jeffry’s words, though playful, felt heavier than usual, carrying a meaning he couldn’t quite grasp. He forced a hollow laugh. “Yeah, sure. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Jeffry tilted his head, his grin frozen, his eyes unblinking. “Good,” he purred, his voice like a caress and a threat all at once. “I’ll be watching.” And with that, he vanished, leaving behind only the faintest shimmer in the air.

The man stared at the empty space where Jeffry had been, a heavy unease settling over him. Shaking his head, he turned back to his meal, but the firelight seemed dimmer now, the shadows around him darker, more oppressive.

“I need to get out of here as soon as I can,” he muttered to himself, trying to shake the cat’s words from his mind. But as he bit into the rabbit, the taste was different—richer, almost cloying. He swallowed with a shiver, as though something within him had stirred.

After eating his meal he then picked up the rabbit’s horn and walked to another burrow—a storage area filled with hides and trophies from his hunts. The walls were lined with the remnants of his survival: horns, skulls, animal pelts—proof of his persistence through the years.

He placed the horn on a table beside a pile of dried leaves, the words scrawled across them marking his research—a makeshift diary of sorts.

Two years ago, after his brutal encounter with the giant bird capable of using magic, his interest in this strange, elusive power had grown. With no one to teach him and no books to study, he had turned to the animals he hunted, dissecting them to study their so-called "magic organs." Over time, he had discovered strange runes etched within these organs—mysterious, cursive markings he couldn’t quite understand.

Let’s see... he thought, picking up a leaf with notes scribbled across it. So this rune acts as some kind of temporary mana storage… like a capacitor?

He had limited knowledge of electronics—just enough to grasp the concept. Through trial and error, he had come to realize that magic, in this world, was like electricity. Mana was energy, and the runes were like electrical components. Each rune had its own properties, and when connected in certain patterns, they created new effects. He was certain of it.

The man turned the horn over in his hands, tracing the curving runes with his finger. His mind focused, honing in on the energy he had only recently begun to understand. He had seen the rabbits pour mana into their horns, activating the runes. He was determined to do the same.

With steady hands, he mimicked the movements of the creature. His fingers traced the intricate cursive runes, one end to the other, like he was connecting a circuit. He closed his eyes and focused, willing the mana to flow, determined to summon the power within him.

Then, something shifted.

The horn began to glow.

BOOM!

The horn shot from his hands, piercing the ceiling of the burrow with a violent explosion that sent dust and dirt raining down around him.

COUGH COUGH! HAAACHOO!

The man stumbled back, coughing and sneezing as the room was filled with smoke and debris. He stood frozen for a moment, shock coursing through him. But quickly, it was replaced by something else—something far more exhilarating.

At last! He exhaled sharply, grinning despite the mess around him. I did it!

After hundreds of failed attempts, this was the breakthrough he had been waiting for. Magic. He could finally use it.

"At long last, I have a fighting chance against that bird," he muttered, a new fire igniting in his chest. After that, I’ll get out of this damn forest...

But as he stood there, a small, unsettling thought flickered through his mind.

What else could this magic do?

The answer, he feared, might be even more dangerous than the creatures of the forest. And he wasn’t sure if he was ready to face it.

-Break-

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After their encounter with the adventurers and bandits, Scorn and the young girl set out for the nearby city of Terramill. Gaining entry through the city gates proved straightforward, thanks to Scorn’s connections. This time, their cover story painted the girl as the son of a deranged man, traveling to procure medicine to cure his supposed mental illness.

The duo wandered through the bustling market, where the air was thick with the mingling scents of spices, smoke, and sweat.

“Ahhh, the city of Terramill—land of minerals, trade, and political corruption!” Scorn declared with theatrical enthusiasm, throwing his arms wide as if embracing the chaos around them. He inhaled deeply, feigning bliss. “Smell that, Mifa? That’s the sweet aroma of moral decay!” Pretending to be an insane man allowed him to say outrageous things without consequence—or perhaps he truly was a little unhinged.

“Lower your voice! And why are we even here?” the girl hissed, glancing around nervously.

“We’re here because we finally have a lead on whoever’s spreading those purple bottles filled with the witch’s piss!” Scorn replied with a smirk.

“It’s not piss! And don’t call me by my name!” she snapped. “We’re father and son right now—call me Robert.”

“Robert, Mifa, Paimon—what’s the difference? I’m just a crazy old man rambling nonsense! Besides, who names their kid Robert? Parents like that should be tried for crimes against taste,” Scorn cackled, clearly enjoying himself more than she was.

From his pocket, Scorn pulled out a cloth-wrapped object no longer than a pen and thrust it toward her face. “Here, Robert, take a sniff of this!”

The girl recoiled instantly, coughing as the putrid odor assaulted her nose. A primal unease gripped her; the smell was familiar—terrifyingly so.

“Cough, cough! What the hell is wrong with you?!” she spat, glaring daggers at him.

“Cool, huh?” Scorn said, his grin widening as if he’d just unveiled a masterpiece. “I swiped it from the adventurers’ carriage we stopped eight days ago. It was hidden under the floorboards.”

“Cool. A severed finger. So original,” she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Let me guess: it’s infected by the witch’s poison?”

“Wrong, my sharp-witted apprentice! Take a closer look.” He waved it near her again.

She flinched back, keeping her distance. “It’s… moving?” she asked hesitantly.

“Exactly!” he said, clearly delighted. “This bad boy is from a corpse revived through necromancy. Isn’t it fascinating?”

“Why would anyone do that?” she asked, her tone more baffled than curious. “Can’t they just reanimate corpses without the miasma component of witch’s poison?”

“They could,” Scorn admitted, twirling the finger like a grotesque baton. “But this—this is something special. The poison’s involved for a reason. And you’ll notice,” he added, holding the finger aloft, “that we only found this little piece.”

He paused, his gaze sharpening despite his air of madness. “Do you remember what I told you about residual mana? Every living creature radiates it, and everyone emits it at a specific frequency like a fingerprint of vitality. Now, when witch’s poison is used on a reanimated corpse which has very little vitality, and I mean in small concentrations. The mana it gives off becomes so faint, so subtle, that it’s practically undetectable.”

Her brow furrowed as she followed his explanation. “Practically undetectable… to most people?”

“Exactly,” Scorn said, tapping the side of his head with the finger. “But for someone like me, who’s attuned to the witch’s poison’s specific mana frequency, it’s like a shining beacon. That’s why I stopped the carriage back then. The adventurers didn’t know they were carrying a homing signal.”

Her eyes widened. “So that’s also how the bandits found them? Someone set them up.”

“Bingo!” Scorn exclaimed, pointing the finger at her as if awarding her a prize. “That’s why we’re here—to figure out who orchestrated it all. Someone with a keen understanding of how witch’s poison works planted this on the adventurers.”

She nodded slowly. “The raid quest did seem suspicious. So whoever arranged it wanted the adventurers and bandits to cross paths. But why?”

“Well done, Robert! Here’s a candy for your efforts.” With a wicked grin, he pressed the severed finger toward her face again.

“Ugh! Get that disgusting thing away from me, you lunatic!” she yelled, recoiling.

Scorn inspected the finger closely, his expression suddenly more thoughtful. “You know, I’d really like to meet the person who made this. Whoever they are, they have some seriously in-depth knowledge of witch’s poison. Might be worth a chat… if they don’t kill us first.”

His tone was so casual, she couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.