From time immemorial, predators have found satisfaction not merely in the act of killing—but in the process.
The game.
The cruelty.
The illusion of freedom.
They let their prey run, scramble, hope, just to snatch it all away at the last moment. It wasn't just about asserting dominance—it was a twisted form of entertainment.
The predator remained hidden in the shadows, always in control, always two steps ahead. Watching. Savoring. Thriving off the fear, the desperation, the dying flicker of resistance.
Zoran was no different.
He wanted to play with his prey—to taste its fear, draw out its dread, and devour every last drop before the final blow.
So he smiled wide, a glint of ecstasy in his crimson eyes, and said,
"Kaelen… I'll let you live. Truly. I won't chase you anymore, won't bother you—if you can win a simple little game."
"I understand your father's sins shouldn't be passed onto you. That's why I'm giving you a chance. A chance to redeem yourself. To survive."
⸻
Meanwhile, Sareth was screaming internally.
"Wow. If I didn't already know this guy was full of shit, that speech might've actually fooled me. But hey—I've seen this episode before. Spoiler alert: it ends with me dying horribly. GG's all around."
"Still… gotta hand it to him—the tone, the sympathetic glances, the whole merciful avenger act? Almost Oscar-worthy. Too bad I've already read the script."
Zoran continued, all smiles. "It's not even hard. All you have to do is run—into that forest, right there."
He pointed at the looming tree line, a black silhouette pulsing with menace.
"I'll count to thirty. If you escape the forest by then, you're free. You can do whatever you want. But…"
His grin sharpened, voice lowering,
"If I catch you before that… then you'll owe me a favor."
"A favor?" Sareth thought, raising an invisible eyebrow. "Yeah, sure. Like unpaid soul labor or having my other limbs removed one by one. Totally chill."
"Still… if this gives me time to figure out more about "Axis Field," I might be able to work with it. Emphasis on might. At this point, my best strategy is hope and snark."
"And really, between getting obliterated again or running into a Haunted forest… I mean, sure, who wouldn't want to go for a casual jog with death waiting on either end?"
⸻
Sareth rose slowly, deliberately.
His posture was cautious, movements stiff—exactly the kind of terrified reaction Zoran wanted to see.
His facial expression was flawless: eyes wide, lip trembling slightly, every muscle tensed in the illusion of helplessness.
He looked at Zoran and said, voice cracking with false fear,
"Y-Yes, Sir… I understand. I'll play your game. Just… please—promise me you'll really let me go if I win."
Zoran lit up like a child handed his favorite dessert.
The smile that spread across his face was one of genuine delight—that quiet, pure pleasure one feels while indulging in something they love.
Like biting into a freshly fried dumpling. Or sliding into warm sheets on a cold night. Or slowly twisting the mind of your enemy's son before gutting him.
"Yes…" he whispered to himself. "This is perfect."
⸻
"Well shit," Sareth thought. "He's smiling like I just gave him a foot massage. I nailed the performance. Let's hope he doesn't kill me out of sheer excitement before the game even starts."
Zoran waved his hand theatrically.
"Alright, Kaelen. A wise choice. Even if you fail, at least now… the consequences won't be too bad. So buckle up. You've got thirty seconds the moment I start counting. Run, hide, survive."
Sareth bowed his head slightly.
"Understood," he said with false meekness. "I'll do my best. Thank you… for the opportunity."
Then he turned toward the forest—and instantly regretted it.
The trees loomed like giant skeletal fingers, clawing upward into the twilight sky. The trunks were blackened and gnarled, bark peeling like scorched flesh.
A cold mist snaked through the underbrush, thick and clinging, curling around his ankles like ghostly chains.
Branches swayed without wind, creaking with unnatural moans. The air stank of rot and damp earth, and every shadow whispered secrets it had no business knowing.
It wasn't just dark.
It was alive.
"Because of course it's a haunted forest. Why wouldn't it be? Hey Sareth, want to die again? Well now you can pick how! Great options today: death by psycho redhead, or whatever horror show is lurking in there."
Sareth clenched his jaw.
But he knew he didn't have a choice.
So he whispered to himself,
"Man… just my luck. Alright, screw it. Might as well start running before he counts—maybe buy myself a few extra seconds. Surely even a homicidal narcissist won't be petty about that… right?"
⸻
He broke into a sprint.
The forest rushed toward him like a wall of dread, and as soon as he crossed the threshold, the world changed.
The air grew colder.
Heavy.
Even his breathing felt wrong, like he was inhaling memories soaked in fear. Shadows danced at the edge of his vision. The silence wasn't empty—it was watching.
And somewhere, beneath the suffocating quiet, there were whispers. Faint. Muted. But unmistakably there.
Sareth kept running.
But his mind spun faster than his legs.
Okay. Strategy time.
"I need to understand more about this Axis Field. I only know the first weakness: he has to point in the direction of the effect. That's… not enough."
"Nythlob—Nutjob—whoever you are, now would be a great time to reappear…" he muttered under his breath.
Nothing.
"Right. Radio silence. Cool, cool, love that for us."
"Okay, let's recap. Axis Field—it's telekinetic, directional, which means line-of-sight or gesture-based targeting. But 'field' probably means area-based. Maybe he has a range limit?"
"If that's true, then maybe… I can test and how far it extends or is it just my assumption?"
He didn't get to finish the thought.
A sudden rustle—
SNAP.
A dark, spiked branch whipped out from the dense brush, slicing through the air like a spear.
It slammed into Sareth's right leg, lodging deep into the meat of his thigh.
"ARRGH—! SHIT!" he howled, collapsing to one knee.
The branch didn't pierce cleanly. It stuck, jagged and half-buried, wooden splinters grinding against bone.
Pain flared like wildfire, and blood spilled down his leg in hot rivulets.