Chapter One: The Hunt
The tall wormwood grass, waist-deep and whispering, swayed between two sprawling forests—like a narrow bridge linking twin infernos. In this slender passage of earth, the savage wilderness seemed to breathe at last, granting its creatures a fleeting moment of calm.
A tremor rippled through the leaves. Then came a heavy sigh of wind, sweeping through the thickets. The wormwood shuddered as though startled awake, bowing low in reverence before the unseen messenger that had crossed mountains and sky to reach them.
The gale howled, unrelenting. The grasses bent deeper still, submissive before the might of the storm, daring not to resist. They had seen what defiance earned—trees in the forest, once proud and tall, now lying broken and cold.
Satisfied with its dominion, the wind surged onward, scattering the remnants of its conquest upon the humbled field. The wormwood, grateful and trembling, pressed closer to the earth, its blades quivering like the strokes of a thousand worshippers.
Its roots parted the soil, swallowing the fallen branches below—a ritual so ancient and practiced that it revealed layers of dry twigs hidden beneath. Clearly, this was not the first time.
Peace crept back into the grassland. The stalks swayed gently, ready to return to their tranquil rhythm—
when a piercing whistle tore through the stillness.
Before the grasses could stir, the sound ended in a thunderous thud. A blur of green burst from the thicket.
Ragged breath. Trembling limbs. Blue bone-like antlers glinted under the sun as the creature forced its way through the grass like an arrow loosed from a divine bow.
The wormwood parted once more, bowing before the frantic figure—
a beast resembling an elk, though warped by some ancient strangeness. Its instincts screamed. Danger was near.
But instinct came too late.
Before the creature could reach its full speed, five dark shapes leapt from the forest ahead—
and with them, five spinning stones sliced through the air, shrieking like vengeful spirits.
The elk's body froze for a heartbeat. The sound of death was unmistakable. Its primal mind knew—
a single wound in this wild age was no different from a death sentence.
Its muscles coiled like forged iron. In a desperate surge, the creature slammed its hooves into the earth, dirt and stems exploding outward as it twisted, turning sharply in a breathtaking arc.
In an instant, its body reversed course—
the hunted now fleeing back toward its doom.
The five figures hesitated but briefly before unleashing thunderous roars.
They lunged forward, swift as beasts, fierce as the wind.
Beneath the waning sunlight, their forms took shape—five upright apes, their bodies cloaked in coarse black fur, their faces savage and primitive, with high cheekbones and jutting brows.
Proto-humans—neither man nor beast.
They were strong, sinewed with raw power. The leader towered among them, his fur thick and matted, his muscles rippling beneath the wild coat—a king among his kind.
Behind him followed four younger hunters, smaller in frame but steady in movement, their eyes gleaming with sharp focus. This was not their first kill.
The leader bellowed once more, his cry echoing through the trees.
In one smooth motion, he hurled a jagged stone—sharp-edged, heavy as a human head—straight toward the fleeing elk.
The others followed in unison, their stones hissing through the air like storm-tossed blades.
Two found their mark.
The stones struck the elk's skull with a sickening crack. Blood streamed down its face as it staggered, collapsing to its knees. The remaining stones missed their mark—but the outcome had already been sealed.
Disoriented and trembling, the creature turned and fled blindly into the forest's side passage.
But what awaited it there was not refuge.
From the shadows emerged ten more figures—grim silhouettes with stones raised high.
A final, broken cry tore through the air. Then chaos.
Three smaller apemen leapt, dragging the beast down in a frenzy of muscle and blood. Flesh ripped. Bones snapped. Blood sprayed upon the soil—some the elk's, some their own.
The hunt had ended. The price, as always, had been paid.
From the undergrowth emerged fifteen ape-men, encircling their fallen prey.
Their eyes gleamed with feral hunger, but none dared move—
not before their leader spoke.
The great leader strode forward.
He crouched beside the carcass, pressed his mouth to the wound, and drank deeply.
Warmth surged through his gut. His breath steadied. His growl softened with satisfaction.
After several gulps, he gestured to one of the younger hunters—the same whose throw had struck true.
A few guttural sounds, half growl, half speech.
The leader pointed toward the bleeding wound, granting the youth permission.
Under the jealous eyes of his kin, the young one stepped forward.
He knelt beside the elk, pressed his mouth to the gash, and drank.
Hot, metallic life flooded his body, seeping into his limbs.
Strength returned. His mind cleared.
And for an instant—just an instant—he thought of the smooth bitterness of coffee.
Nescafé.
What the hell?
The thought flickered and vanished.
For a moment, Chen Xu felt dizzy—his mind caught between epochs.
Five deep gulps later, he rose, stomach heavy and breath ragged.
The leader grunted, patting his shoulder before waving the next three hunters forward.
As they rushed in, Chen Xu muttered under his breath, a bitter smile tugging at his cracked lips.
"What a damned joke… I was only joking about going back to the Stone Age.
Did the heavens really have to take me so literally?"
The metallic tang of blood lingered on his tongue.
Around him stood creatures both alien and familiar—
half-men, half-beasts, his new kin in a world long forgotten.
He could smell the blood, the sweat, the fur; feel the ache in his limbs, the coarse weight of his own body.
No dream. No simulation. Not even 3D fantasy.
This was 4D reality—
and time itself had joined the illusion.
Listening to the distant howls that rolled through the ancient forest,
breathing the crisp, untamed air beneath a sky bluer than any he remembered,
Chen Xu finally accepted the impossible truth:
He had truly crossed the boundaries of time.
If this was still Earth—
if that beast truly was the two-pronged elk spoken of by scholars,
if these crude tools were the ones unearthed by archaeologists—
then there could be only one answer.
This was the Stone Age.
Perhaps even the Old Stone Age—
over a million years before his own time.
He let out a shaky laugh.
"Well… at least it's not the dinosaur era.
I suppose Heaven still has a shred of mercy left for me."