Noctis dropped low.
He slid under the sweeping blow, the claws passing just above his back close enough for him to feel the wind of their passing. He scrambled over a fallen log, boots slipping on tangled roots slick with disturbed soil. Bark scraped his palms as he pulled himself forward.
As he steadied his stance, the third beast began to circle.
Its presence fell over him like a moving wall. Its shadow was heavy and cold, stretching far across the torn meadow. The huge eye watched every small motion he made—the twitch of his fingers, the shift of his shoulders, the angle of his feet. Its jaw hung open, vertical mouth lined with rows of wet, gleaming teeth. Strings of saliva dripped in steady ropes from its jaws, hitting the ground with soft, sticky sounds. A wave of hot breath rolled over him, thick with the stink of meat and rot and the wild heat of a body made for constant violence.
He needed something. Anything.
Noctis grabbed a fist-sized rock from the churned ground and hurled it with all the speed his muscles could give him, aiming for the second monster's eye. The stone struck with a sharp, clean crack. Fractures spidered across the smooth surface in a web of white lines. The titan lurched back with a bellowing shriek that vibrated in his chest, stumbling as its balance faltered under the sudden blindness.
He did not waste the opening.
He sprinted toward the first beast, closing the distance in long, controlled strides. It lowered its head as he approached, that single eye sharpening with a predator's interest, delighted by prey that ran toward danger instead of away from it. Its mouth flexed, teeth shifting as it prepared to bite him out of the air.
Noctis leaped for a nearby tree.
His fingers caught rough bark, splinters biting into his palms. Using his own momentum, he swung himself up, boots planting briefly against the trunk. He kicked off hard, launching himself sideways and down toward the giant's open maw. At the last moment, he twisted his body and drove both feet into the creature's jaw as it snapped upward to catch him.
Bone and flesh gave under the impact. The titan's head snapped back with a crack like struck stone. Its jaws slammed shut, teeth crashing together with the sound of clashing boulders. They closed so close to his legs that he felt a rush of air tug at his clothes where his feet had just been.
He hit the ground badly.
His body slammed into the torn earth, rolling through broken roots and scattered stones. Before he could fully recover, claws raked across his shoulder. Pain exploded like fire, hot and white, tearing through muscle. Cloth and skin ripped. Warm blood soaked down his arm, thick and steady.
He did not stop.
He rolled again, forcing his legs to respond. He dodged sideways, then backward, adjusting his weight with each heartbeat, each stumble. Every motion hurt, but each one kept him alive.
Somewhere beneath the pain, the Unknown Core reacted.
It was not a dramatic surge of new power. It was more like a lens being adjusted. Thoughts sharpened. His body tightened into old patterns. The echo of countless survival trials fell into place—instincts from battles he did not remember clearly, but that his nerves and muscles recognized. Timing corrections. Reflex angles. Subtle shifts in balance.
He ducked under another crashing arm. The air above him screamed as claws sliced through it.
He slid between legs thicker than stone pillars, using the brief cover of their massive bodies to hide from another strike. His fists and heels found joints and tendons—places where the huge bodies had to bend, where power funneled through narrower structures. Each impact let him feel bone shudder and muscle clench.
But these monsters were not simple brutes.
They refused to stay predictable. Each time he tested a weakness, their bodies adapted. Skin thickened where he had struck. Their stances shifted, changing their weight distribution. Their footwork adjusted, closing angles he had thought safe. They were learning him as quickly as he was learning them.
One of the titans, off-balance and wounded, staggered back into the lake's edge.
Its massive heel crashed into the water, sending plumes of black liquid soaring into the air. The once-still surface shattered into waves. The small, glowing lake-creatures scattered in a storm of light, their bodies flaring and hurt flickers as they fled deeper into the dark.
The world itself seemed to react.
The planets overhead pulsed along their paths, as if some unseen rhythm had suddenly grown louder. The pale sun's light thickened, burning a little hotter, watching with a sharper focus.
The third giant, hurt and enraged, raised its head and roared.
This time, the sound was not just loud. It hammered into the trees and the ground like a physical force. Branches bent away from it. Leaves tore free and flew. Young trees bowed, creaking under the pressure. Spittle flew from its yawning mouth in long arcs.
It lunged.
Noctis dove aside, but the charge ripped chunks of stone from the earth. Shards of rock sprayed across his ribs like thrown knives. Pain tore a hoarse breath from his throat. He tasted metal. His vision blurred for a heartbeat, then dragged itself back into focus.
One mistake would be enough to end him.
His hand, scrambling for balance, closed on a broken branch half-buried in the churned ground. It had been snapped long ago, weather and time sharpening one end into a crude point. It was no perfect weapon, but it was something.
He did not hesitate.
As one titan brought its massive hand down in a crushing blow, he stepped in, turning his body so that the arm passed just to his side. He thrust the sharpened branch upward with both hands, driving it between claw and wrist, forcing it into the gap where bone and tendon met.
The wood pierced deep.
Golden blood—thick and molten-looking—burst from the wound, spilling hot over his arms. It burned where it touched his torn skin, stinging like acid and fire combined. The monster howled, jerking back and shaking its hand violently, trying to dislodge the branch.
The third giant surged in.
Its maw stretched wider than before, teeth parting until the dark tunnel of its throat loomed over him. From this close, he could see every detail inside: folds of flesh, lines of old scars, remnants of shredded bone caught between teeth. For a split second, he saw his reflection in that giant eye—small, blood-streaked, and still refusing to fall.
He feinted left.
The titan's head snapped toward the false motion, jaws closing on empty air. At the last possible heartbeat, Noctis cut back to the right, legs pushing off with every ounce of strength he had left. He leaped onto the giant's lowered hand, boots slamming into the rough skin between its fingers.
He ran.
He sprinted along the length of its arm as it lifted, each step a fight to stay upright as the limb bucked and twisted. Fingers the size of boulders snapped at him, closing in staggering blows that would have broken his spine if they had caught him. He threw himself forward, grabbing ridges of muscle and patches of rough, thickened skin, climbing as the world swung around him.
The beast thrashed, trying to shake him off. The ground rose and fell in dizzying arcs beneath him. The sky tilted and spun.
He did not let go.
He clawed his way up to the base of the giant's eye. Up close, the glassy surface seemed even more unreal, too smooth and too perfect for a living thing, surrounded by a ring of soft, wet tissue that pulsed with each labored breath.
He drove the branch in with both hands.
The crude spear sank into the vulnerable flesh with a sickening resistance. He felt it push through layers of yielding tissue until it struck something denser inside. He twisted, putting his whole weight behind it.
The scream that tore from the giant's throat sounded like a mountain splitting open.
The titan staggered, its huge body swaying. Then balance failed. It toppled backward in a slow, terrible collapse. Its bulk crashed into the meadow with enough force to flatten entire swaths of grass and snap small trees like twigs. The impact shook Noctis loose. He was flung into the air, limbs flailing, before slamming into the ground and tumbling across the torn landscape.
He came to a bruised, gasping stop.
Every part of him hurt—shoulder burning, ribs throbbing, cuts weeping fresh blood. For a moment, the sky spun overhead, planets blurring into streaks of color. He forced his hands into the ground and pushed himself upright, breath tearing in and out of his lungs.
The remaining giants had stopped their charge.
One clutched its cracked eye, golden blood leaking between thick fingers. The others bared their teeth, their massive jaws flexing, but they did not rush forward. Their single eyes flicked between him and their fallen kin. Something like doubt, or wary respect, flickered in those alien gazes.
The world around them went quiet.
The wind slowed, carrying the sharp smell of sap and blood. The silence felt heavy and watched, as if the land itself was relaying this moment across its bones. Above, the hanging planets seemed to lean closer, their light sharpening, as though they, too, were measuring what would happen next.
Noctis dropped to one knee.
He dragged air into his lungs. Each breath was a line of pain, but each one was also a statement: he was still here. Still moving. Still refusing to disappear.
He was not born to this world.
Its rules were not his. Its monsters were never meant to be his teachers. But he would endure it. He would learn how it thought, how it hunted, how it broke things. And if this place insisted on sending monsters at him—
He would fight every one it chose to throw in his path.