Crown shyness. That was the phenomenon that William Hexwill experienced the instant he opened his eyes. Wide canopies spread all over his vision. Light smearing through the spaces in between the tree crowns, as if they are shy to make contact with each other.
The smell of mud,the freshness of the leaves that have been baptized by rainwater,and the sounds of crickets and other small animals masked the sorrow in William's soul.
His face was expressionless,his body motionless while his eyes were full of indifference. His tears however,betrayed his sadness,his loneliness and the unfairness of the world.
He grieved silently,light from the crevices of the canopies glorifying his inner struggle as he adjusted the loss of his family.
His beloved wife,his teenage son and his three year old daughter,all among the 85% of humanity that didn't make the cut in the first culling process.
He grieved silently for hours,his instincts kicking in as the light from the crown shyness tilted and angled towards the direction of the setting sun.
It would be dark soon. And God knows what kind of abominations would terrorize this forest at night. He forced himself to stand,chose a certain direction via the instructions that were imprinted in his head and instinctively took big strides.
Walking over huge tree roots,struggling over the mud all the while taking advantage of the remaining light, Williams began his search for a temporary camp for the night.
He scanned around him and marveled.
Although he knew what had happened,he still found it hard to accept that Earth's entire civilization had been erased. There were no longer roads or buildings,no cars or even any kind of traces that would provide evidence of human civilization.
Even the human race itself is but a shell of it's former glory. Only 20% remaining to further kill each other for tokens that will allow entrance towards the trial portal.
Thinking of this, his hand reflexively reached for his neck. Displaying a rectangular necklace with the number 1 that he knew indicated his tier.
He knew very well what that necklace meant. He knew that one has to collect 10 1st tier tokens to enter the lowest 1st tier portal, 50 tier 2 to enter the 2nd tier portal and a hundred 3rd tier tokens to the highest level 3rd tier portal to the third process.
He adjusted his crumpled suit, took out it's coat and tore out it's sleeves and tied them to his shoes. His movements were practiced, totally trying to change his footprints lest other humans wanted his token.
He put on the rest of his coat and proceeded forward,his eyes busy scanning and scouring his environment for the briefest of disturbance. A passive behavior he picked up when growing up. Not at all expecting it to become handy in such a situation.
He walked for a few more hours. Darkness shrouding the land before he could find safe haven. Fortunately he didn't encounter any wild animals along the way, and hopefully he wouldn't.
But of course wishful thinking never got anyone anywhere.
Roar!
The sound ripped through the twilight air like torn fabric,it's vibrations primal and violent. It was not the roar of a predator on the hunt, but the roar of struggle. A struggle of combat.
The guttural thunder of two titans colliding.
William froze mid-stride, one foot suspended over a massive root. Every instinct, every neuron in his grief-addled brain, screamed the same command that any sensible person would follow: Run the other way.
He did.
He pivoted sharply, his worn shoes slipping in the mud before finding purchase. He pushed forward, away from the sounds of conflict, his breath coming in ragged gasps that had nothing to do with exertion. But as he increased his pace, the roar did not fade. It grew more distinct.
It was coming for him.
The forest erupted behind him. William risked a glance over his shoulder and felt his heart seize.
A creature burst through the undergrowth. A long-armed ape of great proportions. Its fur was matted and dark, streaked with something glistening that might have been blood or rain. Its arms, elongated and thick as tree branches, slammed against the earth as it moved with a terrifying, loping speed. Its eyes, intelligent and enraged, locked onto him.
But it was not empty-handed.
In its massive grip, writhing and coiling with desperate fury, was a serpent. A boa constrictor, easily four metres long, its scales shimmering with an iridescent sheen in the dying light. The ape roared again, a sound of pure exertion, and with a flex of monumental strength, it hurled the serpent directly at William.
Time seemed to slow.
William watched the massive snake sail through the air, a twisting, open-mouthed projectile aimed straight for him. It cleared the distance with horrifying speed, but its trajectory was slightly off—or perhaps the ape's aim was true, just aimed at something else. The serpent slammed not into William, but into the canopy above him.
The impact was catastrophic.
Ancient branches, weakened by time and rain, shattered under the boa's considerable weight. A cascade of wood and foliage rained down. William had no time to dodge. A thick branch, heavy as a fallen pillar, caught him across the chest and hurled him sideways.
He felt the air evacuate his lungs as his body tumbled like a ragdoll-like, until his back slammed against a wide tree trunk with a sickening thud.
Pain exploded through his ribs. Spots danced in his vision. But as he slumped against the bark, gasping for breath, he realized two things simultaneously: he was alive, and fortunately,he was hidden.
The massive roots of the ancient tree curled around him like protective arms, forming a natural alcove.
From this shadowed hollow, William had a perfect, horrifying view of the clearing where the two beasts now faced each other. He pressed himself deeper into the bark, willing his breathing to silence, and watched where the moonlight now lit.
The ape had not followed its projectile. It stood at the edge of the clearing, chest heaving, eyes fixed on the point where the serpent had crashed.
The boa, dazed but far from defeated, uncoiled from the debris with a sinuous grace that spoke of absolute control. It slithered into the open, its tongue flickering, tasting the air.
What happened next shattered every assumption William had ever held about animals.
The fight was not merely a clash of fangs and fur. It was a very apt application of strategy and wit. These beasts clearly had intelligence.
"They are at least at the awakened realm." Williams guessed. His eyes never moving from the two.
The ape made the first move, charging with a ground-shaking roar. It swung a massive fist at the serpent's head. A killing blow for sure.
But the boa was no longer there. It flowed aside like water, its body a blur of motion, and in the same fluid movement, it coiled. Not around the ape's body, but around its ankle.
The ape stumbled, caught off guard. It grabbed for the serpent with both hands, but the boa was already moving again, constricting and tightening. It slithered up the ape's leg, its scales finding purchase in the matted fur, aiming for the torso where its coils could do the most damage.
William watched, transfixed, as the ape seemed to be in thought for an instant. It stopped trying to pry the snake off. Instead, it threw itself sideways, rolling violently, attempting to crush the serpent against the earth beneath its massive weight.
The tactic worked partially; the boa's grip loosened, and the ape scrambled free and putting distance between them.
They circled each other. The serpent's head wove hypnotically, feinting left and right, searching for an opening. The ape's eyes tracked every movement with a focus that was unmistakably intelligent. It was learning and adapting to this kind of clash.
The boa struck again, a lightning-fast lunge aimed at the ape's throat. The ape caught it. Its massive hands closed around the serpent just behind the head, and for a moment, William thought it was over.
The ape would simply crush the skull !
But the boa had anticipated this. As the ape's grip tightened, the serpent's body whipped around, coiling around the ape's arm, then its chest, then its neck. The ape roared in fury and pain, stumbling backward as the coils tightened. It tried to pull the serpent free, but the boa was relentless, each loop of its body a perfect application of pressure.
William stared, his own pain forgotten. This was not mere instinct. This was counter and counter-counter. The ape had predicted the strike; the snake had predicted the capture. They were thinking. They were fighting with artistic deference.
Then the ape adapted again.
Instead of pulling, it pushed. It lunged forward, driving the boa-wrapped arm toward a jagged, broken stump of a tree.
The serpent's body slammed against the wood, and William heard a faint hiss of pain; the first sound the snake had made.
The ape did it again. And again. Each impact driving the sharp edges of the stump into the serpent's scales, weakening its coils.
The boa, realizing its danger, loosened its grip to reposition. It was a fatal mistake.
The instant the pressure lessened, the ape's other hand shot forward and seized the serpent's tail. With a roar of triumph, it swung the boa in a wide arc, building momentum, and then slammed it against the earth. Once. Twice. Three times. The ground shook with each impact.
William felt his breath catch. The serpent was no longer moving.
The ape stood over its defeated foe, chest heaving, a guttural cry of victory escaping its throat. It dropped the limp body and turned.
Directly toward William's hiding place.
Their eyes met. William saw in those dark, intelligent orbs not just the fury of a predator, but the cold calculation of a being that knew it had been watched.
The ape's lips curled back, revealing yellowed fangs. It took a step forward.
And then the serpent, very much not dead, struck one final time.
Its head, which had been lying limp and forgotten, shot upward with the speed of a released spring. Its fangs sank deep into the ape's calf. The ape howled, whirling, stomping down with its other foot. The impact caught the boa's skull and crushed it against the earth.
This time, there was no recovery. The serpent's body went truly limp.
But the damage was done.
The ape stumbled, its leg already showing signs of swelling from the venom—because of course the serpent was venomous.
Nothing in this new world was simple. The ape took another step toward William, its eyes glazing, its movements uncoordinated. It took a third step, and its massive body swayed.
It fell.
Directly toward William's tree.
The impact was like an earthquake. The tree shuddered violently, and a cascade of debris: loose bark, smaller branches, and a thick knot of wood rained down upon the hollow where William crouched. He had no time to move, no time to even raise his arms.
Something hard and heavy struck his temple.
And the world went black.