They didn't rush in.
That was the first mistake I noticed.
The shadows at the edge of the clearing stayed still, disciplined, patient. No reckless charges. No taunts. The jungle remained silent, its usual hum muted, as if it were holding space for something deliberate.
Hunters had learned.
I shuddered slowly, blood still pouring from the side. The wound tugged at focus, but didn't drown. Pain was the data now. Loss was a resource to manage.
"How many?" I whispered.
The observer's closed eyes went dead still for a moment while he seemed to sense. "Seven," he pronounces. "Maybe eight. Formation-based."
"Good," I said.
Suddenly, he looked very sharply to me. "That wasn't sarcasm, was it?"
"No," I said. "It means they're shaken."
The jungle changed.
Not around them.
Around me.
The stone markers edging the clearing hummed vaguely, their symbols glowing faintly but dimly enough to see. The trees creaked and bent behind me, roots tightening into the soil, pulling and stabilizing the ground.
The jungle was not helping.
It was anchoring.
"Do you feel that?" the observer whispered.
"Yes," I said. "It's choosing not to interfere."
"That's not what I meant," he said, tension in his voice. "It's choosing where not to interfere."
The first hunter stepped into the wide clearing.
Then one more.
Then there were three other hunters, spaced out, weapons down yet at the ready. Their armors were thicker than before, belts of runes richly layered and interlocked, pulsing synchronously.
Correction units.
The leader upright at the middle, elegant and steady, a blade resting point-down against the stone, shoring his gaze on me with that cold, professional focus.
"Anomaly," says he. "Designation confirmed."
I hardily retort not.
"Stabilization detected," he continues. "Behavioral shift noted-increase in threat level."
The hunters adjusted slightly their spacing to tighten the net.
The leader glanced briefly to the observer. "You've exceeded your allowance."
The observer chose to remain silent.
"This is a controlled correction," leader was saying while keeping his unwavering gaze at me. "You will not resist."
I smiled lopsidedly.
"You're wrong on that one."
The raised palm of their leader.
The hunters moved in unison.
Two left, two right, three moving directly upfront. Runes flared in precise patterns; overlapping fields of pressure slammed into me from several directions.
It wasn't raw strength.
It was suppression.
My knees buckled under the weight bearing down on me-aimed right at my changed arm, my chest, and the unstable parts of my core. The jungle stayed quite silent as an observer.
Cooldown time, the leader said boldly.
The blade whipped toward my throat.
I shifted my weight and allowed myself to fall.
Sailed closest above my face was the blade. I rolled, ignoring the tear in my side, and bashed my altered arm to the ground.
The stone marker cracked beneath my fist.
Shockwave ripped outward.
Hunters staggered, formation disrupted for half a second.
That was all I needed.
I rushed against the center.
The leader reacted sharply, blade sweeping up to intercept. Our arms-blade, my arm-groaned against grinding metal.
The Pressure between us exploded.
He was strong.
Stronger than the rest.
"You are burning stability," he said, voice strained but well controlled.
"Not yet," I said.
I twisted, redirecting his force, and rammed my knee into his thigh. Bone cracked. He grunted but didn't fall, swishing upward in response.
The blade cut deep into my shoulder.
Blood sprayed.
The pain flared bright-and then settled.
I caught his wrist and squeezed.
His armor creaked.
His eyes widened slightly.
That was when the jungle reacted.
Not for pressure.
For obstructing.
A root burst from the ground between us, taking the hunter's strike against my back, deflecting it. Another root latched onto a hunter's leg charging, slowing him just enough for my elbow to crush his throat.
This wasn't choosing me.
This was choosing disruption.
Observing, he stared. "It's... limiting them."
"Clean," I panted. "Too clean. Too controlled."
The leader tore himself away and jumped back, signaling sharply. The hunters regrouped instantly, changing tactics.
Net launchers fired.
The black cords wrapped in runes shot toward me like snakes alive with oppression magic. I caught one, felt it suck all the heat out of my arm, and tore it apart-but two more wrapped around my legs, yanking me off balance.
I hit the ground hard.
Down came the pressure again, heavier and more focused.
"Correction protocol escalated," the leader declared. "Permanent crippling authorized."
The cords tightened, draining stability, pulling at my core.
The hunger stirred.
Not screaming.
Asking.
I clenched my teeth.
"No," I growled.
I let the hunger in.
Not entirely.
Just enough.
The heat surged sharply, condensing instead of exploding. Suddenly, the cords snapped, the runes shattering as my altered arm tore free.
I rose slowly, blood dripping freely now, vision narrowing.
The leader stepped back, tension finally cracking his composure. "He adjusts inside suppression."
"That's the point," I said quietly.
I charged.
Hunters retreated, switching to ranged suppression. Red bolts of energy slammed into me, ripping through flesh, splintering me again and again as I staggered.
Each hit took something.
Strength.
Time.
Blood.
I kept moving.
I reached the first hunter and buried my fist into his chest. The armor crumpled inward. Then to the next, elbow thrusting against his neck. A blade pierced by side again-deeper this time, and the legs almost buckled beneath.
The cost was building fast.
The observer hollered something behind me, but I couldn't hear it anymore.
Everything narrowed down to movement and choice.
The leader stood now, alone, blade raised.
"You should have run," he said.
"So should you," I replied.
We collided.
This time, there was no finesse. No tactics. Only pure force. His blade cleaved into my torso. My arm crashed against his ribs. We traded damage harshly, efficiently.
I felt something rip apart inside me.
Not flesh.
Something far deeper. Not primal.
The stability fractured.
The hunger flared dangerously.
The jungle reacted once more.
The ground below us split.
A fissure opened, swallowing the leader's footing. He stumbled-and I sped my shoulder into his chest, smashing him against a stone marker.
He didn't rise.
Silence fell over the world.
The remaining hunters decamped, dragging their wounded, eyes fixed on me with something new.
Fear.
The jungle pulsed once.
Not approval.
Acceptance.
I might have staggered and then fallen to one knee, blood pooling beneath me, my vision dimming dismally. The observer was at my side immediately, hands pressing down hard.
"You are dying," he said. "This is not manageable."
I laughed weakly. "Worth it."
"No," he said sharply. "This is the cost."
The jungle didn't move to help.
It had chosen its side-mine or theirs-it chose conflict.
The observer said, looking earnestly at my face, "You cannot keep standing your ground like this. Every correction now costs more than the last."
I swallowed, throat-on-fire. "Then I'll make sure they can't afford to correct me."
The jungle moved uneasily.
Far off, something very ancient motioned, dissatisfied with the selection.
The observer helped me to my feet, taking my weight onto him. "They'll escalate," he said. "Stronger units. New protocols."
"Let them," I said, vision fading at the edges. "I'll adapt again."
It was now clearly darkening.
In that moment, I felt it.
The jungle stopped trying to erase me.
It was now preparing to replace me.