Mendez surveyed the dense forest surrounding him, the towering trees casting long shadows in the early morning light. The roots twisted and coiled around each other, creating a maze-like terrain that made navigation difficult. As he moved cautiously through the underbrush, he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. His senses were on high alert, every rustle and creak putting him on edge.
Suddenly, he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching. Mendez tensed, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword. Emerging from the shadows were a group of horned youths, their eyes gleaming with a mix of curiosity and malice. They moved with the confidence of predators, each step deliberate and measured.
The leader of the group, a tall youth with crimson horns and a scar running down his cheek, stepped forward. "You must be Mendez," he said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "We've heard tales of your prowess. It's an honor to face you."
