The jungle had changed. Micheal could feel it in the air. The warmth was gone, replaced by a chilling breeze that rustle through the trees. The gentle rustling of leaves sounded heavier, almost like whispers riding on the wind. Every step Micheal took made the soft ground stock under his boots, but even that seemed quieter than it should have been.
He gripped the hilt of his sword tighter. It wasn't just nerves—it was something else, something that crawled under his skin and prickled at the back of his neck. The deeper he ventured into the jungle, the more the shadows seemed to stretch.
He paused under a large tree with thick, gnarled roots twisting into the ground like veins. He let out a deep breath, clouding in the strange cold that settled over the area. His instincts screamed at him– something was watching.
A whisper.
Micheal spun around, sword raised, but there was no one there. Only the forest. The ancient trees stood like silent sentinels, their dark leaves rustling gently, though there was no wind.
"Who's there?"Micheal called out. His voice echoed just a little too far into the woods.
The whisper came again– not a word this time, but a melody. Soft and fleeting, like a lullaby sung by a voice too old to be human. It tickled his ears, drawing him deeper into the dark. The path ahead seemed darker than it had been moments ago, and Micheal's heart punded really hard.
The air grew heavy,not just from the cold, but from something else–Something ancient. Something hungry.
He spinned his sword softly in his hand, the Veralune's enchantment reacting to whatever lurked nearby. Micheal took slow deliberate steps, scanning the underbrush, his senses sharpened. Each shadow felt alive, pulsing in the edges of his vision.
He then saw it.
A figure stood partially hidden behind a tree, wrapped in a cloak of shadow so thick it seemed part of the forest itself. Its eyes, however, gleamed with a soft silver light–not hostile, but not friendly either. Just watching.
Micheal's pulse quickened. "Show yourself," he demanded, but the figure didn't move.
Instead, the whispering returned, louder now, circling him like invisible voices speaking a language older than time. He couldn't understand the words, but the meaning seeped into his bones– leave or be consumed.
The Figuere sneered. Dissolving into the surrounding shadows like it was never there to begin with. Micheal's breath came quicker, his grip tightened on his sword but there was nothing to fight. Only the jungle, dark and still, as though it was holding its breath.
Then something moved fast.
Micheal barely had time to react before a shadow lashed out from above, narrowly missing him as he threw himself to the side. The creature that followed wasn't fully solid, flickering between form and formlessness, its limbs half-rooted in the earth and half floating like smoke. Its eyes burned white, bright against the suffocating dark.
Micheal's heart thundered. He had read about these creatures–remnants of old curses, spawned from the ancient wars that once scarred this jungle. They were drawn to life, to light, to anything that dared disturb the silence they guarded.
The beast struck again, its tendrils slicing through the air like knives. Micheal ducked, the Veralune blade flaring brighter as it clashed against the shadow's formless body. The light burned the creature, forcing it back with a shrill, unnatural screech.
But it didn't retreat. It circled him instead, and Micheal realized there were more. Dozens of glowing eyes blinked to life in the trees, in the ground, in the very air itself. Whispering shadows, watching him, waiting for him to slip.
'Oh My....!'Micheal's mind raced. Fighting them head on would be a mistake–they weren't fully of this world, which made them slippery and hard to hit. But they feared light, especially enchanted light.
He raised his staff high, summoning the full force of its magic. The runes along its surface pulsed, and a flare of silver light erupted from the veralune staffe, cutting through the shadows like a beacon. The whispers turned to screams, and the beasts shrank back, their forms dissolving into streaks of black mist.
Micheal didn't wait for them to regroup. He ran.
The jungle blurred around him, the ancient trees flickering past as the shadows pursued, flickering in and out of sight. Each time one got too close, Micheal's sword would flash, warding them off–but they were relentless.
It felt like running through a nightmare. The forest itself seemed to shift, paths twisting back on themselves, roots moving where they hadn't been before. Micheal had no sense of direction anymore, only the desperate instinct to keep moving, to survive.
Just as his legs began to tire, the jungle opened up into a small clearing. The moonlight bathed the space, driving back the shadows at the edges. Micheal stumbled to a stop, chest heaving, sweat freezing on his skin.
The shadows didn't follow him into the clearing. They circled just beyond the light, their whispering voices reduced to angry murmurs. Micheal knew they were waiting–waiting or the light to fade, for exhaustion to drag him back into the dark.
As he stood there catching his breath, his mind raced with questions. 'Why were the Shadow Beasts here, so far from the cursed ruins they were usually bound to? Why had the jungle itself seemed to guide him here? and what was that figure he had seen at the start?'
The Veralune sword pulsed faintly in his hand, the light growing dimmer now that the immediate danger had passed. Micheal lowered it, but his grip never relaxed.
The jungle was no ordinary place– that much was certain. It held secrets older than anything he had encountered so far, and now those secrets were stirring. Watching. Testing him.
The whispers still danced at the edges of his hearing, but they were quieter now, almost like they were...curious.
Micheal exhaled slowly. "If you're watching," he muttered into the dark, "then keep watching. I'm not done yet."
"It's Just the beginning "