Ethan wandered through the jungle, with trees swaying in the breeze and a symphony of birdsong creating a peaceful atmosphere. The sound of a flowing stream drew him in, and he marveled at the surrounding grace. He followed the stream and discovered a tranquil sanctuary. Waterfalls cascaded downward, their mist rising into the air above the pool where various creatures gathered to drink the clean water. Approaching the water, he scooped up a handful to quench his thirst, feeling the refreshing coolness soothe his dry throat. He persisted until he felt satisfied. Gazing at his reflection, he noticed his face smeared with dirt and leaves tangled in his hair. He scooped water again, splashing it on his face to clean himself. Perched under the tree, Ethan pondered the artifact's nature and origin. Clutching it in his bare hand, he vowed, "Someday, I will find the answers I seek." But first, he needed to escape this forsaken place.
In a remote and hidden location, the group built a camp. Here, a group of men engaged in various activities, their laughter and voices mingling with crackling campfires and rustling leaves. Tents pepper the landscape, and the aroma of grilled food wafts through the air, creating a lively atmosphere amidst the tranquility of nature. Inside a particular tent, chaos reigned. Shouts echoed from within, and someone hurled objects out around the tent. Various men cast glances toward it, whispering among themselves. "Hey, the boss is angry again," one whispered with a Latin accent. Those men were ordered on a specific mission to find that scholar bastard who escaped the recent massacre, but after an exhaustive search, they returned empty-handed. "May their soul rest in peace," one man said. Two men stand by, observing as a muscular man vents his anger, hurling objects into every corner of the tent. As the muscular man examined the two men, they recognized his reddish face, and the eyepatch gave him a bull-comparable presence. They gulp as the men draw near, attempting to stand tall. Their bodies refuse, paralyzed by fear—the fear of whether they will leave this place alive. Jasper Thorne, a decorated officer of the British Army, became disillusioned with the bureaucracy after leaving the service to work for a mercenary corporation. Confronted with two men and the malicious intent to kill them over an error, Jasper compelled himself to abstain, deeming it a squandering of human resources. After reasonable thought,
"Do you realize the cost of your failure to apprehend him?" (Jasper glared at the trembling men, his finger tapping on the table).
"But, senior, we didn't expect him to..." (Shivering from the boss's aura).
"Expect whom? Spare me from your excuses!" (He slammed his fist on the table, causing it to quiver). He is a pathetic scholar, not a soldier, you scum!" (he yelled at the mercenary, fury obvious in his face).
The jungle is immense, yet he remains out there. Senior, we swear we will find him. (The man nods quickly, trying to appease him).
"Oh really, you will find him? You'd better, because if you fail me again..." (steps back, gesturing to the surrounding chaos) "This mess will look like child's play compared to what I'll do to you."
Jasper turns away, his voice cold as ice, dismissing them with a wave. "Take some men with you this time. No mistakes. No second chances."
"Understood, senior. We won't fail."(gulps, nodding vigorously)
The two men scurry out of the room, their fear palpable. Jasper stands there for a moment, his breathing heavy with anger. He mutters to himself, his hands clenching into a fist.
"Ethan Rivera…You can't get away forever, and my client will be delighted to see your stiff body as you carry the key to my paycheck. My life is a living hell, thanks to you. No matter how difficult the scenario, I will locate you.
"Ethan sneezed, feeling the dampness of his clothes and the chill of the surroundings. Yet, he sensed the looming danger once more. Hugging his knapsack, he started roaming through the jungle. Still, the unsettling feeling of being observed continues, intensified by a bone-chilling cold and the knowledge that he's not alone. The unusual silence in the jungle loomed in the minds of the Ethans. The swaying of the tall trees added to the scene's eeriness. As Ethan walked on, an unexpected sound caught his attention from within the bushes. The bush trembled once more, and he felt his breath hitch in his throat. As he neared the bushes, his heart throbbed. Seizing a branch for self-defense, he aimed at the bushes and braced himself for whatever was to come. As the bushes parted, an organism with long ears and white fur emerged. Ethan sighed with relief; it was just a rabbit. The rabbit's innocent appearance relaxed his tense muscles as he observed the creature's guileless movements. The sight almost brought a smile to his face—life, both fragile and tenacious, flourishing in this wild and relentless environment.
But the moment of respite shattered. A blur of motion burst from the shadows, too swift for Ethan to react. A jaguar pounced on the unsuspecting rabbit. Ethan lurched back and witnessed one of nature's most brutal acts: the jaguar clutched the lifeless rabbit, bit into it, and played with its head, swinging it like a toy. Blood splattered everywhere, painting the surroundings red. After confirming its kill, the jaguar laid it on the ground, tore into the flesh, and feasted on its prey. Ethan stood frozen, witnessing the savage act. The jaguar flung the rabbit's head towards Ethan and it rolled to a halt near him. The innocent eye appeared to gaze at Ethan, begging for justice, while the air was heavy with the scent of fresh blood. Satisfied with the rabbit, the jaguar sniffed its blood-stained nose and shifted its focus to Ethan. Its gaze filled him with terror, and he trembled, envisioning the rabbit's fate. The jaguar crept closer to Ethan, moving stealthily and poised to pounce. Ethan knew closing his eyes and bracing for impact, Ethan tensed as the jaguar lunged and pounced. Instinctively, Ethan's eyes flew open, and he struck the jaguar's head with the branch he was holding. The force of the blow sent the jaguar tumbling away. Driven by survival instincts, Ethan sprinted as fast as he could. The jaguar, struggling to rise, felt the throbbing pain from the branches strike. The jaguar shook its head to ease the pain. It focused on Ethan's scent and followed his trail with determination. Ethan ran, occasionally glancing back at the jaguar's silhouettes. He struggled to breathe as he dashed through the dense undergrowth, hearing the jaguar's growls echo through the jungle. His boots slipped on the mossy ground, almost causing him to fall down a slope. He desperately grabbed onto branches to steady himself, even though they cut into his hands. The pain was nothing compared to the fear he felt. The jaguar's movements grew louder behind him as it crashed through the foliage. Ethan risked another glance back and saw the jaguar's glowing eyes, filled with hunger, closing in on him. Ethan's foot slipped on the loose gravel, his arms flailing as he struggled for balance. The ground beneath him tilted sharply, and he dropped to his knees, clutching at tufts of grass. Pebbles scattered ahead of him, tumbling down the steep incline as his breath caught in his throat. As the thunderous roar of the jaguar echoed through the dense foliage, he felt a surge of adrenaline course through his veins. There was no other option; he had to make his way along the jagged cliffs that loomed before him. With each careful step, the ground beneath his feet crumbled slightly, but he pressed on heart racing. Suddenly, from the shadows of the jungle, the majestic creature burst forth, its powerful muscles coiled like a spring, poised to pounce. The air was thick with tension as the jaguar's golden eyes locked onto him, the primal instinct of the wild palpable in that fleeting moment, and he carefully navigated his way down the steep cliffside, his heart racing with each calculated step. The jagged branches of low-hanging trees scratched his arms and legs, leaving behind stinging marks. As he reached for a sturdy outcropping to steady himself, a sudden, sharp crack from his leg ensued, followed by an intense wave of pain that sent a chill of fear down his spine. He had struck a jagged rock concealed beneath the surface, causing a jolt of excruciating pain to radiate through his body. The impact was immediate and intense, akin to a raw electric shock coursing through his nerves. He stumbled, overwhelmed by disbelief as he tried to comprehend the sudden agony. Each heartbeat seemed to intensify the pain, and despite his determination to endure, profound anguish overwhelmed his legs and feet. Clenching his teeth, he resisted the urge to cry out, striving to keep his composure as tears blurred his vision. Yet, he knew he must persist in running. As if the bottom of the cliff pursuit was continuing, a team of mercenaries moved with calculated precision somewhere in the jungle. Their boots crushed the undergrowth with muted thuds, rifles ready and eyes scanning the shifting shadows. The leader raised a hand, signaling for silence, as the team halted, listening intently to the whispering leaves and distant, hurried footsteps. From the shadows, a solitary figure burst forth, racing urgently towards the group of mercenaries. The air grew tense as the soldiers braced themselves, their Gewehr 98 bolt-action rifles, crafted by the German Empire, at the ready. Yet, as the figure approached, his features became discernible against the twilight. After a few tense moments, the mercenaries eased their posture, a shared sigh of relief escaping them as they identified him as part of the mercenaries, primarily serving as a scout, one man approaches the lookout.
Have you been able to find him?
"Footprints and a broken branch show someone made a path," the scout said calmly, but sounded uneasy. "But…"
The leader leaned in, narrowing his eyes. "But what?"
The scout paused, his eyes darting to the shadowed forest behind him. "There are footprints... too large for any human. And the spacing—whatever created them was moving swiftly. It's not just him out there."
A murmur spread among the group, with mercenaries sharing apprehensive looks. A seasoned veteran gripped his Gewehr 98 tighter, whispering, "Might be wolves, or something worse."
The leader's jaw set firmly as he faced the lookout. "Raise the alarm. No fires tonight. We double the guards."
A younger mercenary, his anxiety apparent, murmured, "Do you think it's...?"
The leader, surveying the fading light, commanded without hesitation, "Stay alert. Anything that moves, shoot on sight."
As the mercenaries pressed on, Ethan struggled for breath. Close by, a small river meandered down the slope. He winced, suppressing a cry as he gingerly probed his wound. A sharp snap had resounded when he stumbled earlier, and now, any motion rekindled the intense pain.
"Damn it," he whispered, surveying the thick forest. The dimming light provided scant solace as shadows drew nearer, and the distant cry of a beast hastened his actions.
Leveraging his uninjured leg, he pulled himself toward a group of young trees. His gaze fixed on two robust, straight branches—ideal for his needs. With hands shaking, he drew his knife and sawed them off, his breathing rapid and shallow.
Then, he ripped the bottom of his shirt, creating crude fabric strips. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he carefully positioned the branches on either side of his hurt leg. Every shift caused spikes of pain, but he gritted his teeth and persevered.
With whatever steadiness his quivering hands could muster, Ethan wrapped the fabric strips around the makeshift splint. The makeshift ties held the branches in place, lending his leg some stability. He tested it with a tentative redistribution of weight and grimaced—it would suffice, albeit marginally.
Taking another branch for support, Ethan pushed himself to stand. His body shook from the strain, yet resolve flared within him. Each step was a struggle, his injured leg dragging as he relied on the makeshift crutch.
"I'm not dying here," he muttered to himself, propelling forward, each stride a testament to his resistance against the agony and the encroaching wild.