Silas moved cautiously, his steps deliberate as he navigated the forest toward the glowing green beam that loomed in the distance. Axel, his old security guard, had taught him the basics of moving quietly. Heel to toe, keep your weight centered, avoid anything that snaps or crunches underfoot. It was easier said than done. Silas wasn't exactly graceful, and the occasional crack of a branch or rustle of leaves underfoot reminded him just how far from a pro he really was. "Silent assassin, my ass," he muttered, gripping the short spade he had picked up earlier.
The spade wasn't much, but it felt solid in his hands. The metal shovel head had weight and a slight edge, and the wooden handle was sturdy enough to swing with force if needed. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than nothing. If push came to shove, he figured it could at least give him a fighting chance.
As he pressed forward, Silas couldn't ignore how different the world felt. The trees around him were massive, their trunks thicker than they had any right to be, their roots coiling across the ground like twisted veins. They loomed overhead, their branches spreading like a tangled web that filtered the sunlight into faint, shifting patterns on the forest floor.
Then he noticed some blueberries. Or at least, what looked like blueberries. A bush off to the side of his path was laden with deep blue fruit, but these berries weren't the size of marbles. Each one was as big as an egg, their skins smooth and gleaming in the faint light. Silas stopped, crouching to get a closer look. The berries looked bizarrely healthy, almost too perfect, and the faint, sweet smell they gave off was unmistakable.
"What is this?" he murmured, frowning. He reached out a hand, hesitated, then thought better of it. If there was one thing he'd learned from movies and survival manuals, it was that eating strange fruit in a transformed world was not a smart move. He stood back up, shaking his head. "Not today."
As he continued forward, the changes in the world became more apparent. It wasn't just the size of the trees or the bizarre fruit. He felt different, too. Lighter. Stronger. Each step felt effortless, like his body wasn't carrying its usual weight. The heavy backpack slung across his shoulders barely registered, and his breathing was steady and calm, even as he climbed over uneven terrain.
And then there were his senses. Everything seemed clearer, sharper. He could see every detail in the bark of the trees, every crack, every groove, even from several feet away. He could hear faint rustles high in the canopy, the subtle shifts of leaves brushing against each other in the breeze. The air carried distinct scents—the dampness of the earth, the sweetness of berries, the sharp tang of pine. It was as if the world had been muted before, and now everything was in perfect clarity.
Silas paused, rolling his shoulders and gripping the spade a little tighter. "Alright," he muttered to himself, "definitely the light." Whatever energy he had absorbed. It had enhanced him, changed him. As unsettling as it was, he couldn't help but marvel at how… capable he felt. The world had shifted, and so had he. Whatever lay ahead, he couldn't afford to dwell on it too much. He tightened his grip on the spade and kept moving.
Silas didn't have time to think. As he crept closer to the edge of the clearing, movement caught his eye. He froze, instinctively crouching low behind a patch of dense bushes. Peering through the leaves, he spotted a man standing in the open. Mid-thirties, dressed in a security uniform, with a large camouflage backpack slung over one shoulder. But it wasn't his uniform or the pack that caught Silas's attention—it was the rifle in his hands. Shit.
The man, whom Silas could only guess was someone from the estate's staff, stood rigidly, his posture tense, his head swiveling as he scanned the surrounding area. Silas's grip on the spade tightened, the cool metal handle a small comfort against his rising nerves. Then, from the opposite side of the clearing, another figure emerged.
The second man was older, probably in his forties, with a weathered, self-assured demeanor. Two massive German Shepherds padded at his side, their heads level with his hips. Silas's breath caught. He recognized those dogs—they were estate guard dogs, but they weren't like this before. They were huge now, their thick coats gleaming black and tan under the sunlight. Muscles rippled under their fur as they moved, and their glowing yellow eyes glinted with an intelligence that made Silas uneasy. These weren't just big dogs; they were monstrous.
The second man—Val, as Silas would soon learn—approached with a slow, measured gait, exuding the kind of confidence that made your hair stand on end. His voice was gravelly, carrying easily across the clearing. "Hello, Mac. I see you've got yourself some hardware."
The man with the rifle—Mac—shifted slightly, his grip tightening. His expression was tense, his eyes narrowing at Val. "And I see you've got your dogs, Val. What the hell happened to them? They're… bigger."
Val's grin widened, and something about it made Silas's stomach turn. "Oh, they're more than just a bit bigger, Mac. You haven't tried using that hardware of yours yet, have you?"
Mac frowned, his brow furrowing. The way Val spoke, the smug confidence in his tone—it wasn't just bravado. He knew something Mac didn't. And judging by the subtle twitch in Mac's jaw, Silas wasn't the only one picking up on it. The tension between the two men was palpable, heavy enough to make Silas grip his spade tighter.
Hidden in the bushes, Silas stayed perfectly still, his eyes darting between the two men and the dogs. Whatever was about to happen, it wasn't going to end well.
From his hiding spot, Silas crouched low, his spade gripped tightly in his hands as he watched the scene unfold. Mac's gaze darted nervously between Val and the monstrous dogs, his knuckles whitening as his grip tightened on his rifle. But whatever resolve he'd been holding onto snapped. With no warning, Mac dropped his camouflage backpack and bolted toward the mini-pagoda, his boots thudding against the uneven ground.
The dogs were on him in an instant.
They surged forward like a pair of missiles, their massive forms cutting through the clearing with a terrifying speed and precision. Silas could hear the deep, guttural growls as they closed the distance, their sleek coats glinting in the sunlight. Their jaws hung open, revealing teeth that looked like they could crush bone with ease.
Mac reached the mini-pagoda just in time. The strange, alien structure stood about ten feet tall, its smooth surface unmarred by cracks or imperfections. Its metallic sheen shimmered faintly, pulsating with an otherworldly energy. Silas couldn't help but notice how small it was compared to the colossal pagoda that had replaced the mountain, yet it still radiated power—a faint hum that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Mac slammed his palm against the door, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. Glowing text appeared across the door's surface, written in sharp, angular script that seemed to hover just above the metal.
Claimant must hold the door for 60 minutes.
If claimant moves more than 10 yards away, the door will be unclaimed, and the timer will reset.
Silas nearly scoffed aloud. "The system really wants people to fight, doesn't it?" he muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper.
Mac turned around just in time as the first dog lunged. It hurled itself through the air with incredible force, but Mac twisted awkwardly, narrowly avoiding the attack. The dog slammed into the door instead, its massive body making a loud thud as it stumbled back, snarling in frustration. Mac didn't have time to recover. The second dog was already closing in, its yellow eyes locked onto him with deadly focus.
Mac was ready this time. As the dog leaped, he pulled a large blade from his belt, raising it in a flash of steel. The weapon met the dog mid-air, plunging deep into its neck. Blood sprayed across the metallic surface of the pagoda as the animal let out a pitiful yelp, collapsing in a heap at Mac's feet.
The victory was short-lived.
The remaining Shepherd barreled into Mac's back, its jaws clamping down on his leg with a sickening crunch. Silas flinched as he heard the sound—sharp, unmistakable. Mac screamed, his voice raw and guttural, as he stumbled forward, barely managing to stay upright. The dog's powerful jaws didn't let go, its teeth sinking deeper as blood began pooling beneath them. Mac twisted desperately, his movements wild and erratic as he brought the knife around and drove it into the dog's back.
But this Shepherd was built differently. It didn't flinch. It didn't let go. Its muscles rippled with unnatural strength, and its low growl rumbled like a distant storm. Blood dripped from its muzzle as it thrashed, dragging Mac down with it. Silas watched, his jaw clenched, as Mac's movements slowed, his strength waning against the relentless assault.
Then, Val made his move.
The older man strolled forward, his hammer dangling lazily from one hand, his other casually gripping the leash of the surviving dog. His grin was predatory, his eyes glinting with amusement as he closed the distance. Mac was too preoccupied with the dog to notice Val's approach until it was too late.
With a sudden burst of speed, Val swung the hammer in a wide arc, bringing it down with brutal precision. The sound of metal meeting bone echoed across the clearing, sharp and final. Mac crumpled to the ground, his body limp, the knife slipping from his bloodied hand. The dog released its grip, its muzzle stained red as it stood over Mac's still form, panting heavily.
Silas exhaled slowly, his grip on the spade tightening. From his hiding spot, he closed his eyes for a brief moment, inhaling deeply. Is this what the world is now? he thought. Two men fighting to the death over something they don't even understand? The scene felt surreal, almost absurd. Yet it was brutally real.
His mind wandered, unbidden, to the months he had spent paralyzed. To the endless days trapped in his own body, unable to move, unable to do anything but endure. He thought of the lessons Axel had drilled into him, the hours spent learning how to move, how to survive. And now, here he was, watching two men tear each other apart for a chance at… what? Power? Survival? Both?
He opened his eyes and looked at the bloodied clearing, at the dead dog and the battered man who had just been hammered into the ground. He felt no pity, no hesitation. If anything, he was relieved. One of the dogs was dead. The other was injured. That meant fewer obstacles. Fewer problems.
Silas adjusted his grip on the spade, his knuckles whitening against the handle. This is what it is now, isn't it? The law of the jungle. Survival of the fittest. He wasn't here to mourn the loss of civility, or to dwell on the morality of it all. He was here to survive.
And as the dust began to settle, he realized he could. He would.