Jonash's heart thudded against his chest, a violent rhythm that made his ears ring. His breath was ragged, but his mind was surprisingly clear, as if a part of him had switched over to survival mode. His legs were still shaky from the chase, his arms sore from the strain of climbing and swinging from trees. But he had to keep moving. There was no other choice.
The jungle around him seemed to pulse with an eerie energy, the trees whispering with the wind. Shadows danced across the ground, and every rustling leaf sent his senses into overdrive. He was hyperaware of everything—every snap of a twig, every distant animal call, every change in the air.
Jonash stumbled forward, his breath coming in short bursts. His mind kept returning to the one thought he couldn't shake: I need a weapon.
The wolf had almost caught him, and even though he had managed to escape by running, he knew that wouldn't last forever. The jungle was full of dangers, and sooner or later, he would have to fight back. He had no idea how to survive this place, but he knew he wasn't getting out without something to defend himself.
He glanced around at the dense foliage, his eyes scanning for anything useful. His mind was already racing, thinking back to survival games he'd played. What did they always tell you? Gather resources. Make tools. Stay hidden until you're ready to fight.
A soft breeze stirred the leaves, and his gaze landed on a small cluster of branches lying nearby. They were thin and flexible, not much use for building a shelter, but they could serve another purpose. He moved toward them cautiously, making sure to keep his steps light, his ears straining for any sign of danger.
As he knelt down to examine the branches, the system's interface suddenly blinked into existence in front of him, its glowing text flashing like a neon sign.
Mission: Craft basic tools.
Jonash frowned. He hadn't expected that. He had been too caught up in the chaos to consider what the system had in store for him next. He stared at the glowing prompt, waiting for more information, but the message didn't change. Just that one line: Craft basic tools.
"Basic tools," he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible over the noise of the jungle. He already had a rough idea of what he needed. A sharpened stick, maybe a makeshift spear. He had done this before in games. It was simple—gather materials, craft the tool, and use it to defend yourself. The only difference was that this was real. The stakes were real.
Jonash gathered the sticks, his hands moving mechanically as he stripped the bark from one, fashioning a crude, pointed end. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. He was no carpenter, but he knew enough to make a basic weapon. His hands were slick with sweat, and the tremor in his fingers reminded him that, in this world, everything was more difficult.
Once he had the stick as sharp as he could make it, he stood up slowly, testing the weight. It felt flimsy, fragile in his hands, but it would do. He could use it to defend himself, at least for now.
As if on cue, a low growl echoed through the jungle. Jonash froze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. It was distant, but unmistakable. A wolf.
His heart skipped a beat. He glanced around, eyes wide. There was no cover. No trees to climb, no rocks to hide behind. Just the open space of the jungle floor, thick with undergrowth. The shadows seemed to stretch out, closing in on him.
The growl came again, closer this time, and Jonash's breath caught in his throat. The wolf was circling him, testing him, trying to figure out where he was. He could feel its presence, like a weight pressing down on him, even though he couldn't see it yet.
His grip tightened on the sharpened stick. This was it. This was his first real test. His first chance to prove that he could survive in this new world.
And then, from the underbrush ahead of him, it appeared.
The wolf was bigger than the others, its fur a dark, matted black that seemed to absorb the moonlight. Its eyes glowed, faint yellow orbs in the dark. Its mouth was slightly open, and Jonash could see the glint of sharp teeth.
Jonash didn't hesitate. He had no time to second-guess himself. As the wolf lunged at him, its jaws snapping, Jonash swung the stick with all his strength, aiming for the wolf's head. It wasn't a perfect strike, but it was enough to make the wolf recoil, its teeth grazing the stick instead of his arm.
The wolf snarled, its eyes flashing with fury. It charged again, faster this time, and Jonash knew he had to act fast.
He sidestepped, barely avoiding the wolf's attack, and jabbed the sharpened end of the stick into the wolf's side with one swift motion. It yelped, the sound high-pitched and desperate, and stumbled backward.
Jonash's breath was ragged, his chest rising and falling with each panicked breath. The wolf circled again, but Jonash didn't wait for it to attack. He charged forward, the stick held tightly in his hand, and with one quick thrust, drove the sharpened end deep into the wolf's throat.
The creature's body went rigid, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze. The jungle was deathly quiet as the wolf staggered back, a strangled growl escaping its throat before it collapsed to the ground, its life slipping away.
Jonash stood over it, breathing hard, his heart still pounding in his chest. The adrenaline coursed through his veins, a wild, sharp rush of power. He had done it. He had killed his first predator.
But then, just as quickly, the weight of what he had done settled over him. The wolf had been a danger—there was no doubt about that. But it had been a living creature. And he had taken its life. The thought made his stomach churn, the initial rush of victory fading into a cold, empty feeling.
The system chimed in with a notification. Reward: 1 portion of food.
Jonash blinked. He hadn't expected that. He hadn't even thought about food in the heat of the moment. But now that the battle was over, the gnawing hunger in his stomach returned with a vengeance. He hadn't eaten since he woke up in this place, and his body was starting to feel the effects.
The system's prompt blinked again, this time with a small icon of roasted meat appearing in the corner of his vision. Jonash reached out, his hand trembling slightly, and the meat materialized in his hand, cooked and ready to eat. It was warm, smelling faintly of spices and something he couldn't quite identify. His stomach growled, and without a second thought, he bit into it.
The taste was strange, but it was food. The meat was tender, flavorful, and filling. Jonash didn't stop until the entire portion was gone, his hunger finally satisfied. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep him going. For now, that was all he needed.
But just as the warmth of the food settled in his stomach, a low howl echoed through the jungle. Jonash froze, his blood running cold. It wasn't the same lone wolf. This was different.
This was the pack.
The howls came again, louder this time, and Jonash's blood ran cold. The wolves were regrouping, calling to each other, preparing to track him down.
Jonash's mind raced. He couldn't stay here. Not now. The pack would be closing in on him, and he wouldn't survive another fight, not with them all together.
With one last glance at the fallen wolf, Jonash turned and sprinted into the jungle, his heart pounding in his chest.