Aris had always been a calm boy, the kind of child whose presence warmed even the coldest of hearts. His charm and boundless energy made him beloved by the villagers. Growing up in the small settlement of 10,000 people, Aris was more than just a face in the crowd-he was the lifeblood of it. A boy who could make anyone smile, lend a hand, or bring a sense of hope in hard times.
But his childhood wasn't without its shadows. Aris had no siblings, and his mother was little more than a faint memory. She had left when he was a baby, leaving his father to raise him alone. The man had done his best, raising Aris with strength and a sense of duty, but there was always one expectation looming over their household: His father, a hardened man bound by tradition, had always hoped Aris would follow in his footstep.
Aris, however, had dreamed of more. He wanted to explore the unknown lands, find the hidden mysteries of their world, and live a life of discovery. That dream, however, had turned into this nightmare.
Here he was, face-to-face with the beast that had haunted his every waking thought for the past two months.
The wolf-like monster stood before him, its black fur rippling as it growled low and menacing. Its single crimson eye burned with a feral hatred. The other, tightly closed with a scar running through it, was a reminder of their first encounter-the wound Aris had inflicted in a desperate attempt to survive. Now, that same wound seemed to fuel the beast's fury.
Aris gripped his fishing knife, the blade worn but reliable. His hand trembled, but his gaze stayed locked on the beast. For a moment, neither of them moved. Time seemed to slow as Aris's breathing deepened, his heart hammering against his ribs.
The two opponents sprinted toward each other in an explosive burst of motion. Aris screamed, a primal roar fueled by fear and determination, as the beast bared its jagged fangs and lunged with a swipe of its massive claws. Aris ducked, narrowly evading the attack, and retaliated with a desperate slash to its side. The knife grazed the beast's hide, leaving only a shallow cut.
"Dammit!" Aris cursed under his breath as he stumbled back. His chest heaved as he stared at the beast, its wound already beginning to clot. He glanced at his knife, running a thumb over its dull blade. "Hang in there with me, old friend," he muttered to the weapon, his voice trembling. "Just stay with me for this last battle."
Repositioning the knife in a reverse grip, he shifted his focus back to the beast. He knew he couldn't rely on brute strength; the creature's hide was too tough, its reflexes too sharp. But he had one advantage: he'd studied its movements. During his two months of survival in the Forest of Death, he had replayed their first fight in his mind countless times. He knew the beast's attack patterns—the way it would dash toward its prey with claws outstretched, followed by a pounce meant to end the fight.
Aris sprinted deeper into the forest, weaving through the trees. He wasn't running to escape—he was leading the beast into terrain that would limit its agility. He needed an edge, and the dense cluster of ironwood trees ahead would provide just that.
As he ran, his eyes caught sight of a thick, club-shaped branch lying on the ground. It was made of ironwood, a material he'd come to respect for its unmatched sturdiness. He grabbed it without breaking stride, feeling the weight of the improvised weapon in his hand. "Let's see if your insides are as tough as your skin," he whispered to himself, his voice laced with grim determination.
The beast's growls grew louder, signaling that it was closing the distance. Aris skidded to a halt, positioning himself near the densest part of the forest. He tightened his grip on the ironwood club and waited, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring.
With a deafening snarl, the beast burst through the trees, its red eye blazing like a fiery beacon. Aris swung the club with all his might, aiming for the creature's head. The impact reverberated through his arms, the solid wood connecting with a sickening crack. But the beast was faster than he anticipated. As the club struck, it lashed out with its claws, catching Aris across the torso and sending him hurtling through the air.
He crashed into a tree with bone-shattering force, the impact leaving him gasping for air. Pain exploded through his body, radiating from his chest and arm. He looked down at his right hand and felt his stomach drop—it was mangled beyond recognition, the flesh torn and the bones shattered. Blood poured from the wound, staining the forest floor.
A scream of agony tore from his throat, echoing through the trees. Tears streamed down his face as he coughed up blood, his vision swimming. For a moment, he thought this was it. This was how his journey would end, broken and defeated in the forest, his dreams of exploration snuffed out before they even began.
"No..." he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart. "I didn't come this far to die here."
Summoning every ounce of strength he had left, Aris forced himself to his feet. His legs trembled under the weight of his battered body, but his resolve was unshaken. He clutched his dagger in his remaining hand, its blade slick with his own blood.
The beast stalked toward him, its red eye gleaming with triumph. Its growls were lower now, more guttural, as if savoring the kill. Aris met its gaze, his own eyes blazing with defiance.
"I only get one shot at this," he muttered, his voice steadier now. "I'm not dying here. Not today."
The beast charged, its massive form leaping high into the air. Time seemed to slow as Aris watched it descend, its fangs bared and claws outstretched, ready to deliver the final blow.
The monster descended, a whirlwind of black fur and death.
At the last possible moment, Aris dropped to his knees and thrust the blade upward.
The dagger pierced the beast's throat, sinking deep into its flesh.
The monster howled, a sound that shook the trees and sent birds flying into the sky.
Aris twisted the blade, his remaining strength fueled by sheer desperation.
Blood sprayed across his face as he slashed, tearing the beast's throat open.
It collapsed on top of him, its massive weight pinning him to the ground.
But it wasn't dead.
With a final burst of energy, the beast snapped its jaws, aiming for Aris's head.
He pulled the blade free and a dark red glow shun on Aris knife for a split second, finally he slashed upward, slicing the monster's head in two.
The wolf-like creature went still, its crimson eye fading into darkness.
Aris lay beneath it, soaked in blood-his and the beast's. He coughed, his body trembling as he pushed the corpse off him. His knife, his trusted companion, shattered in his hand.
He stared at the broken blade, a weak laugh escaping his lips. "I survived," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
His vision swam, the edges darkening as exhaustion and blood loss took hold. He fell back, the forest spinning above him.
And then, there was only darkness.