Thud!
"Roy, snap out of your dream world, or next time, it won't be my boot but this beauty in my hand," a bald man barked, brandishing a wicked-looking whiplash. His voice was rough, filled with the frustration of someone who enjoyed making others suffer.
With a start, Roy jolted to his feet. At just nine years old, his pitch-black hair and fiery red eyes were striking against his frail frame, which looked more skeletal than boyish. The oversized bag strapped to his back, almost three times his size, served as a grim reminder of his life as a slave, captured by the nefarious Demonic Blood Sect.
"Our destination, everyone, is the entrance to the scorching desert. We'll gather herbs for our esteemed elders. Anyone who slacks off will meet a gruesome end," the bald man declared, his lone eye sweeping over the group with a look that sent shivers down their spines. A disciple of the sect, he exuded menace despite his average build and relatively youthful features.
The group stood at the sect's gate, the command hanging in the air like a weight pressing down on each of them. Disciples and slaves alike reluctantly fell into formation, moving as a singular, somber unit.
Roy trudged along, his bag swaying with each step. Beside him, Chris, a boy with unruly yellow hair, walked with a more even pace.
"How do you keep putting up with this, Roy? He always takes his anger out on you. If I were in your shoes, I would've given up by now," Chris muttered, his voice carrying both disbelief and concern.
Roy turned his head slightly, his red eyes locking with Chris's. Chris was three years older, stronger, and still struggled to understand why Roy never broke. Despite his own hardships, Roy's resilience was something Chris found both impressive and puzzling. Chris was the only person Roy could call a friend—someone who genuinely cared for him in this cruel world. In a place where everyone else looked out only for themselves, Chris had always tried to help Roy, and that made him different from everyone else.
Roy shrugged, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just... don't want to die. And I know what I have to do to stay alive." He took a deep breath, his eyes steady. "It's pointless to blame the world for everything. Instead, I try to think about what I can do to get through each day. Plus..." He hesitated, glancing away. "I have something I need to do."
Chris raised an eyebrow, shaking his head with a sigh. "You're something else, Roy. It's like you're made of iron. I can't even imagine thinking like that at your age or even now."
A small, humorless smile tugged at Roy's lips, but his eyes remained distant. He trudged onward, the image of his parents in his mind—their faces blurry but filled with love. They had saved him once, and if they were still out there somewhere, he would find them. He needed to live, not just survive. For them.
Hours passed in a grueling march, the sun now hidden behind thick clouds as they reached the Toxic Forest, a dark and foreboding place that earned its name from its lethal flora and fauna. The forest seemed to pulse with an unnatural energy, and every step deeper felt like they were crossing into another realm. The gnarled trees appeared almost sentient, their twisted branches clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. Leaves shimmered with a sickly iridescence, emitting a faint glow that cast eerie reflections on the ground. Strange whispers echoed from unseen corners, and the air held a scent that was both sweet and rotten, a blend that made one's head spin. Each tree seemed to breathe out an air of malevolence, and the shadows danced as if they held secrets too sinister for words.
The bald man turned to address the group. "From this point onward, everyone, exercise extreme caution. One wrong step, and you won't survive. I won't lift a finger to save you," he spat, his voice laced with disdain. Though his words were harsh, it was just a front. The bald man needed the group alive—each of them had a role to play, whether it was carrying supplies or being used as bait for the dangers of the forest or afterwards. He couldn't afford to lose people, but he wanted to maintain his image of ruthless authority.
The tension in the group thickened as they entered the forest, the twisted branches above casting long, ominous shadows across their path. Strange bioluminescent fungi clung to the bark of the trees, glowing softly, illuminating patches of the forest floor with an otherworldly light. The whispers grew louder, seeming to shift and swirl around them. Every now and then, a fleeting movement would catch Roy's eye—a shadow slipping just beyond his field of vision, like ghosts teasing them from the periphery. Roy could feel the weight of his oversized bag more acutely, each step a painful reminder of his frailty. His malnourished body struggled to keep up, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. He refused to show weakness, but the pain was undeniable.
"Huff... Huff..." Roy panted heavily, his legs trembling with exhaustion. His back throbbed, the burden of the bag pressing down relentlessly.
Chris nudged him lightly. "Here, take this," he whispered, discreetly passing Roy a small bottle of water. "You need it more than I do. Don't argue."
Roy glanced at Chris, his eyes welling with gratitude. He took the bottle with shaky hands. "Thanks, Chris," he managed to say between gulps, the cool water soothing his parched throat. Chris had always been there—a small light in the dark, an older brother figure who made the hardships a bit easier to bear.
Chris flashed him a crooked smile. "Don't mention it, Just keep moving, okay? We're getting through this."
Suddenly, Roy felt a strange sensation splatter across his face. It was warm and sticky, contrasting sharply with the cool dampness of the forest. His gaze snapped to the side, and his eyes widened in horror. The glow of the bioluminescent fungi illuminated the scene in ghastly colors, making the blood appear almost surreal.
A vine had pierced Chris's chest, its tip dripping with fresh blood. Roy watched, helpless, as Chris's body began to turn an eerie shade of blue, his features contorting in pain. The bald man's voice echoed through the forest.
"Demonic vines! Level 1 monsters. Their poison is deadly, and they hunt in groups. Be careful!"
Roy's heart pounded in his ears. He moved to help Chris, but the older boy weakly pushed him away, his hand trembling as he tried to keep Roy safe. Chris's eyes met Roy's, filled with a mix of fear and acceptance.
"Don't... Roy," Chris whispered, his voice barely audible. "Listen, Roy... it's too late for me. You need to survive, get out of here, and live. Promise me that you'll keep going, no matter what."
Roy's throat tightened, tears stinging his eyes. He watched, powerless, as Chris's body darkened, dissolving into a grotesque puddle. Chris had been his only friend in this nightmare and now he was gone, taken in an instant by the unforgiving forest.
The tears came unbidden, streaming down Roy's cheeks. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms, drawing blood. The pain grounded him, kept him from collapsing under the weight of his grief. He knew he couldn't mourn for long—this place offered no time for sorrow.
A rustle in the bushes brought him back to the present. Five monstrous creatures emerged—wolf-like in their gait, but their heads were masses of writhing vines, each tipped with thorny barbs that glistened with a dark, oily substance. The air seemed to chill as they approached, an unnatural wind rustling the vines around their heads. The demonic vine that had killed Chris was not alone.
"Take a circular formation! Slaves and bone-forging disciples, gather in the center! Muscle-forging disciples, come forward! Five of you will deal with the monsters, and the rest will guard the people in the middle!" the bald man commanded, his voice harsh and unyielding.
Roy stood frozen, his gaze locked onto the vine-covered monsters. Fear gripped him, rooting him to the spot. His mind screamed at him to move, to fight, to do something—anything—but his body wouldn't respond. He could only think of Chris, of how quickly he had been taken.
Suddenly, a sharp pain exploded across his back and chest. The bald man's whip lashed out, yanking Roy into the defensive formation. The searing pain snapped him out of his daze, his vision blurring from tears and exhaustion.
"Do you want to die so quickly, huh? Don't worry, I'll kill you myself when your worth is over," the bald man sneered, his expression twisted with contempt.
Roy crumpled to the ground, the last of his strength draining away. His body was a mess of bruises and cuts, the lashes tearing what little muscle he had left. He could feel himself slipping, his consciousness fading, the darkness closing in.
As the muscle-forging disciples fought off the demonic vines, Roy lay there, his world slowly fading to black. His last thought was of Chris, and the promise he had made to himself—to survive, to find his parents, to live a life that meant something.
'Goodbye, friend.'
The world went dark, and Roy finally succumbed to the pain and exhaustion.