Chapter 38: The Thorned Passage
Damien stood at the entrance of the passage, the darkened forest pressing in around him like a living entity. The path ahead was narrow and twisted, lined on either side by walls of thick, bristling vines covered in thorns as long as his fingers. Each thorn glinted with an oily sheen in the dim light, and as he moved closer, he noticed that the vines seemed to pulse faintly, as if alive and breathing.
The oppressive silence of the forest was broken only by the faint rustling of the thorned vines, a sound that sent a chill crawling down his spine. They swayed gently, though there was no breeze to move them, and Damien couldn't shake the feeling that they were watching him—waiting for him to step closer.
He pressed his hand against the hilt of his sword, weighing his options. The path was impossibly narrow, barely wide enough for a single person to squeeze through without brushing against the vines. Turning back was not an option; the forest had already sealed the way behind him. He had no choice but to go forward.
With a deep breath, Damien took his first step into the Thorned Passage.
The moment he entered, he felt the air change around him, growing heavier and more oppressive. The vines seemed to hum softly, a low vibration that he could feel in his bones. As he moved forward, he kept his arms close to his body, his steps careful and deliberate. His sword remained unsheathed, ready to strike if the vines made any sudden movements.
It didn't take long for the thorns to draw their first taste of blood. A sharp sting on his forearm made him flinch, and he glanced down to see a thin line of red welling up where a thorn had grazed his skin. The vine nearest him quivered, its thorn glistening as it absorbed the droplet of blood.
The forest reacted immediately. The rustling of the vines grew louder, more agitated, as if his blood had awakened something deep within the forest. The path ahead seemed to grow even narrower, the walls of thorns pressing closer together, leaving him no room to maneuver.
"Damn it," Damien muttered under his breath. He knew what the forest wanted—his blood. It wasn't just a path; it was a trial, a living, hungry entity that demanded a sacrifice for passage.
The further he went, the more the thorns tore at him. They sliced through his clothing, leaving shallow cuts on his arms, legs, and shoulders. Each drop of blood they drew seemed to invigorate the vines, which trembled with a grotesque sort of delight. Damien gritted his teeth against the pain, refusing to cry out and give the forest any more satisfaction than it was already taking from him.
As he pressed on, the path began to twist and turn, its walls closing in tighter with every step. He felt the thorns brushing against him, no longer content to wait for him to move closer. They seemed to reach out deliberately, hungry for more of his blood.
Damien swung his sword in a desperate attempt to create space, slashing at the vines nearest to him. His blade sliced through a few of the thinner ones, but the thicker vines barely flinched, their thorns scraping harmlessly against the steel. Worse still, the ones he cut seemed to regenerate, new thorns sprouting to replace the ones he'd destroyed.
The path seemed endless, stretching on for what felt like miles. Damien's breathing grew ragged, each step an act of sheer willpower. The blood loss was beginning to take its toll, and his vision blurred at the edges. The forest whispered to him now, faint, mocking voices that seemed to come from the thorns themselves.
"You won't make it."
"Your blood is ours."
"Give in. Rest. It will be over soon."
Damien clenched his jaw, shaking his head to dispel the voices. He focused on putting one foot in front of the other, his grip on his sword tightening despite the slickness of his bloodied hands.
Finally, after what felt like hours, the passage began to widen. The walls of thorns receded slightly, giving him a small measure of breathing room. He staggered forward, his legs trembling beneath him, and collapsed onto his knees as he emerged from the passage.
The ground beneath him was damp and soft, and the air around him felt lighter, though the oppressive presence of the forest still lingered. Damien glanced down at his arms and legs, now covered in cuts and scratches, his blood staining his tattered clothing. He was battered, but alive.
The forest, it seemed, was satisfied—for now. The vines behind him rustled softly, almost as if they were retreating back into dormancy. But Damien knew better than to think he was safe. The Thorned Passage had been a test, and the forest was far from finished with him.
He sat there for a moment, catching his breath and allowing his body to recover. The forest was silent again, the whispers of the vines replaced by the faint rustling of leaves in the distance. Damien wiped the sweat and blood from his face, his jaw set in grim determination.
He had survived the Thorned Passage, but the price had been steep. The forest had tasted his blood, and he knew it would only hunger for more.
Rising to his feet, Damien adjusted his grip on his sword and took a step forward, deeper into the forest. The path ahead was still shrouded in darkness, and the forest's secrets were far from fully revealed. But he was determined to see this through, no matter what horrors lay ahead.
The forest had tested him, but Damien was not one to break. Not yet.