The mist spread through the forest like a thick curtain, hiding everything ahead. Louco felt the weight of darkness on his shoulders, but his mind was focused on one thing: survival. The fight for freedom had been just the beginning. Now, he found himself in a new battlefield, where nature was as cruel as the men who had imprisoned him.
The other gladiators, tired and fearful, followed Louco's lead for a time, but soon he realized that their presence was nothing but an extra burden. They were broken, exhausted, and couldn't keep up with the pace. The forest, in turn, seemed to test each of them, challenging their skills and endurance. The smell of damp earth and rotting vegetation was constant, and the darkness seemed to want to consume every step they took.
It was when Louco, impatient with the slowness, made a decision. He walked away without warning, the gladiators calling after him, but their words fell on deaf ears. Solitude, chaos, and blood were what he desired. He didn't need anyone, not even those who had once shared his rage. The forest was his ally now, and he would face it alone.
Louco knew the forest did not forgive. The first thing he did was seek shelter. He had no time to waste. The first night would be crucial. He found a small refuge among the roots of a gigantic tree, its leaves forming a thick layer that would protect him from the rain, but not from what lurked in the shadows.
The sound of the wind slicing through the trees and the creaks of dry leaves were the only sounds to be heard. He didn't sleep, only watching the shadows moving at the periphery of his vision. His sword, still stained with Korman's blood, was in his hand, as always. He couldn't shake the need to fight—the desire for blood pulsed through his veins.
It was during the second night that he noticed something peculiar: the forest wasn't just dark. It was alive. With every movement, he felt as though something was watching him. But Louco was not a man to fear. He smiled in the face of danger.
Then, he found his first victim of the forest.
The creature emerged from the shadows, its eyes glowing like flames in the dark. It was a massive being, with scaly skin and sharp teeth, as tall as Louco but much more muscular. Its claws made a deafening sound against the earth, and its roar reverberated through the forest, like a death sentence.
Louco didn't hesitate. His survival instinct kicked in, and he charged forward with his sharp blade, cutting through the air with a wild scream. He wasn't fighting just for survival, but for pleasure. Each strike was like an explosion of freedom. The creature's blood splattered, but it didn't fall. Instead, the beast charged at him with inhuman strength.
The fight was brutal. Louco spun and slashed, dodging the creature's claws and bites with agility, but without fear. The adrenaline in his veins fueled him. He felt the pain, but he didn't stop. The pain was just another reminder that he was alive, and no one could take him out of this place—not the forest, not death. He wanted more; he needed more.
With a precise strike, Louco severed the creature's neck, making it fall to its knees before succumbing to the blood flooding the earth. But the taste of blood wasn't enough. The hunger for more fights, more destruction, was insatiable. He knew this was just the first of many battles he would face in these wild lands.
After the fight, Louco stepped away from the fallen creature. His eyes were hungry, searching for something more, something that could satisfy his thirst for violence. He didn't need allies, nor friends. The only company he needed was the blade in his hand and the next enemy to face.
He walked alone through the forest, aimless, without a clear plan. But he knew that somewhere, in the dark vastness ahead, there would be more to destroy. The trees around him seemed to mock his solitude, but Louco was indifferent. He didn't feel the loss of his gladiators; he didn't feel the weight of what he had left behind. The fight was his life now, and he would chase it to the ends of the earth.
He ventured deeper into the forest, his steps firm and relentless, searching for his next battle. The forest, with its wild nature and unknown horrors, was the perfect battlefield for Louco. There, he would feel more alive than ever. It didn't matter what the forest had to offer—he would face it, and nothing would stop him from moving forward.
For days, Louco wandered alone through the forest. The fight never left him; the hunger for blood didn't cease. Each creature he encountered was an opportunity to satisfy himself, to prove to himself that he was still in control. In every battle, he felt stronger, more insane. But deep down, he knew his journey was far from physical. In some way, he was running from something deeper—a pain inside that the fights couldn't heal.
The gladiators he had left behind were a distant memory. They were broken, and Louco knew that without him, they wouldn't survive the savagery of the forest. But he didn't care. He had become more than just a gladiator—he had become a monster, a force of nature, an unbeatable predator.
But as the days passed, and Louco went deeper into the forest, what had once seemed like an escape now felt like a prison. The forest didn't just surround him—it consumed him. He no longer knew if he still had a clear objective. His thirst for battle and his rage, which once propelled him forward, were now all he had.
He had become a reflection of the forest—dark, vicious, and always on the hunt.
But Louco knew that as long as he lived, he would keep fighting. He would not be defeated. No matter where he was.