Zen stood at the edge of the cliff, the wind howling around him, making his cloak dance like a hero from a forgotten legend—or a soon-to-be-dead idiot. His sharp gaze swept over the vast forest below, scanning the dense treetops for any signs of movement.

High above him, the Hoks circled in an eerie silence. They were enormous, five times the size of a man, their massive wings slicing through the air effortlessly.

Jet-black bodies contrasted sharply against the clear blue sky, their curved horns adding to their menacing presence. Their glowing purple eyes locked onto him occasionally, as if questioning whether he was predator or prey.

Zen smirked. "Relax, I'm not your dinner... at least not yet."

It was his first hunt. His first real fight. And the odds? Well, they were the kind that made men rethink their life choices.

The Grim, a monster born from a corrupted core, lurked somewhere in the forest below. Taking it down was suicide. But if he succeeded, he could buy his way to the Upperlands for his entire town.

This year's monsoon was going to be ruthless, and the Lowlands would be swallowed by floods. The gates to the Upperlands were the only freedom he knew. But of course, the nobles had put a price on survival—because what kind of world would it be if people didn't make a profit off misery?

Zen took a deep breath, staring up at the endless sky.

"Ahh... what a lovely day to die," he muttered with a grin.

He had zero training in fighting a Grim. No special weapons. No grand strategy. Just him, a blade, and enough reckless stupidity to make this whole thing slightly entertaining.

But hell, someone had to do it. And if the universe had chosen him, well... it was about to regret it.

With that thought, Zen stepped off the cliff—and dove straight into the abyss below.

Zen flung his cloak open like a parachute, praying to every god he didn't believe in that it would slow his fall.

"WOOOOHOOO!" he yelled, the rush of wind roaring in his ears. "This is the only thing I love, I swear!"

This wasn't his first time on this cliff. He had spent days climbing it—only to take a few minutes to glide back down. Not exactly efficient, but hey, who needed logic when you had style?

As he guided his descent, the familiar unease set in. The closer he got to the forest, the heavier the air felt. A chilling aura wrapped around him, seeping into his bones. The smell of rotting wood clung to the wind, and even though the trees stood still, something about them felt... wrong.

Zen landed with a soft thud, his boots sinking slightly into the damp, muddy ground. His heart hammered in his chest. His instincts screamed at him. Every fiber of his being told him the same thing.

YOU SHOULDN'T BE HERE

A distant thud echoed through the trees. Then another. And another. Heavy. Rhythmic. Getting closer.

Zen pressed himself against a tree, barely breathing, his fingers tightening in a fist. His mind raced, calculating his chances to kill—which, honestly, were pathetic at best.

Then, a deafening crash sounded right behind him.

He turned his head slowly—and froze.

His breath skipped. His eyes widened. His legs refused to move. Every single survival instinct failed him at once. In the moment of flight or fight, he was capable of doing neither. 

Towering above him was the Grim. A monstrous, hulking nightmare ten times his size. 

Zen's mind went blank.

This is the price of survival, huh? Great. Just great.

Zen gasped for air, his mind snapping back to reality.

The Grim loomed over him—an unnatural, twisted mockery of a human form, its body woven from wood. Its muscles had a texture of barks as it flexed as if alive, yet it had no face—just a head where one should be.

And yet... Zen felt it staring. Felt its gaze piercing into his soul.

His fingers tightened around the rope he had prepared earlier. One end tied to a stick, the other wrapped around a bundle of stones, secured in cloth. His only weapon. His only chance.

He swung it, gathering momentum, and launched the weighted end straight at the Grim's leg. The bundle collided with a dull thunk—and then, with horrifying ease, the cloth ripped apart, sending the stones scattering harmlessly to the ground.

Zen blinked.

Shit.

That was weeks of planning—gone faster than it took to make the damn thing.

Slowly, carefully, he began stepping backward, already preparing to run.

A deep, guttural scream shook the air. Zen flinched—his gaze snapping to the Grim.

But... it didn't have a mouth.

His brows furrowed. "Wait—how the hell are you screaming?"

STOP.

Zen's entire body locked up. He wasn't sure if it was fear or if something was forcing him still.

STOP RIGHT THERE, KID.

A voice. Inside his head.

Zen's stomach twisted. "Dude, what—how are you talking?"

I AM GOING TO KILL YOU AND THEN CONSUME YOUR SPIRIT.

Zen gulped. Then, after a beat—"Well, the joke's on you. You can't even see me."

He took another cautious step back.

The Grim moved in a blur, its massive arm sweeping across the air like a falling tree.

Zen tried to dodge—he really did—but the tip of one colossal finger clipped him.

And just like that, he was sent flying, his body crashing through the trees like a ragdoll.

Zen's eyes opened, his vision blurred, his body aching.

Death was near.

The Grim loomed over him, each thunderous step shaking the earth. With every footfall, Zen's body lifted from the ground—only to slam back down like a discarded rag. The pain barely registered anymore.

He could feel it—his strength fading, his will slipping away.

So this is it…?

All the dreams he once had—his freedom, his future, everything—vanished like a fleeting ember in the wind.

At least my family will miss me.

I love you, Dad… Mom… even my stupid little sister.

He let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes, bracing himself for the end.

But then—silence.

A stillness that made his skin crawl.

Zen's heart pounded. Hesitantly, he opened his eyes.

The Grim had stopped moving. Its attention was elsewhere.

Zen's breath fastened. His fingers twitched.

Did… did it spare me?