Chapter 22 - Escape From Forest

The forest was quiet now, its earlier violence buried beneath layers of dirt and fading echoes. Max stood at the edge of his freshly dug grave, staring at the rough patch of ground he had worked hours to conceal. His crimson eyes flicked up to the slowly brightening horizon, the rising sun bathing the trees in soft hues of gold. Despite the tranquility, his mind churned with unresolved thoughts.

'I need to move,' he told himself, flexing his hand. The stump where his arm had been was beginning to itch, an odd sensation that reminded him of the blood he'd consumed and the strength it had restored. His body was healing faster than he thought possible, but his instincts told him this was only a fraction of what lay dormant within him.

Max adjusted the straps of the space bag he had taken from Dareth. It was light despite its contents, and the faint hum of its runes against his back was a comforting reminder of the tools he now carried. Weapons, books, coins—it was a treasure trove for someone in his situation. He'd barely scratched the surface of its contents, but for now, it didn't matter. Survival was his priority.

The forest stretched endlessly around him, the dense canopy creating a maze of shadows and shifting light. Max sniffed the air, his heightened senses picking up the faintest traces of life. Birds rustled in distant trees, insects hummed in the underbrush, and far off, the rhythmic murmur of flowing water reached his ears.

'Water means a path out,' he thought, turning in the direction of the sound. With one last glance at the grave, Max began to walk.

...

The hours dragged on as Max made his way through the forest. His steps were cautious, each one measured to avoid unnecessary noise. Despite the sunlight filtering through the trees, the dense foliage kept the forest floor dim and cool. His mind wandered as he walked, replaying the events of the last few days.

'Dareth and his group... they were seasoned adventurers. I shouldn't have survived that fight,' Max thought, his lips pressing into a thin line. 'But I did. And it wasn't just luck.'

The blood, the regeneration, the power coursing through his veins—it all pointed to one undeniable truth. He was evolving. The experiments, the injections, and the blood he'd consumed had awakened something dormant within him. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was still far from understanding the full extent of what he had become.

Max paused, his ears twitching at a sudden rustle nearby. His eyes scanned the dense foliage, his body tensing. An animal resembling a deer with red roses and yellow spots on its fur stepped out from behind a cluster of trees, its large, dark eyes staring at him. The tension drained from Max's shoulders, and he let out a soft sigh.

'Not everything is a threat,' he reminded himself. But even as the thought crossed his mind, his gaze lingered on the animal. Its steady heartbeat thumped in his ears, and the scent of its blood filled his nostrils. His fangs ached.

Max turned away sharply, shaking his head. 'Not now. I don't need it now.'

...

As midday approached, Max's path led him to a wide, slow-moving river. The water glistened in the sunlight, its surface dappled with the reflections of overhanging branches. He crouched by the bank, cupping his hand to drink. The cold water was refreshing, washing away some of the fatigue that clung to him.

He stared at his reflection in the rippling water. The pale face that stared back was sharp and angular, framed by silken white hair that fell haphazardly around his crimson eyes. His youthful appearance was at odds with the weight he carried, the knowledge and experience of two lifetimes etched into his mind.

'What am I becoming?' he wondered. The question gnawed at him, but there were no answers to be found here.

...

The riverbank provided an easier path to follow, and Max continued his journey alongside it. The terrain gradually changed, the dense forest giving way to patches of open ground and scattered trees. The sound of birdsong grew louder, a sign that he was moving closer to the edges of the wilderness.

As the sun began its descent, Max's sharp eyes caught sight of a thin plume of smoke rising in the distance. He froze, his body tensing as he studied the horizon. 'A campfire? Or a village?'

Cautiously, he moved closer, staying low and using the sparse cover to his advantage. The scent of woodsmoke and cooking meat wafted through the air, mingling with the faint hum of voices. Max's nose wrinkled at the cloying sweetness of cooked flesh, the once-enticing aroma now an afterthought compared to the rich allure of blood. 

Peering through the trees, Max spotted the source of the smoke. A small camp sat nestled in a clearing, occupied by three figures seated around a fire. Their clothing was simple, and their weapons—a pair of spears and a hunting bow—rested nearby. Hunters, by the look of it. Their laughter carried on the breeze as they passed a flask between them.

Max stayed hidden, his mind racing. 'Do I approach? Do I avoid them?' The thought of information was tempting, but the risk was undeniable. He couldn't afford another fight, not so soon after the last.

...

The hunters' conversation drifted toward him, their words carrying snippets of local news.

"...still no word from the caravan. Must've been bandits," one of them said, his voice gruff.

"More likely those creatures from the south," another replied. "Heard they've been moving closer to the villages. Dangerous times."

"Doesn't matter what it was," the third chimed in. "If we don't make a good haul soon, we'll be starving by winter."

Max's ears perked up at the mention of villages. 'There's a settlement nearby,' he realized. The knowledge solidified his decision. He needed to reach it—to gather information, supplies, and perhaps a new identity. But he couldn't risk interacting with the hunters. Not yet.

He slipped away from the camp, his movements silent and deliberate. As night fell, the forest seemed to exhale, its nocturnal inhabitants stirring to life. Max's enhanced senses guided him through the dark, the faint glow of his eyes illuminating his path.

...

Hours later, Max emerged from the forest into open farmland. Rows of crops stretched before him, their outlines barely visible under the starlit sky. A narrow dirt path wound through the fields, leading toward a cluster of lights in the distance. A village.

Max's lips curved into a faint smile. 'Finally.'

He stayed to the shadows as he approached, his instincts keeping him wary. The village was modest, with a handful of cottages clustered around a central square. Smoke curled from chimneys, and the faint glow of lanterns spilled onto the cobblestone streets. It was quiet, the kind of quiet that came from long days of labor and early nights.

Max lingered at the edge of the village, his sharp eyes scanning the area. A few guards patrolled lazily near the entrance, their spears more for show than for use. He noted the layout, the positions of buildings and potential escape routes.

'I'll slip in after the guards change shifts,' he decided, settling into a crouch behind a haystack. The night stretched on, but Max's patience didn't waver. He watched, waited, and when the opportunity came, he moved like a shadow.

...

Inside the village, Max's senses recoiled at the scents of baked bread, cured meats, and fresh hay. Once, those aromas might have stirred hunger or nostalgia. Now, they were meaningless. What stirred him instead was the faint, tantalizing thrum of life that echoed in his ears, the quiet pulse of blood coursing through veins behind closed doors.

Slipping into a small, abandoned stable at the edge of the village, Max leaned against the wooden wall, letting out a long breath. For the first time in days, he felt a sliver of safety. But his mind remained restless, the echoes of battle and the hunger for answers gnawing at him.

"A village is a start," he muttered to himself, his crimson eyes narrowing. A faint smirk curled his lips as he tilted his head. "But the night is still young."