Surviving in the Forest of Chaos
The silence of the forest was almost oppressive, broken only by the occasional sound of leaves being trampled or a branch breaking in the distance. The sunlight filtered through a dense canopy of ancient trees, whose intertwined branches seemed to form a natural prison. The air was thick with humidity and the smell of wet earth mixed with that of decaying vegetation. Madman observed everything around him, eyes alert, body prepared to react to any threat.
He had separated from the other gladiators after an attack by wild beasts that forced them to flee in different directions. He did not know if they were alive, but that did not matter. Madman was a survivor. He always had been. If the others did not have the same strength, they did not deserve to survive.
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The first thing Madman did was look for a source of water. He knew that without it, his resistance, however relentless, would be useless. Moving in absolute silence, he scanned the terrain before him. His training as a gladiator had shaped him into a human predator; every step was calculated, every movement made with purpose.
After nearly an hour of walking, he came across a small stream. The water looked crystal clear, but Madman knew that trusting appearance was a weakness. Crouching down, he took the makeshift knife from his belt and began scraping the bark of a nearby tree, collecting pieces of dry wood. With a piece of flint he had found on a corpse days before, he lit a small fire, boiling water in a makeshift bowl made of bark.
As he waited, his eyes never stopped watching. He knew that this forest hid predators larger than himself, and his survival depended on always being alert.
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With night approaching, Madman knew he needed protection. The forest, already dark during the day, transformed into a labyrinth of horrors when night fell. He found a suitable spot: a fallen tree that created a sort of natural barrier against one side. Using thick branches and broad leaves, he fashioned a makeshift shelter, securing the branches with sturdy vines.
Although rudimentary, the shelter offered some protection from the wind and the prying eyes of potential predators. He lined the ground with dried moss to keep the warmth in, and placed makeshift traps around it, made with the few resources available.
As he worked, Madman did not think about the gladiators or the impending danger. He focused on keeping his mind occupied. The truth was that he did not feel lonely. In fact, he felt bored. The forest, with all its natural chaos, did not yet present a challenge worthy of his intellect and skills.
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With shelter secured, it was time to find food. Madman was a skilled hunter, even before his life in the Abyss. He could read the signs of the forest: footprints in the damp earth, broken branches, teeth marks on leaves and berries. He spotted the tracks of a deer, but decided to ignore them. Such a large animal would take too much effort to bring down, and he couldn't carry the meat back to the shelter alone. Instead, he focused on smaller prey. Using a makeshift spear made from a sharpened twig hardened in a fire, Fool began looking for rabbits or ground birds. His patience was rewarded when he spotted a squirrel on a low branch. It moved slowly, its muscles tensed like a feline about to pounce. With a precise throw, the spear struck the animal, killing it instantly. Back at the shelter, he prepared the squirrel, removing the skin and skewering the meat on a branch to roast over the fire. As he ate, he felt uneasy. Not from the simple taste of the meat, but from the lack of anything more exciting. He was no ordinary survivor; He was a destroyer, a strategist, a man made for war. Hunting small game and setting traps was not worthy of him.
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As he rested, Madman realized he was not alone. During the night, the sounds of the forest changed. There was something out there, something big. He heard branches snapping and heavy footsteps that seemed to be approaching his shelter.
Without making a sound, he took his knife and put out the fire with dirt. The darkness was his friend. He hid behind a nearby tree, watching as a creature emerged from the shadows. It was a massive black bear, its fur glistening in the moonlight.
Madman did not move. He knew that if he were discovered, he would have little chance against a beast of that size. But the bear seemed more interested in the smell of burning flesh than in hunting. It searched the shelter, sniffed the ground, and finally moved away, leaving Madman alone again.
When the creature disappeared into the darkness, Madman let out a soft sigh. But unlike others, he didn't feel relief. He felt frustration. A duel against the bear would have been the thrill he was looking for.
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Days passed, and boredom began to wear on his patience. Madman decided he needed to change his approach. He began exploring the forest in search of something—anything—that might offer a real challenge.
As he walked, he came across the corpse of a man who had been partially devoured by beasts. Rummaging through the remains, he found an old, tattered map. It showed routes leading to a nearby settlement. Madman smiled as he imagined the possibilities.
"Finally, something worth my time," he muttered. He folded the map carefully, put away his knife, and headed toward his next objective, already imagining the chaos he might cause upon arriving.
Madman followed the trail indicated on the map, but not without caution. He knew that even a village could present both an opportunity and a risk. The map, though old and stained, seemed reliable enough. The route led him through more open areas of the forest, with signs of old human trails such as cut branches and rocks arranged in deliberate patterns.
As he advanced, the surrounding environment began to change. The vegetation, once oppressive and chaotic, gradually became less dense, allowing more sunlight to reach the ground. The ground was firmer, with fewer exposed roots and rotting leaves. Madman felt a familiar excitement rise within him. The deathly silence of the forest was replaced by sounds of human life in the distance: the clanking of tools, muffled voices, and the occasional neigh of horses.
"Perfect," Madman thought, with a cold smile.