Reflection

Initially, there was nothing but an all-consuming darkness. No light, no sound—only an oppressive void that seemed to press in on him from all sides, suffocating and endless. Gabriel strained to move, to speak, but his body felt disconnected, as if he were floating in a thick, invisible sludge.

Then, faintly, a sound broke the silence. A low, rhythmic scraping, like claws dragging across stone. It echoed through the darkness, distant at first, but growing louder with every heartbeat. Gabriel's chest tightened. The sound wasn't coming toward him. It was circling.

A dim light flickered to life, weak and sickly, casting pale beams through the darkness. Shapes began to emerge from the void—trees, warped and unnatural, their trunks twisted into grotesque spirals. Their branches clawed at the sky like skeletal fingers, and the ground beneath them glistened, slick with a dark, viscous substance that pulsed faintly, as though alive.

Gabriel's feet touched the ground—or what he thought was ground. It gave slightly under his weight, squelching with every step, and the smell of decay hit him like a wall. He looked down, and his stomach lurched. The ground wasn't earth at all but a writhing carpet of flesh, veins and tendons pulsating beneath his feet.

The scraping sound grew louder, sharper, closer. He turned, his breath catching in his throat as he saw it—a figure emerging from the shadows. It was a wolf, or at least something that looked like a wolf. Its body was impossibly gaunt, its ribs pressing against its matted fur, which oozed with patches of something black and tar-like. Its head was wrong, too large for its body, with jaws that hung open too wide, rows of jagged, uneven teeth glinting in the pale light. But it was the eyes that froze him in place—two glowing orbs of crimson, burning with a hunger so deep it seemed to pierce through him.

Gabriel tried to run, but his legs refused to move. He was rooted to the ground, his feet sinking deeper into the pulsing flesh beneath him. The wolf tilted its head, almost curious, and then it lunged.

Its jaws clamped down on his chest, and the pain was instant and unbearable. It tore through him, its fangs ripping into his flesh with a wet, sickening sound. Blood sprayed in thick arcs, splattering the writhing ground. Gabriel screamed, the sound raw and animalistic, but the wolf didn't stop. It shook its head violently, shredding him like paper, its glowing eyes locked onto his as if savoring his agony.

He clawed at the beast, his hands sinking into its tar-like fur, but it was useless. His vision blurred, the world around him twisting into a nightmarish kaleidoscope of red and black. The trees seemed to move, their skeletal branches reaching down toward him, their shadows warping into grotesque faces, mouths opening in silent screams.

And then, just as he thought the pain would consume him entirely, the wolf stopped. It lifted its head, blood dripping from its maw, and spoke. Its voice was low and guttural, like rocks grinding together.

"You cannot run."

Gabriel's breath hitched. The wolf's face began to change, its features melting and reforming. It wasn't a wolf anymore—it was him. His own face stared back at him, twisted and monstrous, its mouth curling into a jagged, bloodstained grin.

"You cannot hide."

The ground beneath him gave way, and he fell, plummeting into the darkness below. The wolf—his reflection—watched him go, its laughter echoing all around him, growing louder, sharper, until it was unbearable.

Gabriel's eyes shot open, and he sat up with a gasp, his chest heaving as he clawed at himself. For a moment, he thought he could still feel the wolf's fangs buried in his flesh, the blood dripping down his skin. But there was nothing.

The cave was silent, the dim light of the forest filtering faintly through the entrance. His stick rested against the wall where he'd left it, untouched. He pressed a trembling hand to his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath his sweat-soaked shirt.

It was just a dream.

But as he glanced toward the mouth of the cave, he froze. The forest outside seemed different, darker. And there, just at the edge of the trees, two faint, glowing orbs stared back at him.

They blinked once.

And then they were gone.

But something else was there. A gnawing emptiness, a hollow hunger deep within him, far worse than any physical wound. His stomach growled, but it wasn't just hunger. It was a hunger for something more. Something he couldn't yet name. Gabriel's hand instinctively went to his chest, feeling for the wounds that should have been there. But there was nothing. Nothing but the emptiness that gnawed at his very core.

"What the hell is going on?" Gabriel muttered again, his voice barely a whisper, as if the words themselves might break the silence that enveloped him. His chest tightened with a mixture of fear and confusion. The only response was the rustling of the wind through the towering trees, a soft, almost mocking sound. It was as if the forest itself was aware of him, observing his every move, and waiting. He wasn't dead. But he wasn't alive, either. Not in the way he'd once understood it. 

But he knew what had to come first. The hunger for answers could wait. The hunger for food could not.

Gabriel stood up slowly, his legs shaky but determined. His mind raced as he scanned the forest, searching for any sign of life, anything that could be prey. His stomach growled in protest, the sound loud in the stillness. He had to find something weak, something that wouldn't put up a fight. Something he could kill easily. Something that could give him Essence.

He clenched his fists, his body tense with anticipation. He needed that skill, the one that would tell him what to eat, how to survive. It was the only way forward. He wasn't about to waste any more time. He had no idea what was waiting for him in this strange world, but he wasn't about to let it consume him. Not yet.

Gabriel's eyes darted from tree to tree, the shadows shifting in the dim light. He needed to adapt. He needed to find a prey. And he needed to do it fast.

His gaze locked onto something moving in the underbrush—small, fast, and skittish. A creature with fur, darting between the roots of the trees. Gabriel's heart raced. It wasn't much, but it was a start. He could do this.

He crouched low, his muscles tense, every fiber of his being focused on the task at hand. The creature didn't notice him yet, and that was his advantage. Slowly, carefully, he crept closer, moving with the stealth he had once perfected in his old life, the life that now felt like a distant memory.

With a swift motion, Gabriel lunged, grabbing the creature by the scruff of its neck. It struggled, but it was weak, its movements panicked and erratic. Gabriel's grip tightened, and in one quick motion, he snapped its neck.

The creature went limp in his hands. Gabriel exhaled sharply, the adrenaline still coursing through him. His hands shook as he lowered the animal to the ground, staring at its lifeless form. He had done it.

The hunger inside him, the gnawing emptiness, still hadn't been satisfied, but he knew what came next. He had to claim the Essence. He had to make sure it wasn't wasted. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and focused, letting the stillness of the forest surround him. The moment stretched on, and he felt it—something shifting in the air around him.

A message appeared in his mind.

You have defeated a [Small Prey]. Eryndor Essence: +15

Gabriel's heart skipped a beat. It wasn't much, but it was something. It was a start.

He exhaled, wiping the sweat from his brow. The hunger in his stomach hadn't disappeared, but now he had a clearer sense of what he needed to do. This world was brutal, unforgiving, and full of dangers he couldn't even begin to comprehend. But he would find a way to survive.

He stood up, looking at the small creature he had killed, his mind already turning to what he needed next.

"Should I become him already?" Gabriel muttered to himself, his voice hoarse and low, as though the question wasn't entirely his own. He had just woken up, but the weight of the forest pressed down on him, thick and oppressive, demanding action. His fingers brushed against the crude stick he'd carried, but his grip faltered. A deep breath filled his lungs, and he exhaled slowly, staring at the bloodstained remnants of the creature he had killed the day before.

"I'm such a gentle doc, ain't I?" The words came out softly, almost tenderly, but the moment they left his lips, the shift began. It always did. His gaze sharpened, his eyes narrowing with an unsettling glint, like a scalpel catching the light. The tension in his body melted away, replaced by a calm, deliberate focus. The air around him seemed to change, growing colder for a moment before settling into a strange, suffocating stillness.

Gabriel stood, his movements unnervingly smooth, his shoulders rolling back as though he were preparing for surgery. The forest around him was alive with sound—the hum of insects, the rustling of leaves in a faint breeze—but each noise felt amplified, sharper, as if the world itself were under his knife.

The stick in his hand suddenly felt inadequate, pathetic even. He let it fall to the ground, his lips curling into a faint smile. "This won't do at all." he murmured. "A doctor needs proper tools, doesn't he?"

He began to move slowly, his body blending into the shadows of the trees. His eyes darted across the forest floor, scanning for anything useful. The stick was behind him now, forgotten. As he crept forward, something glinted faintly in the underbrush—a dull, metallic sheen catching the fading light.

Gabriel crouched low, brushing aside the tangled leaves and vines to reveal it: a rusted short sword, half-buried in the dirt. The blade was pitted and scarred with age, its edge jagged and uneven, but it was solid, heavy in his hand. His fingers traced the hilt, feeling the cold, corroded metal beneath his fingertips. A relic of someone else's story, now his to wield.

"Ah, now this…" he whispered, his voice soft, almost reverent, "this will do nicely." He lifted the blade, testing its weight, and though it was imperfect, unbalanced, it felt right. The rust and grime didn't bother him. No, they only added to its charm.

He straightened, the sword resting at his side, and continued through the forest. The air was thick with the scent of earth and moss, and every step seemed to bring the shadows closer. Then he saw them.

A group of goblins, their forms barely visible through the dense underbrush. There were three of them—two wielding crude daggers that looked more like sharpened shards of rock, and one standing farther back with a bow strung tightly in his clawed hands. They spoke in low, guttural tones, their voices harsh and primal, the words unintelligible to Gabriel.

He stopped, crouching low, the jagged sword resting lightly in his grip. His heart began to pound, each thud echoing in his ears like a war drum. But unlike before, the sound didn't bring panic. It brought excitement. His lips curled into a smile, his teeth glinting faintly in the dim light.

"Such horrendous little creatures." he murmured, tilting his head as he studied them. His voice was soft, almost affectionate. "You'd make wonderful experiments. So much to learn from your anatomy, don't you think?"

The goblins, oblivious to his presence, continued their conversation. Gabriel's eyes flicked between them, noting their positions, their weapons. The archer was the greatest threat, standing at the back, his sharp eyes scanning the forest for danger.

Gabriel shifted his weight, his movements so quiet they barely disturbed the moss beneath him. His body felt alive, thrumming with energy, his senses sharper than ever. He was no longer the hunted. He was the predator.

"Now, now." he whispered, his voice taking on the sing-song cadence of someone soothing a patient. "Don't you worry, my little friends. This won't hurt a bit. Well... perhaps a bit. But I promise it'll be fascinating."

His fingers tightened around the hilt of the rusted sword, the jagged edge glinting faintly in the dim, filtered light of the forest. Gabriel took a deep breath, steadying himself, his gaze locked on the goblin archer. He began to move, circling the group, his steps slow and deliberate. The underbrush whispered underfoot, but he stayed low, using the twisted trunks of trees and hanging moss to shield himself from view.

The goblins in front of the archer continued their guttural conversation, their crude daggers gesturing wildly as they spoke. The archer, however, stood slightly apart, his sharp eyes scanning the forest. Gabriel froze every time the goblin's gaze flicked in his direction, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure it would give him away. But the archer's attention always shifted back to the others, and Gabriel pressed on, inching closer.

When he was only a few meters behind the archer, he paused, crouching low behind a thick tree trunk. His breath was shallow and controlled as his eyes darted to the other goblins, who were roughly twenty meters ahead. They were distracted, their backs to him. This was his moment.

He studied the archer carefully, noting the tension in its bowstring, the way its clawed fingers rested lightly on the arrow nocked in place. The goblin was alert but unaware, its sharp ears twitching at every sound. Gabriel's fingers tightened on the hilt of his sword. One strike. Quick. Quiet.

He breathed in, but he didn't exhale. Holding his breath, he crept forward, each step as light as a shadow. The archer's ragged cloak swayed slightly in the faint breeze, close enough now that Gabriel could see the coarse stitching holding it together. He raised the sword slowly, his muscles coiled like a spring.

And then, his foot came down on a twig.

Crack.

The sound was deafening.

The archer's head snapped around, its glowing yellow eyes locking onto him instantly. Gabriel's breath, which he had been holding, came rushing out in a sharp gasp. The cold focus in his gaze faltered, replaced by something softer—something human. His heart seized as panic flooded his system. He had turned back into himself.

The goblin didn't hesitate. With a guttural snarl, it spun and loosed its arrow. Gabriel barely had time to react, throwing himself to the side as the arrow whistled past his ear, embedding itself in the trunk of a nearby tree with a dull thunk.

Gabriel hit the ground hard, the impact jarring the air from his lungs. He scrambled to his feet, his hands trembling as the goblin reached for another arrow. The archer snarled something in its guttural tongue, its jagged teeth bared as it drew the string back.

Move! Gabriel's mind screamed, and he lunged forward, closing the distance in a desperate burst of speed. The goblin released the arrow, but Gabriel was already too close. The arrow grazed his shoulder, slicing through his shirt and leaving a burning line of pain in its wake.

With a cry, Gabriel swung the rusted sword in a wide arc. The blade connected with the goblin's bow, splintering the crude weapon and knocking it from its hands. The goblin screeched in rage, lunging at him with clawed fingers.

Gabriel stumbled back, barely avoiding the swipe, and swung again. The sword was heavy and awkward in his hands, but the jagged edge caught the goblin across the chest, tearing through its leather armor and opening a deep gash. Black blood sprayed from the wound, splattering Gabriel's face and arms.

The goblin staggered but didn't fall. It lunged again, its claws catching Gabriel's forearm and raking deep. He cried out, the pain blinding, but he didn't stop. Gritting his teeth, he drove forward, slamming his shoulder into the goblin and knocking it to the ground.

The other goblins, twenty meters away, had finally noticed the commotion. They turned, snarling, and began sprinting toward him, their crude daggers glinting in the faint light.

Gabriel didn't have time to think. He dropped onto the archer, pinning it to the ground as it writhed and screeched beneath him. Raising the rusted sword high, he brought it down with all the strength he could muster. The jagged blade sank into the goblin's neck, cutting through flesh and bone. The creature went limp, its glowing eyes dimming as its body twitched once and then stilled.

Gabriel staggered to his feet, his chest heaving, blood dripping from the gash on his arm. The other goblins were closing in fast, their guttural cries growing louder with every step. His mind raced. He couldn't take on two at once—not like this.

He turned and ran.

The forest blurred around him as he sprinted, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The pain in his arm throbbed with every step, but he pushed it aside, focusing only on the path ahead. The goblins' snarls echoed behind him, growing fainter as he weaved through the trees, his feet pounding against the mossy ground.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the sounds of pursuit faded into silence. Gabriel slowed, leaning against a tree as he tried to catch his breath. His hands were shaking, his grip on the rusted sword slick with sweat and blood.

He glanced down at the blade, its jagged edge slick with dark, sticky goblin blood. The rusted surface was dull, but it caught just enough light to show a faint reflection—his own face staring back at him. His breath hitched as he studied it, the streaks of dirt and blood smeared across his skin, the wide, haunted eyes that didn't seem like his own.

For a moment, he stood frozen, unable to look away. The person in the blade wasn't the man he remembered. The weight of the sword in his hand felt heavier now, like it carried more than just blood.

Is this what I'm becoming?

Gabriel swallowed hard and tore his gaze away, but the image lingered in his mind, etched into the edges of his thoughts. He wiped the blade against the mossy ground, but no matter how much he cleaned it, the blood remained—if not on the blade, then on his hands.

The forest was silent again, the shadows stretching long and deep around him. Gabriel took a shuddering breath, gripping the sword tighter as he turned and disappeared into the trees, his figure swallowed by the darkness.

Behind him, the faint scent of blood lingered in the air, a reminder of what had just happened. Of what he was leaving behind.

And of what he was becoming.