Chapter 14.1: The Other Survivors
Chapter 14.1: The Other Survivors
Year 0002, I-III Month: The Imperium
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The Glistening Dread, The Centislug of the Lonely Shadowfen Forest
A cool breeze whispered through the outskirts of a vast and untamed great forest, rustling the towering canopies that stretched endlessly toward the heavens. This was no ordinary woodland; it lay dangerously close to the Great Caldera of Arkanus, a place where civilization dared not tread.
Over centuries, the trees had grown monstrous in size, their ancient trunks thick as fortress walls and their branches forming an impenetrable ceiling above. The dense foliage swallowed sunlight whole, shrouding the forest floor in an eerie, perpetual twilight. A damp, almost suffocating chill lingered in the air, mixing with the scent of moss and decaying leaves.
This was a land untouched, untamed—home to creatures and beasts unknown, lurking in the shadowed undergrowth. The locals, in hushed tones, called it The Lonely Forest of Shadowfen. A name passed down through generations, whispered with both reverence and fear.
And on the very edge of this ominous wilderness, three children ran for their lives.
They sprinted with every ounce of strength their young bodies could muster, their lungs burning with each desperate gasp for air. Their feet pounded against the uneven ground, tripping over roots and tangled vines, but they dared not stop—not for a second. Terror drove them forward, an instinctual, primal fear that overpowered exhaustion.
Something was hunting them.
A monstrous, glistening shape slithered through the dense foliage behind them, its slick body undulating with unnatural grace. The locals called it a Centislug, a name passed around in fearful whispers. But those who had dared to venture deep into the Shadowfen Forest and lived to tell the tale knew it by another name—The Glistening Dread. That was the name recorded in the ancient Beast Index, a name that sent shivers down the spine of even the bravest warriors.
To this creature, the three children were nothing more than a long-awaited meal, fresh and tender. Its countless legs writhed, its slimy body glistening with a translucent sheen that shimmered in the dim light.
For the children, this was no mere chase.
It was a nightmare made flesh.
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Out of Place
It was highly unusual—almost unheard of—for a Centislug to emerge from the depths of the forest, venturing beyond the dark and humid domain where it thrived. These creatures were adapted to the perpetual twilight beneath the ancient canopy, where damp earth and rotting foliage created the perfect environment for their kind.
Yet, here it was, slithering out into unfamiliar territory, far beyond the shadowed heart of the woods.
What could have possibly driven it to abandon its natural habitat?
Had it caught the scent of the children, luring it from the depths of its lair? Or was there something even more sinister at play, something hidden deep within the forest—an unseen force that had unsettled the delicate balance of its world?
The forest alone held the answer, its ancient secrets buried beneath centuries of untouched wilderness.
But whatever the cause, one thing was certain: the creature's presence outside its usual domain was an ominous sign.
And the children were now at the center of it.
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A Beast Like No Other
This creature was an unnatural abomination—a grotesque fusion of a centipede and a slug. The very sight of it could send shivers down one's spine, an instinctual horror creeping into the depths of the soul. Its mere presence was enough to make one's skin crawl, and for those unfortunate enough to lay eyes upon it for the first time, a paralyzing fear would take hold.
It was a fear buried deep in the primal recesses of the human mind, an overwhelming dread that froze the body in place. Muscles locked, breath hitched, and every survival instinct dulled to uselessness. To face this monster was to be consumed by an ancient terror—one that left even seasoned warriors helpless against its overwhelming presence.
The Glistening Dread, as it was known in the Beast Index, was a horror of nature. Its body was a grotesque combination of the worst traits of both creatures it resembled. Hundreds of segmented, razor-sharp appendages wriggled beneath its slimy, mucus-coated hide, allowing it to glide with disturbing silence across any surface.
Its enormous mandibles jutted out from its grotesque maw, each one capable of rending flesh and bone with terrifying ease. Long, protruding feelers twitched incessantly, sweeping the air in search of prey. These sensory appendages had evolved to an unnatural level of sensitivity, compensating for the creature's near-blindness.
Though its dull, red eyes had lost much of their potency over time, they could still detect the faint glow of body heat. Any unfortunate soul who radiated too much warmth would find themselves visible to this monstrosity. However, for those with knowledge and experience, there were ways to avoid its sight—to temporarily blind it.
But such tactics came with a dangerous caveat.
While its eyes could be hindered, its feelers could not. These appendages functioned as an advanced replacement for its vision, granting it a form of echolocation that was far superior to mere sight. In the pitch-black depths of the Lonely Forest of Shadowfen, where even the faintest light struggled to penetrate, this monster had no need for traditional vision. It was the darkness, and it thrived in the shadows.
It moved with an unnatural grace—silent, swift, and nearly invisible in its preferred domain. There was no warning, no sound to betray its approach. By the time its prey realized it was there, it was already too late.
And now, it was hunting the trio.
The children ran, their feet pounding against the uneven forest floor, but they knew—deep in their hearts—that outrunning it was impossible.
It was coming.
And it was hungry.
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Fleeing the War
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the land as the day neared its end. A cool breeze swept through the barren fields surrounding Village Pipik, rustling the sparse trees that stood like silent sentinels against the encroaching dusk.
Just beyond the village's perimeter, three children trudged along a worn dirt path, their small figures casting long shadows behind them. Their faces bore the weight of exhaustion, their bodies thin from days of malnourishment. They had just been cast out of Pipik, a settlement situated barely a kilometer from the edge of the dark and foreboding Lonely Forest of Shadowfen.
The trio had nowhere to go.
They were among the countless children who had been indirectly orphaned by the relentless wars that had swept through the land in the past few months. Battles raged between the Empire of Elms-Arkanus and the Fresco League of Kingdoms, the remaining defiant kingdoms, their conflicts spilling into villages and small towns, uprooting families and leaving devastation in their wake.
Their own parents, fearing for their safety, had once attempted to seek refuge in other villages. They had hoped to find sanctuary within its walls, away from the horrors that loomed beyond. However, whispers of dread and uncertainty had begun to spread among the villagers.
Traveling merchants, who occasionally passed through, brought grim news of the outside world.
Stories of warlords burning villages to the ground, taking advantage of the current chaos that ensued.
Of marauding soldiers conscripting men into service—or slaughtering them outright.
Of bandits who preyed on the weak, leaving no survivors in their wake.
Fear had taken root in the hearts of the villagers, growing like a festering wound. The mere presence of newcomers was seen as a threat—what if they were spies? What if they brought the war to their village?
And so, distrust turned to hostility.
Faced with suspicion and paranoia, the parents of the trio made the heart-wrenching decision to flee once again, seeking refuge deeper into the countryside. But fate had other plans.
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The Adults Desperate Last Stand: A Tragic End
Before they could reach Pipik Village, tragedy struck.
A band of roving bandits, clad in tattered armor and bearing the scars of countless raids, descended upon them like wolves upon helpless prey.
There was no time to react.
The bandits were as vile as their reputation suggested—ruthless scavengers who thrived on the suffering of others. They were men who had long abandoned any shred of humanity, hardened by a life of bloodshed and greed.
With cruel grins and weapons drawn, they surrounded the small group of refugees, demanding everything they owned.
"Hand over your food, your valuables—everything! And maybe, just maybe, we'll let you live!"
But the adults refused to submit.
They knew the kind of men these were. Even if they surrendered, there would be no mercy. These bandits would strip them of everything, and when nothing was left to take, they would kill them anyway—or worse.
No, there was only one choice.
The parents and guardians exchanged determined glances. They knew they had little chance against armed raiders, but they had to fight—not for themselves, but for the children.
"Run!" one of the fathers shouted. "Run to Pipik Village and don't look back!"
The children hesitated, their wide eyes filled with fear.
"GO!" a mother screamed as she grabbed one of them and shoved them toward the woods.
That was the last thing they saw—the adults charging forward with nothing but desperate courage. A few held makeshift weapons, others wielded only their fists, but they fought with all they had.
Swords clashed.
Shouts turned to screams.
The scent of blood filled the air.
And then, silence.
The children could only watch a few seconds in horror as their parents tried to fight off the bandits and give them a chance to flee and were dragged away, their painful dying cries echoing in the forest swallowed by the vast wilderness. The cruel laughter of the bandits echoed through the trees, their greed and malice laid bare.
The children didn't dare look back.
Tears blurred their vision as they stumbled through the wilderness, their small hands clutching each other for dear life. The weight of what had just happened bore down on them like an inescapable nightmare.
The children had barely managed to escape.
They had lost everything.
They were alone.
And now, they had to fend for themselves.
With nowhere else to turn, they ran toward Pipik Village, unaware that even this supposed sanctuary would soon turn them away.
Their true struggle for survival had only just begun.
Fleeing for their lives, they eventually reached Pipik, hoping—praying—that someone would take them in. But they were once again met only with disappointment.
A Bitter Wait
Pipik was the nearest village to where the children's parents had met their tragic fate. It was only a couple of kilometers away, yet it felt like an entirely different world—a world where they were now alone.
Exhausted, heartbroken, and afraid, the children had arrived at the village gates with tear-streaked faces, their small bodies trembling from both fear and grief.
At first, the villagers showed them kindness. They were allowed to stay, given food, and offered a place to rest. For a fleeting moment, it seemed like they had found a safe haven.
But as the days passed, the village became overwhelmed. More and more refugees arrived—families who had lost their homes, survivors of battles, and others who, like the children, had nowhere else to go. Resources grew scarce, and fear began to spread. The villagers started whispering among themselves, their once-warm expressions turning to wary glances.
"They'll bring trouble."
"They're a burden we cannot afford."
Meanwhile, the children clung to a desperate hope. Every day, they stood by the village gates, eyes scanning the horizon. They waited—waited for their parents to appear, to prove that they had somehow survived.
Minutes turned to hours.
Hours turned to days.
But no familiar faces ever came.
Each time a new group of refugees arrived, their hearts would leap with hope, only to sink again when they saw that none of them were their parents.
The realization settled in slowly, painfully.
They were never coming.
With each passing day, the villagers grew colder toward them. The sympathy they had once received was fading, replaced by frustration and fear. The children had lost their families, and now, without even realizing it, they were losing their temporary refuge as well.
Their fragile hope began to crumble beneath the weight of cruel reality.
The adults who had sworn to protect them with their lives were gone.
The village that had offered them shelter was turning its back.
And the world outside—it was more dangerous than ever.
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The Burden of War
The war had stretched its vile tentacles far and wide, leaving destruction in its wake. Entire regions had been reduced to nothing more than ruins, forcing countless people to flee in search of safety. Pipik Village, though small and relatively isolated, was not spared from the waves of displaced souls seeking refuge.
At first, the villagers had tried to welcome as many as they could, knowing that turning people away was a cruel act. Many of the refugees, desperate for shelter, promised to work in exchange for a place to stay. They were willing to farm, hunt, or take on any labor necessary to earn their keep.
But not everyone was so lucky.
As the flood of desperate faces continued to arrive, the village reached its breaking point. It simply did not have the resources to sustain such a large influx of people. The village chief, along with the elders, faced an impossible decision—one that would determine the survival of Pipik itself.
A closed-door meeting was held in the chief's longhouse. The atmosphere was grim, tension hanging thick in the air as they debated their options.
"We are already rationing food," one elder muttered, rubbing his temples. "If we take in any more, our own people will starve before winter even arrives."
"But to turn them away—" another started, only to be cut off.
"What choice do we have?" the chief said gravely. "Sheltering too many will bring disaster. We must prepare for winter, and a population this large will lead to chaos. If people go hungry, we will have more than just refugees to worry about—we will have a rebellion on our hands."
And so, they came to a grim conclusion.
To preserve the stability of the village, sacrifices had to be made.
It was not fair. It was not right. But it was, in their minds, necessary.
Those deemed unfit to contribute were among the first to be cast out. The sick, the elderly, and the wounded—all liabilities. But among them, the orphans faced the cruelest fate.
By the village's customs, children were not expected to work. They were seen as too young, too weak to provide for themselves or for the community. In times of peace, this would have been an act of kindness. But in times of crisis, it meant that they were viewed as nothing more than extra mouths to feed—mouths that provided no value in return.
So, with heavy hearts—but unwavering resolve—the elders made their choice.
The orphans, including the three children who had fled to Pipik in search of safety, would be expelled.
It was a decision made in whispers, behind closed doors. A decision meant to secure the village's survival.
But for the children who had already lost everything, it was a death sentence.
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The Cold Logic of Survival
As the village's resources grew scarcer, the situation became dire. Every grain of food counted, every able-bodied worker was needed, and there was no room for those who could not contribute. In such times, kindness became a luxury the village could no longer afford.
The orphans, already vulnerable and without protectors, found themselves at the bottom of the village's social hierarchy. Their worth, in the eyes of the elders and the chief, had plummeted to nothing. Unlike the newly arrived adult refugees, who could work the fields, hunt, or help fortify the village before winter, the children had no skills and no immediate value.
They were just extra mouths to feed.
The village leaders knew that outright expelling them without reason might cause unrest among some of the more compassionate villagers. So, they devised a plan—a cruel and calculated strategy to turn the people against those they wished to discard.
A narrative was spread throughout Pipik:
"The orphans, the sick, and the disabled are nothing but leeches," they whispered. "They will consume our food and give nothing in return. When winter arrives, it will be their fault if we do not have enough to survive."
Fear and desperation made this lie easy to believe.
At first, some villagers hesitated, their hearts conflicted. They had taken these children in, had seen their grief and suffering. But when faced with the possibility of their own families starving, their sympathy began to wither.
"Better them than us," some muttered.
And so, the village gradually turned against the orphans, the sick, and the wounded. The kindness that had once welcomed them faded, replaced by cold indifference.
It was true that the village was struggling. It was true that keeping them would strain their resources further.
But it was also true that what they were doing was cruel and inhumane.
Yet, survival had a way of silencing morality.
In the end, the decision was made.
The unwanted were gathered—children barely old enough to understand why they were being cast out, the sick who could no longer fend for themselves, the wounded who had fought to reach the village only to be turned away again.
They were given nothing. No food, no supplies, no shelter.
And with nothing but the clothes on their backs, they were led beyond the village gates.
The heavy wooden doors slammed shut behind them.
No farewells.
No second chances.
Just silence, as the village carried on—its people pretending they could not hear the cries of those they had abandoned.
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Cast into the Unknown
This was how they were banished—forced beyond the village's protective walls, stripped of safety, and cast into the unknown.
Yet, the cruelty of their expulsion did not end with mere exile.
And so the trio along with many others, were once again, were casted out of the villages safety.
Now, as the trio stood on the outskirts of the village, staring into the shadowy depths of the Lonely Forest of Shadowfen, they realized they had only two choices:
To wait in the open, vulnerable to whatever dangers lurked in the twilight...
Or to venture into the unknown, where the trees loomed like silent giants, and the darkness whispered with untold horrors.
Their journey into the depths of fate had begun.
Rather than being sent away from the main gates, where they could at least attempt to find another settlement, they were deliberately forced out through the lesser-used southern entrance—one that led directly toward the dreaded Lonely Shadowfen Forest.
Even children knew the dark tales whispered about Shadowfen. It was a place untouched by civilization, where sunlight barely reached through the thick canopy of ancient trees. A place where beasts lurked unseen, waiting for foolish wanderers to stray too far. The stories alone were enough to keep even the bravest souls from venturing near.
Yet now, those very trio of children stood at its threshold, shivering in fear.
Among them was Erik Rhubbard, the eldest at just twelve years old—a boy on the cusp of manhood, yet still a child himself. His companions, Betty Snow and Bren Anglewood, were even younger, only ten and nine.
Their small hands gripped one another tightly, their minds still struggling to comprehend the full weight of their fate.
And yet, in truth, Erik could have stayed.
Before their banishment, the village elders had offered him a cruel choice.
He was strong for his age, nearing thirteen, and had already begun to take on the responsibilities of a young man. To the elders, he had potential. He could have been useful.
But there was a catch—he could only stay if he abandoned the other two.
Betty and Bren, being younger and weaker, had no value to the village. If Erik agreed to cast them aside, the elders would have welcomed him. He could have had food, shelter, and protection from the dangers beyond the walls.
But at what cost?
His heart wavered as he struggled with the impossible choice.
Could he truly turn his back on the only family he had left?
Could he abandon them just to save himself?
His mind screamed at him to accept the offer—to survive, no matter the price.
But his soul refused.
Erik would not betray them.
His parents had raised him to be honorable, to protect those who could not protect themselves. If they were alive, he knew exactly what they would tell him:
"Stay together. No matter what."
And so, he chose exile.
With his decision made, the village showed no mercy.
Together, the three children were cast out, sent into the looming darkness of Shadowfen with nothing but the clothes on their backs and the terror in their hearts.
No food.
No supplies.
No hope.
And the only path left before them...
Was into the forest.
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A Fateful Decision
The three children stood in stunned silence, staring at the village gates that had just been shut behind them.
They were still struggling to process what had just happened.
One moment, they had shelter. A place to stay. A village where they could at least pretend they were safe.
The next, they had nothing.
Only their lives and a few meager belongings.
But at least they were alive.
"It could be worse... right?"
That was what Erik kept telling himself, forcing the thought to take root in his mind.
He clenched his fists, steadying his nerves.
They could manage.
They had to.
After a brief moment of silence, Erik turned to his companions. His voice was steady, though uncertainty lingered beneath it.
"So… what do we do now?"
Betty and Bren exchanged uncertain glances, but before they could answer—
*DING! DING! DING!*
The sudden blare of the village alarm shattered the quiet.
A sound of panic.
Of emergency.
Of danger.
The realization struck Erik like a bolt of lightning—they were being raided.
His heart pounded as a sinking feeling took hold in his gut.
Bren's small hands trembled. Betty took a cautious step back, fear in her eyes.
The village that had just cast them out was now under attack.
Bandits? Another warring faction? Or something even worse?
It didn't matter.
The village was doomed.
Erik gritted his teeth, his mind racing.
He had no love for those who had abandoned them, but staying here was not an option.
They had to run.
"Come on! We have to get far away from here—NOW!"
Without hesitation, he grabbed Betty and Bren by their wrists and pulled them into motion.
The only direction left to go—
Was toward the forest.
He knew it was risky.
He knew the stories.
But what choice did they have?
"If we stay near the edge, we'll be fine."
"We don't have to go in too deep."
"Just far enough to be safe."
At least, that's what Erik told himself.
But fate had other plans.
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Pipik Village, Raided and Butchered
A few moments into their flight, the screams began to echo from the village behind them. The sound of chaos was unmistakable—loud and blood-curdling. It wasn't just the cries of terror. The sounds of violence were unmistakable as well, thickening the air with an oppressive sense of dread.
The invaders had breached the village's defenses far faster than anyone had anticipated. The once peaceful haven that had offered the children a fleeting hope was now a scene of destruction.
As they ran, the three could hear the shouts of desperate villagers, the sickening wet thuds of violence, and the cruel laughter of those responsible. The violence didn't discriminate. Men, women, and children alike were falling victim to the onslaught.
Erik's breath caught in his throat as he could already hear the sounds of the butchery happening behind them. The village had become a slaughterhouse. Those unfortunate enough to remain were paying the price for the invaders' fury.
Women's anguished cries echoed in the distance, their screams for mercy torn apart by the cruel hands of their attackers. The sound of clashing metal, screams, and cruel laughter carried through the wind as they ran—louder with every passing second.
But Erik, Betty, and Bren couldn't afford to look back.
They couldn't afford to stop.
Not even to help.
Each step felt heavier than the last as the sound of carnage chased them like a relentless specter.
The fear and helplessness they had felt when they were cast out of the village were nothing compared to the dread they felt now, knowing that the brutality they'd just fled was still raging behind them, closer with each second that passed.
The three children continued to run through the evening, their breaths ragged and raw, hearts beating like the frantic rhythm of a drum. They hadn't the time to stop and process the horror they had just witnessed. There was only survival now.
And all the while, the echoes of violence, death, and sorrow pursued them—constant reminders that the world they once knew had been shattered forever.
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Deeper into the Shadows
An overview of the events that were about to follow…
As they fled deeper into the fringes of the Shadowfen Forest, the sounds of slaughter from Pipik Village gradually faded behind them. The twilight had deepened, the last remnants of daylight barely penetrating the dense outskirt canopy above the forest. Shadows stretched longer, darker, more menacing with each passing minute.
Erik led the way, his hand firmly gripping Betty's, who in turn held onto Bren's trembling fingers. The chain of their makeshift family remained unbroken, even as the world around them crumbled into chaos.
"Just a little further," Erik whispered, his voice hoarse from exertion. "We need to find somewhere to hide for the night."
Betty nodded, her face streaked with tears she hadn't even realized she'd shed. Bren simply stared ahead, his young mind struggling to process the horrors they had witnessed.
The forest floor up ahead was treacherous—a maze of gnarled roots, fallen branches, and moss-covered stones that threatened to trip them if they ever decided to step inside. The air grew damper, heavier, as if the forest itself was breathing around them.
"I'm scared," Bren finally spoke, his voice small and fragile.
Erik squeezed Betty's hand, and she passed the gesture on to Bren. "We all are," Erik admitted. "But we have to keep moving."
As the day turned to a hazy afternoon and the remaining light turned into darkness as it slowly deepened into the dark abyss of the night, the forest came alive with sounds—the rustling of leaves, the distant calls of birds settling for the for the day, and other, more unsettling noises that none of them could identify.
"What was that?" Betty whispered, her head snapping toward a sound to their right.
Erik listened intently. "Probably just an animal. Nothing to worry about."
But he knew better not to tread further. The Shadowfen was home to creatures far more dangerous than the common wildlife found in other forests. The stories the village elders told around the communal fires spoke of beasts that could swallow a man whole, of creatures that stalked their prey for days before striking.
"We need shelter," Erik murmured, scanning their surroundings. "Somewhere defensible."
As if answering his plea, the ever so observant Bren had manage to see a small clearing before, where a massive tree had fallen long ago, creating a natural hollow beneath its upturned roots. The cavity was just large enough for the three of them to squeeze inside, offering some protection from the elements—and from prying eyes.
"Here," Erik said, guiding the younger children toward the makeshift shelter. "We'll rest here for the night."
They crawled inside, huddling together for warmth in the damp chill of the forest evening. Erik positioned himself at the entrance, determined to keep watch, to protect the only family he had left.
"Will they come for us?" Bren asked, his voice barely audible.
Erik didn't know who "they" referred to—the villagers who had cast them out, the raiders who had descended upon Pipik, or the unseen horrors that lurked within the Shadowfen. Perhaps all of them.
"I won't let anything happen to you," he promised, knowing full well it might be a vow he couldn't keep. "Try to get some sleep. We have a long journey ahead."
As Betty and Bren drifted into an uneasy slumber, Erik remained vigilant, his young eyes straining against the encroaching darkness. The sounds of the forest surrounded them—some natural, others... less so.
And in the depths of the night, as exhaustion finally began to claim him, Erik thought he heard something else—a slithering sound, distant but approaching. A sound unlike anything he had heard before.
Something unnatural.
Something hungry.
The Glistening Dread had caught their scent.
And the hunt had begun.