The Escape & The Hunger

The Striker's corpse lay sprawled behind him, motionless. Dead.

And yet, he could still feel it.

Not the fight. Not the adrenaline.

Something deeper. Something unnatural.

Jarek swallowed hard. He had changed.

He glanced down at his hands.

They should have been stained red. Covered in the Striker's blood.

But they weren't.

His skin was clean.

No drying blood. No splattered gore.

It had all been absorbed.

His breath caught in his throat.

That wasn't normal.

Even Apex Hunters, after absorbing a Gene Core, still had blood on them. They didn't just… take it all in.

A sick, crawling feeling ran through him.

Was the Striker's blood now inside him? Changing him?

Jarek forced himself to look at the corpse.

He took a slow step forward.

What if he could take more?

It was already dead. Already drained. But what if there was something left?

He reached out, pressing his hand against the beast's cooling flesh.

Nothing.

No reaction. No system message.

His fingers twitched. He pressed harder.

Still nothing.

So it only worked once.

Jarek exhaled, shaking off the unease crawling up his spine.

That was good, right? It meant he wasn't some kind of mindless parasite that could drain a corpse over and over.

But it also meant something else.

If he wanted to evolve more… he needed to kill again.

His stomach twisted.

Then—he heard it.

A heavy crunch of stone and metal.

Jarek stiffened.

It came from deeper in the tunnels.

A second later, he felt it. The low, rhythmic tremors.

Something big was moving.

Jarek turned his head slowly, heart pounding in his chest.

At the far end of the tunnel, past the shattered train cars and collapsed walls, a massive shape stepped into the dim light.

His stomach dropped.

He knew what that was.

A Titanfang.

Jarek's breath hitched.

Titanfangs weren't dungeon bosses. They weren't legendary creatures.

They were just another predator in the food chain.

But they were at the top of it.

Twelve feet tall. Thick, armored hide. A jaw that could crush concrete.

And worst of all—fast.

It wasn't looking at him.

Not yet.

It was sniffing.

Smelling the blood in the air.

Jarek's jaw clenched. The Striker's corpse.

He had seconds to decide.

Jarek moved.

Slow. Controlled.

Every step backward was measured, careful.

His mind was screaming at him to run.

But running meant death.

Titanfangs had horrible eyesight. But their hearing and smell were unmatched.

He took another slow step back.

Then another.

Then—

His foot brushed against a loose rock.

It tumbled. Clink. Clink. Clink.

The Titanfang's massive head snapped toward him.

Jarek's stomach turned to ice.

Shit.

The Titanfang's eyes locked onto him.

Then it moved.

Jarek's body reacted before his mind.

He ran.

The Titanfang roared. A deep, earth-shaking sound that made Jarek's bones rattle.

Then—it charged.

The ground shook beneath its weight as it lunged forward, covering dozens of feet in seconds.

Jarek tore through the tunnel, sprinting as fast as his body allowed.

His Striker-enhanced speed saved him.

Without it, he'd already be dead.

But it wasn't enough.

The Titanfang was faster.

It smashed through debris like it wasn't even there. Each step brought it closer.

Jarek's breath came in ragged gasps. No way he could outrun it.

Think.

His eyes darted around.

Collapsed structures. A ruined staircase. A narrow gap in the broken wall.

There.

Jarek twisted his body and lunged for the gap.

A second later, the Titanfang slammed into the wall behind him.

The tunnel shook violently. Rocks crumbled from the ceiling.

Jarek scrambled forward, slipping through the rubble and out into an old sewer access tunnel.

He didn't stop moving. Not until the sounds of destruction faded behind him.

His breath was unsteady. His body ached.

Then, it hit him again.

The hunger.

Stronger than before.

He clenched his jaw, forcing it down. Not now. Not here.

Jarek didn't stop running until he saw the Safe Zone walls.

The massive steel barriers loomed ahead, separating the city from the wastelands beyond.

His body still felt off—too light, too strong, like it hadn't fully settled yet.

But his mind was clear.

He was weak.

The Striker had been a victory, but it meant nothing.

The Titanfang made that clear.

Jarek might have changed, but he was still weak.

And weakness wouldn't keep him alive.

Reiner barely glanced at him at first. Then, his expression shifted.

"You actually survived," he muttered.

Jarek forced himself to sit down, keeping his face blank. "Told you I would."

Reiner shook his head. "Yeah, but I didn't think you'd actually do it." He took a slow drag from his cigarette. "Did you really kill it yourself?"

Jarek met his gaze, forcing his shoulders to stay relaxed. "Yeah."

Reiner studied him, like he was waiting for some tell, some hesitation.

Jarek didn't flinch.

Finally, Reiner snorted. "Hmph. Lucky bastard."

Jarek forced a smirk.

Then—the hunger hit again.

His breath caught.

It wasn't the same as before.

It wasn't about the Striker.

It was Reiner.

Not him. His blood.

The scent of Apex power.

Jarek forced his muscles to relax. Swallowed down the feeling.

This wasn't normal.

And it was getting worse.

"I need to go back out," he said.

Reiner raised an eyebrow. "Already?"

Jarek exhaled slowly.

"I need to get stronger."