Chapter 14: Monsters, Big Monsters

A wrong call wouldn't have been a big deal—except it'd cost Finn his life. That's why his last move was a slash, not a stab. In a place like this, hesitation was a one-way ticket to the grave. You had to decide fast and act faster. If you screwed up, well, no one to blame but yourself. 

Good thing Finn's instincts didn't fail him. Truth was, he was way stronger than he let on. That slash had sliced clean through the Hammer Freak, and his headbutt? Snapped its nightmare teeth like twigs. All he got was a faint throb in his skull—child's play compared to what he'd been through.

Boom.

The Hammer Freak hit the dirt, its body shriveling up like a popped balloon. Green slime coated Finn from head to toe—sticky as hell, but not rancid.

Then GoldieTron's hologram popped up. "Rubber Tree Demon, low-tier lifeform. Master, your strike wasted forty percent more power than needed. A misstep like that, and you'd have nothing left to block with."

Poof—it was gone as fast as it came. Finn plopped down, half-laughing, half-groaning. He stared at his hands, realization sinking in. He wasn't some average Joe anymore. He was a fighter—a damn good one. A monster ripped from a sci-fi flick couldn't even take one hit from him.

A crazy, roaring laugh burst out, echoing through the trees. GoldieTron wasn't wrong, sure, but that bot could shove its logic. Finn would survive his way. That pathetic Rubber Tree Demon was just the proof.

After catching his breath, Finn pushed deeper into the forest. He knew when to go all-in and when to play it smart—his call, no one else's.

His old man used to say, "A man decides, he acts. Even if it's wrong, it's no mistake." Just a factory grunt, but those words hit hard now. For Mom and Dad, Finn would make it out alive.

He spat on the ground and stalked forward like a predator.

When a guy flips the switch to full-on battle mode, he's scarier than anything out there. Some old conquered race from the Maya system once called Earthlings the universe's ultimate war junkies. Soft on the outside, maybe, but pure monsters underneath.

There's an old Earth saying: "The dog that snarls doesn't bite." The freakiest things don't always look it.

Right now, Finn was the real beast.

The Hammer Freak—or Rubber Tree Demon, per GoldieTron—was this forest's punching bag. Low brains, weak moves, ugly as sin but no real threat. After dropping a few, Finn could dismantle them blindfolded. Only problem? They weren't edible.

Hunger clawed at him for the first time since he'd crash-landed in this nightmare. The more he fought, the worse it'd get—draining his stamina bit by bit. Starving for a week wasn't in the cards.

Food was now as urgent as not dying.

Everything in this forest screamed "alien" and "don't eat me." Blind taste-tests were a gamble he couldn't afford. Then it clicked—the green goop from the Rubber Tree Demons. It'd splashed him plenty, no burns, no poison vibes. Organic, probably. Better than chowing down on some glowing fungus.

He took out another demon. The stuff tasted like nothing—well, nothing good—just a faint grossness. Ten minutes, no puking or dying. Good enough.

In a death trap like this, calories beat flavor any day.

One demon's worth killed the hunger pangs. At least he wouldn't starve before something else got him.

But that was just the warm-up. Day one taught him the outer forest wasn't a safe zone anymore. The place was herding him inward, where the monsters got weirder and meaner. Suddenly, those goofy Rubber Tree Demons felt like family.

The giant beasts weren't the real terror. Survival didn't mean killing everything—Finn wasn't that delusional. When the odds sucked, he bolted. The true horrors were the small fry—fast, venomous creeps with way too many legs. This forest was a masterclass in dirty fighting.

A week might crawl for most, but for Finn, it was a blink. GoldieTron? Purpose? All forgotten. One word ruled his brain: survive.

He'd pulled every trick—out-bestialing the beasts. Scars crisscrossed his body, his eyes glinting a wild green. Now, he faced a titan of a monster, trees smashed flat around it. It had him pinned. These forest juggernauts loved boxing in their prey. He'd dodged one before, but this time? No exit. Closest he'd come to biting it in days, yet fear didn't faze him. Monsters didn't care if you whimpered—useless feelings got left behind in the fray.

Roar…

A shockwave ripped out, then a fireball screamed toward him. Finn didn't fight the blast—guarded his vitals and backed off steady. As the fire closed in, he hit the deck, scooting at the beast like a bug on steroids.

Just ankle strength shot him across the ground. No fancy training, just raw, ugly instinct—and it worked.

His back smoked, reeking of burnt meat. Hair? Long gone. Finn barely blinked. This thing didn't just spit fire—its skin was like steel. His alloy knife left scratches at best, even full force. He'd poked for weak spots. Nada.

So far.