Chapter 3: The Storm's Wrath

The forest had already felt like the edge of the world. The winds howled, tearing through the twisted trees, their branches clawing at the sky as though trying to break free from the oppressive weight of the storm. Dark clouds gathered above, swirling like a twisted omen.

Arin had made it through the worst. Or so he thought.

A crackling noise split the air — sharp and unnatural. It was like the very fabric of reality tore open, and then it came. A jagged bolt of black lightning, different from anything he'd ever seen, coursed through the sky, cutting through the forest like a sword.

Before he could even react, it hit him. The force slammed into his chest, sending him to the ground in an instant. His body jolted as if the very essence of life was drained from him.

"What the hell?"

His mind spun, thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind, but nothing made sense. His heart raced in an unnatural rhythm. He felt as though every nerve in his body was on fire, wracked with pain.

"This... this can't be real..."

The world around him went black, and his body fell into unconsciousness. Time passed — long or short, he couldn't tell.

When he finally awoke, the first thing he noticed was the silence. Gone were the screeches of predators. Gone was the familiar rustle of the forest.

Arin blinked, disoriented, and pushed himself up. His body ached with a deep, unrelenting pain, and his head throbbed. His eyes scanned the surroundings, looking for any sign of life. The once-majestic Drake Eagle had vanished.

The snake's carcass, though, was no longer the warm sanctuary it once was. The edges of the Giant Green Python's skin were charred black, and the center of its body was reduced to little more than a smoldering husk. The scent of burnt flesh filled the air.

"Damn it… I never expected to survive that… but I guess…"

His stomach growled loudly, snapping him out of his thoughts. Hunger gnawed at him, reminding him that survival was a daily game of chance. He limped over to the remains of the snake, ignoring the taste of bitterness in his mouth as he started tearing into the scorched meat, unbothered by the stench or the rough texture. It was food. That was all that mattered.

With every bite, he felt a pang of desperation in his chest, a reminder of how far he'd fallen. There was no more pride. No more hesitation.

"Who cares? Who cares what it tastes like?"

The hunger was too much, and he ate as though he hadn't tasted food in days. The crackle of the burnt meat was the only sound he could focus on as he devoured what remained of the snake.

But then, his throat burned — dry, unquenchable.

"Water…"

With what little strength remained, Arin staggered toward the ground, where a small puddle of rainwater had collected in the hollow of a nearby root. His hands shook as he lowered himself, cupping the water and drinking it greedily, the coolness offering a momentary relief from the dryness that had taken over his throat.

As he drank, his eyes caught something in the distance.

A baby deer, no older than a fawn, stepped gingerly from the underbrush. Its eyes were wide and innocent, looking at Arin with curiosity before it approached the puddle, lowering its head to drink from the same source.

Arin froze, his grip tightening around the edge of the puddle. His instincts, sharpened by years of scraping through life, screamed at him.

"It's perfect. Fresh meat. Easy. It's weak."

His fingers twitched. He could easily strike. One swift motion, and it would be over. His stomach growled again, louder this time, aching for more than just the snake's burnt flesh.

But then, his mind wandered.

"It's just a baby. Just like me… when I was a kid. Before everything went to hell. Before..."

The deer drank quietly, unaware of the silent battle waging in Arin's mind. Its soft brown eyes met his for a moment, and Arin felt a wave of unexpected conflict.

"Why kill it? I've already eaten. I've got enough for now."

He stood up, wincing as pain shot through his ribs. The baby deer paused, lifting its head before darting back into the brush, vanishing as quietly as it had appeared.

Arin didn't follow. He didn't need to.

"I'm not the monster I thought I was."

His body screamed for rest, but the call of the forest's edge — the Gates of the Forest, the place where the trees began to thin out, beckoned. He knew he couldn't stay here, not anymore. He had to move forward. He had to find a way out.

"Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I leave this hell behind."

With his stomach full and his mind conflicted, Arin trudged toward the border, away from the forest's depths, and closer to whatever lay beyond.