Chapter 17: Horrores Of The Night (2)

Ark pulled the boar he had hunted earlier from his storage ring, then, with a swift and practiced motion, expertly butchered it, slicing it cleanly in half. Instead of cooking it the traditional way over an open fire, he placed his palm over the exposed meat, and a strange phenomenon occurred. Heat radiated from his hand as steam began rising from the boar's flesh, accompanied by a sizzling sound. Within seconds, the meat was perfectly cooked, the heat evenly distributed as if it had been roasted from the inside out.

Mizan's eyes widened in disbelief, his mind struggling to grasp the possibility of such mastery over the fire element. Ark was not simply using fire—he was channeling his energy to control the heat with precision, cooking the meat with a level of control akin to dipping it into a pit of lava and pulling it out without a single burn. Only someone with extraordinary command over their powers could manage such a feat.

Ark's voice broke Mizan's stunned silence. "Eat," he said, handing the boy a large portion of meat. Mizan hesitated, eyeing the massive chunk in his hands.

"I can't eat all of this," Mizan protested.

"If you want to build your body and strength quickly, you need to eat," Ark replied, cutting into an even larger portion for himself. Without a second thought, he began devouring the meat with a ravenous intensity, as if he were on a mission to consume it all. He ignored Mizan completely, focusing only on his meal.

After devouring nearly half of the cow-sized boar on his own, Ark finally stopped eating and tilted his head toward the sky. He let out a long, audible exhale. The sound of his exhale was so exaggerated and drawn out that it almost resembled a high-pitched roar. The unsettling noise, combined with Ark's bizarre behavior, sent shivers down Mizan's spine and left him feeling increasingly uneasy.

Steam curled from Ark's mouth as he exhaled, rising like ghostly tendrils into the night air. The sight was grotesque—like watching some unholy creature vent excess heat from its body. Mizan couldn't tear his eyes away. For a brief moment, Ark didn't look human to him.

The oppressive atmosphere of the forest only heightened Mizan's discomfort. The night was pitch black, and every so often faint rustling sounds reached his ears, followed by the distant howls of wolves, the hoots of owls, and eerie, unidentifiable screeches from the shadows. As darkness fell, the monsters and beasts that roamed the woods grew more active. Mizan could feel his anxiety creeping up; the oppressive atmosphere of the forest, combined with the oddity of Ark's actions, weighed heavily on him.

Ark suddenly spoke, jolting Mizan out of his inner thoughts. His voice was calm, as if his recent action had been nothing out of the ordinary. He instructed Mizan to rest if he finished eating. "We'll continue our journey early tomorrow morning," he added. "And you'll start training your body. You're going to get even more exhausted, so get some sleep while you can."

Mizan nodded silently, though he doubted he'd be able to sleep. The unfamiliar surroundings and the eerie forest atmosphere gnawed at his nerves. To his surprise, Ark reached into his storage ring and pulled out a thick, warm cloak. It was noticeably small, clearly designed for a child rather than an adult. Ark handed it to him.

"Use this to keep warm. Nights in the forest can get cold," Ark said matter-of-factly.

Mizan hesitated before taking the cloak, muttering a quiet "T-Thank you." He didn't dare ask why Ark possessed such an item—it felt like prying into a story he wasn't meant to hear. Instead, he retrieved a blanket from his own bag and laid down beside the fire, using his leather bag as a makeshift pillow.

Ark remained seated on the earthen bench he'd crafted earlier, poking the fire absentmindedly with a tree branch. Despite his unease, Mizan hadn't realized just how weary he was. As soon as his head hit the bag, sleep overtook him, silencing the anxiety and fear that had clung to him.

***

Sometime in the middle of the night, Mizan stirred. A strange sound had jolted him awake, though he wasn't sure how much time had passed. His body still heavy with fatigue, he kept his eyes half-open, straining to make sense of the noise.

It was laughter—light, eerie, and unnatural. His heart began to pound. The laughter shifted, morphing into quiet, agonized sobbing, only to twist again into a sinister giggle. Mizan's blood ran cold. He lay frozen beneath his blanket, clutching it tightly as if it were a shield, too terrified to move or breathe too loudly.

He peeked through his half-open eyes, scanning the campfire for the source of the unsettling sounds. His gaze landed on Ark, who hadn't moved from his spot on the earthen bench. He was still poking the fire with a branch, but something about him was profoundly wrong.

Tears streamed steadily from Ark's left eye, carving a glistening path down the left side of his gaunt face. Yet his right eye remained dry, calm, and as indifferent as ever. The duality was unnerving—like two opposing forces waging war within him.

The quiet sobs from moments ago faded back into suppressed laughter, soft and wicked, as though it came from a man split in two. Mizan could only watch, his heart racing, paralyzed by fear. Whatever was happening inside Ark, it was beyond anything Mizan could comprehend—and far more terrifying than the forest itself.

Before Mizan could fully process what was happening, the sound of rustling bushes cut through the silence, followed by an eerie giggle. This time, however, it wasn't coming from Ark. The laughter was shrill yet feminine, carrying an unsettling mix of playfulness and malice.

Then, to Mizan's growing horror, the voice spoke. It was high-pitched and distorted, as if two voices were overlapping. "You seem to be in so much pain. Why don't you let me take it away? We could have... a little fun." it said mockingly.

Mizan clutched his blanket tightly, his body trembling as the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder. His heart pounded like a war drum, each beat reverberating in his ears. The voice came from behind him, but he dared not turn to look. He lay perfectly still, pretending to sleep, though every fiber of his being was screaming to run.