JASON
Chapter 3: Law Of The Jungle
I glanced at the blade, its crimson eye unwavering. As my eyes traced its twisted form, memories of the Silver Dragon Knife flooded back.
I let out a sad, broken chuckle. "Of course. You'd look like that."
I shook my head again, more resolute this time. "Alright. Fine. Let's make a deal." I held the blade up, meeting its eerie gaze.
"I keep you fed, but you take what I tell you to. Nothing more. You drain what I hunt, what I decide. Got it?"
The weapon didn't respond the way I'd hoped. Instead, a low, mocking hum seemed to rise from the blade, its cloth shifting against my arm like it was laughing at me.
My stomach churned with unease. The blade wasn't agreeing. Not completely anyway. It felt more like a smug acknowledgment that I had no power here, no real say.
Its crimson eye gleamed faintly, almost mocking me, as if to say, "You can't do shit."
I exhaled, standing up and staring into the fog where the rest of the flock had vanished, gripping the blade tighter. Fine, I thought. If it wanted to mock me, so be it. This wasn't over.
"We're not done yet," I said, my voice steady now. The thrill of the hunt coursed through my veins, replacing the panic from earlier. My grip on the blade tightened.
---
The flock had made a decision earlier to split into two groups, hoping to cover more ground and locate their possibly injured member.
The swamp was unnervingly quiet as the first Staravia led its smaller group through the dense mist.
Shadows stretched long across the bog, the faint rustle of wings blending into the murmur of the wind.
This group of four Starly and two Staravia moved cautiously, their sharp eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of danger.
One of the Staravia, larger and more seasoned than the rest, took the lead. Its instincts screamed that something was wrong.
It had been eerily silent for a while now. Now that wasn't rare in the Scarlet Bog, especially at night. But this level of silence meant that a top predator was near.
The lead Staravia's mind raced, recalling the haunting precision of a Gengar's hunt it had once witnessed.
That predator had moved through shadows, its presence almost imperceptible until it was too late.
It remembered the eerie glow of Gengar's eyes cutting through the darkness as it worked its terrible scheme.
Hypnosis followed by Dream Eater. The Staravia had seen it before, where prey was lulled into an unnatural sleep and their energy drained away until only stillness remained.
The memory of that quiet, relentless predator resurfaced now, the mist and silence amplifying the similarity.
The Staravia's feathers bristled as it tried to push the thought away, but the growing fear was undeniable.
What if it was a Gengar, preying on them the same way? The instinct to flee clashed violently with its duty to find the missing flock member, creating a storm of hesitation.
It let out a low chirp to the group, signaling them to stay close. The younger Starly clustered together, their movements jittery.
The flock pushed forward, trying to escape whatever invisible force seemed to weigh on them.
"PLUNK!~~"
A soft splatter shattered the stillness. A small stone skipped across the surface of the water, drawing the flock's attention to their right.
The lead Staravia turned sharply, its keen eyes scanning the area. There was nothing. Only fog and shadows covered this Scarlet Bog.
Then came a sharp cry from behind. One of the Starly fluttered up suddenly, its wing awkwardly bent, a sharp stone embedded near its wing joint.
The flock erupted into chaos. The lead Staravia whirled around, trying to take control, but before it could act, another Starly fell with a sharp, gurgling sound.
Something unseen had struck its neck. Blood pooled in the mud.
Panic set in. The flock scattered, their formation broken. The Staravia's heart pounded as it took to the air, its wings beating furiously to gain height.
It let out a sharp call to regroup, but the mist seemed to swallow its voice.
A third Starly fell, struck mid-flight by another well-aimed stone. The Staravia's sharp eyes caught the glint of movement in the fog below, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.
The predator was invisible, hunting them one by one. The Staravia dove low, desperate to find the remaining flock, when it heard the wet sound of something slicing through flesh. Another cry, then silence.
It turned, only to see the limp body of its fellow Staravia crumpling to the ground. And then it saw it, a figure stepping through the fog.
Mud-splattered, silent, with a glint of crimson light from the blade he wielded.
Staravia's mind raced with confusion. How could something step so quietly in the mud? It didn't make sense.
The thick wet ground should betray any movement with squelching sounds, yet this figure moved without a trace.
There was no time to react. The Staravia's vision blurred as it felt a sharp, searing pain.
Its head hit the ground first, the world spinning into darkness.
---
JASON
I stood among the scattered bodies of the flock, my chest rising and falling with controlled breaths.
The blade in my hand was slick with blood, the cloth binding around my arm coiling back as though satisfied.
I crouched, my fingers brushing against the feathers of the dead birds scattered in the mud, and let out a slow breath.
"Six down..." I muttered, but something about the scene nagged at me.
These weren't the birds of Rook Island. Their figure, form, and color sparked a faint sense of familiarity that I couldn't place.
I glanced at the lifeless bodies again, my grip tightening slightly around the blade, and then back at the fog where faint cries still echoed. The memory felt just out of reach, tugging at the edge of my mind.
I straightened slowly, my grip tightening around my weapon. "Where have I seen you before?" I murmured under my breath.
The thought drifted back to my childhood, to long nights spent with an old handheld console.
I could almost remember the simple joy of playing when life was simpler, before everything that led me to this swamp.
I shook my head and let out a soft, bitter laugh. Life had gotten in the way since then, and now these birds were just another target. Another hunt.
As my gaze returned to the injured birds, my chest tightened. The faint crimson glow from the blade's eye caught my attention, and I froze as I noticed something unsettling.
The injured birds who were barely clinging to life were growing still, their bodies visibly withering as the blade seemed to siphon their energy.
I clenched my jaw, a knot of unease forming in my chest. It wasn't the act of taking life that unnerved me.
I had long accepted that necessity, but the way the blade drained them, like a parasite feeding off their final moments, sent a chill down my spine.
I shook my head again and brushed the thought away as I stood and glanced into the fog. There was another group nearby. I could feel it.
The second group was louder, their calls sharper, more frequent. Four small birds and three bigger birds moved in a tighter formation, sticking close to the twisted trees and shallow waters.
I stalked them from above, using the cloth of the blade as a makeshift grappling hook.
As I swung silently from branch to branch, my movements fluid and almost unnatural, a sense of amazement crept over me.
Each motion was effortless, my landings precise, my boots barely making a sound.
This shouldn't be possible, I thought, marveling at how the cloth extended and retracted with precision, as though it anticipated my needs.
The swamp's mud and twisted roots should have betrayed every step, every shift of weight, yet here I was, moving like a phantom.
Somehow, the blade was hiding me, shrouding my presence in the shadows. I didn't know how it worked.
Only that the blade's movements seemed to blur the line between myself and the darkness, making me quieter, sneakier, deadlier.
The blade was not just a weapon. It was a tool, a partner in ways I hadn't imagined. A faint smile tugged at my lips, but it quickly vanished as my focus snapped back to the flock below.
My heart raced, but my mind was clear. I thought back to Rook Island, to the hunts where I had to move like a ghost, unseen and lethal.
Every decision was calculated. The birds were wary, their formation tighter than the last group. I studied them, noting the nervous glances and erratic movements. My fingers flexed around the blade's hilt.
"Let's test this," I whispered, glancing at the cloth that coiled and uncoiled like a serpent. With a sharp motion, I swung it toward a low-hanging branch, the cloth extending and pulling me upward. I landed silently, perched like a predator above my prey.
A small stone in my free hand caught the dim light of the mist. I hurled it with precision, striking one of the small birds in the wing.
The bird cried out, spiraling to the ground. The others scattered, but I was already on the move. I leapt from my perch, swinging low and striking another small bird mid-flight.
The blade hummed as it connected, its crimson eye gleaming with life. Two down.
The cries of the flock turned frantic as they realized they were being hunted. A bigger bird dove toward me, its glowing wings fully extended.
I twisted, using the blade's cloth to swing out of reach, and struck upward in the same motion. The bird faltered, its chest split open, and collapsed into the swamp below.
I pressed forward, my breath steady. Each strike was deliberate, each move rehearsed in the heat of survival. But the flock was learning.
One of the bigger birds let out a sharp whistle, and the group tightened their formation, circling defensively.
I paused, crouched in the shadows of a gnarled tree, studying their movements.
"Smart," I muttered, a hint of respect in my tone. I readied another stone, aiming for the next weakest link.
But then I hesitated.
Two birds had broken away from the group, one small bird and the other bigger bird, both limping from minor injuries.
I shifted, my grip tightening on the blade. I could finish them. I could finish all of them. Yet something stopped me.
The two injured birds struggled, their cries weak but determined as they tried to disappear into the mist.