JASON

Chapter 4: Vantage Point

I exhaled sharply, lowering the blade. "Go," I muttered under my breath, watching as the two birds vanished into the fog.

The remaining flock hesitated for a moment, their cries turning sharper and more deliberate.

Slowly, they followed the injured birds, their movements careful and protective, circling around the weak as if shielding them from further harm.

I stood there, my chest heaving as the weight of the hunt settled over me. I flexed my fingers around my weapon, the blade humming faintly in my grasp, the faint echoes of the flock's cries lingering in the mist.

I wondered if this hunt was worth it. My first kill in this place had been out of self-defense, an instinctive reaction to survive.

But this? This was a hunt. I didn't need to fight them. I had plenty of time to escape.

I clenched my jaw, the thoughts gnawing at me, but I shook my head. "Not now," I muttered, forcing the questions aside.

There would be time to reflect later, once I had a place to regroup.

As I moved to retrieve the birds for food and loot, I felt the blade's cloth tighten, its crimson eye flickering with hunger.

I froze as I noticed the glow intensify, the blade attempting to siphon the life force of the injured birds still twitching on the ground.

"No," I muttered, my voice sharp as I yanked the cloth back. The blade resisted, the cloth tightening stubbornly around the injured birds.

"Stop it," I hissed, my voice rising as desperation crept in. "I need them. I need food to survive!" The blade ignored me, its crimson eye flaring brighter, as if mocking my plea.

Before I could act, it drained the life from the bigger bird and one of the small birds, their bodies growing still and withered in an instant.

Frustration and anger surged through me as I clutched the hilt tighter, clenching my jaw against the knot of helplessness forming in my chest.

"Damn it," I hissed, pulling the blade away forcefully. It relented with an almost mocking hum, the glow in its eye dimming slightly.

I glared at the remaining small bird, the only one left alive but barely clinging to life. Its body twitched weakly in the mud, its cries faint. I crouched beside it, gripping the blade tightly as I prepared to end its suffering.

I plunged the blade swiftly into the bird, the motion automatic, honed by survival instincts that no longer required thought. I pulled the blade free and let out a slow breath as the bird stilled, its twitching finally ceasing.

I lifted the bird, but with no water nearby, I couldn't prepare the meat or clean it. Frustration gnawed at me as I scanned the fog-shrouded swamp.

The act had been necessary, but it felt hollow without the means to finish what I'd started. Survival first, I reminded myself.

My grip on the bird tightened as I straightened up, eyes searching for a place to regroup and plan my next move.

I needed somewhere safe to prepare the meat and regroup, preferably far from the lingering cries of the surviving flock.

My eyes scanned the fog-shrouded landscape as the sky began to lighten faintly, casting a dim glow through the mist. A temporary base, someplace to gather my thoughts and plan my next move, was now essential.

The mist was lifting, and the sky was slowly brightening. Still in the swamp, I needed to find water quickly to bleed my breakfast and to quench my growing thirst.

The longer I waited, the worse the meat would taste, and the higher the chance of attracting predators drawn to the scent of blood.

Swamp water wasn't an option. It was too stagnant, likely contaminated with toxins or diseases, and utterly unsuitable for my needs.

I needed a fresh, flowing source, but where? "I need a good vantage point," I muttered, scanning the thinning fog for an elevated area that could provide answers.

My eyes landed on a distant hill, its gradual slope standing out against the murky backdrop of the bog.

The hill looked traversable, promising a better view of the land and perhaps a clearer path forward.

Before setting out for the hill, I carefully checked my bearings, ensuring I knew the general direction I needed to take.

I looked at the blade, now floating slightly to my side, still tethered to my tatau by its cloth binding. Its crimson eye glinted faintly in the dim light, an ever-present reminder of its sentience.

Before heading out, I realized I needed a way to carry my catch without occupying my hands.

I tore strips from the bottom of my shirt, fashioning a crude strap. It took me only a couple of minutes to tie the pieces together tightly, securing the bird so it wouldn't slip free.

Adjusting the makeshift strap across my shoulder, I scanned my surroundings for potential threats.

The bog, with its stagnant pools and decaying vegetation, was hostile in every sense, and I knew I couldn't afford to make mistakes.

Satisfied that everything was in place, I took a deep breath and began the cautious journey toward the foot of the hill.

Each step was deliberate, my eyes scanning for threats while navigating the uneven, muddy terrain of the bog.

Along the way, I noticed animals that felt strangely familiar but alien at the same time. Small, brownish-yellow hippopotamus-like creatures waddled near the edge of a pool, while much larger versions stood nearby, sand streaming unnaturally from holes on their bodies.

No hippo I knew ever had sand pouring from it. Those were a clear no-go. Without a proper gun, there was no way I could handle creatures like that. Better to stay away.

Further along, I spotted purple skunk-like animals with odd, plume-shaped tails. They reminded me more of badgers, or maybe a mix of the two. Despite their weird appearance, something about them felt familiar, as though I'd seen creatures like them somewhere before.

Their low growls and wary glances made it clear they wouldn't hesitate to defend their territory. I gave them a wide berth, forcing my thoughts back to the task at hand. My journey demanded focus, so focus I would, sticking to a safer path through the thinning fog.

It took me nearly an hour of careful movement to reach the foot of the hill. The sun was halfway to its peak, casting long, faint shadows over the terrain.

I paused, wiping sweat from my brow and taking in my surroundings before preparing to climb.

Determined, I started my climb. Each step forced my already exhausted body to strain harder. The steep incline tested me, my muscles burning with effort.

Still, I pushed forward, the thought of finally understanding this alien landscape keeping me going.

As I climbed the hill, the steady murmur of the river reached my ears, growing louder with every step.

By the time I reached the summit, the sound had become a rushing melody, blending with the distant cries of wild Pokémon.

I paused, hands resting on my knees as I caught my breath, the cool breeze carrying the scent of water and damp earth.

The swamp stretched out below, a patchwork of bog and brackish pools shimmering faintly. Just past its edge, the river wound through the land, its waters glittering and restless, close enough that I could almost feel its spray.

Across the river, the landscape shifted dramatically into a lush prairie of swaying cotton-like grasses. The vibrant, rolling expanse seemed almost unreal, a stark contrast to the oppressive swamp.

I let my eyes linger on it for a moment, seeing the river as a possible escape route, maybe even salvation. But something else caught my attention.

A cluster of small, floating round rocks with arms. They pounded their fists against larger stones in a sharp, rhythmic clatter, the sounds distinct against the rush of the nearby river. I blinked hard, my breath hitching. Geodude. No, Geodudes. Plural.

My mind raced and my chest tightened as the memory hit me. Hours spent on a Gameboy Advanced, catching creatures like this in a game that had felt so harmless and fun. Geodudes, Magikarp, Pidgey, Zubat, Tentacruel. Names I hadn't thought of in years flooded back like a tide breaking against the rocks.

For a fleeting moment, nostalgia tugged at me, warm and bittersweet. I remembered the quiet joy of those games, a world where I could be a hero without ever facing true danger.

As a kid, it had been enough, catching Pokémon, battling Gym Leaders, and exploring a digital world from the safety of my room.

The last game I played was Diamond and Pearl during my last year of high school, drawn back to the franchise by the thrill of the lore.

The creation trio, Dialga, Palkia, and Giratina, fascinated me. Giratina especially had stuck with me, a supposed villain who wasn't evil but misunderstood, exiled for its nature rather than its actions. I admired the nuance, the idea that even a creature cast out could have a purpose.

But I never really found the game fun. It didn't capture the same magic as Pokémon Emerald, a game I had adored for its tropical setting, challenging battles and the endless possibilities of the Battle Frontier.

Emerald was vivid in my memory, while Diamond and Pearl felt hazy, little more than a blur of nostalgia and half-forgotten lore. Even then, the Pokémon world had started to lose its grip on me.

By the time I got deeper into college, Pokémon felt too safe and scripted. I wanted more, something that would give me the raw rush I craved.

I left the games behind for real-world adrenaline, finding excitement in extreme sports, late-night parties, and eventually, the dangerous freedom of Rook Island.

The warmth of nostalgia gave way to the cold, harsh reality surrounding me. These weren't sprites on a screen, neatly contained in a digital world.

They were real, as real as the mud under my boots, the rushing water in my ears, and the weight of the blade floating by my side.

I wasn't a kid catching Pokémon anymore. I was a man who had clawed my way through hell and was now standing in another unforgiving world.

The sound of the river and the clatter of the Geodudes snapped me back to the present. This wasn't a game. It never would be.

Before I could explore the thought further, my eyes shifted to the bird strapped to my belt. I crouched slightly, my fingers brushing the blood-stained feathers as I inspected the lifeless form.

"Pidgey?" I muttered under my breath, but something about it didn't feel right.