Jason awoke, a dull ache in his head, wondering if the mugger, the pain, the blood – if it was all just a terrible nightmare, a cruel aftershock of the recent chaos. He kept his eyes closed, unwilling to return to the outside world, to the relentless grip of his despair. He thought of everything that had happened over the past days: Lora, the broken TV, the chilling November air, the final, brutal attack. He even wondered absently if his wife had ever truly loved him, or if the smashed television was truly worth it.
A strange, unnatural warmth began to spread across him, startling him from his daze. It's November, he thought, puzzled. It shouldn't be warm like this. He opened his eyes, and his breath caught.
The surroundings were not the rundown, grimy slums of the big city he had become so accustomed to. Instead, he lay in a sun-dappled clearing within a vast, overgrown forest. Birds chirped cheerfully in the distance, their melodies a stark contrast to the silence of his apartment.
Jason pushed himself up, feeling no lingering pain, no weakness. He walked to the nearest tree, reaching out to touch the rough bark. "What happened? Where am I?" he asked, the words lost in the vastness of the forest. He immediately regretted speaking aloud, realizing he was talking to a tree. "Of course, why would a tree respond," he scoffed at himself.
He looked down, still dressed in the clothes he'd worn for the cold November air. His jacket. He remembered the blood, the searing pain. He fumbled with the zipper, pulling it open. There, at the bottom of the jacket, was a distinct red stain. His shirt. He pulled that up too. The red stain continued, from his stomach to the waistband of his pants.
"So, it wasn't a dream," he murmured, his voice laced with a mixture of dread and disbelief. Then, a more pressing question formed, a terrifying realization. "How am I alive?" The stab wounds, multiple and deep, were gone. Not even a scar remained.
He tossed his blood-stained jacket aside, reaching into his pockets for his phone. It was gone. His wallet too. "Figures," he muttered, the familiar wave of defeat washing over him, even here.
Without a clear direction, Jason started walking, choosing what he thought was east. The thick forest canopy made it almost impossible to discern true direction, but he pushed on. It seemed to be midday, but he couldn't be certain. An unsettling feeling began to prickle at him, a voice in his gut screaming that this place was wrong. But Jason, still lost in self-pity, ignored it and continued. He didn't even notice that the vibrant forest life had gone eerily silent. The chirping birds, the rustling leaves – all gone.
As he walked, he noticed the forest gradually thinning, the trees becoming less dense. Hope surged within him; he must be nearing the edge. The thought of finding a road, of escape, spurred him to a run, rushing towards the forest's edge. Something inside him, a powerful instinct, screamed at him to stop. This time, Jason listened. He halted abruptly at the very threshold of the woods.
What he saw chilled him to his very soul.
Beyond the tree line, a road snaked along the forest's edge. And on the other side of that road, a sprawling field had been transformed into a brutal battlefield. Men, clad in armor, were slaughtering each other without any regard for their comrades beside them. Jason could only glimpse a small portion of the conflict, but he knew instinctively it was far larger than he could comprehend. Arrows arced through the sky, landing in the midst of the chaos. Jason stood frozen, unable to move, staring at the carnage, the bodies littering the ground.
As he watched, a massive ball of fire arched over the fighters and landed dead center on a group of them. The sight was horrifying. The burning, the acrid smell that wafted his way, overwhelmed him. Jason doubled over, retching violently.
Finally, he gained some control, the nausea subsiding. He wanted to leave, but where? It was either this gruesome spectacle or plunge back into the silent, unnerving forest. He settled on waiting, just watching for a bit longer.
The men fighting seemed to be foot soldiers of some kind. Those on the left wore red and black armor, while those on the right sported blue and yellow chest plates. Occasionally, he saw truly bizarre things: flashes of lightning striking fighters down, glowing balls of fire returning from the other side of the field. All Jason could do was sit and watch. He knew that one step out of the relative safety of the forest would likely mean his death. So, he waited, his stomach still threatening to rebel at the horrific sights.
Oblivious to Jason, the forest remained utterly silent. No birds, no squirrels, not a single rustle broke the stillness. If Jason had been paying attention, he would have noticed, but his focus was entirely consumed by the battle raging before him.