A choked, panicked voice cut through the tense silence. "Have you gone mad?"
The cry came from a wiry macaque, fur bristling, teeth bared. His wide eyes darted between the freed women and his cheering kin. "You didn't speak of this to the other Alphas—"
Oliver's gaze snapped to him. Others? The thought slid into his mind like a blade between ribs. More than one Alpha?
Before he could respond, the forest began to shift—branches swaying, undergrowth parting. A low chorus of growls and grunts rolled through the gloom like distant thunder.
One by one, they emerged.
Thirteen of them. Massive shapes streaked with dirt and blood, eyes glowing in the fading light. Each carried something—or rather, someone. Women slung over shoulders, bound and trembling. Some unconscious, some glaring in defiance.
The lead figure, a scarred brute with a jaw like a stone hammer, stepped forward, stopping toe-to-toe with Oliver. His voice was low, heavy with barely contained fury.
"Why… are these women free?"
The others behind him shifted, captives whimpering as claws gripped tighter. The tension was alive, crawling through the clearing, waiting for the first spark.
Oliver didn't flinch.
The women at his back pressed closer, hope and fear warring in their eyes. Their brief taste of freedom now hung by a thread.
"Because I set them free," Oliver said, voice calm but carrying through the clearing. "Because I do not want to continue this way of life."
The scarred Alpha's lip curled back, revealing yellowed teeth. "Have you gone senile with age?" he spat, tail lashing. His gaze shifted to the smaller macaque. "What are you waiting for? Tie them up."
The women's brief relief shattered—some recoiling, others frozen in terror.
"Don't move—or else." Oliver's words snapped through the air like a blade.
The surrounding macaques froze, eyes wide. Not one dared take a step toward the captives.
The scarred Alpha's fury flared, his jaw tightening. "Fine—then we'll tie them ourselves." He jerked a clawed hand. "Go. Bind them."
They moved—but slowly, hesitantly, as if daring the words to strike.
Oliver's gaze sharpened, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "I said… move a muscle, and you'll regret it. Every last one of you."
The stillness that followed was thick enough to choke on. Even the leaves seemed to hold their breath.
That was the last straw.
"That's enough!" the scarred Alpha roared.
He stepped in faster than the eye could follow. Muscles swelling, fur bristling, Qi flared along his fist in a pale, burning aura. The air around it warped.
The punch came down like a falling boulder—straight for Oliver's head.
He leaned back just in time.
Swish.
The Alpha's instincts flared. Head snapping, eyes wide—just in time to avoid an invisible arrow, which buried itself in the skull of his subordinate with a sickening crack.
"Bastard!!" he roared, locking eyes on Oliver, who was already stringing his bow again.
Another arrow flew. The Alpha's arm flared with searing Qi, deflecting the shot, but he rushed in, a blur of fury.
Left hook—miss.Right hook—miss.Strike after strike—empty air. Oliver slipped between them with sharp footwork, always one step ahead.
"Hand me the thorns!" Oliver barked.
A soldier ripped a bundle of jade arrows from his back. Oliver plucked one and nocked it in a fluid motion.
"Stop! What is the meaning of this!?" another voice rang from the woods, too late.
The air split with a high whistle—then crunch. Bone gave way under the jade arrow, its green hues flaring in the Alpha's widening eyes. His knees buckled, and darkness swallowed him before his body even hit the ground.
For a heartbeat, silence—then panic erupted. The Alpha's troops staggered, eyes wide.
"You… you killed him—just like that!" one macaque shouted.
"Second Alpha, what have you done!?"
A blur burst from the treeline, wind Qi whipping around the newcomer.
"First Alpha!! The second's gone mad!" a macaque shouted, recognizing the familiar Qi signature. The Scarred Alpha's troops froze, eyes locking on the blurred figure as it appeared before them.
"The Second's gone mad!! Look arou—" another began—but never finished.
Nor did the next five.
Oliver's bowstring sang—thwip-thwip-thwip—each shot precise, until the First Alpha lunged, claw swiping through the space Oliver had occupied seconds before.
"Once again," the First Alpha thundered, "what is the meaning of this?"
Oliver slowly lowered his bow, eyes calm but sharp, words weighing in the humid air.
"They're the ones who started it," he said deliberately. "All I wanted was to create a better place for my captives. A place where their suffering served a purpose."
His gaze sharpened, steel replacing calm.
"But they wouldn't listen. I never intended to free their women permanently. My plan was to honor my troops' last wishes—making sure their final moments had meaning—and to secure more labor for the work I have planned. These women will be used to craft my medicines, my Forest Origin Pills, and everything else needed for my growing operations."
"Instead, they attacked me. I fought back—and just now, I killed those who insulted my fallen soldiers. Now that I've had my revenge, the captives will be mine. Those who belong to you will be returned—but I show no mercy beyond that."
The First Alpha's sharp eyes measured him, not fooled by words alone. Yet Oliver's predator's smile lingered as he looked past him at the nine women dragged in by the Scarred Alpha's troop. Wrists bound, eyes wide, searching.
"I see," the First Alpha murmured, voice low, measured. "Then perhaps there's no reason to drag this out further."
He stepped closer. "Give me four of those captives," he said, nodding to the terrified women, "and I'll let this pass."
The clearing tightened, an unspoken understanding hanging heavy. No peace—only an exchange of flesh for silence.
Oliver's gaze swept the newest captives, then the freed ones. Wide-eyed, uncertain, waiting.
"Very well," he said at last. "You can have four… but I need your help separating my previous captives from those I freed. You may also take four from the women collected by the other Alpha before I killed him."
"Good, good… do not be stingy," the First Alpha murmured, stroking his beard, a sly glint in his eye. "My troops should arrive soon to assist."
The First Alpha moved in beside Oliver, their shoulders nearly brushing. The air between them was tense, each step deliberate as they wove through the uneasy crowd of women, quietly discussing his choices while his troops emerged from the forest, helping to separate the captives and restraining those who didn't belong to him.
"Those eight," one of Oliver's men said, pointing to a cluster near the edge, "we captured before today. They go back to us."
An Alpha's soldier gestured, signaling his own troops to pull them free. Sobbs and muffled protests echoed under the trees.
"Those?" the soldier asked, gesturing to three clinging together.
"Yours," Oliver said without hesitation. His eyes were on the bigger prize.
Piece by piece, the captives were sorted, trembling and confused. The First Alpha took four from the newest arrivals, then another four from the Scarred Alpha's haul, as agreed.
By the end, Oliver controlled every captive identity present, plus the lion's share from the Scarred Alpha's spoils.
The forest seemed quieter, tension humming beneath the surface. The First Alpha gave him a long, knowing look—understanding precisely what Oliver had done, letting it pass… for now.
Oliver stood at the center of his newly gathered camp, counting in his mind.
The numbers were staggering. In the past six months, each Alpha had managed to collect somewhere between ten and fourteen women—hard-won prizes from raids that took weeks of patience.
But today's bargain and the Scarred Alpha's death had given Oliver more than any of them could hope to match.
Twenty-eight.
Twenty-eight captives knelt or sat behind him—nearly double what the others boasted. His own steady captures, the Scarred Alpha's collection, and today's trade left him with a force no one could ignore.
And every single one of them now belonged to him, ready to serve his plans.