The air was thick and humid.
Lucian Vorath stood silently, observing the strange forest that surrounded him. The trees were so tall and twisted that they barely let any light through. The ground was covered with gnarled roots and dry leaves that crunched with every step.
For the first time since he had awakened, he felt the real weight of the situation. He was not in his world. There were no familiar paths, no shelters, no familiar weapons. Only a forest that seemed to breathe with him.
The mark on his palm throbbed softly, as if reminding him that it was still there. It didn't hurt, but its constant presence unsettled him.
"I am alone... in a place I don't understand."
Lucian moved cautiously, his footsteps muffled. His senses, trained for decades as a mercenary, were on high alert. Any strange sound could mean the difference between life and death.
Then he heard it.
A heavy, damp crackling sound. It wasn't the wind.
He hid behind a thick log and held his breath.
A creature that looked like something out of a nightmare emerged from the undergrowth: a short, broad torso, scaly gray-green skin, short but muscular legs, and a deformed mouth full of sharp teeth. Its yellow eyes glowed with hunger. In one hand it held what appeared to be a piece of bone torn from some dead animal.
Lucian felt instinct stab him.
It was a predator.
And it had smelled him.
The creature let out a guttural screech and turned toward him.
"Shit..." Lucian muttered.
The monster charged, raising its makeshift club. Lucian rolled to the side reflexively, and the impact shattered the log behind him. Splinters flew everywhere.
The mercenary's heart was pounding. He had no sword, no armor, nothing but his fists. He jumped up and threw a punch straight at the creature's face.
The impact barely made it flinch.
Lucian felt pain in his knuckles, as if he had hit stone.
"Tsk!"
The monster roared and lunged again. Lucian dodged by inches, but the club grazed his side, eliciting a growl of pain. He rolled on the ground, covering himself with damp earth and leaves.
His breathing was ragged.
Fear was eating away at him.
"This isn't like fighting men... it doesn't move the same, it doesn't think the same... and I'm the one who doesn't understand anything here!"
The monster lunged again. Lucian, desperate, picked up a fallen log from the ground and used it as a makeshift spear, thrusting with all his might. The monster's club embedded itself in the log, and for a moment, both were locked together.
Lucian took advantage of this and drove his knee into the creature's stomach. It recoiled, growling.
The mercenary threw himself on top of it, wrapping one arm around its neck. The stench of its breath filled his face. He struggled with all his might, squeezing, while the creature elbowed him, making him gasp for air.
The world was reduced to that:
The sound of his labored breathing.
The monster's roar.
The pain in his body.
Finally, with a wet snap, the neck gave way. The creature fell heavily to the ground.
Lucian staggered away, covered in sweat and his shirt torn. He touched his side: it was bleeding. Nothing serious, but painful.
He breathed heavily, staring at the corpse.
Then he saw it.
A dark shadow emerged from the creature's body, like liquid smoke. It floated toward him, and before he could react, the mark on his palm absorbed it.
Lucian fell to his knees, a chill running down his spine. The tattoo glowed faintly, and for a moment he felt his body grow stronger.
"...What the hell are you, you damn thing?" he whispered, staring at his palm.
He didn't have time to process it.
A sound pulled him from his thoughts. Voices. Screams. Laughter.
Lucian struggled to his feet and crept through the trees. It didn't take him long to see a clearing.
There, around a campfire, four men were brutally beating someone on the ground. They were humans, no doubt. They wore tattered clothes and were armed with rusty knives and makeshift sticks. They laughed cruelly every time the body on the ground tried to get up.
Lucian narrowed his eyes.
The young man they were beating had dark hair, a bloodied face, and arms covered in bruises. Even so, he tried to resist, getting up again and again, only to be knocked down with more violent blows.
Lucian felt a knot in his stomach.
It was himself, ten years ago.
It was the orphaned child that no one defended.
His breathing slowed, controlled. The fear from the previous fight began to fade, replaced by something colder.
The tattoo on his hand glowed faintly.
With a steady gait, he stepped out from among the trees.
The men saw him immediately. One spat on the ground and raised his knife.
"Who's this?" he said mockingly.
Lucian didn't answer.
His icy gaze fixed on them, and he kept walking.
The blows against the young man ceased. The silence in the clearing became heavy.
Lucian clenched his fists.
"Enough."