My eyes snapped open. For one blissful, disoriented moment, I clung to the hope that it had all been a horrific nightmare. But the view that greeted me was the same: the jagged, thorny mountains silhouetted against a sickly purple sky.
I tried to push myself up, and a fresh wave of pain shot through my body. It was a duller ache than yesterday, but every muscle and cut still screamed in protest. Judging by the light, it was still daytime. Heart hammering, I crawled to the edge of the rocky ledge and peered over.
It was still there.
The hulking blue beast sat directly below, its four remaining arms resting on the ground. Its twin-mouthed heads were slumped forward, and the eyes on its palms were closed. What happened to its other arm? I wondered with a shudder. Did it consume its own damaged limb? It was clear it was waiting, sleeping at the base of my prison to ensure its prey couldn't escape.
What can I do? Panic began to bubble up again. If I go down, I die. Think, Sparx! Think!
I forced myself to take a slow, deep breath and analyze the situation. Wait, why am I only thinking about running? The monster is asleep. It's a sitting target. I have a chance to fight back. But how? I had no mana for spells.
Then, I remembered the powerful tremors from yesterday, the shards of rock that had shaken loose. If I can find some of those broken pieces, I might have a weapon. But to find them, I would have to climb down silently without waking the beast.
My mind was made up. I began a slow, deliberate descent, moving from ledge to ledge like a ghost. My eyes scanned every surface, and luck was with me. I found several sharp fragments and broken pieces of the thorny rock. I quietly gathered them, stuffing my pockets until they were heavy and full. Then, with painstaking care, I climbed back to my original perch.
I looked down at the sleeping monster. Is this high enough? No, I need more height. I started climbing again, pushing my aching body upward until I found a higher, flatter surface. This would be my sniper's nest.
I looked at the dusty, sharp debris in my pockets. Is this enough? No, I need more, and I need a specific shape. My plan required a single, heavy projectile. I started using the stones I had collected to chip away at the mountain itself, carefully breaking off more of the dagger-like thorns. I worked methodically, pausing frequently to glance down and ensure the monster hadn't stirred.
On the ledge, I dug a conical hole and placed all the thorn fragments inside. My plan was simple but desperate: I needed to create one large, heavy spear. I started hammering the fragments with a stone, crushing them into a coarse, gritty powder. My muscles, already weak, screamed in protest. My stomach growled, a painful reminder of my empty state.
Finally, after what felt like hours, I had a pile of sharp, gritty powder. Now, I needed a binder. I had no water. So, I used what my body could produce. I poured my own sweat onto the mixture. When that proved insufficient, I urinated on it. In a final act of desperation, I squeezed the cuts on my arms, letting my blood drip and mingle with the paste. I was using the very substance of my body to forge a weapon.
For the next several days, I worked on my grim project. My body grew weaker, my throat parched, my stomach a hollow pit. My hair was matted with filth, my shirt hung in tattered rags, and my skin was a canvas of cuts and bruises. But I didn't stop. I kept looking down at the monster, which remained asleep. This bastard sleeps a lot, I thought with a grim smile. Hehe, keep sitting there like a target.
Finally, my crude creation was ready. I dug my fingers around the newly formed, rough-hewn thorn and pulled it free. It was long and heavy, its surface uneven. It wasn't as hard as the natural thorns, but that was irrelevant. It was a weapon, and gravity would be my ally.
I carried the heavy spear to the cliff's edge, positioning myself directly above the sleeping beast. I just hope this is enough for a killing blow.
A spark of defiant pride flickered within me. Heh, monster. You may have strength a human can only dream of, but you know what? We have brains. We have intelligence, which allowed us to conquer enemies far stronger than us. Your only mistake was underestimating your prey. Sleeping right under the enemy's nose? A rookie mistake.
I took a deep breath and pushed the heavy thorn over the edge.
It fell like a stone, accelerating toward its target. As it cut through the air, it emitted a faint, whistling sound. Wait, no! I realized in horror. The noise will wake it up! Fall faster!
Just as I feared, the monster heard the sound. It looked up, its palm-eyes snapping open. It tried to scramble away, but it had one fatal flaw: it was too slow.
The crude thorn struck with a sickening, wet crunch, piercing directly through its top mouth and driving deep into its skull. There was a final, splattering sound as its head was pulverized. The massive body convulsed once and then collapsed to the ground, utterly still.
"Cough... cough... sigh." I looked down at the dead creature, a wave of exhausted, trembling relief washing over me. I had done it. I had won.
Now came the gruesome part. I had to get down, butcher the beast, and preserve its meat. But a significant problem remained: how could I haul such a heavy carcass up the mountain without magic?
An idea sparked. I took off my ragged shirt and tore it into strips, twisting and braiding them into a crude but sturdy rope. I would have to dismember the body and haul it up piece by piece.
The climb down was agony, but the sight of my victory fueled me. On the ground, the monster's corpse was a mess of black blood and brain matter. The stench was overwhelming. Using a sharp stone, I began the grim work of carving the body into manageable portions. I tied the chunks of meat to my rope and began the slow, arduous climb back up, dragging the heavy, bloody parcels behind me. A dark, slick trail stained the mountainside in my wake.
Back on the ledge, I stared at the pile of raw, glistening meat. My stomach cramped violently with hunger, but my mind recoiled. I have no fire. This looks utterly repulsive. What should I do!?
Fuck it! I was too hungry to be civilized. I sawed off a small piece and put it in my mouth.
Chew... chew... The texture was rubbery, and an intensely sour, metallic flavor flooded my senses. "MMPH! BLEUGH!" I vomited instantly. It was utterly disgusting! It tasted like rancid, sour rubber! Absolute trash!!!
My stomach growled again, a sharp, painful spasm. Argh... I looked at the meat with pure despair. Do I really have no other choice?
I grabbed another piece, held my nose, and forced myself to swallow it whole without chewing. "ARGHHH!" The vile taste still coated my tongue and throat. I had no choice. To survive, I had to do this. I began forcing the raw meat down my throat as fast as I could, my only goal to silence the screaming void in my stomach.
---
[Cherry's POV]
Far away, on a different mountain peak forged of crimson stone and spikes, another figure stood watch. It was a girl with a powerful, athletic build and a formidable physique. Her hair streamed in a cold, alien breeze as she stood on the pinnacle, her sharp, piercing eyes scanning the hellish expanse below. She was searching for something.
Or perhaps, for someone.