Chapter 5
Ark had no idea how long he'd been walking.
The forest stretched endlessly, each tree blending into the next like a painted backdrop. There were no sounds now—no birds, no wind, not even the faint buzz of insects. It was the kind of silence that pressed against his skull.
"Alright," he muttered to himself, "either I'm going in circles, or this forest is doing its best impression of a bad dream."
He stopped to mark a tree, carving a rough 'A' into the bark with his dagger. The blade gleamed faintly in the dim light. Satisfied, he trudged onward. But when the next clearing came into view, his stomach dropped.
The same tree he marked with 'A' in the bark was there. The same mark was there. The same tree.
"...You've got to be kidding me."
He stepped back, eyes narrowing. "Alright, forest. I see how it is. You want to play games? Fine. I'm great at losing them."
He turned in a random direction and started walking again. Minutes passed. Hours maybe. The shadows deepened, though the sky overhead hadn't changed. His footsteps grew slower, heavier, until the trees began to thin once more.
A familiar clearing opened before him.
The same one.
At the center stood the black tree again, its bark glistening like obsidian in the faint purple glow from the crystal on the altar. The congregation of robed figures had returned, each standing perfectly still, their heads bowed in eerie reverence.
Ark stared at them, his hands trembling slightly. "I left you behind…"
The forest didn't respond.
He took a step closer to the clearing, this time keeping his weapon drawn. Every movement he made echoed too loudly, as if the forest was amplifying the sound to mock him.
The crystal pulsed brighter the nearer he got, washing the clearing in soft violet light. It wasn't just glowing now—it was breathing. With each pulse, he could feel a faint vibration in his chest, like his heartbeat was syncing to it.
Then came the whisper.
A soft, distant voice, carried by no wind.
It wasn't clear, not yet. Just fragments of sound, slipping between syllables.
He froze, his finger hovering over the trigger. "...Who's there?"
No answer.
But the robed figures began to move. Slowly, rhythmically, like they were waking up from an endless sleep.
"Okay," Ark said quietly. "So this is the part where I should run. Yep. Definitely the running part."
He took a step back—then another voice echoed. This time, from behind him.
"You shouldn't be here."
Ark spun, pistol raised. The forest was empty. Just trees and fog.
"Yeah," he muttered, "I've been told that a lot lately."
He turned back toward the clearing. The figures had all turned their heads toward him now, though none took a step. Just their faces—if you could call them that—tilted slightly upward.
Their skin was pale, almost translucent, stretched too tight over bones. Their eyes were black pits, hollow yet somehow aware.
Ark's mouth went dry. "You guys ever heard of personal space?"
He fired once into the air—pure reflex. The shot echoed, loud and pointless. None of them moved. But the sound seemed to wake the forest.
The branches above began to sway, even though there was no wind. The roots beneath his boots trembled faintly, like the earth itself was shifting.
He took another step toward the altar. His instincts screamed at him to stop—but curiosity, that old suicidal friend of his, whispered otherwise.
As he approached, the purple crystal flared. The air around it shimmered, bending like heat haze. Ark could see faint shapes inside it—shadows moving within, almost human.
"Alright," he muttered. "I've seen enough horror movies to know how this goes. But let's be honest—I'm already in one."
He reached out.
The moment his fingers brushed the crystal, everything stopped.
The wind. The movement. Even the pulsing glow. Time seemed to hold its breath.
Then—
[Warning: Unstable energy detected.]
[External source attempting to overwrite system integrity.]
The System's voice was distorted, broken by static.
[Error… Synchronization… Denied…]
Ark staggered back, clutching his head. Pain surged through his temples, sharp and hot. His vision blurred. He saw flashes—images he couldn't understand.
A tower shrouded in storm clouds.
A sea of corpses beneath a bleeding moon.
A man standing before a colossal tree—his back turned, his hand resting on a crystal just like this one.
The visions vanished.
Ark gasped, dropping to one knee. "What… was that?"
The crystal pulsed again. A faint hum filled the air, louder now, almost melodic.
Then the cultists began to chant.
Their voices rose together in a guttural, broken language that scraped at the edges of understanding. The ground vibrated. The black tree's roots shifted, tightening around the altar like veins.
Ark stumbled back, eyes darting between them. "Okay—nope. I'm leaving."
He turned—but the path he'd come from was gone again.
The forest had sealed him in.
The chanting grew louder, the words blurring into a single maddening tone. The cultists' mouths stretched wider, too wide, until it looked like their faces were splitting apart.
Ark's instincts screamed shoot. He didn't hesitate.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
The shots tore through the air, hitting nothing solid. The cultists shimmered, their forms flickering like mist.
Then came the voice again—louder now, everywhere at once.
"You shouldn't have touched it."
Ark froze. The voice wasn't from the forest or the cultists. It was in his head.
The world around him flickered. The trees bled into the sky, the altar twisted into something enormous, towering. The cultists were gone—replaced by dark silhouettes writhing within the walls of his vision.
The forest laughed.
It wasn't a sound, not really—more like a vibration that crawled down his spine and took root in his bones.
[System Alert: Host synchronization unstable.]
[Warning: Reality distortion increasing.]
Ark gritted his teeth. "System, either fix it or shut up!"
He raised his pistol and aimed at the altar again. "If I die, you'd better respawn me somewhere with a bar."
He fired his pistol.
The crystal shattered into tiny pieces.
The light exploded outward, swallowing everything in blinding violet. Ark felt himself fall, not through space, but through thought—plunging into an endless, weightless void.