Chapter 7
Ark sits under the same tree again. The one with his 'A' carved into it. The forest hums quietly, the wind whispering through the leaves as if mocking him.
He's lost count of how many times he's woken up here. Ten? Twenty? Maybe more. Every loop starts the same way — the same birdsong, the same fake sunlight, the same illusion of calm.
"Alright," he mutters, cracking his neck. "Let's do it again. Round whatever."
He stands and stares down the familiar path. The air is still, heavy, like the forest itself is watching. "You think I'll break, huh?" he says. "Sorry, but I'm way too stubborn for that."
His boots crunch against the dirt as he walks toward the clearing. No hesitation this time. No fear. The trees part, revealing the altar and the silent congregation waiting for him.
They don't move until he does.
The crystal sits atop the altar, glowing faintly. Its pulse matches the rhythm of his heart. The robed figures turn their heads as one, their motion as slow and deliberate as clockwork.
Ark stops at the edge of the clearing and sighs. "Alright, let's skip the creepy ritual. We've done this enough times, haven't we?"
The forest doesn't answer.
He steps forward, eyes fixed on the crystal. "You want me to keep dying? Fine. But I'm taking something down with me this time."
He draws his dagger — the same one he's carried since the ruins — and twirls it between his fingers. "Let's see if stabbing works better than shooting."
The moment he crosses the invisible line into the clearing, the cultists twitch. The forest darkens, shadows stretching unnaturally long.
"Welcome back," a voice whispers.
He doesn't look for the source. "Yeah, yeah, I missed you too."
He approaches the altar slowly, dagger in hand. The crystal's light grows stronger, bleeding across the ground in rippling waves. Beneath the glow, he can see faint carvings etched into the altar's surface — old symbols, jagged and half-buried under moss.
He crouches to inspect them. The shapes almost look like runes, but the lines twist and double back, never forming anything stable. The more he stares, the more they seem to move.
He blinks and shakes his head. "Nope. Not falling for that again."
Behind him, the cultists begin to chant — a deep, guttural hum that vibrates in his chest. The sound makes the crystal pulse faster.
Ark grits his teeth and presses the dagger's point against the crystal. "Let's see if you bleed."
The dagger sinks in just a little — then the world screams.
A shockwave blasts outward, knocking him off his feet. The light flares violently, swallowing the cultists in waves of energy. Their bodies twist, stretching, then disintegrating into clouds of black mist. The air shakes.
Ark hits the ground hard and rolls over, shielding his face from the light. "Okay! So stabbing is worse!"
The crystal's glow intensifies, burning through the air. For a moment, he can see something inside it — not his reflection this time, but a shape. A human figure, faint and ghostly, like someone trapped beneath the surface.
The voice returns, louder now, echoing in his skull.
"Why do you resist?"
He clutches his head. "Because I'm not dying here!"
"You already have."
The light flares again, blinding. The forest twists around him — trees bending, ground melting into liquid shadow. His body feels weightless, like gravity forgot him.
The voice continues, relentless.
"You're nothing but data now. A memory repeating itself."
"You can't break what isn't real."
Ark forces his eyes open and laughs — half mad, half defiant. "Then I'll break the part that thinks it's real!"
He grabs the pistol from his belt and points it not at the crystal, not at the forest, but at himself.
"Let's see if you can reset me after this."
He pulls the trigger.
Bang.
The light implodes. Everything collapses.
For a moment, there's nothing — no sound, no sight, no pain. Just silence.
Then, slowly, his hearing returns. The faint crackle of fire. The whisper of wind. The scent of smoke.
Ark opens his eyes.
He's lying in the clearing again — but the cultists are gone. The altar is shattered. The crystal lies in pieces, its glow fading to nothing. The forest is still.
Truly still.
No whispers. No chanting. No loops.
He sits up, breathing hard. "Huh," he mutters. "So shooting myself actually worked. I should probably be more worried about how natural that felt."
He stands, brushing dirt from his clothes. His head throbs faintly, but the world stays solid. No flickering. No distortions.
He looks down at the broken crystal. Its shards glint faintly in the sunlight, like dying embers. For a moment, he wonders if he should take one — then decides against it.
"I've learned my lesson about glowing rocks," he says.
A soft chime rings in his ears.
[Objective Complete: Escape the Forest of Madness.]
[Reward Acquired: Skill — Mental Fortitude.]
[Effect: Resistance to psychic and illusion-type effects increased.]
Ark stares at the hovering text and smirks weakly. "Yeah, thanks. Maybe give me a nap next time instead."
He starts toward the tree line, but pauses. For just a second, he swears he hears a faint whisper behind him.
"We'll see you again."
He doesn't turn around. "Yeah," he says quietly, "I bet you will."
Then he walks away.
The fog begins to thin. The trees open, sunlight breaking through the leaves for real this time.
Ark exhales, a long, weary sigh. "Next time I see a forest," he mutters, "I'm burning it first and asking questions later."
He adjusts his bag, takes one last look back, and steps into the light.
Behind him, the forest stands silent and unmoving.
But deep within the remains of the shattered altar, one shard of crystal still glows faintly — pulsing once, like a heartbeat.
Then it fades.