The Clearing

With Tim supporting him and a suitable weapon, Soren leaned back, dodged a slash, then thrust his scythe to finish off the tenth creature.

“Living-Steel’s awkward at first,” Tim said, stepping out of the vehicle and eyeing the war-scythe’s gleaming edge.

“It settled once it stopped fighting my grip,” Soren replied, watching gold flakes drift off the blade.

“Your split‑second leap into that second kill was exactly the timing we needed,” Tim continued, dropping the load-out bag beside the SUV. “Sylvia would’ve been proud of that precision.”

“Then we push harder, figure out the trials, and keep sharpening our edge,” Soren said, falling into step with Tim.

“Mr. Sable mentioned the same plan earlier,” Tim added, nodding toward the horizon.

A flicker of tension crossed Soren’s face at the reminder of Theon’s involvement.

The notebook icon pulsed; he focused on it.

Bestiary

Mist Walker – a humanoid predator that lives and hunts in mist‑filled biomes. Characterized by elongated limbs and a low‑hanging mist that signals its approach, it ambushes prey with a leaping attack that ends in a slash.

Their tongues interact with mist, enabling long‑distance communication and tracking (1/4)

He willed the window away; his vision expanded to reveal a deep forest.

He stood inside a circle the radius of six SUVs. The flat ground was carpeted with crisp leaves, tangled shrubs, and exposed roots; the sky stretched clear above.

The trees opened like a green curtain, and the air deepened to a violet hush while thin beams of gold pierced the leaves. A cool breeze brushed his skin, carrying the rich smell of wet soil; far off, leaves whispered as something moved unseen.

“I can see how you and Theon fought for two hours straight,” Soren said, looking down at his hand and flexing it while walking toward Tim.

“The serum I gave you is a prototype that forces you out of status effects with adrenaline, keeping you moving while repairing injuries over time,” Tim replied, taking inventory.

“The gel you used on your arm, too?” Soren asked, kneeling and taking inventory.

“Yes. There are five of each in your med‑kit. I wouldn’t rely on them too much.”

“You build up tolerance?” he asked, pulling out a silver cylinder and lifting it against the light for inspection.

“You haven’t checked your status, have you?” Tim asked, zipping up the bag.

Soren Xxxxx

Strength: 0

Agility: 0

Endurance: 1*

Toughness: 1

Resilience: 0

Cognition: 0

Abilities

Sense Steal Lvl 1

Sensory Gating n/a

Skills

Unarmed Combat Lvl 0

Weapon Mastery Lvl 1*

Body Control Lvl 0

“That’s it?” he complained.

“The first points are difficult to earn,” Tim said, pouring a sachet of green powder into a bottle and shaking it as he stood.

“How did you move like that?”

“We all begin with a flat sheet. Your first few encounters determine what you first break into; mine was agility,” Tim said, taking a swig from the bottle.

“No surprises there. Your parkour course was a bitch to get through, by the way,” Soren said, recalling old injuries.

Tim chuckled.

“The one point in Toughness must be why I took less damage from the Mist Walker that tackled me,” Soren deduced.

Tim looked at Soren, “Mist Walker?”

“Yeah, from the Notebook,” Soren said pointing up.

Tim remained silent and took another swig.

“What about skills? No way you could do what you did back home,” Soren asked while opening a ration pack.

“Mr. Sable deduced that our real‑world accumulated experience has been consolidated into skills,” Tim said, turning to face the SUV.

That brainy idiot is probably carving through a few quests as we speak instead of trying to regroup, he thought pensively.

“Mr. Sable is managing, I assure you. He continued with our training after all,” Tim said, whirling the contents of his bottle.

“He’ll never let me live it down, that’s for sure,” Soren scowled.

Tim hid a smirk behind his bottle.

They spent time rehydrating and eating before setting off into the forest to find Theon.

As they traversed the forest, Soren discovered his scythe could detach at the midpoint of the shaft. The Sable‑Tech harness showed its worth as he slid the shaft horizontally across his lower back, keeping the bladed section in hand, ready.

Tim followed five paces behind him, lugging the duffel bag and moving in and around the moss‑covered trunks with ease.

“Can your olfactory sense tell how far away Mr. Sable is?” Tim asked, breaking the silence.

“At the moment I can only interpret what the scent shows me,” Soren responded, clearing a knee‑high root.

“What do you know?” he asked, parting a shrub branch.

“Only that this is the general direction he took,” Soren responded.

They trekked for an hour as the forest floor thickened with tangled vines and shrubs. Clicks and creeks echoed, leaves rustled, and strange bleeps sounded in the distance.

Tim stopped.

“What’s wrong?”

He walked to a tree and examined it.

“We should change direction,” Tim said, staring straight ahead

Soren frowned.

“Mr. Sable left markings on the trees, a large group of enemies up ahead,” Tim informed.

They adjusted their path and hiked for 15 minutes when Soren noticed a blanket of low‑hanging mist rolling over the forest floor in the distance.

“Direction?” Tim whispered.

“Behind us,” Soren whispered back.

Soren dove behind a set of shrubs. Tim hid behind a large tree.

The sounds of life bouncing around them died.

Soren pulled out the shaft and reconnected it to his scythe.

Tim unsheathed a large dagger.

The mist rolled past their feet.

Soon after, they felt a rush of air as four large bodies cut past them.

They waited.

Six more grey streaks rushed past in succession; the mist stayed undisturbed.

He looked over at Tim.

Tim pointed a finger and then placed it over his lips.

A Walker darted into view, creaking along exposed roots; its elongated elbows jutted upward, probing shrubs and trees.

It lifted its head and the tongues flexed in a wavy flow.

Soren gripped his scythe tightly. Tim slid down the tree into a crouch.

Its head twitched side‑to‑side—curious, not suspicious.

Oh shit, he thought, as he remembered.

The tongues interlocked, quivered, then plunged its head into the mist.

Soren leaped out of the shrub and charged.

“They track and communicate by tasting the mist,” Soren yelled, side‑vaulting over a waist‑high root and closing the distance.

Tim unsheathed another knife and followed him.

Soren entered range and opened the assault with a horizontal slash at the end of his lunge, noting how easily he ran and executed the basic attack.

The attack caught on a shrub; the Walker evaded by leaping vertically into a tree, breaking their line of sight.

They regrouped, frantically scanning the canopy.

Soren’s olfactory sense flashed: “It’s stalling. The others are coming back!” he yelled.

Soren dismantled his scythe while Tim retrieved the load-out bag and they ran.

Even with the luggage disrupting his natural momentum, Tim weaved around tree trunks, side‑vaulted over collapsed trees, and slid under thick roots as if it were routine.

Soren would maintain pace if he could maneuver like him.

Periodic creaking of branches and rustling of leaves from above kept pace with their dash through the forest.

Shrubs slapped Soren as he powered forward, then staggered after leaping off the side of a tree.

“They’re almost on top of us,” Soren reported.

“Keep moving. There’s a clearing up ahead,” Tim responded.

A rumble of feet pattering vibrated from the ground, in the distance.

“I’m not going to make it,” Soren shouted.

“Keep running!” Tim replied.

Soren had run farther than he ever could on Earth, but his legs began to burn; the backpack gradually swung wider, affecting his stride.

“We’ll stand off at the clearing!” Tim yelled, shifting the duffel bag to his shoulder.

The rumbling from the pattering grew fainter as the disturbance from above increased.

Relief beat inside Soren as he saw trees back‑dropped by white light.

He side‑vaulted over a root but slipped.

His vision cut in and out as he crashed hard; the red bar dipped a fraction.

He lay face‑down for a moment, the backpack’s weight pressing on his head and a dagger digging into his ribs; the smell of earth and leaves filled his nose.

The surrounding noises vanished, and the unmistakable scent of blood spread through the air around him.

He shot up and lifted himself onto all fours, the backpack sliding down his back; he looked toward the clearing ahead, and to the moody forest behind.

He pulled out the shaft and scrambled around, looking for its blade counterpart. He wouldn’t let himself lose his gear without confirming a hunch.

He searched for it, his breathing sounding too loud.

No low hanging mist, he thought comforting himself as he parted shrub.

He located it, crouched down and wrapped his hand around its cold hilt; warm breath‑laden vapor trickled from above.

Soren felt ice surge through his veins.

The vapor produced a thick blob of warm mucus dangling from a thread.

A breath of vapor snapped the string of mucus; Soren launched himself backward, scythe extended forward.

The creature followed, knocking the scythe from his hand while keeping a careful distance from Soren’s face, in step with his crawl backward.

He slammed into a tree trunk, ending the predator‑prey dance with a close‑up face‑off.

The Walker hovered above Soren, clawed hands blocking off exits on each side, tongues unfurling as its mouth widened.

Soren’s head quivered. His body twitched as he fought for control; the first row of tongues revealed a second row of barbed tongues shrill with every breath.

It repositioned, leaning back then closer to Soren, tongues flexing in a wavy pattern.

Soren felt his body fall under his control once more, fear making room for curiosity as his olfactory sense assured him; the Walker’s scent held no aggression.

He swallowed hard, as his hands moved to his daggers regardless.

It took two steps back, raised its head toward the dark forest, hung in the air a moment, then arced its body; its skin rippled before it vanished into the woods.

Soren immediately retrieved the shaft and moved toward the direction where he last saw his scythe.

He pushed aside a shrub when he locked eyes with a woman.

“That’s mine,” Tim said, pointing to the scythe and raising his hands.

Her body lowered, tensed, as she looked around before locating him.

They stared at each other.

“Give it back and I’ll be on my way,” he said, his olfactory sense picking up two more people not far behind her, moving quickly.

She pointed it at him, then backed away.

The sound of two bodies powering through shrubbery grew louder.

She looked back, relaxed, and said, “Took you long …”

They ran past her.

Soren and the woman saw wisps of low‑hanging mist creep, curling around the roots and shrubs.

She ran toward Soren, slipping past the roots and shrubs like Tim, leaping into him and using him as a launch point, knocking him over.

Soren hit the ground, rolled, and ran.

He broke through the shrub, light stinging his eyes and the sound of leaves breaking under his feet.

He emerged into a clearing similar to the one he’d started in. Four narrow ridges of grey rock stuck out from the ground at an angle. Each rock fin’s base began at the circumference of the clearing, tip pointing to the centre; all four forming a semi circle.

“Hey man. We mean you no harm. We’re just passing through,” the man on the left in a work suit shouted, hands raised.

Tim sat crouched on one of the rock fins, his compound bow gleaming from the sun as he gestured to the left.

They moved.

Soren unsheathed his short-sword when he saw a war maul hanging on the man’s tool rig; lively scent wisps wafting off the hammer head.

He arced around them, watching the woman put his scythe down, raise her hands, and rejoin her companions.

“How many of you are there?” Soren asked, moving in to retrieve his scythe, the tip of his sword pointed at them.

“‘Three,’ the man replied. ‘We’re from a larger group …’”

“I think we started on the wrong foot,” the other man cut in. “We got here a day ago, same as you. We’re low on supplies and knowledge, and we’re just trying to stay alive,” he said, spreading his arms.

The other man wore formal pants, shoes, and a shirt rolled up at the sleeves; a layered fingerless leather glove was the only out‑of‑place item.

Soren maintained eye contact with the girl between the men, noting waves of scent radiating from the man’s glove in his peripheral vision.

“Then why did she steal my weapon, knock me off my feet, and leave me to… the creatures?” he asked, glaring at her.

The two men looked toward her.

Birds flying off echoed in the distance.

“What were you looking for in the forest?”

They clamped up.

“You’d better start talking,” Soren suggested, nodding toward them.

The work suit man looked down to see a low hanging mist licking at his feet.

“A few of us found these chests not long after we arrived. They contain items that help deal with the monsters,” the man explained, placing a hand on his maul and glancing back at the forest.

With his blade still pointed at them, he stepped back until he reached Tim.

Soren looked at Tim, eyebrows tight, jaws clenched, sword and scythe shaking.

“How many?” Tim asked, keeping an eye on the trio.

“At least thirty…”