Sol turned and limped along the massive tree trunk, heading toward the sliver of light, he prayed to every god, ancestor, and developer he could think of that he wouldn't pass out before he reached solid ground.
But the jungle, it seemed, had a very specific sense of humor, and wasn't done with its chew toy.
As Sol navigated the slick, moss-covered surface of the fallen iron-wood giant, he felt a sudden vibration beneath his boots. There was a frantic, high-pitched buzzing, like a million tiny drills working in unison.
Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.
The bark beneath his feet began to ripple.
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," Sol whispered, looking down.
The log wasn't solid. It was a fucking hive.
