This was the same abomination that had been watching him!
It took a slow, deliberate step forward, muscles rippling beneath its hide. Its long, sinuous tail swayed behind it—thick, heavy, alive.
Then Oliver saw it.
At the tip of that tail was an eye.
A single, grotesque, unblinking red eye that watched him independently from the others, darting and twitching like a living parasite. Its iris dilated, pulsing faintly as if peering straight into his soul.
The air grew colder. The forest dimmed. Every sound dulled until only his heartbeat remained. Even his courage began to bleed away, replaced by something ancient and suffocating.
It was as if the creature itself carried the essence of dread.
Before he could even gather his thoughts, the beast lunged—massive paws tearing through the air, aimed straight for his head.
"Shit!"
Oliver ducked low, narrowly dodging as the claws sliced past him with a hiss. He staggered to the other side, wincing in agony from the movement—his whole body screaming, his right arm a brutalized mess of torn flesh and shattered bone.
If he had ever held a sliver of hope before, it vanished now. There was no way he could outrun that thing. Those legs—thick with coiled muscle—radiated raw, terrifying power. Even if he sprinted with everything he had left, it would overtake him in seconds.
I don't want to die.
The thought flashed sharp and desperate through his mind. But death didn't feel far away.
He gritted his teeth, stepping backward, eyes locked on the creature as it prowled toward him once again. The ground trembled with each step it took. Then it lunged—snarling, its jaws gaping wide, rows of jagged teeth glinting red in the dim light.
Oliver rolled aside, barely avoiding the strike. Pain flared through him like fire, but he forced his body to move. Every breath was a struggle. Every heartbeat hurt. It felt like ever since arriving here, he had been trapped in unending danger—and now, he was about to become lunch for a nightmare cat.
Think, think! he shouted inwardly, scrambling back as the beast readied itself for another pounce.
It lunged again, claws cutting through the air. He dropped low—barely missing death by a hair's breadth. Dirt exploded around him as its paws slammed into the ground where he had stood.
He looked up just in time to see its tail shift.
The grotesque eye at its tip lifted high, hovering above its head. Then—all three eyes flashed at once, glowing with a red, pulsing light.
Instantly, Oliver's body went slack. His muscles loosened; his guard fell. His mind grew hazy, his thoughts slipping away like sand through open fingers.
He blinked slowly, confusion settling in. What was he doing? Why was he even running? The world around him blurred.
His knees gave out, and he collapsed to the ground—weak, unfocused, and drifting away from reason.
"Grrrrrrrrr..."
The beast approached the collapsed Oliver, growling in anticipation. It had caught its prey without much trouble.
As it stopped in front of him, it lowered its head and nudged his limp body with its snout, toppling him onto his back.
It sniffed at him, as if testing whether he was still conscious—but Oliver's awareness was long gone. His mind was an empty husk, lost in the haze of the creature's influence.
Drool dripped from the beast's mouth, thick and viscous, glazing over Oliver's body as if marinating him—preparing him for the feast to come. Once it was satisfied, the creature opened its massive jaws, growling lowly, rows of jagged teeth gleaming like wet blades.
Then, it bit down.
Crunch!
A sickening crunch echoed through the forest as its fangs crushed the bones of Oliver's left leg. Whether fortunately or not, he remained in the trance, unable to feel a thing. The scene was eerily quiet save for the wet sound of tearing flesh—unsettling, grotesque, and unreal.
But before the beast could truly begin its meal in earnest, a flash of silver cut through the air. A blade descended from nowhere, slicing clean through its thick neck as if through water.
The beast never saw death coming. Its severed head hit the ground still biting into Oliver's leg, before the rest of its body followed with a heavy thud. Dark red blood gushed from the wound, pooling across the forest floor.
"Well, well," came an old, raspy voice from the shadows. "What do we have here? Never thought I'd live to see another human, least of all in this forest—and a mortal, at that."
An old man emerged from between the trees, dressed in dark grey robes. His long white hair was tangled, his beard unkempt, his back hunched beneath the weight of years. He wiped the blackened blood off his sword, then leaned on it as though it were a walking stick.
He approached the fallen youth just as Oliver's eyes began to regain their focus. And then the pain struck Oliver—sudden and all-consuming.
"Ahhhhhh! Fuuuuckkkk!" Oliver screamed, his voice echoing through the silent woods.
The agony was unbearable—his right arm shattered, his left leg mangled. The beast's fangs had left deep, gaping holes from thigh to shin, blood pouring freely and staining the moss below. His leg bones felt like shards grinding against each other with every twitch.
He clutched his ruined limb, crying out again. "Ahhhhhh!"
"Shhh… keep it down, young one, will you?" the old man said, his tone almost bored.
But Oliver couldn't even hear him through the pain. He screamed again, tears streaking down his blood-smeared face.
"You're going to attract more beasts," the old man muttered, frowning. When Oliver didn't stop, he sighed in irritation.
With a swing of his staff, he struck Oliver sharply on the head with the butt of it.
"There," he said as the boy went limp. "That should shut you up. Kids are so damn loud."
He paused for a moment, his expression softening just slightly. "I'm glad Missandra never asked for any."
A flicker of an old memory passed through his eyes before they hardened once again.
Turning away, he began to walk, his staff tapping softly against the ground. For a moment, it looked as though he would leave the unconscious youth behind.
But then, with a casual wave of his free hand, mana flared faintly in the air. Oliver's body lifted from the ground, weightless, floating after the old man.
"This kid better not start screaming the moment he wakes up," the old man muttered. "Or I might just throw him back out for the abominations to feast on."