The sun hung low in the sky, casting long, distorted shadows across the scorched cobblestones of Eldoria. As they prepared to leave, Ethan noticed the hitch in Lysandra's step. She was favoring her left leg, wincing with every third stride.
"Stop," Ethan commanded.
Lysandra froze, turning to him. "We need to move, Ethan. The daylight won't last."
"Your efficiency is dropping," Ethan observed, pointing at her leg. "You're limping. Dehydration is one factor, but that looks like trauma."
Lysandra looked down, biting her lip. "The Void creatures attacked at night. I... I fought for hours before summoning you. I was thrown against a wall. My leg was gashed. I used a basic coagulation spell to stop the bleeding, but I've lost blood. It still burns."
Ethan frowned. "Rest is the logical variable here. We stay in the cellar tonight. Recovery is priority."
"No," Lysandra insisted, her eyes wide with a frantic intensity. "Not here. The smell of death in this town... it attracts scavengers worse than the Void. The forest is dangerous, but at least we can hide. I will rest once we are under the canopy. Please."
Ethan studied her for a moment. He weighed the risks. Staying in an open kill-zone versus entering unknown hostile terrain.
"Fine," he said, adjusting the straps of his leather tunic. "We move."
By late afternoon, they reached the tree line.
The Umbrawood did not look like a forest; it looked like a infection on the face of the world. The trees were massive, their bark a sickly, twisting violet-black that seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it.
As they stepped past the first line of trees, the temperature plummeted.
Internal Monologue: Ethan Vance
This isn't botany. This is alien biology. Look at the leaves—they aren't photosynthetic. They're translucent, veined with a pulsing blue fluid. bioluminescence? No, they're feeding on ambient mana. And the geometry... regular trees grow toward light. These things are growing toward each other, weaving a ceiling to block out the sky. It's claustrophobic by design. And the insects... too many legs. Chitinous armor plates instead of soft exoskeletons. Everything here evolved for warfare.
"Stay close," Lysandra whispered, her voice barely audible over the rustling leaves. "Some creatures here are docile. The Moss-Walkers, for instance, can be tamed if you offer them fruit. But others..."
ROAAAAAR!
The sound tore through the forest, a guttural, wet vibration that shook the leaves off the branches. It sounded like grinding metal mixed with the scream of a dying animal.
Ethan stopped instantly, dropping into a low stance. "Analysis?"
Lysandra's face went pale. "Gloomstalker. It's a territorial apex predator. It has poor eyesight but a heightened sense of smell. It knows we're here. We can't outrun it."
"Then we remove the variable," Ethan said coolly.
He raised his hands, mana flaring around his palms. He visualized the wind, sharpening it into invisible blades. He scanned the dense undergrowth in front of them, waiting for movement.
"Where is it?" Ethan muttered.
"I... I can't pinpoint it," Lysandra panicked, looking around wildly.
Ethan's eyes narrowed. No visual in front. Sound reverberated from all directions. Classic hunting tactic.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Air displacement.
"Behind us!"
Ethan didn't think; he reacted. He grabbed Lysandra by the waist and threw himself to the right, rolling across the mossy floor just as a massive shadow crashed down where they had been standing.
CRASH.
The ground shook. Ethan scrambled up, activating Fortis. He felt the mana surge through his muscle fibers, making his body feel light, powerful, electric.
The creature pulled itself from the crater it had made. It was a nightmare—a hunchbacked, four-legged beast covered in oily black fur, with bone spikes protruding from its spine. Its face was a skull-like visage with no eyes, just a massive mouth filled with serrated teeth.
"Ignis!" Ethan yelled.
He snapped his fingers, launching a fireball directly at the beast's face. The fire struck, exploding on impact.
The Gloomstalker didn't even flinch. It shook off the flames and lunged.
Fast, Ethan noted, barely dodging a swipe of its claws. The wind from the attack cut his cheek. Too fast for range. It's closing the gap to negate my casting time.
"Ethan, move!" Lysandra screamed.
Ethan backflipped—a move he could never have done on Earth, but with Fortis, it was effortless—landing on a thick branch above. He fired three wind blades. Zip. Zip. Zip.
They cut into the beast's hide, drawing purple blood, but the monster ignored the pain. It leaped up the tree, claws shredding the bark, closing in on Ethan with terrifying speed.
It doesn't care about damage. It's a berserker type.
Ethan jumped down, landing heavily. The monster turned in mid-air, defying gravity, and pounced. Ethan crossed his arms, reinforcing them with every ounce of mana he could summon.
The impact was like being hit by a truck. Ethan slid back ten feet, his boots carving trenches in the mud.
"Lysandra! Now!" he shouted through gritted teeth.
Lysandra, who had been charging a spell while Ethan drew aggro, thrust her staff forward. "Vinculum!"
Chains of glowing white light erupted from the ground, wrapping around the Gloomstalker's limbs. The beast roared, thrashing against the magic, the chains cracking under its strength.
"I can't hold it long!" she cried, sweat pouring down her face.
"Long enough," Ethan said.
He didn't fire a spell. He sprinted forward.
The monster snapped its jaws at him, but it was immobilized. Ethan leaped, channeling all his remaining mana not into a spell, but into his right hand, forming a condensed blade of pure wind energy. It buzzed like a chainsaw.
He drove the wind-blade directly into the soft tissue under the monster's skull-like jaw.
Blood sprayed. The beast convulsed once, twice, and then slumped into the mud, the light fading from its magic chains.
Ethan landed, breathing hard. He looked at his hand. The recoil of the attack, combined with a grazing claw strike he hadn't noticed during the adrenaline rush, had left a deep gash across his palm. Blood dripped steadily onto the alien moss.
"Ethan!" Lysandra limped over, dropping to her knees beside him. She took his hand, her own hands glowing with a soft, warm green light.
"Hold still," she whispered. "Curatio."
The skin on Ethan's hand knit together rapidly. The pain vanished, replaced by a dull itch, then nothing. A faint scar remained, but the wound was closed.
"Adequate," Ethan said, flexing his fingers. "Efficient teamwork."
Lysandra slumped back, exhausted. She looked at the massive carcass of the Gloomstalker.
"That was... incredible," she breathed. "You killed it. I just held it."
"It was a tank," Ethan said, wiping monster blood off his tunic. "High defense, high offense, low intelligence."
"It's a Gloomstalker," Lysandra corrected, her voice trembling slightly. "It's considered a mid-tier threat in the Umbrawood. They usually hunt alone."
Ethan paused. He looked at the massive beast—something that would have required a SWAT team to kill back on Earth.
"That was mid-tier?" Ethan asked, his eyebrow raising slightly.
"Yes," Lysandra said, looking deeper into the dark, twisting forest. "The deeper we go... the bigger they get."
Ethan looked at the dark path ahead. A small smile touched his lips.
"Good," he said. "Small fry are boring."