Hosen was stranded in the middle of nowhere.
Trees stretched in every direction—ahead, behind, to the sides—and beneath his boots, soft moss lay hidden under a brittle layer of dry leaves. He had no idea where he'd landed.
Crickets cried in a high-pitched, monotonous rhythm, grating on his nerves.
He was frustrated. Rightfully so. Their entire progress had been reset. Hours of work—gone. Poof. Just like that!
And what's worse, he was alone.
His partner was nowhere to be found, no one to be the crazy counterpart to his boring intellect... But what bothered him most was the mystery behind their separation.
How did this happen?
"Think... think..."
His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, sweat beading down his temple as he tried to piece it all together.
He strained to focus, but the ceaseless cricket-chatter echoed off tree trunks, invasive and insistent. Still, he resisted. He wouldn't let the forest win. Isolating himself from the outside world, he entered a mental fortress of focus.
The obvious explanation was that we had pissed off the giant tree. That guy (the asshole) had taunted it. He fucked around and found out.
And maybe—he thought—maybe... no. Wait.
Earlier, he voiced that it was a trap.
A trap... Yes.
His eyes widened.
The tree had set a trap to catch us. It didn't know our location... Which means it only has control over its illusions, not the forest itself. The stairs had been a bait to lure us out from hiding.
He clicked his tongue.
That idiot fell for it. Just like the view over the area was better from above, we were easier to find from the top as well.
This meant one thing: the forest wasn't part of the tree's creation.
In the same way we were looking for it, it was looking for us. The moment we locked eyes, it found our position and forced us to separate. Why?
Crickets intensified.
Because it finds us to be a threat… It's afraid.
Afraid of what they could do.
Meaning they could, without a doubt, destroy it. It was possible.
So, the only thing that was left was to find his way back to that troublesome tree.
Hosen moved through the forest using Inase's trick: when logic told him to go one way, he turned around, trusting instinct instead.
Easier said than done when their enemy was already aware of it.
Still, he had to try. Even if it didn't work again, he'd repeat it. He was out of options. Desperation demanded persistence, and at this point, he was very desperate.
Before him, the trees blinked once more, but it felt different than before.
It didn't feel right. The forest didn't feel the same… And the crickets' noise overwhelmed him.
***
Inase was alone.
Deep in the dark Australian rainforest, searching for its 'heart'. Though, the metaphorical heart turned out to be a ginormous tree monster.
The air thickened, coiling around the trees as if it were sentient smoke. It whispered his name in voices that shouldn't exist.
Soon, the mist obscured his view.
"Inase..."
The whispers returned.
"Enjoying your loneliness?"
They cooed.
"Don't you want to escape?"
They lured.
"Kill everything standing in your path."
They invited.
"Isn't it easier that way~?"
They enticed...
The voices echoed from the ground, the trees, and inside his skull. Disembodied, omnipresent. They didn't seem to come from a specific place, yet they embraced as if they wanted to suffocate him.
"You know this doesn't work on me."
He sighed, tired of their devil-tongued lies.
Inase was made this way. An eldritch-killing deviant. An antidote to things beyond human comprehension. If something worked on him once, it wouldn't work for the second time.
The whispers turned sultrier, more persuasive—still, he didn't budge.
"No matter how hard you try, I won't succumb."
He drew his knife, twirling it like a reflex born of routine.
"It's all in my head, isn't it."
His finger tapped on his temple, followed by an arrogant chuckle.
"Might as well drop the act."
The whispers stopped instantly. Darkness thickened until he could barely see a thing. Branches swayed, even though there was no wind.
Then—
The trees contorted maliciously, creaking like old bones.
Hands formed from roots, fingers clawed up trunks in desperation as though pleading for their salvation.
From the shadows, entities emerged lured by his resolve.
They looked human—almost. Different enough to leave a sensation of dissonance in Inase's mind. They were disfigured, covered in roots. Bark peeled like blistered skin, and knotty faces leered from trunks frozen mid-scream.
Whenever he looked, they stood. Motionlessly.
He heard a rustle behind, so he turned. The sound returned to where he wasn't looking.
His head snapped around, realizing they only moved when unseen.
And there it stood, sprouting right in front of him. Hand reached out, fingertips frozen stretched in a claw, stopped just inches from his eyes.
He didn't hesitate.
He cut it off. His blade flashed, then dimmed beneath the weight of dread. The sound of wood against the ground signaled its fall before it was dulled by the croaking creeping from behind.
The vine creatures seized the opportunity of his blind spot and lunged in unison.
Having an inkling it was coming, Inase landed a brutal kick backward, shattering one of many incoming bark-skulls.
He couldn't see them. He didn't have eyes at the back of his head. He couldn't suddenly grow some either.
But he felt them.
So he adapted.
He turned and cut. Faster. Swifter. Ripped the entities from their roots. Sliced their branches into pieces. When they wanted to sprout back up, stomped on the regrowth until nothing remained.
Whether it looked pretty, he didn't care.
"And stay dead."
He wiped the blade on his jacket since the trees bled. He wanted to keep it clean, ready to give it a rest where it belonged.
"That's what you get."
But he halted once he sensed something standing behind him.
"Hm?"
His head turned slowly.
A monk.
Lean. Made out of stone. Watching him with small, beady eyes.
It was a statue.
Calm. Silent. In a zen state.
It exuded an eerie sense of peace, yet the uncertainty and threat lingered under its stillness.
"I've seen you before."
Same species, at least. He'd killed too many to remember every one individually, but his body just knew…
Inase stared at it cautiously with his knife ready.
He heard it—the stone cracked.
It split cleanly, leaving a deep crevasse in the middle. Muscle fibers slipped through the gap like earthworms after rain.
The statue unfolded.
Now three times as wide. Five times as grotesque.
A mass of red, slimy tissue pulsed inside. Stone halves and soft meat moved independently, as though they were three separate beings. One massive eye blinked, infused with the muscles.
Seemed that the two beads in the stone were its earholes instead, not eyes. It moved through hearing before it opened up to finally see its target.
"Figures."
Inase had a clue that something hideous hid behind its calm outer appearance.
It dawned on him. He'd split one of these before. Found it south of his home city, if he was correct...
Its eye stared intently before it hovered just slightly above ground.
The monk attacked. Gliding through the air like it slid on ice. Always levitating at the same height.
Inase slid beneath it. Struck the soft center before stone armor could close.
Last time he did it, the monster hid in its hard shell and kept to knife stuck (and broken) between the cracks.
This time, he was faster.
He groaned as he dragged the knife across its muscle. He carved along the tissue. Like blades in a grinder, he sliced it apart.
The creature split. It fell apart. Stone cracked. Sparks flew. Then came silence.
But it wasn't over.
Just as Inase wiped a sweat from his forehead, he caught a glimpse of a tall figure towering over him.
A white crane.
Cloaked in white rags—tattered feathers resembling a bride's gown, dragged through a pool of blood. Its head was avian-like, but deformed. The body resembled a cloaked human more than a bird. A sharp beak. Hollow eyes.
Its wings didn't allow flight. Instead, they lured, lulling prey into paralysis before the beak spread wide, swallowing its prey whole—devouring it in one go.
Its movements twitchy and erratic, yet smooth at the same time—flowing although disconnected—resembling a broken marionette mimicking a ritual.
Voiceless, it stared. Its presence deafened its surroundings. Only feathers rustled, even with no wind around.
A Carrion Herald.
A predator. Found only in abandoned buildings, haunting like a malicious ghost. Why was it here?
Inase'd be in danger if he didn't experience being paralyzed by this thing before.
He knew the trick. It wouldn't work again.
So, he swung at it again.
Slash. Pivot. Stab.
Feathers were brutally ripped—its essence of existence. Felt as if ripping out its very soul through Inase's fingers.
But no matter. It was gone.
A centipede the size of a car came next. It crawled around the blonde, trying to smother him.
Inase jumped onto its back and held onto its armored segments, much like in a rodeo. Then, stabbed under its gills and twisted the knife.
Thick black ichor gushed out.
Dead—again.
Then, a beak descended aggressively, shrieking at his sight.
Its insect wings buzzed, and thread-thin tendrils spread around the area, slimy tentacles lashing at everything they touched.
It resembled sideways floating jellyfish. A species yet unidentified.
But Inase recognized it.
"Oh, your kind was a pain to kill."
He jumped. He twisted mid-air, slicing tendrils and carving through the tentacles. A reaper incarnate.
He dodged them well, left, right, underneath. But with so many attacking continuously, he was bound to slip up, sooner or later. His focus only lasted so long.
One impaled his shoulder. Fast like a bullet.
His blood sprayed on the ground, followed by pain spreading through his left side.
"You little—"
Gritting his teeth, Inase swung. He was taught to overcome the pain quickly.
In a situation of kill or be killed, there was no time for tears.
His blade landed in the middle of its three-lobed mouth, inside which it pierced the iridescent, glowing core. Its core flickered out with a familiar psychedelic pulse, its beak split open.
Cyan blood rained, mixing with Inase's red. It dyed his jacket when the monster hit the ground.
His breath became ragged. Exhaustion suddenly sank in.
He staggered.
It wasn't the end, though. Next came the bat-winged devils*(1). Shrill, laughing things with claws like broken glass—he recognized the way their jaws split when they screeched.
His first-ever trophy. He fought them when he was around eight.
A swarm of maws surrounded him.
Under normal circumstances, one swing was enough to rip through its delicate wings so it wouldn't fly again. They weren't much of a problem.
...if not for their numbers.
They always attacked in large groups.
Their numbers were enough to bury him if he ever slowed down.
Swarmed him, scratching and biting. He knew the sharpness of their talons very well. He swatted them like flies, but they kept coming.
Pain burned along his arms, his chest, his face—constant, sharp.
Still, he was glad for it. The pain kept him alert. Without it, his heavy eyelids might have closed, dragging him into Dreamland—and if his soul got torn up the way his body was, he wouldn't be waking back up.
Jump. Slash. Cut.
He didn't hesitate. He ripped their wings out with raw, mechanical precision, forcing himself to move faster than the fatigue.
The rest went as followed: a knife to the heart. Swing. Repeat. He wouldn't stop until the last of them fell under his feet.
His arm pulsated with pain, spreading further. So, he used the other. He faltered.
"Haha... This is a bit rough…"
Inase coughed out, running out of breath after slaying another one. His throat felt dry.
Cold chills crept onto him. His grip numbed his hand, and he could feel it tremble.
Blood dripped down. He gripped his shoulder to relieve some pain.
He didn't collapse, though. He wasn't allowed to. Not until all the monsters were gone from his sight.
That was how he was raised.
Come on, body, move. Withstand it just a little longer.
At least until he was done... After that, he could get as much rest as he wanted.
His head spun, so he looked down. Numerous carcasses decorated the surface of the blood in the puddle. More laid underneath.
All of them dead by his hand.
He stared... Creatures emerged ahead—too many to count, too many to separate. Their blackened shapes blurred into one heaving mass as they poured from behind the trees and flooded the death stage with snarls and wingbeats.
All of them raging. All of them coming for him. Eager to tear him apart.
Inase's eyes swept over the incoming horde, cataloguing species, patterns, characteristics—years of fighting condensed into split-second recognition. Tentacles, claws, fangs, membrane sheen.
And then he saw it.
The one with the scar. A deep, jagged line across the right wing's membrane.
Same size, same place.
"Ah... so that's how it is."
His wounds hurt, but he smiled through the pain.
His vision blurred, his legs were weakening, but he didn't crumble. He couldn't collapse. Not now, when he was so close. Not when he finally understood the trick behind the creatures' spawn.
The entities, their abilities, their weak spots—he knew them all. Fought them all. He killed them once before.
"That damned tree." He cursed under his breath.
It was showing him his past.
Illusions. Shadows. Memories. The monsters he had already defeated before. The very same.
Now that he understood the gimmick, he knew what to do.
To escape, he had to destroy them all.
(1)*From: "Call of Cthulhu" by H.P. Lovecraft, 1926