"I won't become like you," Aryan declared, raising his sword slightly. "I would rather die than accepting this."
Ranjir's patience finally snapped. "It's only a matter of time. You too will turn into dust, just like the others who refused the change." he snarled, his conversational mask falling away to reveal the predator beneath.
Without warning, he lunged forward, claws extended, moving with surprising speed through the undergrowth.
Aryan's body reacted before his mind could process the attack. He brought his sword up in a clumsy arc, more instinct than technique, the blade catching Ranjir's claws with a harsh metallic screech that echoed through the jungle. The impact sent vibrations up his arms, nearly jarring the weapon from his untrained grip.
"I don't want to fight you!" Aryan shouted, stumbling backward as Ranjir pressed his assault. But his words fell on deaf ears.
Ranjir came at him again, this time with both sets of claws slashing in wild, uncontrolled swipes. His movements were raw and unrefined suggesting he had no formal training either—but what he lacked in skill, he made up for in vicious determination. Each attack was meant to kill, to end this brutally.
Aryan stumbled backward in fear, swinging his sword wildly to protect himself. He blocked high, turned the blade to the left, and dodged to the right—his body moved like it somehow knew how to fight, even though his mind was scared and confused. He blocked one attack, then another, but each hit was so strong it felt like the sword might slip from his hands at any moment.
"You're just delaying the inevitable!" Ranjir growled, pressing forward with relentless aggression. He swung his right claw in a vicious downward arc that Aryan barely managed to parry, the force of the blow driving him to one knee.
Aryan rolled sideways, avoiding a follow-up strike that would have opened his throat. His movements were awkward, ungainly, but somehow effective. He'd never held a sword in combat, never learned the proper stances or techniques, yet his body moved with an intuitive understanding that surprised even him.
Ranjir's frustration grew with each failed attack. His claws whistled through the air in increasingly wild swings, his prison-honed muscles driving each strike with bone-crushing force. But his technique was as clumsy as Aryan's—perhaps more so. Where Aryan's movements flowed from desperate instinct, Ranjir's came from raw, unthinking brutality.
"Just stand still and die!. it's not that difficult." Ranjir roared, launching himself forward in a reckless charge.
Aryan sidestepped at the last second, his sword coming up in an awkward counter that caught Ranjir across the forearm. The blade bit shallow but drew blood, and Ranjir stumbled past him, crashing into a cluster of bamboo stalks.
For a moment, both men stood gasping, staring each other like exhausted beasts. Sweat dripped from Aryan's face as he struggled to understand what was happening to him. Every parry, every dodge—it felt like his body was remembering something his mind had never learned.
"You're better than you pretend to be," Ranjir panted, wiping blood from his arm. His eyes had taken on a feral gleam. "But you're still going to die."
'Me too.'
He came again, this time feinting left before striking right with his uninjured arm. Aryan fell for the deception, moving to block the wrong attack, but somehow his sword was there anyway, meeting Ranjir's claws in another shower of sparks.
The fight devolved into a brutal dance of amateur combatants, neither possessing the skill to end it quickly. Ranjir's attacks were powerful but telegraphed, driven by rage rather than technique. Aryan's defenses were desperate but increasingly effective, his untrained instincts somehow finding the rhythm of survival.
They crashed through ferns and saplings, their struggle filling the jungle with the harsh music of metal on metal. Aryan's shirt tore on thorns as he ducked under a particularly vicious swipe, and Ranjir's own uniform gained new rips as he bullied his way through the undergrowth in pursuit.
"Why won't you just accept it?" Ranjir snarled, his breathing becoming labored. "This is what we're here for! To kill or be killed!"
"Maybe that's what you're here for," Aryan gasped back, barely managing to deflect another strike. "But I am not. I wont became like you."
Ranjir's laugh was harsh and bitter. "You already are one. You just haven't realized it yet." He pressed forward again, his claws seeking flesh with renewed fury, but his movements were becoming sloppier as exhaustion set in.
Aryan somehow found himself adapting, learning, his defensive patterns becoming more fluid with each exchange. He still fought like someone who had never held a weapon, but there was something deeper at work—some primal understanding of violence that both terrified and sustained him.
"You feel it too, don't you?" Ranjir laughed breathlessly as he pressed another attack, his eyes gleaming with dark knowledge. "That emptiness where your memories should be? That strange lightness, as if gravity itself has forgotten us?"
The words struck Aryan oddly, resonating with something he couldn't quite name. There was a hollow quality to this place, wasn't there? The way sounds seemed to echo strangely, the way the light filtered through the canopy felt too strange, too unreal. Even his own body felt... different somehow.
And the presence of the unknow behind the shadows of the wild.
'Stop thinking,' Aryan parried another vicious strike. 'Focus on surviving.'
But even as he fought, questions nagged at him. Why couldn't he remember arriving here clearly? Why did his past feel like looking through broken glass? And why did this jungle, for all its apparent reality, feel like walking through someone else's dream?
The realization hit him like a physical blow: he wasn't just defending himself anymore. Part of him, a dark corner of his mind that grew stronger with each clash of metal, was beginning to enjoy this deadly dance. And that terrified him more than Ranjir's claws ever could—almost as much as the growing certainty that something fundamental about this place was wrong.
For the first time after finding himself here Aryan felt Exhaustion.
His arms burned with each parry, his breathing coming in ragged gasps that seemed to echo strangely in the humid air. Sweat stung his eyes, and his grip on the sword was becoming increasingly slippery. He couldn't keep this up much longer—Ranjir's relentless assault was wearing him down.
The mad man was looking the same, yet he was the one at disadvantage here.
'I need to get out of here.'
His desperate eyes darting around for any opportunity to escape. But Ranjir pressed forward with mechanical persistence, giving him no room to breathe, no chance to flee.
Then Ranjir overextended on a particularly vicious downward strike, his claws biting deep into the soft earth when Aryan sidestepped. For a split second, the man was off-balance, his momentum carrying him forward.
This was his chance.
Without hesitation Aryan kicked out hard, his bare foot connecting with Ranjir's chest and sending him stumbling backward into a tangle of vines and thorns. Without waiting to see if his opponent recovered, Aryan turned and ran.
Ranjir's roar echoed behind him, followed by the sound of crashing undergrowth as he gave chase. "You can't run forever!"
Aryan plunged deeper into the jungle, branches whipping at his face and tearing his clothes. Behind him, he could hear Ranjir crashing through the foliage like a wild animal, his pursuit relentless and furious. His breathing was harsh and labored, but he wasn't giving up.
Reaching a narrow turn in the jungle, Ranjir paused for a moment. His eyes were sharp like a predator's—alert—and a sly smile curled on his lips, as if he had caught the scent of his prey.
He turned his head slightly, and his gaze landed on the dense, shadowy trees. He searched the jungle floor for signs—anything that could lead him to Aryan. But there was only silence.
The jungle stretched out in every direction—stifling and silent. The thick canopy above drowned the jungle floor in murky darkness. He took a slow breath; the metal claws bound to his hands glinted as he adjusted them.
He move forward carefully. The metal claws bound to his hands glinted as he adjusted them. His voice was soft, yet it echoed through the still air: "I know you're hiding somewhere around here. Come out, Aryan."
As he advanced, he dragged his claws along the trunks of the trees. The harsh screech of metal against wood tore through the silence. The claws carved deep, jagged wounds into the bark—each one a reminder of the brutal force that lay behind them.
He stopped and smiled, almost in delight.
His voice sing-song and terrifying. "I promise I'll make it quick. Not like the woman—she made me angry, trying to trick me like that. But you... you seem honest. I respect that."
Ranjir kept moving forward, his movements calm yet calculated, enjoying every step of the hunt through the shadows. He passed by a massive, old tree and paused, resting his hand on its weather-worn bark.
"This game of hide and seek," he said, raising his voice slightly, "can't last forever. You want to survive, right? Everyone does. I do too. But someone has to go, right? That's the rule, The only rule."
His tone softened, disappointment flowing through his words.
"So don't be a coward and face me."