Night fell like a vast net over the forest. Pale yellow moonlight filtered through the canopy, casting scattered patches of light on the ground. The temperature plummeted, and thin mist drifted like cold breath, condensing into icy droplets that trickled down tree trunks.
Rick was ravenous, wolfing down his last insect oil cake. He'd expected a quick trip, but now he was stranded, forced to press on. A chill ran through him; he hugged himself tightly, only to slip and land on his back.
Now he truly grasped the importance of gear. In this boundless forest, survival without equipment was near impossible. No fire to fend off the cold, no insect-lantern to light the way, no field rations to ease his hunger—all sold at the Association's counter, but he couldn't afford even the cheapest hundred silver coins.
"What do I do? Starve or freeze..." He sneezed, leaning against a tree. A night wind rustled the leaves, dripping water jolting him awake like a nightmare. "Can't stay like this." Wiping his face, he scanned the darkness.
Light was nonexistent beyond an arm's length, but a faint sulfur odor lingered, seemingly nearby. "From Hell's Corridor?" Unlikely—they were too far. "Must be Sulfur Insects."
Sulfur Insects nested in tree trunks, producing flammable sulfur slime by chewing wood. Finding them was easy with a light, but in pitch-blackness, he had to track the scent.
Cautiously, he stepped forward. The thick layer of fallen leaves was like quicksand, each step a struggle. Gradually, the ground flattened, sulfur stench intensifying. A gust carried choking burnt smell, fine ash stinging his eyes.
"Cough..." Gasping, he realized the ground was covered in leaf ash—sulfur slime had ignited, burning the debris. Suddenly, a sharp crack split the air, pain searing his ear.
"Pop!" Explosions rang out, trees shattering, rotten trunks collapsing. Holding his breath, Rick fled, weaving through the blasts. Insect wings lunged at him; he ducked, feeling his shirt shred from the heat.
"Dammit, walked into their nest." Crawling on the ground, he felt searing pain in his right hand—it was on fire. He slapped the flames, heat singeing his face. With a roar, he flung the fire off.
Wing beats surrounded him, forming a swarm. Though blind, he sensed countless Sulfur Insects charging, their stench nearly suffocating him. "No!" Imagining himself blown to bits, he ran wildly, arm aflame. A blast engulfed him, igniting insects one by one, triggering a chain explosion.
Heat waves tossed him like a ragdoll, slamming into a tree. Blazing trees lit the night, smoke billowing. Air shimmered; unburnt trees peeled, leaves curling. Rick dug into the soil for cover.
As the heat subsided, he peeked out. The forest had become a furnace, Sulfur Insects oozing from cracked trunks, larvae melting into puddles. Rick panted, hair singed, ground still scorching.
But a strange sight made him cheer: the fire had carved a corridor through the trees, embers illuminating the path and scattered insect remains. He grabbed a branch coated in slime, which ignited—perfect as a torch.
His clothes destroyed, he wore only rags, but he soaked cloth fragments in slime for future light. The fire exposed him, but "better than dying here."
Red light and black smoke filled the air, wind blowing the haze away. Rick raced forward, eager for dawn to navigate.
At the forest's edge, Lant and his team hovered by the river, Moya searching with bandages on his face. "His scent is everywhere," Moya said. "He's mad—ran into Zone A."
"Sure?" Lant raised his insect-lantern, grave. "Chasing him means risking everything." The team exchanged glances, silent.
"Scared?" Lant sighed. "Vote. Who wants to keep going?"
"I..." Moya stepped forward, but seeing the others silent, his voice trailed off.
"Again? You've caused enough trouble," the others snapped. "If you'd been careful, we'd have caught him in the carriage."
"Me? What's my fault?" Moya looked innocent. "I've been helping search."
"Shut up! This started because of your carelessness. The egg wouldn't have been stolen..."
Moya fell silent, pleading with Lant.
"You bear responsibility..." Lant raised his voice, then sighed. "I want to chase, but it's too risky."
"Boss, he might've become a bug-man..." a hunter muttered.
"I know, but the bounty's huge. Thoughts?" Lant asked.
"You decide—we follow," the team agreed.
"Compromise: return to the city and recruit help. We'll split the bounty."
"No objection—smart move."
Lant turned to Moya. "You too, agree?" All eyes fixed on him.
"I... still want to chase."
"Do as you like—stay away from us," they shoved him.
"Enough," Lant tossed Moya a backpack. "Take this. Good luck."
The team left for Kester, not looking back.
"You underestimate me..." Moya clenched his fists, shouldering the pack and marching into the forest.
Dawn broke.
Rick had run far. The night's ordeal left a charred crater in the forest, stark against the greenery. Ahead, the forest formed tiered hills, ending in a shimmering lake—emerald waters rippling in the breeze, surrounded by lush trees.
But a foul stench carried on the wind. Massive dark green flowers loomed, transparent stems pulsing with murky liquid, oozing from petal edges. Rick halted, slipping and rolling downhill.
These were man-eating Rampage Flowers, camouflaged among trees. He clawed the ground, stopping just as a flower opened its spiked petals. Crawling to safety, he panted, eyeing bones and insect remains oozing from the flowers—evidence of past hunters who'd perished here.
The flowers were moving, their root networks tearing bark. Rick fled, collapsing from exhaustion. Ahead lay the lake, but it might be as deadly as the flowers. Hunger and thirst gnawed at him, but the lake's water could be tainted.
Sunlight blazed. A familiar figure emerged—Moya, hiding from the smoke. Rick tensed, then charged, serrations crawling up his arm. He slashed a tree, splinters sending Moya rolling.
"Ah..." Moya screamed, rolling on the ground. Splinters gashed his body, turning him into a bloodied mess.
Rick charged forward, stomping on Moya's arm. "Why do you keep stalking me?" he demanded harshly.
"You..." Moya gaped, panting. "Bug-men can talk?"
"Bullshit! Who's a bug-man?" Rick snarled, grinding his heel down. Moya wailed, thrashing.
"Get off, monster..." Moya's face paled, but he shoved at Rick's feet.
Rick hesitated. Their Brass Badges suggested equal strength, but Moya had crumpled twice—hardly hunter-worthy. "You're a fraud..." Rick scoffed, relishing the chance to look down on someone.
"What?" Moya twitched, pain making him tremble.
"Nothing. Just wondering why you wear a Brass Badge." Rick turned to leave. "Leave me alone, or I'll get serious."
"Monster, die!" Moya flung his badge at Rick.
"Dammit, that hurt..." Rick whirled, noticing the badge lacked the usual star/moon/sun—just a coiled relief like... excrement. "No wonder you're a pest—you have a dung beetle egg!"
"Kill me already," Moya croaked.
"Killing you pays nothing." Rick tossed the badge. "Trash like this... my badge isn't the lowest after all."
"Damn you..." Moya yanked up his sleeve, slammed his arm down. A burst of orange flame shot skyward.
"Why the hell are you firing a flare?" Rick gaped as the flame exploded into a web of sparks.
"You can't escape now." Moya laughed bitterly, collapsing.
Realization struck Rick. He grabbed the smoking tube— a flare. "Bastard! You called for backup?"
"Enough!" Rick hauled Moya down the slope. "You want to signal? I'll feed you to the flowers."
Moya stiffened at the sight of Rampage Flowers looming. But the flowers suddenly contracted, serrated petals folding into mushroom shapes. Stems stopped oozing liquid, shrinking into discs.
"What's happening?" Both froze.
Rick dumped Moya and bolted, hiding behind a tree. To his shock, the flowers cowered as Moya approached, shrinking from fishbowl size to nothing. "He repels Rampage Flowers? I can use him to get through..."
Rick dragged Moya back up. "Consider this me saving you."
Moya lay limp, eyes glazed.
"Hey, are you insane?" Rick kicked him.
"Leave me... I don't want to be near a monster." Moya sobbed, releasing his fear.
"I'm not a monster! My sickle insect didn't turn me into a bug-man." Rick yanked his hair, showing his Brass Badge. "Look—official hunter."
"Impossible. I don't believe it." Moya glanced away. "Leave before my team arrives."
"Ugh! How do I prove it?" Rick shoved a booklet, mission slip with his fingerprint in Moya's face.
Moya's expression shifted. "You're really a hunter?"
"Ask the receptionist at 3 First Avenue when we get back."
"You know her?" Moya's suspicion faded.
"Obviously. So we're cool now, right?"
"Guess we stop hunting you... What a waste."
"Good. Now fix this—" Rick cut off as more flares burst overhead, painting the sky orange. "Are all of them answering this idiot?"
Groaning, Rick slung Moya over his shoulder and marched downhill.