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Nothing came to mind that could help. He sat there, frustrated, muttering, "God, this sucks."
Why did it always look so easy in those novels or fanfics? Those people just woke up in a different world and suddenly knew how to survive, start fires, build homes, kill beasts...
He wasn't like that.
Still, he had to try something. He grabbed two sticks and started rubbing them together, hoping to spark a fire. For twenty straight minutes, he kept at it—rubbing until his arms felt sore and his palms stung. Nothing.
"Maybe the rock thing," he mumbled to himself, already grabbing for stones to try the flint and steel method. But before he could even set it up, he heard something- movement from the bushes. Leaves rustled. Branches cracked. Footsteps—multiple.
He froze and tried to focus, breathing slowly, ears sharp. The sound came from a thick patch of bushes, about thirty feet away near the towering trees in the distance. Squinting, he spotted several shapes stepping out from the bushes.
They were about the size of those dodo birds from earlier, but slimmer, faster-looking. They reminded him of raptors—smaller, but still terrifying. There were a bunch of them. His heart dropped. He didn't stand a chance.
He grabbed his fish and sharp stone—but then stopped. No. Screw the fish. He turned and bolted.
Behind him, he could hear a few of the creatures staying behind, but three of them gave chase.
He was running fast—faster than he'd ever moved before. His feet kicked up sand, and yet he wasn't out of breath. Somehow, his body handled the sprint better than it should've. Still, it didn't matter. They were faster.
After only a minute or two, they caught up.
He felt one right behind him and turned, gripping the stone. He swung hard—but missed.
The first creature lunged, slamming into him and knocking him to the ground. He hit the sand hard, the sharp stone slipping from his hand.
The creature pinned him down with its talons, snarling. He struggled, tried to push it off—but it was too heavy. It leaned its head back, opening its jaw wide, teeth glinting in the sun.
Then— A roar.
A deep, powerful roar from the trees in the distance. The creature froze.
A few high-pitched calls followed—shrieks, maybe warnings—and the talons loosened.
He still couldn't push it off… but the creature turned its head and then quickly darted away, vanishing into the bushes along with the other two.
Just like that… they were gone.
And they hadn't bothered finishing him off.
Breathing heavily, he didn't know why he was still alive after all of that. He was left with minor injuries—which, unknown to him, were healing very fast. But at the same time, it was absorbing his nutrients, making him even hungrier.
Although he had no idea what kind of creature had saved him, he was just grateful something did. Before he could think any further, his stomach growled again. That's when he remembered—the fish. He had thrown it when he ran.
He was starving now. And though he figured the creatures probably ate it, he still wondered if they might've left anything behind. Meat was meat. The creatures must've run off because of that roar so they probably didn't finish it… right? Right?
He started heading back toward where he left the fish, hoping there might still be something for him. But before he could reach the spot, another roar echoed out—followed by the sounds of a fight.
He crouched low and ran towards some bushes and peered through them. There, in the distance, he saw them—the raptors, probably the same ones he saw when he first arrived. But they weren't alone. They were fighting something much bigger.
A towering beast with tiny arms and a thunderous roar.
"A T. rex?" he muttered to himself, recognizing the creature from movies and documentaries.
But this wasn't a movie. This was real.
Six raptors surrounded the T. rex, darting in and out, leaping and snapping with sharp teeth. The T. rex fought back with crushing bites and wide sweeps of its massive tail. The battle was fierce—bloody. Roars and screeches filled the air, echoing across the treetops and down the beach.
He wasn't the only one watching either.
From behind some different bushes farther ahead, he spotted movement. The smaller, raptor-like creatures that had attacked him earlier were there too—watching silently. Especially the one he had been pinned under.
None of them dared to join the fight. Not yet.
The clash raged on for what felt like an hour. By the end of it, the T. rex stood bloodied but victorious. Four of the raptors lay dead or unmoving, and the remaining two had fled into the forest.
He kept watching, waiting to see what the smaller creatures would do. Would they join the fight, or wait until the Rex left so they could enjoy the spoils? He didn't know what choice they would make, but he hoped they'd go for the Rex and die with it—though the chances felt unlikely.
Then, without warning, the Rex lunged forward and clamped its massive jaws around one of the raptors, lifting it into the air and biting down until bones cracked. He winced at the sound as the Rex swallowed the bloodied raptor whole.
The moment the Rex turned toward another, he saw the small creatures begin to move. The ones that attacked him earlier. There were ten of them in total—smaller and weaker than the raptors, but the Rex was clearly injured. Blood oozed from its legs and sides, wounds still fresh from the earlier ambush. Then it happened.
The smaller creatures rushed in all at once. The Rex let out a thunderous roar and tried to fight back—stomping, swinging its tail, and snapping its jaws. But it was slower now. The smaller ones moved fast, ducking under its attacks, leaping onto its back, clawing and biting with everything they had. A few were thrown off, one crushed underfoot, but they didn't stop.
The battle was messy, loud, and brutal.
By the end, the Rex collapsed with a final groan, its body hitting the ground so hard the dirt trembled. A thick cloud of dust blew up around the carcass. Two of the smaller creatures died shortly after, staggering away and bleeding out from the wounds they took during the fight. Four remained standing—bloodied, limping, but victorious.
He crouched, ready to move. He needed to act fast. But then—footsteps.
From behind the bushes came the two raptors that had fled earlier. They returned with sharp growls and immediately joined the feast, ripping into bodies and dragging chunks of meat off into the forest. It seems like they never left. But waiting nearby. It's seems like they all knew who was here already and what might happen. But he didn't care and didn't wait. He rushed toward one of the fallen bodies.
Meanwhile he did that the remaining small creatures—though tired and injured—also began eating, dragging away their own share of meat.
Luckily, they didn't pay him much attention. Too hungry to care, too tired to fight. That gave him the opening he needed. He didn't waste time. The first thing he did was grab a long, curved talon from one of the raptors stuck in the Rex's back. It took some effort to pry it free, but once it popped out, he held it tight. It wasn't a great weapon, but it was better than nothing.
Then he dragged away a chunk of meat that had fallen near the Rex's open side and quickly left the area before anything could change their mind about letting him go.
Time passed, and night was fast approaching. Even though he had meat now, he still had no way to cook it. And the longer he carried it, the more likely it was that something—or many things—would come after him. He used the talon to tear off a piece and shoved it in his mouth, but the moment the raw meat touched his tongue, he spat it out. The taste was unbearable.
Still, he was too hungry to care. He grabbed a smaller piece, forced it into his mouth, and swallowed it. His body immediately rejected it, and he threw up beside the shore.
Giving up for now, he stuffed some of the meat in his pockets and carried the rest in his arms. He kept walking along the beach, choosing the open path to avoid surprise attacks. His stomach growled, but there was nothing he could do. He had been walking for so long, it was already night.
Holding the talon tightly, he stayed alert. Exhaustion clung to him, dragging on his every step, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. The sounds of roaring, screeching, and distant fighting filled the night, and he had the sense that those same sounds were the reason he hadn't been attacked yet.
Eventually, the hunger got so bad, he forced himself to eat the raw meat in his pocket, swallowing it despite the taste. It gave him just enough strength to keep moving. His body absorbed the nutrients quickly, helping him recover from lingering injuries. But now a new need took over:
He was thirsty.
His throat was dry. His lips were cracked. Swallowing became painful. The meat had helped with his hunger, but now it was water he lacked—and sleep. He couldn't sleep, not without protection or a place to hide.
Eventually, dawn broke. He managed to avoid any major encounters, but his body was running on fumes. By midday, the sun beat down on him as he stumbled toward a tall cliff. At the bottom were jagged rocks and uneven ground. A dead end.
He looked around, debating whether to turn back or go around—until he spotted something.
A small hole beneath the cliff, about three feet above the one of the rocks.
Without wasting a second, he climbed up and slipped inside. The space was tight, but there was just enough room to lie down and shift slightly. It was safe—at least for now. Any creature that wanted to reach him would have to climb up the rocks and leap inside.
Finally, he collapsed. His entire body ached. His throat burned with thirst. But the tight walls, the darkness, and the silence let his body relax at last. And for the first time since arriving here, he let himself sleep