Washing ashore on the other side of the Axios River, Lycaon officially set foot in the Labyrinthos Forest. The air here was thick and cold. Giant ancient trees with their branches densely interwoven blocked out almost all sunlight, creating a dim and damp space even during the day. The tree trunks twisted like grasping arms, and the trails seemed to constantly shift, disorienting any who entered.
The sounds of hunting dogs and men echoed from the other bank. Time was running out. He had to go deeper.
He crawled. The shattered leg was a constant agony, but he bit his lip until it bled, using his father's knife to dig into the ground and pull his body forward. He fled frantically, not from the search party, but from the final image of his family in the sea of flames.
After a long, arduous distance, when his strength was nearly gone and the sounds of pursuit had faded, he found it.
Imprinted deep in the damp earth was a giant footprint.
It was a single print, as big as a large cutting board and incredibly deep. The next footprint was a dozen paces away. Its owner had to be a creature of unimaginable size. A bold and desperate plan flared in Lycaon's mind. He would not run anymore. He would use this very monster to create evidence of his own death.
He followed the footprints to a small clearing. This was where he would stage his play. He used the tip of his knife to cut deeper into one of the stab wounds on his chest. Blood flowed out, forming a small puddle on the ground right next to the giant footprint. He tore off an entire sleeve of his tunic, soaked it in the puddle of blood, and then snagged it on a nearby broken branch. He used his hands to claw at the ground around the area, creating the scene of a violent struggle, as if he had been seized by something massive and dragged away.
Once finished, he used a large branch to carefully back away, erasing the tracks he had made coming to the scene. He then crawled to the nearest stream, using the water to wash away the scent of blood and letting the current carry away his final traces.
A short time later, the search party arrived. They followed the trail of blood and found the clearing.
They saw the gruesome scene: the puddle of blood, the torn piece of cloth, the signs of a struggle, and in the very center, the unmistakable, giant footprint.
The old hunter leading the party turned pale, his voice trembling: "Gods above... this footprint... it belongs to a giant. We should not be here."
Kretos initially laughed, but when he saw the look of horror on the hunter's face, his own smile vanished, replaced by fear. This was a monster far beyond anything he could imagine.
"The boy... he's been eaten. There'll be nothing left of him," the hunter concluded.
Believing that Lycaon had died a most horrific death, the search party hastily gave up and fled the forest in terror.
Meanwhile, far away, Lycaon had found a small, hidden cave. Once the threat from the humans had passed, his last strength was exhausted. He fainted, the fever from his infected wounds beginning to rage.
He had saved himself from the external enemy, but now, he had to face death from within.