Thanks to his sharpened perception, Lennon caught the treacherous movement in the mud.
He was surrounded.
The mudfish, massive as dogs and with serrated jaws, circled around the tree. He knew what they were waiting for: a misstep, a single mistake, then they would leap all at once and tear the prey apart.
Suddenly, the mud's surface burst open in violent jets.
The creatures lunged all at once, jaws wide, fangs glinting in the arena's diffused glow.
Lennon reacted on instinct.
He drew his sword and, with a sharp motion, hurled himself at one midair. The strike split the mudfish clean in half, spraying dark blood over him before crashing back into the swamp with the carcass.
He was stunned by his own strength.
"I… split it in two…" he muttered, dazed for a second.
There was no time for reflection. The others fell upon him in frenzy, churning whirlpools in the mud, teeth snapping like broken blades. With each charge, Lennon gave ground, but his hand did not tremble.
Adrenaline burned through his veins.
With feral courage, he dove into the swarm, sword spinning as an extension of his body.
Every strike ripped flesh, every dodge was razor-thin.
The sound of battle was a concert of snapping bones, grotesque shrieks, and Lennon's ragged breathing.
It was pure disadvantage, yet he did not bow.
There, in the devouring mud, Lennon fought as though hell itself were watching.
The fight grew more violent with every second.
Each mudfish that fell under his blade only seemed to summon more.
He soon realized – the cries and vibrations of the dragged carcasses were calling in new packs.
The danger rose in waves. The swamp boiled.
Lennon knew if he got stuck in the middle, he would be swallowed whole.
Breathing heavy, he glanced sideways and spotted a tree with thick roots jutting from the mire.
He decided to risk it.
Lennon spun on his axis, sword tracing a silver arc that decapitated one fish and tore open another's flank in the same motion. Black blood sprayed, blinding him for a second, but his feet were already moving, finding traction on a submerged root to propel him away from the frenzy's center.
But as he drew closer, a chill crept up his spine.
Clinging to the trunk like a winged leech was an indescribable creature.
Huge, round eyes locked onto him, reflecting the arena's dim glow.
Its body was viscous, coated in thick mucus that dripped into the mud.
Its wings, stunted and deformed, fluttered like torn flesh.
The mouth – if it could even be called that– split beyond the lips, slicing its tongue in half, revealing rows of fangs pulsing with acidic saliva.
A Shrill Amphibian.
It had been waiting, letting the mudfish feast… so it could hunt.
And now, those hungry, unblinking eyes were fixed on Lennon.
His body went cold. The creature was poised to strike, gaze frozen in hunger.
His heart thundered – he couldn't afford to be caught off guard.
Swiftly, he pulled one of his precious essence fruits from his mind.
Each one was a rung on his path of transcendence, a hard-won treasure.
Wasting one hurt like tearing away a piece of himself. But he had no choice.
"Let's see if you can swallow this, bastard…"
He hurled the fruit at the Shrill.
The amphibian reacted with a grotesque leap, dodging in a burst that splattered slime through the air.
Then it vanished into the mud, sinking as if it were part of it.
Lennon barely had time to move when its tongue lashed out like a blade.
"Tch!" He dove aside, feeling the pressure of the strike graze his shoulder, leaving a deep cut across the tree's trunk.
The Shrill wasted no time. It used its tongue like a harpoon, skewering a thrashing mudfish nearby.
The creature reeled it in, teeth from both mouth and tongue gnashing at once, spraying black blood across the mire.
Now, the fight wasn't only against the frenzied fish surrounding Lennon.
The vile monster had joined the feast.
Lennon pressed against a thick root, stifling his breath.
He knew the swamp would keep spewing out more mudfish – and the more that came, the more the Shrill would be forced to fight.
His instincts were right.
Minutes later, a new wave of mudfish surged forward, swarming like ravenous locusts.
The Shrill was forced into furious combat, rending flesh, crushing bones, but its endurance soon faltered. Its slimy body was already covered in cuts and bites.
Wounded, it let out a piercing shriek that echoed through the forest and retreated, sinking back into the mud.
"There's your opening…" Lennon whispered, predator's eyes gleaming.
Following the trail in the muck, he stalked the creature like a shadow.
When he finally found it, bleeding and weakened against a drenched tree, he didn't hesitate.
A clean stroke cut through its throat, the body convulsing until it lay still.
From the corpse, he extracted what he sought: three intact ear bones, glowing with pulsing energy.
Lennon's eyes widened in shock.
"Just one… had all this?" he whispered, stunned, clutching the still-warm relics.
To seal the victory, he also found an essence fruit in the monster's belly.
Its brilliant glow contrasted with the viscous blood dripping from his fingers.
He drew a deep breath.
"One step closer to the rite…"
After days wandering the swamp forest, Lennon knew there was nothing more to harvest there.
He stored his gains, wiped his blade on a tree's bark, and set off. The book served as his invisible guide, pointing toward new regions of the arena.
The journey lasted two more days.
A cycle of battle and silence: ambushing weaker monsters, avoiding stronger predators, resting on high branches, and always moving forward.
His body tired, but with every fight, his muscles grew quicker to respond, his instincts sharper. Bit by bit, he was becoming something beyond human.
Until the environment shifted.
The dim light was swallowed by shadow. He had entered a region where the sky seemed eternally strangled by a starless night.
The ground was hard, cracked like shattered porcelain, and from the fissures seeped a dry cold that cut the skin. Twisted trees, their trunks like bodies frozen in agony, rose like macabre sculptures.
A shiver ran down his spine. The chill came not from wind or snow – but from within, as if the earth itself rejected warmth.
Lennon halted, drawing in a deep breath, and muttered:
"I never read anything about this region…" his eyes gleamed with a mix of fear and resolve.
"But it doesn't matter. I need to find where the essence stones are."
He stood still, cold air filling his lungs.
Then his whole body froze – not from climate, but from perception.
Presences.
Not one, but many.
Moving swiftly through the dark, from the same direction. Light steps, controlled. A group.
He crouched, pressing his palm to the cracked earth.
The vibrations confirmed it: they were numerous, and organized.
Not like monsters that charged without pattern – this was human. Or at least, prisoners like him.
Lennon shut his eyes for a second.
"So I'm not alone here…" he muttered through clenched teeth.