After living his stuff, Rick slipped into the forest, nursing his injuries and knowing he couldn't take on the hunters head-on. Still, he planned to confront a few, hoping to thin their numbers. Meanwhile, the hunters split up, scouring the woods for him. One of them, Berry, was especially agitated.
"Damn our boss," Berry grumbled, trudging through the underbrush. "He's useless! Can't even do a single thing right and now expects us to clean up his mess!"
His anger boiled as he vented aloud, "If I were the one in charge, I'd finish that brat myself."
Berry's bloodlust sharpened when he spotted a trail of blood. He followed it eagerly, believing it would lead him straight to Rick.
Eventually, Berry stumbled upon a cave—but Rick was nowhere in sight. Just as he started to doubt himself, Rick struck from behind, smashing a rock into Berry's back. The blow wasn't enough to knock him out. Berry turned in rage, and Rick hit him again.
Berry caught Rick mid-swing and wrapped his hands around his throat, snarling, "Brat! How dare you hit me? I'm gonna kill you!"
Rick's strength began to fade. His vision blurred, limbs weakening under Berry's tightening grip. Desperate, he summoned what power he had left and kicked Berry hard in the groin.
Berry let go, staggering in pain. Rick grabbed the nearby rock and struck Berry again and again. Blood sprayed as Berry dropped, unconscious.
But Rick didn't stop.
Even after Berry was clearly no longer moving, Rick kept swinging the rock, making absolutely sure—Berry was dead.
Blood painted the walls of the cave. Rick, drenched in it, stared down at Berry's lifeless body. His hands trembled—not from fear, but from the gravity of what he'd done. He had killed monsters before, but this... this was a man.
The shock hit him harder than the fight. He stood there for a moment, heart pounding in guilt and exhaustion. Killing Berry had taken a toll—his injuries, already bad, now burned with every breath.
As Rick staggered to his feet, he realized he couldn't stay long. Escape was impossible if he remained. That's when he spotted it—Berry's flare gun. A risky idea formed in his mind. He fired the flare into the sky, drawing the attention of the other hunters back to the cave. It was a distraction... and it worked. While they rushed toward the light, Rick vanished into the trees.
Meanwhile, the other hunters swarmed the cave, expecting to catch Rick. Instead, they found Berry's corpse sprawled in a pool of blood.
Shock turned to rage.
"That brat fooled us and he even dare to kill Berry," one shouted. "When I find him, I'll show him hell!"
Their leader, grim and silent, surveyed the scene. "We underestimated him. This isn't just a boy on the run... he's a tiger's cub, wounded, but dangerous."
He barked orders. "Scatter and hunt. Lock will stay and bury Berry. The rest of you, move out!"
A chorus of agreement followed. The hunt had changed. Now it was personal.
Far away, Rick ran. His body screamed at him to stop, but his will wouldn't allow it. He had to survive.
He thought he'd shaken them. But as dawn approached, the sound of footsteps—too many, too close—told him otherwise.
They had found him.
Even when wounded, Rick didn't stop. He ran—driven by desperation, not strength. The night's relentless chase had drained him, and his legs grew heavy. But still, he wasn't caught. Not yet.
Surprisingly, the hunters weren't rushing to end it. They had found him already… and let the game begin.
They surrounded him, laughing, circling like wolves. "Let him run," the boss said coldly. "Let him know what fear truly is. When despair sets in… then we kill him."
One of the hunters raised his crossbow. "Let me have some fun."
He fired.
The arrow struck Rick in the leg. He cried out and collapsed, pain flashing through him as he hit the rocky ground. Laughter echoed around him.
"Don't die yet," a voice taunted. "This is just the beginning."
More arrows came, whistling past. None were fatal—on purpose. Rick understood now.
They were toying with him.
He gritted his teeth and crawled, dragging his body across the forest floor. He had to believe—hope—that maybe, just maybe, he could survive.
Arrow after arrow chased him as he stumbled through the woods. Blood streaked behind him. Still, Rick kept running. Up through a mountain trail, his vision swimming, body barely responding.
Then… he fell.
Face-first, over a jagged rock.
He lay there, chest heaving, every nerve screaming. His body was giving up. Strength was gone.
"It hurts…""It hurts… it hurts…"
The words weren't spoken anymore—they were breathed, like the final fragments of a dying flame. His mouth barely moved, lips quivering, coated in blood and dust.
His body was broken—shaking, twitching, barely alive. Bones cracked, skin torn, flesh raw and open. Every inch of him screamed, but he was too far gone to scream back.
He couldn't move.
He couldn't cry.
All he could do was feel—and even that was agony.
"Why…?"
The question slipped from his soul, not his voice.
"Why is this happening to me…?"
There was no answer. Just silence. Just cold.
He blinked, barely, and the world flickered—his vision fading like a dying candle. The trees blurred. The sky spun. Blood ran into his eyes. He didn't even have the strength to wipe it away.
His chest hitched with a sob he couldn't finish.
"Mother…"
His voice broke—high and cracked and small.
He didn't sound like a fighter.
He didn't sound like a hero.
He sounded like a scared little boy.
"It hurts so much…"
"Please… someone… anyone…"
"Help me…"
Tears mixed with blood, soaking the ground beneath his face.
"I don't want to die…"
He choked on his own breath. A whimper escaped his throat.
"Please… I'm not ready… I haven't kept my promise…"
"I haven't… lived yet…"
"Please…"
But no hand reached for him.
No voice called his name.
No one came.
And in that moment, all the strength he had left—all the fire, the will, the rage—slipped through his fingers.
All that remained was a heartbeat.
A fading pulse.
And a boy, alone in the dirt, whispering for a mother who would never come.
The words echoed inside his mind.
"Cough… cough… ahh…"
"Am I… gonna die?"
"I can't die yet… I don't want to die yet…"
Through clenched teeth, he groaned,
"I have to survive… I HAVE TO SURVIVEEE…"
But his body didn't respond.
Minutes passed. Then came footsteps.
The hunters had arrived.
"Damn," one of them muttered, staring down at Rick's broken form. "We thought we were giving you time to make it interesting. You look like you can't even move."
The boss stepped forward. "That's it. Let's end it."
Just as he was about to give the order, a hunter named Jack stepped in. "Boss, let me finish him. He killed my friend. I want to kill him."
The boss nodded. "Do it."
Jack walked up to Rick, towering over him. "You'll pay for killing Berry, even if he was stupid enough to let his guard down."
Rick, barely able to lift his head, whispered,
"Oh,So you are friend of that coward who begged me not to kill him. It was really pathetic. He was crying like baby, You should've heard what he said…"
Jack's face twisted with rage. He grabbed Rick by the collar.
"You son of—!"
But before he could finish, Rick, in a final act of defiance, drove his teeth into Jack's neck—biting it clean.
The body dropped to the dirt.
Rick pushed himself up, blood-soaked and swaying.
"I'm not going down without a fight."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Just as chaos began to erupt—something appeared.
A shadow fell across them. A sudden gust of wind.
Then, silence.
A dragon.
But not just any dragon.
Its presence sent fear down every spine.
Because what stood before them was not a normal beast.
Its very existence felt… wrong.
Monstrous. Ancient. Unnatural.The sky dimmed—not from clouds, not from nightfall, but from something far worse.
A shadow.
Vast. Ancient. Alive.
The laughter of the hunters died in their throats. The wind halted mid-gust. Even the birds vanished. The world itself seemed to hold its breath.
Then came the sound.
Wings. Beating. Thunderous. Colossal.
The ground shuddered as a storm of black wings descended from above. Trees bent under the pressure of an unseen force. And then, he landed—hard—crushing boulders into dust beneath his talons.
He didn't roar. He didn't speak. He didn't need to.
He just existed.
A creature cloaked in midnight-black scales, each one sharp and jagged like obsidian shards. His eyes burned with a cold, crimson fire, not just looking—but judging, as if the very world had disappointed him.
And in that silence, every hunter knew the truth:
This wasn't just a dragon.
This was a sentence. A death sentence.
They whispered, trembled, stepped back.
"That can't be…"
"No… he's just a myth…"
"He's not supposed to be real…"
But reality doesn't ask for permission.
The creature's presence was majestic, yes—but majestic in the way a tsunami is majestic. A beautiful, unstoppable force that destroys everything in its path.
They remembered the forbidden tales.
The Devourer of Nations.
The Betrayer of Mankind.
The Demon's Ally.
The Living Cataclysm.
Described in ancient texts as a walking extinction event.
A nightmare so powerful that even demons feared him.
THE IMMORTAL DRAGON.
RAGNAROK.
And now, he was here. Standing not in legend, but in flesh. Not in dreams, but in reality.
And he was looking directly at Rick.