In the perilous forest, blood-curdling screams filled the air—cries of terror and agony echoing through the towering trees. Blood and shrieks alone were enough to paint a picture of the scene, for they were everywhere, in every corner. People were running for their lives, desperately trying to seize even a sliver of hope for survival. Anyone who couldn't keep up was abandoned, left behind as prey for the monsters to slaughter at will.
Amid the chaos, an old man and a young man ran together with the rest of the desperate crowd.
The old man, Uncle Bách, was slowing down—his age catching up to him.
The younger one, Thành Dũng, though having more stamina, was covered in mud, with scraped knees and elbows—likely from falling during the frantic escape.
Seeing Uncle Bách falling behind, Thành Dũng ignored his own pain and prepared to carry him.
He stopped and called out:
"Uncle Bách, you can't keep up! They're almost here! Let me carry you!"
Hearing that only made Uncle Bách angrier.
"Carry me for what!? I'm heavy, you idiot! If you slow down because of me, we'll both die. If I die, you must live!"
But Thành Dũng stubbornly insisted, refusing to abandon him. With death looming over them, Uncle Bách had no choice but to agree and let the boy carry him.
For the rest of the run, neither said a word.
Thành Dũng couldn't speak even if he wanted to—every ounce of his focus was spent on running.
From a distance, someone seemed to be waving at him.
"Damn it… is that my ancestors calling me?"
His vision blurred.
His eyes burned.
His body was running on fumes, and now his eyelids threatened to close—betraying him at the worst possible moment.
"Thành Dũng! Stay awake! Look ahead! They're right behind us! If you pass out, we're both dead!"
A shout and a sharp slap of pain jolted him awake just long enough to see and think again.
Once his vision cleared, he realized—it wasn't an ancestor or a hallucination.
Someone was really waving from the entrance of a cave.
"There! Someone's waving—maybe it's safe there!"
Thành Dũng shouted to Uncle Bách and the people running behind them.
Then, ignoring every screaming muscle in his body, he threw himself forward with the last of his strength, sprinting toward the cave.
A strange sound brushed past him—something fast and silent. He couldn't tell what it was anymore. At this point, he couldn't distinguish reality from hallucination. All that remained was instinct: run toward the place he had chosen.
Rushing wind—a whisper, swift and deadly.
A massive leg swung toward them, about to crush the two of them.
Just a few more steps and they would reach safety.
Time slowed—
One more step and they would make it into the cave.
One more centimeter and the monster's foot would smash into Uncle Bách's back.
It was as if Death itself hovered behind them, scythe raised, waiting for the perfect moment to reap them.
Then—
A violent stumble.
Both of them tumbled forward, sliding across the ground.
By some miracle, that fall saved their lives.
Had they not tripped, both would have been flattened under the monster's gigantic foot.
A blessing hidden inside disaster.
Uncle Bách woke up groaning, his body covered in scratches from the slide. Pain wracked his limbs, but he still forced himself to check on Thành Dũng—who lay unconscious, foam at his mouth.
They had survived… but just barely.
Their clothes were shredded, soaked in blood and dirt, and their bodies were battered and broken.