The eyes didn't move.
But their presence penetrated to the bone.
Bumantara—or Astryan, whoever he was now—felt as if the entire forest were holding its breath.
The wind stopped.
The light faded.
The world seemed to lean forward, wanting to see what was happening to him.
From behind the bare trees, the creature slowly emerged.
And when its body was fully visible…
Bumantara felt his stomach churn.
The creature was shaped like a water buffalo—or had been one.
It was massive, the size of a pickup truck.
But its flesh was torn like wet rags; ribs protruded, and every step it took made a cracking sound like rotten wood being forcibly broken.
Its head hung crooked, as if its neck had been broken but had been forced back together.
But the most terrifying thing…
…was its eyes.
Not two.
There were dozens of them.
Surrounding its face were eerie flowers—yellow eyes ringed with black, all blinking out of sync, as if each had a mind of its own.
Some eyes stared at Astryan.
Others stared at the sky.
And two eyes on the sides of its head seemed to be crying blood.
The creature snorted.
Black smoke poured from its torn nostrils.
Bumantara took a step back.
The creature advanced two steps.
"Don't come any closer—"
Bumantara's voice choked.
His body swayed, his mind reeling from the foreign memories that kept colliding with his old ones.
Astrian's memories came like lightning:
Swords. Training. Blood. The screams of an old man ordering him to get up. A body forced to train until he collapsed on the stone floor.
And the smell…the smell of this creature.
Overload.
The world spun.
He nearly fell to his knees, clutching his head as if it were about to explode.
And at that moment…
The buffalo-fanged creature attacked.
He stomped his feet—the ground shook violently—and then ran with a speed that belies his size.
The ground splashed.
Tree roots were thrown.
The air cracked with the sound of his footsteps.
And…
His shadow fell on Bumantara.
His body was so weak.
His knees nearly gave out.
His vision blurred.
If I fall now…I'm dead.
The creature leaped, ready to crush him like an insect.
Bumantara froze.
Astrian's body moved.
It was as if a foreign instinct had taken control.
His left hand grabbed something at his waist—a short dagger he hadn't noticed before.
His body spun, imperfectly but agilely, as if he had done this a thousand times.
Because he had—Astryan had done it before.
The dagger reflected slivers of red light off the grass.
The creature leaped.
His shadow blotted out the sky.
And Astryan—Bumantara—screamed, either from courage or from fear that refused to die:
"HAAAAAH!"
He slashed.
The small dagger only grazed the side of the creature's face, but it was enough to rupture one of its hanging eyes.
The creature roared—
A roar that didn't belong in any other world.
Like a human scream fused with the sounds of animals and rusted metal.
Bumantara was thrown backward, struck by the furious wind from the monster's body.
His back hit the ground.
His breath was lost for a moment.
The creature raged, clawing at the ground, stomping, groaning from the ruptured eye.
But one of its eyes remained locked on Bumantara.
That eye… was full of hatred.
Full of hunger.
The creature prepared to strike again.
But suddenly, a deep, ancient voice echoed from the distance—loud, resolute, like a divine hammer striking the world:
"ASTRYAN!"
Bumantara froze.
The voice seemed to throb his very blood.
"Stand up! If you die at the hands of that damned Graah-Bull, I will personally drag your soul back to be tortured again!"
A figure leaped from the trees—a gaunt shadow, draped in a dull robe, carrying a long staff that emitted a gray light.
An old man.
His face was lined with harsh lines, his eyes sharp as if he had seen thousands of deaths and remained indifferent.
He was the voice in Astryan's memory.
He was the instructor who had forced him to live.
The old man landed directly between Astryan and the creature.
"Rise, you foolish apprentice," he said coldly. "Your training isn't over yet."
The creature neighed angrily and lunged once more.
The old man merely raised his staff—
And the world around them trembled… as if about to change shape.