Pain taught Ben how to breathe again.
Not all at once. Not kindly. It seeped into him slowly, like heat creeping through stone after a fire had burned out. Every inhale felt scraped raw. Every exhale trembled, as if his body wasn't entirely convinced it should keep going.
The wooden floor beneath him was hard and uneven. Thin straw pressed into his back. Somewhere nearby, something bubbled faintly—liquid simmering over a low flame.
Ben opened his eyes.
The ceiling above him was made of rough wooden beams darkened by age and smoke. Faint cracks let in thin lines of early morning light. The air smelled of bitter herbs, damp earth, and blood that hadn't quite dried.
Not his blood alone.
He shifted slightly—and hissed.
His entire body screamed in protest. It wasn't like being sore after a hard fight. This was deeper. Wrong. As if something inside him had been bent, twisted, and left to heal crooked.
"Don't move."
The voice was soft but sharp with urgency.
Ben turned his head. The girl from the forest knelt beside a low table, her sleeves rolled up, hands stained green from crushed leaves. She couldn't have been much older than him. Maybe younger. Her hair was tied back in a loose braid, strands falling messily around her face.
She looked exhausted.
And scared.
"You'll tear what little's holding you together," she said, not looking at him. "You already pushed your body past what a mortal frame can survive."
Ben swallowed. "Yeah… I kind of have a habit of doing that."
She finally glanced at him, brows knitting in confusion. "You joke," she said quietly, "like someone who doesn't understand where he is."
Ben stared at the ceiling again.
"I'm starting to," he muttered.
She set aside the mortar and pestle and stood, crossing the small room to kneel beside him. Only then did Ben notice how cramped the space was—one room, one bedroll, shelves lined with jars of dried plants and bones, a small shrine tucked into the corner.
Not a sect hall.
Not even close.
"Drink," she said, lifting a wooden bowl to his lips.
Ben hesitated. "Is it poison?"
She blinked. "If I wanted you dead, I would've left you in the forest."
"Fair point."
He drank.
The liquid was bitter beyond belief, burning its way down his throat. Ben gagged, coughing weakly, but warmth spread through his chest almost immediately, dulling the worst of the pain.
"What was that?" he asked.
"Bone-repair decoction," she replied. "A weak one. Stronger versions are sect-controlled."
Ben let out a shaky breath. "Of course they are."
She studied him closely now, eyes sharp despite the fatigue. "You really don't know anything," she said. "Do you?"
"About this place?" Ben asked. "Nope. About glowing watches that turn me into monsters and old men who try to steal them? Unfortunately, yes."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "That 'old man' was an outer elder of the Crimson Cliff Sect."
Ben felt a chill that had nothing to do with Big Chill.
"Outer," he repeated. "As in… not the strongest?"
She shook her head slowly. "Not even close."
Ben closed his eyes.
Fantastic.
She continued, "They patrol the mountain passes. Anyone who looks… unusual is investigated. Anyone deemed dangerous is captured or killed."
"And I'm guessing I landed right in the 'dangerous' category," Ben said.
She didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she reached out and gently pulled back the sleeve of his jacket.
The Omnitrix gleamed faintly green against his wrist.
Her breath caught.
"That artifact," she whispered. "When you fell… the entire mountain shook. Cultivators felt it for miles."
Ben tensed. "You felt it too?"
She nodded. "I was gathering herbs when the sky split open. I thought it was a tribulation."
Her eyes flicked back to his face. "But tribulations don't scream."
Ben laughed weakly. "Yeah. It does that."
She let go of his sleeve as if burned. "Do you know what you are carrying?"
"A headache?" Ben offered.
Her gaze hardened. "You are carrying something that will get everyone around you killed."
The words landed heavier than any Qi pressure.
Ben swallowed. "Then why help me?"
She hesitated.
"Because," she said slowly, "you shielded me."
Ben frowned. "Anyone would've done that."
She shook her head. "No. Not here."
Silence settled between them, thick and uncomfortable.
Outside, the low bells rang again—closer this time.
Her head snapped up.
"They're searching," she said.
Ben tried to push himself up again. Pain flared, white-hot, and he collapsed back with a sharp gasp.
"Yeah," he groaned. "Running's not on the menu."
Her jaw tightened. "Then you hide."
"Hiding hasn't exactly been my strong suit lately."
She glanced toward the back wall, where a threadbare curtain hung. "There's a cellar. It masks Qi signatures—for herbs."
Ben stared at her. "You planned this."
Her hands trembled slightly. "I hoped I wouldn't need to."
Another bell rang—closer still.
Ben forced himself upright, teeth clenched against the pain. The Omnitrix pulsed faintly, responding to his stress.
"No transformations," he whispered to it. "Please. Not now."
The watch stayed silent.
Good.
The girl helped him stumble toward the curtain, lifting it to reveal a narrow wooden trapdoor set into the floor. Cold, damp air wafted up from below.
She looked at him one last time. "If they find you here," she said, voice barely above a whisper, "they will kill me for hiding you."
Ben met her gaze. "You can still walk away."
She shook her head. "It's too late."
He didn't argue.
She lowered him into the cellar and pulled the door shut above him. Darkness swallowed him, broken only by faint cracks of light through the boards.
Ben leaned against the earthen wall, breathing shallowly, listening.
Footsteps approached the hut.
Multiple.
Voices murmured outside—sharp, authoritative, impatient.
"Search the area."
"Qi disturbance was here."
"Burn the hut if necessary."
Ben's heart pounded.
Okay, he thought. Don't panic. Panicking never helps.
The Omnitrix hummed softly.
Words shimmered across its surface, barely visible in the dark.
Environmental Analysis CompleteQi Flow: Primitive, HostileSurvival Recommendation: Adaptation Required
Ben clenched his fist.
"Not now," he whispered.
Above him, the door creaked.
Light spilled into the cellar.
A face peered down.
Not the girl's.
A young man in sect robes stared at him, eyes widening in shock.
"There," he breathed. "Found him."
Ben's mind screamed.
The Omnitrix flared.
Emergency override initiated.
Green light flooded the cellar—
And stopped.
Pain exploded through Ben's chest as if something inside him snapped. He cried out, collapsing to one knee as the light flickered and died.
Cooldown enforced.
The sect disciple recoiled. "He's trying to activate it!"
"Kill him!" someone shouted from above.
A blade plunged down.
Ben threw up his arms—
Diamond surged outward at the last second, forming a jagged shield as the sword struck, sparks flying.
But the impact hurled him back, slamming him into the cellar wall. Cracks spread through the crystal immediately.
Too weak.
Too slow.
The trapdoor shattered completely as two more disciples dropped down, Qi blazing around their fists.
Ben backed away, chest heaving, mind racing.
Think. Think. You can't outfight them.
Then he smelled it.
Fear.
Not his.
The girl screamed above.
Something inside Ben snapped.
The Omnitrix pulsed again—harder.
Not transforming.
Shifting.
Wildmutt's instincts flooded him without the full transformation. Sound sharpened. Smell intensified. His muscles tensed, ready.
Ben moved.
He didn't fight.
He escaped.
Ducking under a strike, he slammed his shoulder into the cellar wall—not where it was strongest, but where the earth smelled weakest. The wall collapsed outward, dirt and roots spilling as Ben crawled through into a narrow underground passage.
Shouts erupted behind him.
Ben didn't stop.
He dragged himself forward through darkness, lungs burning, body screaming, mind clinging to one thought:
Survive.
Behind him, Murim hunted.
And Ben was learning its rules the hard way.
C