Trekking through the cave was simplicity itself, a task stripped to its most elemental form. The path ahead followed a narrow creek, its waters having burrowed patiently into the stone floor over untold centuries, carving a groove as if the mountain itself had chosen this as its quiet artery. Augustus moved along the channel with measured steps, the echo of water and stone his most visible companions, Morak a distant thought. Time another companion, however, seemed more willing to twist and ripple around him, deceive him. Without sun or shadow to mark its passage, minutes stretched and shrank unpredictably. He had no certainty, yet he believed he had spent no longer than half a day beneath the earth before a change in light and air heralded the exit.
When he emerged, the light struck him with a force that stole his breath. Midday sunlight spilled over the precipice like molten silver, blinding his dark-adjusted eyes. The wind whipped across his skin, a torrent of sensation, carrying with it a thousand scents—pine resin, damp earth, distant snow, and something older, indefinably ancient, that filled his lungs with every inhalation. He staggered, his vision forced to adjust, and slowly the vastness of the world revealed itself.
Before him lay a basin so immense it seemed born of myth. Ancient trees rose from the valley floor in silent dominion, their massive canopies forming a living cathedral that stretched beyond the reach of his gaze. Even from the height of the precipice, he could barely see the far edge, where the forest met distant shadows. Snow-choked mountains framed the basin on either side, their icy summits catching the sunlight. Beyond them, jagged peaks continued endlessly, fading into the haze of distance.
He hesitated once his eyes carried themselves to the forest's edge, a prickle of doubt running down his spine. The towering trees, with canopies so thick they could swallow the sun, would obscure all sense of direction. Yet even so, the frigid peaks offered no reprieve. Their slopes were cruel and jagged, no doubt riddled with perils he was ill-equipped to survive. Basins such as this had no place on any map of Earth; they belonged to the realm of fantasy and dreams. It was the very impossibility of its existence that rooted the reality of what he faced firmly in his mind.
Crouching low, he accepted what his current necessities demanded: the only path forward led through the forest. The mountains, for all their majesty and terror, were beyond his current strength. With a careful glance over the edge of the precipice, he slid down the steep cliff face, stones and loose earth tumbling with each drag and tumble. He stumbled once, twice, before righting himself, limbs tight with tension and anticipation. Then he broke into a run, bounding down the gentle slope of the basin, the wind tearing past him and carrying the scent of pine, snow, and stone. Speed was all that mattered for now—momentum, haste...
Within minutes, Augustus had reached the very edge of the forest, the threshold where sunlight gave way to shadow. But what met his eyes halted him utterly, freezing his blood in veins that still remembered mortal fear. The forest was alive in a way that sickened his mind. It groaned, low and resonant, like the lament of a thousand unseen spirits. Cries and wails echoed from within, reverberating through the air and twisting into the very roots beneath his feet.
These trees were younger than the ancient sentinels he had glimpsed from the cliff's edge, yet they bore a horror all their own. Sprouting along the treeline, their pale trunks twisted and swollen as if fed upon some terrible nourishment. Bulbus knots spewing a vile bloody pus were common on the older trees. Impaled upon them were the corpses of beasts and humanoid creatures, gray and withered, almost nothing but bone and sinew, limbs splayed in rigor mortis. Each figure was a grotesque ornament, a testament to suffering, their death immortalized by the living wood.
Deeper within the forest, the horror intensified. Faces pushed outward from the bark itself—eyes wide in eternal terror, jaws open in muted screams. Hands clawed desperately through the wood, fingers gnarled and splintered, reaching toward the sky as if begging for release. The sight made Augustus stumble back, the breath caught in his throat.
"Could there really be a forest that grows upon death such as this?" he whispered, voice trembling with both fear and awe. The answer lay plain before him. The trees, the corpses, the tortured growth—they were testament enough.
In a moment of weakness, he turned his gaze upward toward the mountains, calculating his chances of scaling the frozen peaks. The rocks and roots surrounding the forest had already torn at his flesh, leaving his feet bloodied and raw. Disappointment settled in his chest like a stone. The mountains, impossibly high and jagged, offered no path but certain struggle and pain.
Even as he hesitated, instinct gnawed at him. The blood on his feet, bright against the forest floor, would not go unnoticed. He had to move—swiftly, decisively, without hesitation. Questioning his choices now would only hasten his death.
Steeling himself, Augustus plunged into the treeline, advancing as straight a line as possible, each step cautious yet urgent. Minutes passed, and the dread that had haunted him since his first glimpse of the forest came to fruition. The canopy above thickened, swallowing the light of day. Shadows pooled at his feet, stretching like living tendrils. The forest was closing in, its grasp subtle yet absolute.
He could no longer see the edge, no longer trace a path to escape. The trees warped perception, bending light, shadow, and sound into confusion. If this forest, like so many magical forests of old legend, clouded the mind and stole the sense of direction, then he was already caught. Already ensnared. Already, in a place where the forest itself might be the executioner—and he, the prey.
The cries and wails continued, now closer, rising with the wind, merging with the rustle of leaves and the creak of timber. Augustus's pulse surged, and every instinct screamed that he was no longer merely moving through the forest—he was moving through a living tomb, one that would not release him willingly.
"Focus, Augustus," Morak's voice thundered suddenly in his mind, and with it, his spectral form appeared beside him, glowing faintly blue against the shadowed forest. "This forest… it grew upon my blood. My burning spirit courses through it still, a stain upon this world. It remembers my wrath. It will attempt to kill anything that dares enter. But you…" His eyes glimmered like embers. "By inheriting my memory, the forest will not see you. Its other inhabitants, however… they will not be so blind."
And then he vanished, leaving Augustus to the suffocating gloom of the treeline. The warning had barely settled before a shadow leapt from behind a nearby tree. He stumbled back, heart hammering, as a crouching beast emerged from the undergrowth. Its limbs were coiled with lethal intent, claws dragging across the forest floor and gouging grooves in the earth. Muscles rippled beneath black fur, and its eyes gleamed with feral hunger. With a surge of terrifying speed, it launched itself into the air, claws outstretched, teeth bared.
Instinct drove Augustus to act. He grabbed the first solid thing within reach—a jagged rock—and smashed it against the creature's jaw. Pain seared through his hands as the stone shattered under the beast's strength, scattering shards across his chest. Despair coiled in his stomach like a living thing. He had faced death before, but this… this was a trial unlike any other. And yet, the creature was gone—its assault interrupted, its threat only momentarily broken.
To his left, the beast reappeared, limping but relentless, its jaw hanging grotesquely beneath its maw. Blood trickled from its wounds, dark against the forest floor. Augustus's eyes narrowed, red-hot with determination and primal lust for survival. He seized another stone from the ground, hefted it high above his head, and leapt. The rock fell with a devastating crash upon the beast's skull. A sickening wet sound echoed as the creature's brain turned to liquid paste beneath the impact. Silence followed, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the wind.
Dropping the cracked stone, Augustus stepped back to behold the enormity of what he had killed. The dark-furred beast sprawled across the forest floor, massive and fearsome in life, now motionless. Its head was as large as Augustus's chest, its legs broader than he was tall. It bled from deep wounds, its body a testament to its own might, yet here it lay, conquered and still. A chill ran through him as he realized he had faced death and survived.
"Enough hesitation," Morak's voice boomed once more, and he appeared again, striding through the shadows with an air of unearthly grace. Augustus turned, still trembling, as the memory of survival clung to him. Morak approached the fallen beast and knelt above its gaping head, the red glow of his form casting long shadows across the torn forest floor. "Impressive," he said, a note of genuine admiration in his voice. "To fell a shadow panther with nothing but a stone, without touching a cultivation method… you were the correct choice."
Rising, Morak's gaze fixed fully upon Augustus, eyes alight with both expectation and warning. "Though…" he continued, his tone hardening, "it was merely a juvenile. Its mother will not be far. Do not push your luck against a creature of its kind. Take from this one what you need, and leave."
"Take… what?" Augustus asked, confused and wary. He had no tools, no instruments to harvest the beast's flesh, hide, or even a scrap to sustain himself.
Morak's tone was unamused, sharp and chilling. "Its power," he said. "Have you forgotten what you have become? What you have inherited from me? You carry the blood of a Vampiric God flowing through your veins. Take what you need, and let this serve as your lesson."
And with that, he faded into the shadows once more, leaving Augustus standing alone above the corpse of the creature, the echo of the god's words and the pounding of his own heart mingling in the vast, haunted forest.
Opening his mouth, Augustus instinctively checked for the legendary fangs of a vampire, half-expecting the inherited power to have manifested in some primal way. Yet there was nothing—no elongated canines, no preternatural sharpness. "That isn't happening," he muttered under his breath, a grim mix of disbelief and pragmatism hardening his tone. He had no time for wonder now. Morak had been clear: the mother of the shadow panther was near, likely only a heartbeat away from discovering the death of her offspring. At most, he had an hour, though he knew instinctively that this generous estimate could be measured in mere minutes.
The forest fought him with every step. Barbed thorns tore into his ankles and calves, sharp rocks embedded themselves in the soles of his feet, and coarse roots twisted beneath him, snagging and scraping with relentless cruelty. The dirt was coarse and unyielding, each stride shredding the tender skin of his feet further. Blood soaked the ground beneath him, dark and glistening, mixing with the mud and soil to form a cruelly protective, if temporary, crust. Each step throbbed with pain, but infection threatened far more than sensation. If he did not heal soon, even the minor wounds would fester into something far worse.
Boom. The forest itself seemed to shudder. A deafening sound cracked through the trees, sharp and sudden as a meteor's strike, rattling the canopy overhead and sending a shower of leaves cascading to the forest floor. Then it came again, followed by another, each one vibrating through the earth like some titanic heartbeat. Groans rose from deep within the trunks and roots of the forest as if it were alive and in agony, shaking violently, roots crawling like serpents across the soil. The source was unseen, the magnitude incomprehensible, and yet Augustus understood instantly: he had no time to muse.
He ran. Faster than he had ever run before. As his legs carried him through the dense undergrowth, he noticed something strange. The obstacles that had so relentlessly punished him—branches, stones, thorns—were vanishing. The canopy above, once thick and oppressive, was thinning. Shafts of pale sunlight began piercing through, illuminating his path with a guiding glow. The forest itself seemed to be recoiling, drawing inward as if bracing against some terrible force.
Another impact hit, sending shockwaves tearing through the trees. The force hurled him forward, and he crashed into a massive ancient trunk, bark scraping his chest and arms as he fought to regain footing. He scrambled to his feet, breath ragged, blood still dripping from his shredded feet.
"The kings of this forest are fighting," Morak's voice cut sharply through his panic, appearing beside him as though from nowhere. His blue glow lit the twisted shadows of the trees for a heartbeat. "Beastly kings who reign over this entire basin. The forest itself is shriveling in response, attempting to weather their conflict. It would be wise to increase your pace. The lesser beasts are hiding—they sense the danger. But there is no time for hesitation." And just as quickly as he appeared, Morak was gone, leaving only the echo of his warning.
Augustus obeyed. He pushed his legs harder, running with a furious precision, balancing speed against stamina. The winding paths revealed themselves as the forest withdrew, the undergrowth parting like water before his steps. With each stride, the light touched more of his skin, breaking through the shrouded gloom and diminishing the suffocating occlusion that had made direction impossible.
Minutes passed in a blur of motion, until at last the oppressive darkness gave way entirely. He had reached the far edge of the forest. The canopy lifted, the shadows receding, and the air, once thick with the musk of predator and rot, felt almost breathable again. The forest had released him—not entirely, for it remembered his presence—but it had conceded this path, and Augustus felt, for the first time since that living tomb, the undeniable taste of survival.