The descriptions of the forest was quite uniform to most of its inhabitants– hungry, subtly alive and draped in mist. But to the figure in vines, it was merely a forge in need of heat.
He moved through the bulking undergrowth with silent grace, seemingly phasing through the gnarled trees along his path. Craftsmanship was his forte, alone side absurdity. Typical forgers hammered at the weird forest iron and quenched their blades in spirit-enriched water. He however, just willed his weapons into existence with mental crafting. It was absolute, but annoyingly specific: he could only use battle seeds to create them.
He was currently heading towards a dim radiance bleeding out from a node in a collosal tree. Common sense told him that such light was sign of human presence, and human presence meant availability of battle seeds need to complete his current project. His hands twitched involuntarily, his mind sharp with calculations on how to harvest their lives.
He took a crouch to catch his breath, and just as he prepared to dash towards the light... something sounded.
An unadulterated scream of soul wrenching agony flew through the mist, erupting into the night. Before its echo faded, the forest had answered. A chorus of inhuman roars and hisses floated up from all over. No doubt, it wasn't good.
The figure in vines leapt up, scaling unto a mossy branch. Silence threatened to fill back into the night as sound died out. For moments the quiet won, then–
The forest floor transformed into a river of motion. The figure's eyes narrowed as he watched hundreds of predators flash by, hungrily barreling in the direction of the wail. But as he watched, he caught sight of a shape that didn't look like the crowd, and didn't fit its frenzied energy.
It was a tiger, but unlike anything he had seen before. It wasn't flowing with the pack; it was hunting the hunters. With terrifyingly fluid lashes, it bought down multiple beasts with losing a beat in pace.
'This is one to watch out for,' he thought as a cold tingle traced his spine.
Although he had little need for cores personally, it could be used to trade with other entrants for his staples, so he trailed the crowd, swiftly harvesting any cores he could while careful not to get close enough to be noticed. But as he performed his cleanup, he noticed a larger contingent of predators, a few hundred metres away, rushing in the direction of the Chamber.
His jaw tightened. Chamber had grown exponentially in force over the last few weeks, but he doubted they could take a blow like this and not go back to square one. He could not let that happen, not yet.
He reached out into his wraps and pulled out a silk blade. It was so thin that it looked more like a giant needle than a sword. He dropped down from the branch and surrendered himself to the element of the unholy: darkness.
He feet seemed to glide across the leaves, almost avoiding surface contact as he blitzed through the forest that had now smeared into a mash of grey and green.
Then, the ground trembled.
A rhythmic compact thud shook the ground to his left and bounced little pebbles up and about. He turned his head just as a chitinous grey mass burst through the stadium of shrubbery. But he had seen its jagged horn a moment too late.
The horn clipped his boot, sending him spiraling with astronomical force. He skipped across the muddy ground, feeling his frame of reference clutter. He gasped as the rhino set its stance of a second charge. He sprang up instantly, dashing to the left a bit too predictably. As the beast lunged to intercept him, he stopped with abrupt grace. It caught wind of his plan, but its hulking frame did not let it adjust accordingly. It thundered past him, carving of deep troughs of mud as it struggled to pivot.
The reports from Chamber had been correct: the beast was a terrifying juggernaut, but it fought inertia more often than its opponent.
The vined figure didn't waste the opening. The plates that covered the rhino might have been nearly impenetrable, but the seams jointing them weren't. He lunged forward, driving his needle-like sword into the line between the rhino's foreleg. The beast jerked with violence, almost throwing the forger off his feet. Then it turned, its eyes radiating with harrowing intensity. It didn't just charge this time, it swung its head in irregular arcs, turning its head into a wrecking ball. The forger retreated violently, dancing backwards with slight imbalance.
He didn't dare to meet the beast head on. Every time it lunged, he exploited its inertia weakness, and struck it from all angles in a flurry of stabs. He ducked under the upwards jab, sliding under its belly to puncture its flank. The strike drew blood, but the vitality of the beast seemed infinite.
The rhino roared, stomping around in hopes of plowing through his skull. He rolled to the side just as its hooves found the mark were he had just laid. The forger scrambled to his feet, heaving raggedly in hitched breaths. He darted again, aiming for its knee in order to render it partially immobile. The rhino snorted, slamming its shoulder into him. The forger flew backwards, hitting a tree with a thick bang. His footing loosened, but he held up.
The battle was becoming more pointless the longer it dragged on. He could penetrate the beast's armour, but the wounds he inflicted on it were too shallow to subdue it. He didn't blame himself too much. His abilities weren't best suited for the warrior role, instead for manipulation of essences in forgery. All things considered, he was actually doing quite well.
He looked at the rhino as it planted its feet for yet another charge. The beast wasn't in the best of states, but it was still as furious as ever.
"Enough of this," rasped the tired forger.
He knew he wasn't going to win a fight of endurance, so he'd rather gamble it all on one final exchange. He exhaled, channeling the last of useable spirit into the tip of his needle blade. As he did, the weapon began to shimmer with a faint blue.
The rhino lowered its head, its horn angled directly at his heart. It bellowed loudly, preparing for the decider too.
The forger did not shiver, nor did he retreat. Instead, he boomed for it as it did for him. Two forces; one of unstoppable rage and the other of piercing precision.