The Anomaly's Path

Clack. Clack. Clack.

The sound of rock against wood echoed through the small clearing near my cave.

I sat cross-legged on the dirt, my shirt tossed onto a nearby rock—it was too damn hot and humid to keep it on—focusing entirely on the piece of wood in my hands. A decent-sized branch I’d found yesterday, straight enough, strong enough.

Now I was turning it into something useful.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

I’d been at this for hours. My hands were raw, blistered, covered in small cuts from where the rock slipped or the wood splintered.

However, I was getting somewhere.

The branch was taking shape—one end sharpened to a rough point, the other wrapped with strips of vine to give me a better grip. It wasn’t a masterpiece. It wasn’t even good. But it was mine.

Clack.

I stopped and held it up, examining my work. The point was crooked. The shape was uneven. A real craftsman would probably laugh at it.

But it would work.

”Finally.” A grin spread across my face as I stood up, ignoring the way my legs protested.

I held the spear out in front of me, testing the weight. Heavy enough to do damage, light enough to throw. The point was sharp enough to pierce—at least I hoped so.

I pointed it at the sky, squinting along its length like I knew what I was doing. The afternoon sun glinted off the crude tip, and for a moment, I felt like a real hunter. Like someone who actually belonged in this damn jungle.

”Not bad, Leo.” I lowered the spear and laughed at myself. Stupid, probably—standing half-naked in the middle of nowhere, celebrating a sharp stick. But after everything I’d been through, this felt like a victory.

A week.

The word echoed in my head as I looked around at the endless green. Trees towering overhead, sounds I couldn’t identify coming from every direction. Behind me, the cave I’d claimed as home. Ahead, the stream that kept me alive. Somewhere out there, everything else.

Time moved differently when you were too busy surviving to count the hours. Wake up everyday, find some food, try not to die, and then get some sleep. Then, repeat.

The days blurred together into one long struggle.

The first few days were a blur of fear and desperation—waking up alone without Nova, running from shadows I never want to know about, finding the stream by luck, almost getting killed by something I never even saw.

I’d stumbled onto this cave completely by accident, chasing a rabbit I eventually caught.

Since then, I’d almost died more times than I could count.

Tried catching fish and failed spectacularly. Ate a fruit that nearly killed me—spent a whole night convinced I was going to die alone and pathetic in some random jungle. Got my food stolen by a troop of monkeys and spent a day hungry and furious.

But somewhere in all that failure, things started changing.

I also started noticing things about this place. The air felt different here. It was thinner.

When I tried to draw on my mana—just a little, just to test—it was like reaching for something that wasn’t quite there. Back home, even with my low rank, I could always feel it flowing around me, through me.

But here?

It was like trying to breathe at high altitude. The same effort, half the result.

Where the hell am I...?

I didn’t have an answer. Probably wouldn’t get one anytime soon.

A chittering sound came from above. I looked up to see a small figure dropping from a branch, landing on the ground a few feet away with practiced ease.

”Morning, Shithead.”

The monkey—a scruffy little thing with brown fur and way too much attitude—chittered at me like he was complaining about the greeting. I’d named him a few days ago, after he’d stolen half my berries and thrown the rest at my head.

He’d shown up right after I’d eaten those poisonous berries.

I’d spent the whole night throwing up, convinced I was going to die, and this little bastard had sat in a tree watching me like it was entertainment. The next morning, he’d dropped a different kind of berry at my feet—the kind that were actually edible.

I still didn’t know if it was luck or intelligence. But he’d been hanging around ever since.

”Don’t give me that look,” I told him. ”You’re the one who stole my food.”

Shithead chittered again, hopping closer. He didn’t seem scared of me anymore. Maybe he’d decided I wasn’t a threat. Maybe he just liked watching me suffer. Probably both.

”I need to find a village,” I said, more to myself than to him. ”Or a town. Something. I can’t stay here forever.”

The stream had to lead somewhere.

Shithead scratched his ear, unimpressed.

”Right. Well. First things first like always, I need to get some food. But hehe, lucky for me.”

I stood up, spear in hand, and walked toward the stream. ”This spear would help me in collecting fish.”

Shithead followed, hopping from branch to branch above me.

The water was clear and cool. Fish swam near the bottom—fat ones, slow ones, perfect for catching. I crouched by the water’s edge, spear raised, and waited. My senses sharpened, that familiar tingle guiding me. I could feel the fish moving, sense their path, predict where they’d be.

One of them swam closer and then I struck.

The spear plunged into the water—and came up empty.

Shithead chittered loudly from a nearby branch. That bastard was definitely laughing at me.

”Shut up,” I muttered, resetting my stance. ”I’m just getting warmed up.”

Another fish approached. I waited, and focused on my senses and listen to it’s sound, and struck again.

This time, when the spear came up, there was a fish on the end—flopping, twisting, very much alive.

”Haha! I got one! I actually got one!”

I pulled it off carefully and held it up. Shithead was hopping up and down on his branch, making excited noises. Even he seemed impressed.

”Ha! Take that, fish. Who’s the hunter now?”

Back at the cave, I built a fire—faster this time—and got to work on the fish, gutting and scaling it before using whatever leaves and roots I could find to add some flavor.

It wasn’t gourmet. But it was better than burnt rabbit.

Shithead sat nearby, watching me intently. That bastard didn’t eat fish, otherwise he would have stolen it from me long ago.

”What?” I asked him. ”You want a cooking show? Too bad.”

He chittered back, probably cursing me out in whatever language monkeys used when they were annoyed.

The sun dipped below the trees as we sat there, the fire crackling between us while the moon rose slowly overhead.

Shithead and I sat outside the cave, bellies full, staring up at the sky. The fish had been good. Best meal I’d had since waking up in this place.

”Finally,” I sighed, leaning back. ”Finally, some good food.”

Shithead made a noise. I took it as agreement.

I looked up at the moon. It was different here—bigger? Brighter? I couldn’t tell. Maybe it was just my imagination. Maybe everything was.

My trial was different from what I imagined. I expected it to be some crazy level shit or thought maybe I’d get to meet the person who is behind my transmigration.

Yet, here I was, surviving in a damn jungle. I just hoped I would survive this trial. I had to evolve my core, no matter what, otherwise I couldn’t defeat the Abyss King.

Honestly? I wasn’t even sure if I could manage to defeat him. But I had to try. No, I have to.

I thought about Mom. About Dad. About Mia. About Lyra. About Nova.

I hope you’re all okay and you’re proud of me.

The jungle was quiet. Peaceful, almost. For the first time in over a week, I felt something close to calm.

I leaned back, watching the last embers of the fire glow orange against the dark.

The sounds of the jungle had softened to a low hum—crickets, the occasional rustle of leaves, the distant call of something I couldn’t name. It wasn’t peaceful, not really, but it was the closest thing to it I’d found since waking up here.

My eyes were heavy, and for the first time in a week, my stomach didn’t hurt. I actually thought I was safe.

Then my instinct screamed at me.

It wasn’t a noise. It wasn’t a movement. It was just a sudden, violent jolt that slammed into my chest and stopped my breath mid-way. A cold chill started at the back of my head and raced down my spine, making every hair on my arms stand up. Every muscle in my body locked tight.

Something was wrong.

I didn’t have to think it. I just knew. The jungle had gone dead silent—no birds, no bugs, nothing. I felt a pair of eyes digging into the back of my neck, heavy and hungry. I wasn’t the hunter anymore. I was prey.

The fire was still burning, but the shadows beyond it had gone still—too still. The crickets had stopped. The leaves weren’t rustling anymore. Even the air felt different, heavier, pressing against my skin like a held breath.

My hand closed around the spear before I made a conscious decision to grab it. I was on my feet, body low, eyes scanning the treeline, and I didn’t remember standing up.

Flash Instinct was screaming in the back of my mind, louder than it had ever screamed before—not a warning, not a suggestion, but a raw, primal command that bypassed every rational thought I had.

Run. Just run. Don’t fight, or you’ll die.

I didn’t run—not because I chose to stay, but because my body refused to move.

My legs were locked, my muscles frozen, caught between the desperate need to flee and something deeper, something older that already knew running wouldn’t save me.

The darkness between the trees shifted.

It wasn’t a shadow or the light playing tricks on me. This was something real. Something huge.

It moved through the trees in a way that didn’t make sense—quiet and smooth, like it was sliding through the air instead of walking on the ground. I couldn’t even see its shape in the dark, but I could feel it. Its gaze pressed down on me, heavy and crushing, until I felt like a bug trapped under a glass jar.

It was watching me.

It’s been watching me this whole time.

Shithead was already gone. I didn’t even see him leave. One moment he was there, the next he wasn’t, and I was alone.

The fire flickered, casting long, shaky shadows that seemed to breathe against the cave walls. Then, out in the dark, something moved.