Zeirdin gained consciousness to the sun burning his eyelids and the jovial chirping of bird song. Slowly, he peeled his eyes open. Instead of the clear blue sky of the open desert, his eyes were greeted by the canopy of the jungle. Zeirdin rolled over onto his side, splashing in the warm muddy water of the forest floor.
“The fuck?” The last thing Zeirdin remembered before blacking out was the cackles of the yemlins. That happened near the cliffs of the pit, not in it. They must’ve dragged me into the pit while I was dead. Zeirdin pushed himself up into a sitting position and winced. Sharp pain exploded all over his body. Zeirdin looked down at himself. He was covered in dried blood and missing chunks of flesh. It was a truly sickening sight. Teeth marks, raw skin, gashes, and visible muscle covered every inch of his body. His clothes were in tatters. All that remained of his shirt was a scrap of fabric hanging over his shoulder. His pants on the other hand were in much better condition, only missing the legs. My legs. Something was off about his legs. Zeirdin pulled the tattered edge of the pant leg up, revealing a conspicuous line on the skin below his knee. The portion of his leg below the knee had a much paler complexion and was soft to the touch, like the skin of a newborn.
“Oh my god.”
Zeirdin looked over the rest of his body, realizing in horror that the edges of all his wounds were slowly writhing and drawing closer to each other. He was regenerating. This was no doubt thanks to the butterfly. Zeirdin looked down at his right index finger. Just like in the dream, there was a black butterfly engraved on his fingerpad.
Zeirdin looked at his surroundings. Bald Cypress trees surrounded him. Beyond the cypress trees, enormous luscious plants densely covered the ground. Zeirdin swatted at the swarm of flies that accumulated, drawn by the scent of his blood. He looked around him at the ground for any sign of his gear. Nothing. Not even his utility belt remained.
“I’m so fucked,” Zeirdin muttered. He had no food or clean water. Luckily, it was fresh water otherwise the dense flora couldn’t grow so close to the water. Zeirdin wanted to at least find running water if he was forced to drink it. He stood up. Zeirdin knew he needed to find food and shelter first. Splashing through the shallow water, he looked down at his feet. The yemlins had eaten off both legs, leather boots included. His feet regenerated without footwear as one would expect. Zeirdin winced with each step, his open wounds stinging against the air and water.
Zeirdin walked. His feet were sore from stepping on sticks and small rocks. The jungle was full of life. Past the cypress trees were Live Oaks with their spidery arms extending toward the sky. Birds, small mammals, and insects could be found everywhere. Mosquitoes gladly consumed Zeirdin’s blood. Each step was followed by either a crunch or a splash.
Zeirdin didn’t know when, but the bird song had stopped.
“Huh,” Zeirdin thought to himself. He heard rustling in the distance, but that was normal in the jungle. The rustling slowly grew in distant cackles. “Oh no,” Zeirdin began to run in the opposite direction of the noise, heart pounding in his ears.
“FUCK. I have nothing to fight with,” Zeirdin tripped multiple times on vines and roots. He was too slow. They were going to reach him. Zeirdin turned around with his back to a massive mangrove tree. He circulated his mana, heeding Lumia’s advice, only circulating a small amount. Gradually, he sped it up to a decent speed. His body burned. The yemlin horde burst through the dense jungle cover cackling and screaming. Zeirdin counted 15 of them. Three yemlins pounced on him at once, claws swinging. Unable to retaliate, he blocked his face with his forearms. Zeirdin yelped. Their claws shredded his forearms, burning lines of pain blossoming across them. Another four attacked him from behind, going for his legs on the ground. They were short and vicious. Zeirdin kicked at one with an enhanced shin sending it flying with a crack. A spark of hope was lit in his chest but was immediately dashed. The yemlin got up immediately, its arm crooked. The yemlins did not waver in their assault, six yemlins tore his flesh out with razor-sharp teeth. Zeirdin was in agony. The rest of the yemlins blocked off his escape, sitting in trees as they watched. He punched at one, breaking its bones with his enhanced fist but it was no use. They were tough. Neofauna were difficult to kill without high-powered bullets. It got back up and joined the feeding frenzy again. Zeirdin’s remaining clothes were soaked in crimson. Getting desperate, Zeirdin began to flail his arms and legs in a desperate attempt to land enough strikes to get them off. From some miracle, Zeirdin was able to hold his concentration, keeping his mana circulation up. It was still no use. His ears rang from the constant shrieking and cackling.
He was about to pass out and die without even slaying one yemlin. Feeling himself start to slip, Zeirdin made up his mind. He grabbed one by its arm and neck, ignoring all the attacks shredding him. The hairless disgusting creature writhed in his arms but Zeirdin did not give. With a last push, Zeirdin brought his circulation up even faster and began to pull on its neck. The yemlin began to shriek, not in excitement or aggression, but in pain. Its skin began to stretch but its neck would not snap. Zeirdin kept pulling, ignoring the agony. Finally, everything gave way and its head came off with a nauseating crack, spraying blood every. Its writhing continued for a moment before the small body went limp. Zeirdin was rapidly losing his strength from his leaking blood. The edges of his vision were already dark. Only his willpower kept him standing. Suddenly his concentration slipped. The mana strengthening his muscles dissipated and the yemlins were finally able to pull him to the ground. The world went black.
2
The sky Zeirdin found himself staring at was filled with stars. It was a welcome change to the red realm below he dreamt about. He shivered.
“I’m still alive, huh,” Zeirdin murmured to himself. His wounds weren’t finished regenerating, so moving hurt. “Is this a curse?” Zeirdin asked the mangrove trees. The only response he got was the howling of the night wind. He was soaked in blood, sweat, and water. Zeirdin spent the night in a hollowed-out log, jerking awake at any creak or rustle nearby.
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5
Zeirdin died another three times before he realized something had to change. Each time he died, his progress out of the pit was practically reset. The yemlins would drag him off to somewhere he didn’t recognize. One death was caused by pure chance. While wandering around, Zeirdin came across a grovewalker android. The machine’s thermal sensors picked him up immediately. This model of grovewalker had been much faster than he expected. The war machine slammed Zeirdin into a mangrove tree. He guessed it had fractured his spine. Paralyzed, Zeirdin had drowned in the knee-deep water. He never wanted to relive that experience.
With each death, Zeirdin learned something. He woke up with enough calories to not feel hungry for half a day. It still wasn’t a fair trade, with how much death hurt, but it eased the urgency of food. He still hadn’t found any. Zeirdin learned he blacked out for about eight hours each death. Sometimes he would dream of the red realm. Every time he woke up from death, he felt terrible and wrong. Zeirdin called it ‘Reintegration’. Zeirdin learned the deadliness of even the weakest foes. Even in a one-versus-one scenario, a cornered yemlin was dangerous and unpredictable.
Zeirdin learned the importance of integration with nature which tied in with stealth. By now, on his third day in the jungle, the yemlins could no longer smell his human scent. The only clothing he wore was pants. Zeirdin desperately wanted to take a bath.
Zeirdin realized they could not only smell him but could also hear him incredibly well, so he began to learn to traverse the jungle quietly. He could wade through water almost silently now, which helped him escape yemlin territory multiple times. Walking on the forest floor quietly was something he was still working on.
Zeirdin’s stomach growled. The last time he died was two days ago and he still couldn’t find any food. He walked silently in the ankle-deep water. Only small fish too small to eat swam here. The bushes rustled lightly ten meters away from Zeirdin. Pre-jungle Zeirdin wouldn’t have noticed. Zeirdin fox walked behind a bush, taking as much time as he needed to make no noise. Through the bush, he watched one yemlin reach the water and drink. Even when calm, the creatures were revolting. I’m so hungry. There’s only one. Would it be worth it? Dying hurt so much, and he would only do more of it from now on with his waning strength. Zeirdin made up his mind.
One step at a time, Zeirdin lightly touched the ground with the ball of his foot. Slowly, he put more weight on it, making sure no twigs snapped. It was slow, but he was now only three meters from the creature. Zeirdin fired up his mana circulation. After fighting death battles on a daily basis, it now took him much less time to reach a usable circulation speed.
He pounced. Zeirdin shot forward at a nearly inhuman speed, legs enhanced with mana. The yemlin reacted to the sound of twigs breaking too late. Zeirdin gripped its neck with an iron fist, preventing any airflow or noise to be made. The creature writhed in his arms clawing and thrashing desperately. Now that he wasn’t moving he could speed up his circulation much faster. With his other arm, Zeirdin grabbed its torso and pulled. His enhanced arms were nearly superhuman in strength now and were no match for the yemlin. In one swift motion, he tore its head off. Foul-smelling blood spewed from its severed neck. It stopped thrashing.
“Dinner is served,” Zeirdin said to the trees. He immediately regretted it, cringing inwardly. It sounded much cooler in his head.
The first and last four bites were the hardest. To say that the raw yemlin was foul would be an understatement. It was putrid, oily, and smelly. Zeirdin was only able to keep the meat down thanks to all the hardships he had previously experienced.
Zeirdin knew that if his digestive system could handle the raw meat, it would have benefits. Neofauna were originally artificial lifeforms designed for war, created through the vile marriage of technology and magic. Each of them possessed mana circuits which allowed for them to accumulate a small amount of mana. Eating raw neofauna provided a small bit of unrefined zinnia to the consumer. Zeirdin didn’t know how much was in the yemlins, but if it didn’t destroy his insides, he supposed he should get at least a little benefit.
Zeirdin survived another two days, subsisting off of a yemlin. He had diarrhea the first night but it went away luckily. The jungle of the pit was merciless, and even when Zeirdin did his utmost best to be stealthy, it was never enough. Luck had a bigger role than he thought, keeping him alive the three days. During this time he made nearly no progress from constantly backtracking, running, or taking detours to avoid hostile creatures. He simply wasn’t strong enough. If yemlins were the only problem, he would probably have a much easier time. As he would come to learn, while vicious and terrifying, they were much more forgiving than the war machines that roamed randomly throughout the jungle.
Zeirdin made an obscene gesture at the sky, laughing to himself bitterly. He’d always somehow gotten the short end of the stick, but this time the short end of the stick was shoved in his rectum. Maybe it was a blessing he’d gotten the short end in this case, but It still sucked.