Relaxing in Babel's modern air balloon, I had just shot the Wild King of some random forest near the burned kingdom of Oma.
I hated being here, but Father declared war on this backward land — and I, his loyal son and most dedicated protector, had to follow him.
As I lounged in the balloon, I heard wings flapping and furious screeching. I looked out to see ravens swarming toward me.
Father said this would happen.
Time to run.
I strapped on the sky-glider my crazy but brilliant brother Ruse invented.
I was ironically both his brother and only friend. Because of that, he always gave me his best toys. His masterpiece was the weapon I named Sound-Death.
A sleek instrument of death — metal and wood.
Small metal projectiles loaded into it, and when fired, they rang out like thunder and hit whatever I aimed at.
Ruse even made a smaller version he called a pistol. He named the metal projectiles pellets. I hated that name. Felt like it needed to start with a "B."
Back to my life-and-death situation: I had to escape before the ravens reached me. Still, I wanted at least one shot at these bold birds.
I drew my pistol, ready to shoot the first raven that got too close. Then I heard a hiss.
I turned slowly — and saw something insane.
A raven had dropped a bark-snake into my balloon.
I'd never seen that before. And I'd never faced a snake so feral.
It lunged for my throat, fangs wide open.
I stepped to the edge of the balloon and threw myself off just as the snake struck.
It missed me by the closest margin imaginable.
Time to skydive into the Forest of… something.
I forgot what Dad called it. I think he said:
"No matter what happens, stay on the treetops."
But who cared, right?
I tried recalling Dad's whole plan — the one meant to keep me alive.
Step one: stay high in the treetops, far from the ravens, wolves, and snakes the Wild King commanded.
Once out of their sight, I was supposed to find Father and keep an eye on the injured but still dangerous Wild King while he interrogated him.
If he acted funny, I was allowed to shoot him again.
If his animals interfered, I was supposed to shoot them too.
My only problem was getting back — especially after fleeing to the center of the forest. It was really hard to escape those ravens.
One annoying raven still followed me the whole way.
Wait… the same one that brought the snake?
Was he… the boss of the ravens?
I had to end this.
I fired my pistol at him — and for the first time in history, I missed.
The bird screamed, circled over me, then flew away. Was he mocking me?
I was still in denial. I had the sharpest eye in Babel. How did some random raven defy me?
Then I heard growling.
Strange. Wolves weren't supposed to be on treetops.
I turned — no wolves.
A panther. Wild and starving.
That's when I remembered what Father called this place:
The Forest of Predators.
Good thing my name was Hunter.
Instead of fear, I felt nothing but thrill.
I could fight it but…
I had the King of Slayers waiting for me.
I ran as the panther leapt after me.
Then, looking down, I saw a cheetah racing toward my moving shadow.
What the hell.
Did that raven… put a hit on me?
Of course he did. Because why wouldn't today get worse?
The panther lunged, claws out, eyes glowing with the same energy I saw in kids who hadn't eaten yet and spotted bread. I ducked under a branch, kicked off another, and swung up with the glider.
One shot. Clean. Panther down. I didn't even get to enjoy it because a leopard — smaller, faster, angrier — shot out of a bush like someone had insulted its entire bloodline.
"Really?" I muttered, aiming mid-leap. One bullet to the head. It dropped like it forgot gravity existed.
Then an eagle screeched above me. Great. A flying problem. It dove with the confidence of someone who had never met me. One flap, one twist, one perfect shot through the wing — and suddenly Mr. Sky Boss was Mr. Falling Liability.
I didn't even get a full breath before a baboon hurled a stick the size of my leg at my skull.
"Oh look," I said, dodging it by an inch, "projectile monkeys. Just what the day needed."
It leapt. I shot it mid-air. The rest screamed like I'd killed their favorite cousin and scattered.
Then came the bats.
Of course the bats.
A whole swarm of tiny, squeaking nightmares rushed me from above. "Nope," I said out loud, because sometimes you just have to speak your boundaries.
One shot, one kill, one bat doing aerial yoga mid-death. I weaved through the rest, slapping one off my glider as it tried to hug my face.
By this point I was convinced the raven absolutely put a hit on me. Probably wrote my name on a little tree-bark contract. Probably had a meeting.
"Kill the handsome man ," he squawked.
Such disrespect!
Unbelievable.
I landed on a sturdy branch and caught my breath—or as much as one can with a cheetah and a panther debating my life choices just below.
Then I spotted it: the river. A wide, glimmering line slicing through the forest, all ripples and menace. My sixth sense told me, "Do not jump. Do not touch water. That's not swimming. That's becoming lunch."
But of course, logic and survival were having a polite disagreement in my brain. Because lurking beneath the surface was a crocodile. And not just any crocodile—a hulking, prehistoric nightmare of teeth and muscle that eyed me like I owed it money.
"Really?" I muttered, crouching. "You guys couldn't wait to get to lunch, huh?"
The croc lunged just as I jumped. Its jaws slammed shut inches from my legs. I swear its teeth made that satisfying snap sound like an angry trap. Instinct took over: I vaulted off the closed jaws, twisting in the air like some acrobatic maniac, and landed on a branch across the river.
I raised the pistol. One shot. Clean. Eye. Dead. Croc floating like it forgot the concept of swimming.
"River hazard. Check." I dusted off imaginary sweat and moved on.
Next up: a golden eagle, circling like it had just been given the VIP pass to my execution. I dodged a claw swipe, flipped mid-glider, and fired one precise bullet through its wing. Down it plummeted, squawking indignantly as if I had personally insulted its family tree.
I barely had time to laugh before the baboons came back. Apparently, their cousin funeral wasn't enough—they were staging a full-on reunion assault.
Sticks, rocks, nuts—flying debris from every angle. I ducked, spun, and one clean shot later, the lead monkey's head dipped into the abyss. The others scattered, screaming like they'd just been fired from the circus.
I paused, letting my glider catch the wind. "Forest of Predators," I muttered. "More like Forest of Dead Pals."
Then the bats came again. I swear, they were plotting a coordinated ambush this time. I flipped upside down, backhanded one mid-air, and plugged two with bullets before they even realized I existed. They squeaked. They tried to gang up. I shot another one through its skull. My glider wove like a needle through chaos.
I landed on a high branch and scanned. Nothing. Too quiet. Too… organized. My instincts screamed, wrong.
And then—bam!
From nowhere, a leopard dropped from a branch like it had rehearsed for this moment. Its claws gleamed, eyes locked on me like it had memorized my soul. I aimed mid-leap. Head shot. Down. Dead. Gravity took over.
"Gee, thanks for the dramatic entrance," I said, rolling onto the next branch.
Not a second later, another panther appeared. Oh, lovely. Two identical nightmares with tails and claws. One clean headshot on the first, another on the second mid-jump. By now I was starting to feel sorry for these guys. But then I remembered: predators don't get to have feelings.
Not today.
I twisted, gliding over jagged roots, and saw a cheetah ready to leap at my shadow from the ground. Classic. The ground isn't safe. Never is. I launched a pellet mid-air, hit it dead center in the chest. It toppled back, sliding into a patch of thorn bushes. Perfect. Minimal cleanup. I was practically environmental-conscious in a death-dealing.
Branches swayed, leaves whistled, and somewhere above, the same infernal raven probably updated its hit list. I swore I heard a scribbling sound. "Notes, huh? Really?" I yelled into the wind. "Is there a meeting after this?"
I swung toward another tree, using my retractable hook like a swinging madman, and that's when I saw it: the jungle's final surprise. A golden eagle, a baboon mid-leap, and a vampire bat all converging like they'd coordinated a flash mob.
I laughed. Out loud. "Oh, you think you can take me together?"
One shot, one kill. Eagle down. One shot, one kill. Baboon gone. Bat? Also gone. Perfect rhythm.
My glider hummed, my adrenaline sang, my wit survived intact. I landed on a broad branch near the forest's edge.
Finally!
I was breathing heavier than a marathon runner in a sauna, but alive. Every predator along the way was either dead, scattered, or otherwise humiliated. And my sharp, arrogant grin?
Absolutely intact.
Ahead, in the dense shadows, I could sense him. Father.He was waiting. He had already began his interrogation. He was strangely calm.
As I steadied myself and looked through the lens of Sound-Death, I observed the man I went through all that trouble for.
The Predator among predators. The King of this jungle Of monsters was being questioned by my Father, the one and only Victor Zefar.
I dusted myself off, cocked my pistol, and whispered to myself, "I'm tired of long range staring."
The Wild King's raven wanted me dead. The least I could do was look his master in the eye and put a pistol to his head...
Then, I would just wait. I knew that raven would show up to show off.
This time I wouldn't miss."