The trees were still.
Like the bones of giants — pale, tall, stripped bare. Their trunks rose in silence toward a choked sky, branches like claws wrapped in cold mist. No birds. No animals. Just mud, roots, and the endless green of a cursed forest.
A crunch of boots broke the silence.
Leon stepped off the gravel path and into the tree line. Behind him, forty-nine men followed, staggered by three meters each. They wore black-grey field coats. Water canteens on their hips. Some with repeaters slung over shoulders and others with rifles. Packs filled with ammo, rations, and rationed hope.
No artillery.
No mortars.
Just men and rifles walking into the unknown.
A voice buzzed over the radio clipped to Leon's vest.
—"Team Fourteen. Camp set near fallen log ridge. Building perimeter. Marking location now."—
Leon didn't answer yet. Just glanced back at his squad. A few grinned. One lit a cigarette. A couple muttered about the smell.
Another radio transmission broke through.
—"Team Nine here. Found a ridge, setting camp. No signs of movement yet. Place is dead quiet. Marking."—
Then static.
Then laughter.
—"Hey, Team Eleven. Don't piss on any weird rocks. Might summon some shit."—
Someone else replied.
—"Weird rocks? Bro, we just saw a stump shaped like a woman's ass. Tempted."—
Another voice, this one deeper, cracked in—
—"You horny idiots better not be the reason we all get eaten by trees."—
Leon rolled his eyes.
Then clicked his mic.
"This is Team Forty. Last unit entering grid. Clock started. Moving east-northeast. Will report any contact or terrain."
He released the button.
The forest swallowed the sound.
Ten minutes passed. Then twenty.
Still no animals. Still no birds. Just bugs. Fat, slow, wet-looking beetles crawling over roots. Mud worms twisting through moss. Nothing worth shooting. Nothing worth trusting.
"Why the fuck is it so quiet?" one of Leon's men whispered.
"Because this place is cursed," another said, half-joking, half-not.
Leon raised a fist. The squad stopped.
There it was.
Just off to the right — half-buried in moss and vine — stone.
Carved.
Weathered lines. Curves. A spiral symbol chiseled into the rock face, barely visible under layers of green.
Ruins.
He stepped closer.
A low structure — maybe two meters tall — like a marker or the top of something bigger buried below. Faded etchings ran across its surface. Language long dead.
Leon stared at it, then keyed his mic.
"Team Forty. Spotted something. Looks like ruins. Anyone else seen anything similar?"
Silence.
Then—
—"Team Five here. Yeah… we saw some stone markers earlier. Didn't stick around. No threat. Just old shit."—
Another voice jumped in.
—"Copy that. Same for Team Twenty. Saw some carvings. Ignored it. Forest creeps us out enough without ghost temples."—
Leon looked back at his men. A few were poking at the moss, scratching the stone with bayonets.
He muttered, "Wonder how much money we could get for this crap…"
A few of the soldiers laughed quietly.
"Bet you it's cursed," someone muttered.
Leon waved his arm.
"Move on. We're not grave robbers. Keep east."
The squad pushed forward, boots sucking against wet ground.
After thirty minutes, a rustle came from ahead — not from the forest, but voices. Human.
Leon raised his rifle.
Then lowered it.
Two figures emerged — Team Thirty-Eight. Camouflage dirty, faces tired.
"Leon?" one called.
Leon nodded. "Yeah."
They met halfway. Both squads surrounded the two team leads. One of them, a pale guy with a scar on his chin, looked winded.
"Any contact?" Leon asked.
"Nothing. Yet. But our radio lit up a few minutes ago. You hear it?"
Leon's brow tightened. "No. What happened?"
The man wiped sweat from his nose.
"Some teams reported contact."
"What kind?"
"Wolves."
"Wolves?"
"Big ones."
Leon didn't say anything.
A sharp buzz cut across the radio.
—"Team Sixteen reporting contact. Fast-moving quadrupeds. Black fur. Green eyes. Taking fire now."—
Gunshots. Muffled. Somewhere distant. Then—
—"They're flanking! Fuck! They're flanking! Repeat—" shhhkpopbzzt "—two men down!"—
Silence.
Another voice joined.
—"Team Ten here. Same beasts. Speed-enhanced. Eyes glowing. We got one down, wounded. Retreating to fallback mark."—
Leon cursed under his breath.
Squad 38's leader stepped up. "We'll stick with you for a bit. Better odds if something happens."
Leon nodded. "Fine. Keep your spacing. If something jumps us, I want every barrel hot."
They pushed on together, through moss and fog.
The forest said nothing.
But somewhere… something was listening.