Yang held his breath, terrified beyond belief. He couldn't fight and couldn't run. He had no idea where he could go from here, with no escape route from this tiny space he'd crawled into.
Unlike every other time where the inner instinct had urged him in a direction that was the best course of action, Yang could feel it panicking now. It was running calculations, predicting each action he could take, and evaluating every possible outcome. But nothing looked good. Nothing offered a clear path to safety.
Yang suddenly had an awareness of more about how the inner instinct decided the best course of action. It was like seeing behind a curtain he hadn't known existed. The instinct was powerful, yes, but it clearly had its limitations. Otherwise it would have never let him stay in this cave in the first place. It couldn't predict everything, couldn't see all dangers before they arrived.
Yang forcefully calmed himself down, fighting against the panic rising in his chest. He even managed to get the inner instinct to quiet enough that he could think clearly instead of drowning in its frantic warnings.
He could still feel the instinct running through each option in the background, calculating probabilities and risks. But for now, Yang was able to think for himself.
He could feel that whatever beast was outside had figured out his position. It had no reason to be prowling directly in front of the place he was hiding otherwise. It knew he was in here. It was just trying to figure out how to get to him.
Yang couldn't see what it was in the complete darkness, but he knew it was far stronger than him. Otherwise he wouldn't have felt the inner instinct panicking like this. The instinct only reacted this strongly when something could kill him easily, when the danger was overwhelming and immediate.
Since the creature already knew he was here, his best option was to get further away from the entrance. Yang scooted backward deeper into the tiny cavern. There wasn't much space, barely enough room for his small body, but every inch of distance might matter.
Then he saw movement at the cavern's entrance. Something blocking the faint light from outside.
Yang could slightly make out the creature as it stuck its head inside the opening. It looked like a lizard, with a long thin tongue that kept flickering in and out. Yang felt the tongue touch his feet before he sharply drew them to his chest by bending his knees, making himself as small as possible.
He was really scared now. He couldn't see the color of the creature in the darkness, and couldn't tell how large it truly was. But he could see it trying to push its head further inside toward him. When that didn't work, it withdrew and tried using its clawed hand instead, reaching into the cavern and scraping at the stone floor, trying to hook him and drag him out.
Yang didn't know how long the lizard kept trying to get to him. Time lost all meaning in the darkness. He was terrified and exhausted, curled into the smallest ball possible with his back pressed against the rear wall of the tiny space. He held his legs so tightly to his body that he started losing feeling in them from the restricted blood flow.
Yang loosened his arms slightly around his legs and felt the sharp pinprick pain of blood flowing back into his limbs. The sensation was almost welcome after the numbness.
He thought the best strategy was to wait the lizard out. How long could it stay positioned in front of the cavern's entrance? It had to leave eventually for food or water or something. But Yang also wondered how long he could stay inside this tiny space. Forget about food and water, he couldn't even stretch his limbs out in here.
He sat there waiting. After what felt like hours, the lizard moved away from the entrance and Yang could see that dawn was approaching. He heard the sounds of the forest more clearly now, birds and insects waking to greet the new day. It would be only a few more minutes before there was proper light.
Yang waited a few more hours until it was bright outside, sunlight streaming through the cave entrance. He considered trying to leave, hoping the lizard had given up and wandered off. But just as the thought formed, he felt his inner instinct warn sharply against it.
Apparently the creature was still there and waiting.
Yang waited and waited. He kept thinking of ways to escape, but each plan got discarded because the inner instinct kept warning against it.
It was almost night again, only an hour or so until sunset, and the lizard still had yet to leave. It was clear by now that the beast had decided to wait him out. And the problem was, the lizard was right in its strategy. Yang couldn't stay in here long term. He would keep growing weaker and weaker from dehydration and starvation.
It had already been a full day since he'd had water. His mouth was dry, and his throat scratchy. His stomach cramped with hunger, though that was less urgent than the thirst.
Yang also considered eating a beast core and trying to gain more power to defeat the lizard. But he knew he couldn't sit still during the agony that would follow. He would flail and thrash uncontrollably, and it would be much easier for the lizard to drag him out once he was within reach of the entrance, writhing in pain and unable to defend himself.
But what other choice did he have?
Get out now and fight to survive with his current strength, knowing he was far weaker than the creature waiting outside. Or try to wait it out, hoping the lizard would leave soon before Yang was too dehydrated and starved to even walk, then pray that if he managed to escape, nothing else came along to harm him in his weakened state. Or eat beast cores now and take a chance at becoming stronger, with the risk of the lizard managing to capture him once he was out of his mind with agony.
All three choices had significant danger attached. All three could easily result in his death. But ultimately, Yang felt eating the beast cores had the least risk and the most likely chance of survival. He felt the inner instinct reluctantly agree with his assessment, though it radiated worry and uncertainty.
Yang was scared. But he'd decided to walk this path of danger after eating the first beast core. He'd known a day like this would come eventually. He'd just hoped it wouldn't be so soon, before he'd grown strong enough to handle such threats.
Yang took his rope and began tying himself up. He secured his legs together tightly, then bound his torso, leaving only one arm free. He needed to keep his limbs away from the entrance so the lizard couldn't grab him during his thrashing. He also tied himself to a large rock protruding from the cavern floor, making a secure anchor point to ensure he didn't accidentally get close to the entrance while out of his mind with pain.
Yang placed several beast cores on the floor near his loose hand. He'd gathered many cores during his journey. He didn't know how many to take. One had been agony. What would multiple do?
But he needed the strength if he was going to survive what waited outside.
Once Yang was as satisfied as possible with his preparations, he took a handful of cores. Six of them, their colors varying from pinkish orange to deep red to pale blue. He looked at them in his palm for a long moment, knowing what was coming.
Then he put them all in his mouth at once and swallowed.
It was painful swallowing so many at once, like trying to swallow broken glass. The cores scraped down his throat, sharp edges catching on his esophagus. At least that pain didn't last long before he was engulfed in the familiar burning agony.
But this was worse. So much worse than one core. This was six cores dissolving in his stomach simultaneously, six sources of liquid fire spreading through his veins at once.
Yang's body convulsed violently. His back arched against the ropes binding him. His free arm flailed wildly, scraping against the stone walls. A scream tore from his throat, raw and animal, echoing through the small cavern and out into the main cave.
The ropes held. Barely. Yang thrashed against them with strength he didn't know he possessed, the cords digging into his flesh and drawing blood. But they kept him anchored to the rock, kept him from being dragged toward the entrance where death waited.
The burning was everywhere. In his bones, his blood, in every cell of his body. It felt like he was being unmade and remade simultaneously, torn apart and rebuilt with each agonizing heartbeat.
Yang could feel the lizard at the entrance, could sense it getting excited by his screams. It reached into the cavern again, claws scraping across stone, trying to hook him and pull him out. But the ropes held. The distance was just barely too far.
The pain intensified impossibly. He couldn't think, couldn't do anything but endure the torture consuming him from within.
Thankfully, mercifully, relief came in the form of unconsciousness. Yang's thrashing slowed, then stopped. His body went limp against the ropes. His head fell forward onto his chest.