The jungle changed once it accepted what I had become.
Not openly. Not violently.
It grew… precise.
Air no longer pressed against lung as every step felt measured and etched across the lines unseen. There were paths that opened at my footsteps. Thorns pulled back just enough not to tear skin. Traps did not vanish, but they did not trigger early.
Now, the jungle could keep a true watch on me.
Beside me, the man displayed all the ease of practice. He neither fumbled nor hurried. If he were reading in a language I had only just begun to comprehend, perhaps the element under discussion-tree lines, shadow, and ground ahead-would also be in his sights.
"Observers," I finally said. "That's what you are, right?"
"That's what we're allowed to be."
I flexed my altered arm; the faint green glow pulsed and settled, feeling heavier than before, denser, like it weighed me to the ground.
"You said there were rules," I said. "For anomalies."
He stopped.
The jungle went still.
"That word," he said quietly, "isn't used lightly."
He turned to face me fully. Up close, I noticed features of him that I had previously overlooked- the old scars crisscrossing his neck, the symbols etched in his armor that were not decorative but functional, constantly shifting slightly; like it was a living ink.
"The jungle classifies everything," he continued. "Beasts. Constructs. Intruders. Prey. Observers."
"And anomalies," I said.
He nodded once. "An anomaly is something that survives beyond its designed limits. Something that interferes. Something the jungle can't fully predict."
I swallowed. "Like me."
"Yes," he said. "And there are rules."
He raised one finger.
"First rule," he said. "Anomalies are denied balance."
I frowned. "Meaning?"
"Meaning you don't get clean growth," he replied. "No smooth stages. No recovery periods. Every increase costs something permanent."
I touched instinctively my chest.
He raised a second finger.
"Second rule. Anomalies attract correction."
Around us, the jungle rustled, faint as though reacting to the word.
"Guardians," he went on to say. "Predators. Specialized hunters. Guarded threats; you won't face random threats anymore. Everything that comes for you will be tailored."
A chill crept down my spine.
"And the third?" I asked.
He hesitated.
"Anomalies are not allowed to leave," he said finally.
The words settled heavily between us.
"Ever?" I asked.
He met my gaze. "No aberration has ever left the Death Jungle."
I laughed gently. "That is reassuring."
"It shouldn't be," he said, "because the fourth rule isn't written down anywhere."
I waited.
"It doesn't kill aberrations outright," he said. "It studies them."
Before I could say anything further, something moved ahead.
A presence.
Not heavy as the guardian. Not ancient as the ravine thing.
Focused.
Human.
The hand of the man moved instantly to the weapon at his side. "Stop."
I froze.
The jungle parted before me, leading out to a wide path, crushed vegetation. Footprints marked the ground—controlled, evenly spaced, deliberate.
Someone else was here.
"Observer?" I breathed.
"No," he said flatly. "Worse."
A sudden temperature drop occurs.
A figure stands between the trees.
Human. Completely human.
He wore dark leather armor reinforced with metal plates, each etched with glowing red runes that pulsed faintly in rhythm with his heartbeat. A long blade rested casually on his shoulder, its edge shimmering with restrained magic.
He locked eyes with me at once.
And smiled.
"Well," he said pleasantly, "would you look at that."
"Hunter," the man beside me swore.
It stung deeper than the sharpest roar.
The hunter's eyes momentarily flicked to my companion and dismissed him. "Observer," he said lightly. "You're outside your allowance."
"I'm escorting," the man snapped.
"Escort all you want," the hunter replied. "I'm not here for you."
His eyes returned to me.
I felt it immediately.
A pull.
Something inside my altered body responded to him: a violent cross between warning and hunger. The heat stirred inside me, unsteady.
"New catch," the hunter said as he neared. "Forced awakening. Sloppy. Expensive."
He tilted his head. "You burned willpower, didn't you?"
My jaw tightened.
"That arm," he continued, eyes gleaming, "isn't regeneration-based anymore. Dense conversion. Interesting choice."
"How does he know?" I muttered.
"Because he hunts your kind," the man said grimly.
The hunter chuckled. "We prefer the term correctors."
He stopped a few meters away, blade lowering slightly—not threatening, but confident.
"Anomalies cause all kinds of trouble within the jungle," he said simply. "You interfere with rituals. You warp with growing cycles. You attract things that should wake up."
His smile widened. "That makes you my job."
The jungle did not react.
That was the worst part.
It accepted him into here.
"You're human," I said. "How are you allowed?"
The hunter's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Because I follow the rules."
He tapped his chest. "Bound contracts. Limited interference. Clean kills."
He pointed his blade at me. "I don't evolve. I don't interfere. I erase."
The man beside me shifted. "You can't engage yet. He's barely stabilized."
The hunter shrugged. "I won't kill him."
I blinked.
"I'll cripple him," the hunter continued pleasantly, "strip the anomaly down to survivable levels. The jungle prefers that."
My heart pounded.
Heat roaring and unstable inside me flared with indignation.
The hunter's smile sharpened. "There it is. You feel it too, don't you?"
He stepped forward.
I reacted.
I moved my altered arm toward him before my mind caught up with my action. The air cracked under the pressure.
The hunter twisted aside effortlessly and slammed his blade into my side.
Pain exploded.
Real pain.
I screamed in agony as my body was thrown back, skidding across the ground. Blood poured freely from the wound, hot and fast.
Did it slow down?
Did it heal?
The loss hit me instantly.
My vision blurred. My strength drained frighteningly fast.
The hunter looked at me calmly. "See?" he said. "No recovery. Every mistake stacks now.
I tried to rise, legs shaking thoroughly.
The man next to me moved to place himself between us. Enough.
The hunter sighed. "Fine. I've confirmed it, then."
He sheathed his blade and turned away.
"This one is unstable," he said over his shoulder. "If he survives another stage, I will return. . .
Once more, he did pause and glance back at me.
"Next time, I won't stop at crippling," he cautioned.
Then he vanished into the jungle; presence faded unnaturally fast.
The silence that followed was oppressive.
I collapsed to one knee, the blood soaking into the dirt.
The man rushed to crouch beside me, pressing cloth against the wound. "Don't move. You will bleed out."
"I thought observers don't interfere," I gasped.
He looked at me grimly. "We can prevent immediate death. Nothing more."
I clenched my fists as the pain burned painfully slow and unforgiving.
This was it.
This was the price.
The jungle had not only stopped treating me as human.
It started counting my fails.
Far away something shifted too again—now aware of not only my existence, but of my instability.
The jungle allowed observers.
It allowed hunters.
But never does it allow equals.
And thus the mark had been drawn on me as something that ought not to exist.