The emerald canopy of the island served as a silent witness to a scene of desperate and primal labor. Lifeless stood in the center of his small clearing, the humidity of the tropical air a heavy weight against his skin. He held a bundle of broad leaves in his hands and began to scrub the floorboards he had painstakingly carved from the ancient hardwoods. He moved with a frantic and rhythmic energy, his focus narrowed entirely to the grain of the wood. The boards were stained with the dark and drying ichor of the jungle stalker he had faced, a reminder of the violence that seemed to follow him like a shadow. He washed the wood until the surface was clean, trying to scrub away the memory of the struggle, but the scent of iron and ozone lingered in the warm breeze.
He turned his attention back to the forest. He needed more wood to complete the walls and the roof of his sanctuary. He needed a place where the wind and the monsters could not reach him. For six long and grueling hours, he moved through the dense undergrowth. He used his heavy steel axe to fell saplings and mature trees alike, the blade biting deep into the living timber with every swing. He hauled the massive logs back to the clearing, his two hands gripping the rough bark with a strength that defied the natural order. His muscles, packed with forty kilograms of new and hyper dense mass, bunched and rippled under his skin like the roots of the very mountain he had lifted. Every movement was a feat of high stakes engineering, a testament to the maximized potential of his genes.
As he worked in the silence of the jungle, the grief he had been suppressing began to claw its way to the surface. It was a cold and hollow ache that sat in the center of his chest. He thought of the frozen wastes of Antarctica. He thought of the small cabin and the smell of cedar smoke. Most of all, he thought of Norris. He saw the face of the man who had sacrificed his life to give him a chance to run. The sadness was so intense that his body began to react in strange and painful ways. He started sweating profusely, the salt running into his eyes and mixing with the grime of his labor. The sweat was not just from the heat of the sun, it was from the sheer, agonizing effort of holding back his tears. He refused to cry. He had made a solemn vow to be strong, to be a protector, and he believed that tears were a luxury he could no longer afford.
While he was deep in a particularly thick patch of ferns, he stumbled upon a cluster of plants with silver, heart shaped leaves. He recognized the herb immediately as ashwagandha. He had studied the old texts in the cabin, and he knew the properties of the root well. He dug into the damp earth with his bare hands, pulling the bitter roots from the soil. He wiped away the dirt and immediately ate the plant raw. He needed to calm the storm in his mind. He had to focus on the physical labor of building his home. He could feel the stress and the sorrow beginning to cloud his judgment, a dangerous state of mind for someone trapped in a hostile paradise.
The herb began to take effect, its chemical properties softening the jagged edges of his anxiety. An artificial and quiet peace settled over him. As he stood up, he noticed something he had overlooked in his grief. There were footprints in the soft mud near the treeline, and they were distinctly human. He saw markings on the trunks of the trees that looked like a coded language or a set of directional signs. He realized in that moment that he was not the only person on this island. There were others here, living in the shadow of the jungle. He felt a flicker of hope, but he suppressed it, choosing instead to focus on his task. He kept collecting wood peacefully, moving with the efficiency of a machine. He worked without the burden of sadness or the weight of stress, his mind a blank slate of productivity.
He finally stopped when the pile of timber in his clearing was high enough to construct a manor. He had worked without stopping for a full day and a night, his body fueled by adrenaline and the raw power of the current. He lied down on the bare floorboards, his back against the wood he had scrubbed clean. He rested his battered frame, listening to the steady and heavy drum of his heart. He closed his eyes and allowed the sounds of the jungle to wash over him, the chirping of insects and the distant calls of birds creating a symphony of life. He was exhausted, but he was alive.
He woke hours later with a mouth that felt like it was filled with dust. The intense labor had depleted his fluids, and his body was screaming for hydration. He stood up, his joints popping, and pushed through the thick vines toward the sound of rushing water. He searched for an hour, following the humidity in the air, until he found a river that snaked through the heart of the island. He knelt at the muddy bank, but he did not drink. The water was a murky and greenish hue, smelling of stagnant moss and rotting vegetation. He knew instinctively that it was not drinkable. It was a breeding ground for bacteria and parasites.
The air around the river suddenly grew still. The birds ceased their chatter, and the insects fell silent. Lifeless felt a massive displacement of air behind him, a pressure wave that made the hairs on his neck stand up. His survival instincts, honed in the dark of the cave, toggled into high gear. He dived to his left with a desperate burst of speed just as a gargantuan shadow eclipsed the sunlight on the riverbank.
It was an advanced slave of divinity anaconda. The creature was a nightmare of biological excess, a titan of the reptile world. Its scales were hard and iridescent, shimmering with a sickly blue light. It possessed a size that made the monsters of the southern woods look like mere insects. Its eyes were a piercing and electric blue, designed to see a target from huge distances with perfect clarity. This was an apex predator of the divine hierarchy, a being that existed only to consume.
The monster struck again, its head moving with the speed of a fired projectile. Lifeless dodged the hit after he felt the rush of wind from the massive body. He realized in that moment that this creature was way stronger than him. It was bigger, faster, and possessed a level of power that he could barely comprehend. He began to run. He tore through the brush, his lungs burning as he pushed his legs to their limit. He was a predator of the dark, a king of the deep, but here in the jungle, he was being hunted by a god.
The anaconda was way faster than a human could ever be. It moved through the trees like a liquid ribbon of green and blue death, its body undulating over the forest floor with terrifying grace. Lifeless reached a large hardwood tree and used his axe to cut it down in a single, desperate swing. He used both hands to drive the steel through the trunk, aiming the fall so that the massive weight landed squarely on the head of the snake. The tree shattered against the scales of the beast with a sound like breaking glass. It did no damage. The anaconda did not even flinch, its blue eyes locked onto its prey with unwavering focus.
Lifeless sprinted back toward his clearing, his boots thudding against the earth. He grabbed his sword from the tent, gripping the hilt with both hands. He moved away from his camp, leading the monster into a wide patch of white sand so that his shelter would not be destroyed in the fray. He stood his ground, the salt air whipping his long hair.
"If I am going to die here, it will be from starvation, not you!" he bellowed.
He struck the anaconda with his blade, channeling the white current into the steel until the edge glowed with a faint light. The sword hit the scales and let out a sound like a hammer hitting a bell. The blade did not penetrate. It did not even leave a scratch on the divine armor. The scales were as hard as the foundation of the world.
"Fuck," Lifeless said, his voice a rasp of realization.
The anaconda did not wait for a second strike. It surged forward with a speed that bypassed his guard. It wrapped a massive, cold coil around the waist of Lifeless and lifted him from the ground. It began to squeeze him with a strength that was absolute. The creature intended to turn him into a meal, its muscles tightening with a slow and rhythmic pressure. Lifeless felt his ribs begin to bend. He felt the air being forced from his lungs in a ragged gasp. He used both of his hands to try and pry the massive coils apart, his forty kilograms of new muscle bulging and straining against the scales, but the divine power was too much. The pressure was a physical agony that transcended the pain of the cave. It felt as though his very soul was being crushed out of his body.
Lifeless looked into the cold, blue eyes of the god that was killing him. A single tear escaped his eye and ran down his cheek. He began to cry, his heart breaking under the weight of his failure.
"Goddamnit," he whispered through gritted teeth. "I could never keep up a promise. Even to myself."
He had given up. He let his arms go limp at his sides, the sword falling into the sand. He felt the pressure get more and more painful, the sound of his own bones groaning under the strain echoing in his ears. The world began to grow dark at the edges of his vision. He waited for the final, lethal snap of his spine.
But then, a blur of motion struck the side of the monster. A figure appeared from the treeline, moving with a speed that rivaled the anaconda itself. The stranger delivered a kick with both legs that carried the force of a falling star. The blow caught the anaconda in its midsection, the impact knocking the massive creature away from Lifeless. The coils loosened instantly, and Lifeless hit the sand with a heavy thud. He rolled onto his stomach, gasping for air as his vision slowly returned to him.
A stranger stood between him and the divine beast. The boy was the same age as lifeless, dressed in tattered garments that seemed to blend with the shadows of the trees. His presence hummed with a familiar energy, a resonance of the current that felt refined.
"Fight with me," the stranger said, his voice calm and steady. "It is too strong for me alone."
Lifeless pushed himself off the sand, his muscles screaming in protest. He gripped his sword with both hands, feeling the heat of the white current return to his blood. He looked at the stranger, then at the massive serpent that was recovering from the blow. The two men launched themselves at the anaconda with a synchronized and desperate fury. They moved as a single unit, a pair of warriors standing against a divinity in the heart of a forgotten world. The hunt had begun again, and this time, Lifeless would not be the one to die.