(John Smith pov)
Branches snap underfoot as we run.
No, flee.
The forest is a blur of shifting green and brown, streaked with the harsh glare of two suns. Their light filters through the canopy in fractured beams, casting long, sharp-edged shadows that flicker like grasping hands. I barely feel the gash on my leg anymore—Haste and three points in Dexterity see to that—but the dull ache pulses with every step, reminding me that I'm not moving fast enough. My flabby, out-of-shape body protests with each ragged breath, muscles burning from exertion they were never meant to endure.
I can still see it in my mind. That thing. The walking horror draped in stitched-together skins and mismatched bones, its frame shifting. And its head—gods above, its head—half a wolf's skull, hollow eyes burning with something that shouldn't be there.
It spoke.
It fucking spoke.
And it had the voice of that weird kid from Jim's bar. The one who ran off alone yesterday.
I don't have time to think about what that means.
Ahead of me, Karl leads the way, his iron spear gripped tight in one hand. Unlike me, he isn't running on borrowed speed. His endurance is real, earned through training back on Earth. The kind of man who has already killed eight wolves with that spear and is hungry for more. The burn scars covering his arms and neck look almost iridescent in the strange light, mapping constellations across his muscled frame. His shirt hangs in tatters, revealing more burns across his back.
Flanking him is Matthew, moving with efficiency, eyes scanning our surroundings as we run. The teenager's dark skin gleams with sweat, his torn jeans and shredded hoodie barely holding together after our encounters with the forest's denizens. He was the first to spot the stream back then, a narrow ribbon of water cutting through the trees. Good news? We now have fresh water.
Bad news? It was near that thing.
We keep running.
We don't stop until the only sound left is our own ragged breathing.
---------------
Karl raises a hand, signaling us to slow. We obey, pressing ourselves against the thick trunks of a cluster of trees. Our breath comes in short bursts. I struggle to keep mine even, still trying to fight off the creeping hysteria clawing at the edges of my mind. My once-pristine office shirt is now a grimy, blood-stained rag clinging to my soft middle.
Matthew crouches low, peering through the undergrowth, his dark eyes darting left and right. "Don't hear it following us," he murmurs.
Karl nods, scanning the trees. He isn't even winded. "That doesn't mean it's not there."
I swallow, glancing back the way we came. My stomach twists with unease. "What the hell is that thing?" I keep my voice barely above a whisper. "A skinwalker? Some kind of undead?"
Matthew scoffs. "Necromancers don't exist."
Karl's grip on his spear tightens. "Neither did magic, two days ago."
That shuts him up.
I press my back harder against the tree, trying to ignore the shaking in my fingers. "You heard it, right?" I whisper. "It sounded like that kid from the bar."
Karl exhales slowly. "That kid's dead."
"Or worse," Matthew mutters.
A beat of silence.
I don't want to think about what 'worse' could mean.
Matthew shifts, restless. "This is just like that book I read once," he whispers. "Whole town gets teleported to another world, some people get powers, and one guy goes crazy and starts wearing people's skin."
I shoot him a look. "How the hell is that supposed to help?"
"It's not."
I resist the urge to strangle him.
We keep moving through the underbrush, careful to stay low and quiet. The suns are at their peak now, their twin heat beating down through gaps in the canopy. The light is too harsh, making everything feel exposed. My sweat-soaked clothes cling uncomfortably to my body, chafing with every movement.
Matthew wipes sweat from his forehead, his young face creased with worry beyond his years. "At least we won't get rickets."
I blink. "What?"
"Sunlight. Vitamin D. No rickets."
Karl snorts, the sound drawing attention to the web of burn scars across his jawline. "Yeah, great. Now we just have to worry about being skinned alive by a humanoid monster."
Matthew shrugs. "Hey, small victories."
I let out a short, dry laugh. It's forced. But it's something.
Karl smirks. "Besides, if we do get eaten, at least it'll have a balanced diet."
Matthew nods solemnly. "Protein, iron, maybe some calcium if it goes for the bones."
I stare at them. "What the actual hell is wrong with you two?"
Matthew shrugs again. "We cope in different ways."
Karl gives me a sideways glance, his eyes flickering over my soft physique. "And what's your coping mechanism?"
I open my mouth. Close it.
"…Complaining, mostly."
Karl grins. "Figured."
The moment of levity is brief. Too brief.
Because Karl isn't listening anymore.
His expression has gone tight, jaw clenched.
I follow his gaze.
The air in my lungs freezes.
Scattered near the trees, barely visible through the gaps in the foliage, are the blackened, smoldering remains of wolves and goblins. The charred stench hits me a second later, thick and acrid, mingling with the dry earth.
Karl doesn't speak.
He doesn't have to.
I know what he's thinking.
His brother had burned in the bar yesterday, just like these things.
For the first time since we started running, my fear takes a backseat to something colder. Something that curls deep in my gut like a stone.
Karl steps forward and drives his spear into the ground. The earth trembles slightly from the force, a whisper of displaced air stirring the grass. His burned hands grip the shaft so tightly his knuckles turn white.
His voice is low, barely above a growl.
"I'll kill that bitch when I find her."
I say nothing.
I don't like the idea. But I like the idea of being alone in this cursed forest even less.
So I just nod.
-----------------
Matthew has circled around, keeping a careful watch on the perimeter. He returns now, eyes still darting. His torn clothes hang loosely on his lanky frame, the once-bright colors now dulled with dirt and dried blood.
"We need to move," he says. "Staying still too long is a death sentence."
Karl doesn't argue.
I hesitate, then blurt out, "Where the hell are we even going?"
Matthew frowns. "Away from that thing, for starters."
Karl rolls his shoulders, the movement rippling across his scarred muscles. "And toward civilization. There has to be a town or something nearby. We just need to survive long enough to find it."
Matthew exhales, glancing back toward the ruins of the burned bodies. "I don't know if anyone's surviving long in this world."
I don't have an answer for that.
Instead, my stomach chooses that moment to betray me with a low, miserable growl.
Matthew turns. Raises an eyebrow.
"…Shut up," I mutter, pressing a hand against my belly.
"Didn't you take rations as your quest reward?" he asks.
I glare at Karl.
Karl shrugs. "We needed weapons more."
I sigh, rubbing my face.
I had just wanted to have a drink at Jim's bar. Maybe complain about work, drown in cheap beer, and forget about my dead-end accounting job for one damn night.
Instead, I got dumped into a death forest with flesh-wearing monsters and absolutely zero job security.
The superpowers do not make up for it.