After running for nearly seven hours straight, Stiles finally stopped, his legs burning with exhaustion. He glanced around, scanning the dense forest, his breath shallow but steady as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.
Dante slowed down beside him, his chest heaving with the effort to catch his breath. "Man, what the hell are we running toward? You've barely said a word. What's going on?"
Stiles stood still, eyes darting, searching for something just beyond the trees. "When the gates opened... one of them opened where my father lived. I haven't seen him since. But I—" He paused, the shadow of uncertainty crossing his features. "I keep seeing something, something in the corner of my vision. A shadow, like it's leading me here."
Dante raised an eyebrow. "A shadow? You've been chasing shadows? That's what's got you all worked up?"
Stiles didn't respond immediately. His gaze was locked on the horizon, where the forest began to thin, revealing nothing but an empty clearing. The shadow he had seen wasn't here, not anymore. "I don't know," he muttered, his voice tinged with doubt. "It's not just a feeling. I saw it, clear as day. Like it was guiding me, pulling me forward."
"Guiding you to where?" Dante pressed, but Stiles wasn't listening. His attention was fixed on the flickering movement in the trees—a silhouette that seemed to vanish the moment he focused on it.
"I don't know," Stiles repeated, frustration creeping into his voice. "But I can't stop. I can't turn back. Not yet."
With a resigned sigh, Dante wiped the sweat from his brow. "Alright... shit, I'll follow you. But this better be a damn good clue or something for dragging me through the woods for hours."
Stiles didn't reply. Instead, he started walking again, eyes scanning every shadow as it led him deeper into the unknown.
The heavy sound of footsteps echoed behind them, and soon SteelArm caught up, his large frame a silent presence in the tense air. Together, the trio stood before a forest of twisted trees, their gnarled trunks shrouded in dark energy and mist that seemed to swirl and pulse with an eerie life of its own.
Stiles looked at the forest, his jaw tight as he inhaled a deep breath. The weight of the air around him seemed to press in, as if the forest itself was alive, watching, and waiting. He exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing with determination.
"This... is where I need to go," Stiles said just loud enough they could hear, his voice steady despite the overwhelming sense of dread that churned in the pit of his stomach. He stepped forward without hesitation, his boots crunching softly against the earth. SteelArm and Dante stepped in with him.
The moment their feet touched the threshold of the mist, a crushing wave of mana slammed into them. The force was immediate and brutal, an invisible weight that pressed down on their bodies, forcing them to slam down into the ground on their stomachs. It felt like the world itself was trying to crush them under its oppressive force.
"W-what the hell kind of pressure is this?!" Dante gasped, struggling to catch his breath as his body struggled under the force. His arms shook with the effort of holding himself upright, and sweat beaded on his forehead. He could barely stand, but he wasn't about to fall behind.
Stiles grimaced, feeling the weight of the mana pressing down on him like a physical force, crushing his chest and making it hard to breathe. His body trembled, but his eyes never wavered from the mist ahead. He clenched his fists, forcing his feet to move. Slowly, agonizingly, he took another step forward, each movement a battle against the suffocating pressure. He refused to go back, not without answers.
SteelArm, gritted his teeth and pushed against the mana's force. His massive frame shuddered with the strain, but he refused to let Stiles face this alone. With a strained grunt, he forced his legs to move, inching forward behind Stiles. The weight of the mana felt like a mountain on his shoulders, but he was determined to follow, no matter how slow.
Dante, gasping for air, finally managed to regain some semblance of control. His breathing was shallow, each inhale a struggle, but he managed to push past the initial shock. His eyes darted between Stiles and SteelArm as he forced his legs to move, albeit at a much slower pace. "You've got to be kidding me..." he muttered under his breath, but he kept moving, unwilling to let his friends go into this unknown alone.
Each step felt like walking through a storm of invisible chains, but they refused to stop. The deeper they pushed into the forest, the denser the mist became, twisting around them like living tendrils. The oppressive weight of mana didn't let up, and the deeper they went, the more unnatural the silence became.
Then, something shifted.
The mist ahead swirled violently before pulling back, revealing a creature unlike anything they had ever seen.
It stood tall—elegant yet unnerving, its translucent body shifting like liquid, constantly warping between forms. At one moment, it resembled a towering stag with branching antlers made of moonlight; the next, it was a serpentine beast coiling through the air, its eyes gleaming with an unnatural glow. But it was never solid—never real—always shifting, as if the creature itself was a mere thought given shape.
Dante took a step back, his instincts screaming at him. "What the hell is that…?" His voice came out hoarse, his body tensed.
SteelArm tightened his fists, his keen eyes tracking the flickering changes of the being. "That's not normal man."
The creature's shifting form flickered again, and now it was surrounded by shadowy figures—figures of people they had lost, faces they recognized. SteelArm saw his fallen comrades, men he had once fought beside, standing at the edge of the mist, calling his name. Dante saw his brother, his expression blank, his mouth moving as if whispering something he couldn't hear.
The illusions clawed at their minds, threatening to pull them under.
"Snap out of it!" Stiles growled, shaking his head violently to break free from the trance. He forced himself to move forward, his instincts screaming that the creature wasn't just showing them illusions.
"This bastard is feeding on our hesitation, our memories, and our pain," Stiles growled, his voice cutting through the fog like a blade.
The illusionary creature loomed before them, its shifting form flickering erratically as if it realized its prey was slipping from its grasp. Faces of the past twisted in and out of existence within its formless body—whispers of lost loved ones, regrets, and fears—but Stiles no longer saw them. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply before exhaling in a slow, controlled breath. Then, in an instant, he shut off every emotion, every lingering doubt. His mind became a void. When he stepped forward, it was as if the crushing weight of mana had never existed.
SteelArm and Dante exchanged glances. Gritting their teeth, they forced their lingering memories down, suppressing them with the weight of different thoughts—memories of victories, of laughter, of moments that held no pain. The oppressive mana trembled before peeling away, its hold on them fading like mist in the morning sun.
The illusionary creature shuddered. For the first time in it's entire existence, it let out a sound—a hollow, distorted wail that echoed unnaturally. Then, the mist around them darkened.
From the shadows of the forest, a figure stepped forward. It was humanoid, yet utterly inhuman. Its body was composed of writhing darkness, its form shifting and twisting like liquid void given shape. The air around it distorted, warping reality as if it did not belong in this world. Two piercing eyes—red like smoldering embers—locked onto them.
Stiles halted. His instincts screamed.
SteelArm clenched his fists. "This thing... it's not an illusion."
Dante pulled out his daggers, his muscles tensed. "No. This one's real."
The shadowed figure made no sound. It simply raised an arm—long and clawed, its fingers stretching like living tendrils. Then, without warning, it attacked.
A tendril of pure darkness lashed out, moving faster than a whip crack. Stiles barely managed to sidestep, feeling the sheer force of the strike carve a deep scar into the earth where he had stood.
SteelArm roared, slamming his foot down and launching himself forward like a cannonball, his fist cocked back. The moment his punch connected with the shadow's body, the impact erupted in a shockwave—yet the creature barely staggered. Instead, the darkness around its form rippled before striking back, sending SteelArm skidding across the ground.
Dante vanished in a blur, appearing behind the shadow, his spear thrusting toward its neck. The blade connected, but instead of cutting flesh, they passed through the darkness as if striking water. The figure twisted unnaturally, its head snapping backward at an impossible angle. A tendril shot out from its chest, narrowly missing Dante's throat as he flipped away just in time.
Stiles didn't hesitate. He surged forward, his twin blades flashing as he aimed for its chest.
Stiles' blade cut through its form, but the moment his weapon left its body, the wound sealed like water rippling after a stone had passed through. His eyes narrowed. "Physical attacks won't work…"
The creature shifted again, its body stretching like a shadow cast by flickering flames. Then it split—three identical figures now surrounded them, each moving independently but with the same glowing red eyes.
SteelArm spat. "Oh, that's just bullshit."
A pulse of energy erupted from the figures, distorting the space around them. The forest warped, the trees twisting into grotesque figures, their branches stretching like skeletal hands. Trees formed into giants holding trees as weapons as the entire forest was alive and wanting to kill the three of them.
Stiles' blade cut through the air, aimed straight for the nearest figure. But before it could land, the creature's form shifted.
Its entire body unraveled into strands of darkness, twisting and reforming in the blink of an eye. The three figures elongated, stretching unnaturally before merging into one.
Then, the air itself trembled.
A thunderous roar erupted as the figure expanded, limbs thickening, bones cracking, and flesh taking shape. In an instant, a colossal beast stood before them—a towering, nightmarish dinosaur wreathed in swirling shadows. Its jagged teeth gleamed like obsidian, its glowing red eyes locking onto them like a predator sizing up its prey.
Dante cursed. "Oh, hell no. I did not sign up for all this shit."
SteelArm tensed, fists clenching. "It just keeps changing—" Before he could finish, the dinosaur's body shuddered again, warping mid-motion. Its massive, hulking form compressed, shrinking down in an instant.
Where the monstrous dinosaur had stood, now sat a rabbit.
A small, delicate creature with soft white fur and hollow black eyes. It tilted its head, ears twitching as if mocking them.
Then, as if caught in a flickering nightmare, it stretched, distorted, and split apart once more. The three shadowy figures reformed, standing in perfect unison as if they had never merged at all. Their glowing eyes stared at Stiles, SteelArm, and Dante, unreadable, unknowable.
Then, without a word, they leaped back.
Their forms wavered.
Their eyes slowly closed.
And then, as if swallowed by the very darkness they came from, they faded away. The forest's eerie mist began to recede, the world seeming to return to a twisted version of normal.
SteelArm exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "… What the hell was that?"
Dante wiped sweat from his brow. "I don't know, but I hate whatever mind games that was."
Stiles narrowed his eyes at the empty space where the creatures had vanished.
"They weren't fighting to kill us," he murmured.
SteelArm frowned. "Then what were they doing?"
Stiles shook his head, a grim smile tugging at his lips. "Testing us. Let's be real. If that thing wanted us dead, it would've already finished the job. Just look at Dante's stomach."
SteelArm glanced over, his sharp eyes catching the blood staining Dante's clothes. Dante himself, still caught in the aftermath of the strange encounter, glanced down in confusion. "W-what the hell? When did I get this?"
Stiles gave a dry chuckle, his gaze unwavering. "Exactly. It didn't even try to seriously hurt us. It could've used everything around us—this twisted forest, the very shadows themselves—to tear us apart. But it didn't. Not even close."