The Hunt Begins
Jerry Williams' Perspective
The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and ancient stone, the temple's aura still clinging to Jerry like a phantom touch. The confrontation inside had left its mark—not just physically, but on his mind. The illusion of Mike had been a brutal reminder of the forces playing with him, twisting his emotions into weapons. And the temple itself…
It was never meant to keep something in.
It was meant to keep him out.
Now, standing in the moonlit clearing beyond the ruined walls, Jerry clenched his fists. His armor, now seamlessly bonded to his body, shifted slightly as he exhaled. Vrkane and Bengala flanked him, their forms shifting in and out of their half-human states as their instincts warred with their thoughts.
"We need answers," Bengala said, breaking the silence. "Whoever built that place knew what they were doing. And they knew about you."
Jerry nodded, gripping the hilts of Backbone and Dismay. "Which means we track them down."
Vrkane sniffed the air, his lupine ears twitching. "There's a trail. Not physical, but… wrong. I don't like it."
Jerry glanced at him. "Can you follow it?"
The wolf's amber eyes glowed faintly. "Yes. But we won't like where it leads."
Bengala smirked, baring her elongated canines. "When do we ever?"
With that, they set off into the night, chasing shadows toward the unknown.
---
The Whispering Trail
The forest beyond the temple was unnervingly silent. No birds, no rustling of small creatures—only the wind through skeletal branches, carrying whispers that had no source.
As they walked, Jerry felt the bond between him and his companions hum with quiet energy. His connection with Vrkane and Bengala was stronger than ever, their shared instincts bleeding into his awareness. He could smell the decay in the air, hear the subtle shift in the distant leaves as something unseen moved ahead of them.
Then, the first sign appeared.
A single, withered tree stood in the middle of the path, its bark blackened, its roots curling unnaturally. But what caught Jerry's eye was the symbol carved deep into its trunk—a spiraled mark with jagged hooks.
"The same as in the temple," he muttered.
Bengala's claws flexed. "A warning."
Vrkane sniffed the air. "No. A beacon."
Jerry turned to him, his grip on his swords tightening. "Then we're being led somewhere."
"And not by accident," Vrkane growled.
A soft click echoed from the shadows, followed by the snap of a trap releasing.
"Move!" Jerry shouted.
The ground beneath them collapsed, giving way to a pit lined with glistening black spikes. But they were faster. Vrkane's heightened reflexes had him twisting mid-air, grabbing Jerry's arm as he used the momentum to propel them to safety. Bengala flipped, landing in a crouch, her eyes scanning the darkness for whoever had set the trap.
A slow clap echoed through the forest.
"Well done."
Jerry spun, swords at the ready.
A figure stepped into the pale moonlight, dressed in tattered robes of deep indigo. A hood obscured most of their face, but what little was visible made Jerry's stomach twist. Their skin was cracked, glowing faintly with the same abyssal energy that had filled the temple.
But it was the eyes that unsettled him most. They were black voids, endless and watching.
"You've been searching," the figure said, voice smooth, too calm. "And we have been waiting."
Jerry's pulse quickened, but he held his ground. "Who are you?"
The figure tilted its head. "Who are we? We are the keepers of the unseen, the scribes of the forgotten. We are the hands that build the cages."
Bengala stepped forward, snarling. "Then you're the ones who built that temple."
The figure smiled. "One of many. But that was not its true purpose."
Jerry's fingers curled tighter around his swords. "Then tell me."
A dry chuckle. "You already know."
Jerry's mind flashed back to the feeling—the sense that the temple wasn't meant to hold something inside, but to keep him from reaching it.
The figure took another step forward, their form flickering like a mirage. "The question is, hunter… what will you do now?"
The air thickened with energy, and Jerry knew—this was no messenger. This was a test.
His grip tightened.
He had his answer.
He'd carve it out of them.
---
The First Strike
The figure moved first, or perhaps it had always been moving. One moment, it stood before them, and the next, it was upon them, a wave of abyssal mist curling from its robes.
Jerry's swords flashed, cutting through the air with a brilliance that burned away the darkness. Dismay struck first, its edge biting deep into the mist—only for the blade to pass through, as if slicing smoke.
Vrkane lunged, his claws glowing with latent energy, but his attack found only empty space.
"They're not here," Bengala hissed, her body shifting as she anticipated the next strike.
Jerry pivoted, activating his armor's enhancements. His vision adjusted, and the world became sharper—revealing what the others couldn't see.
The figure wasn't attacking them.
It was multiplying.
Shadow after shadow unfurled from its form, creating countless distorted echoes of itself. Each one whispered, each one laughed, circling them like predators closing in.
Jerry's mind raced. This wasn't a battle of strength—it was a battle of perception.
He closed his eyes.
He focused.
And then he saw.
Not with his eyes, but with his bond—through Vrkane's instincts, through Bengala's hunter's awareness.
There.
One figure. Slightly slower. Slightly more solid.
Jerry moved.
In a blink, he was in front of the true form, Backbone cleaving downward. The figure's hand shot up to block—too late.
The blade bit deep.
The shadows shrieked.
The abyssal forms dissolved, and for the first time, Jerry saw pain flash across the figure's face. They staggered back, clutching their shoulder where his blade had struck.
Then they laughed.
"Good," they whispered. "You are not ready… but you are close."
And then, with a final whisper of abyssal mist, they were gone.
---
What Comes Next
The forest was still once more. The only sound was their heavy breathing, the weight of the encounter pressing down on them.
Vrkane wiped his claws against his fur. "What the hell was that?"
"A warning," Bengala muttered.
Jerry stared at the spot where the figure had stood. No, not a warning. A message.
He wasn't just fighting to find Mike anymore.
He was fighting because something wanted him to.
Something that had been watching him for far longer than he had realized.
And he had a feeling this was only the beginning.
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