Jonan took a breath and vanished deeper into the dusk.
The forest swallowed him whole.
Sky wasn't present above, just branches knotted above like grasping fingers, blotting out the last whispers of light. The air thickened, his breathing felt like pulling a damp cloth through his lungs. Every scent was sharper now, pungent rot, thick moss, something acrid and old.
The farther he penetrated, the more the forest seemed to change, as if it were alive and quietly fighting him back.
Jonan moved low and crawled ahead, dodging through thick roots and snarled undergrowth. Occasionally, he marked his path with small scratches on bark, barely noticeable, even to a trained eye. The rules Elias had laid out echoed in his mind.
No contact. No noise. No deviation. And above all, do not act unless commanded.
But curiosity was a quiet companion, and Jonan found himself observing as he moved.
He came upon the first sign of habitation after half an hour of careful movement. A low structure made of bones and hides, draped in moss. There was smoke, thin and colorless—coiled from a small vent in the roof. He was frozen in silence, watching. A beastkin stepped out.
This one was tall, its fur was the color of ashes. A pair of curved horns framed its head, it had a goat's head, and a slouch physique, with a thick wooden stick behind him. It glided akin to a ghost, sniffing the air. A young cub of it's race followed behind it, smaller and covered in a red pelt, hopping rather than gliding.
Jonan stayed still.
They were a part of the Spectral Horns tribe if he recognized the patterns etched into the hide cloaks correctly. They were known for their heightened senses and territorial behavior, they were proficient in spirit control and were good for scouting, and also attacking the soul of their opponent. They wouldn't hesitate to attack an outsider on instinct.
Jonan remained crouched until the two disappeared behind the structure. Only then did he breathe again and continue.
The landscape tilted, hills undulated and then fell in unpredictable waves, and he walked through a stream so narrow it could hardly be considered one, but he was diligent not to trouble the water. Across from it, he saw what appeared to be a ritual pillar, decked with feathers, claws, and leaves shriveled and wrapped into glyph shapes.
The Nightfur tribe, They are covered in long, dark, shaggy fur. Its face is humanoid but with large, pale, moon-reflecting eyes and pointed ears. A pattern of small, pale markings adorns its forehead.
Unlike the Spectral Horns tribe, the Nightfurs were reclusive. They lived in burrows and tunnels beneath the roots. Jonan knew they believed in spirits of darkness, often offering blood and bone to keep their ancestors appeased. He moved slowly past the totem, his eyes were scanning for hidden hatches or sentries. The soil here was loose. A wrong step might collapse a den.
He found a trail shortly after. Not of a person, not quite. Something had passed through—something heavy, dragging limbs that didn't move with symmetry. The tracks veered off the natural animal trails. A foul stench clung to them.
His heart quickened.
Could it be the newborn abomination?
He followed the trail, pacing himself. The trees pressed tighter here, and the undergrowth grew thicker. Twigs clawed at his cloak. He moved with painstaking care, the silence around him a suffocating shroud.
Then he heard it.
A low snarl could be heard, it was wet and gurgling.
Jonan froze behind a tree, peering slowly around its edge.
There, not twenty paces ahead, loomed a Grade two beast, Behizard.
It was like a fusion of bear and lizard. Heavy shoulders, arms too long, tipped with serrated claws. Its back was a ridge of scales that shifted with every breath. Its head twitched in short jerks, nostrils flaring. Its eyes were too small for its face, but glowed a dull amber in the gloom.
It was sniffing.
Jonan pressed himself into the earth, lowering his heartbeat, and slowing every breath. His body ached with the trepidation.
The beast grunted and shuffled closer. A twig snapped beneath its weight. It lifted its head, sniffing the air again. Jonan's hand slowly found the tiny glass vial at his belt, a scent suppressant powder Elias had given them.
He crushed it silently and rubbed the dust over his gloves and cloak.
The beast paused.
It turned its head, blinked slowly, and then... wandered off.
Jonan didn't move for several more minutes.
Only when he was absolutely certain, that the creature was gone did he rise. His legs trembled. A bead of sweat traced his spine.
That had been close. Too close, he thought defeating the Bandit King made him grow stronger, but he could feel even if the Bandit King was here, he would be squashed to a meat paste by the beast, which just passed by him.
He resumed tracking. The drag marks grew deeper. Something was wrong with whatever made them, its gait uneven, body unstable. More signs began to appear: claw marks on trees too high for regular beasts. Symbols etched into bark that shimmered faintly with dark light.
Jonan knelt by one and studied it. He didn't understand its meaning, but the shape of the glyph resembled a broken eye. The signature of a cursed entity, this was a first for him, he didn't know despite their low intelligence the beasts could pray.
He moved faster now, fueled by a quiet urgency. Branches whipped his cloak. The path curved into a depression where mist pooled like water.
Then he saw it.
A clearing.
In the center, a crude altar made of rotting wood and black stone. And near it, drag marks that ended abruptly, as if the creature had been lifted or... transformed.
Blood soaked the ground. It wasn't fresh, but it hadn't dried either. It shimmered faintly with a violet hue.
Jonan's skin crawled.
Something was very wrong here.
He crouched behind a fallen log, scanning the area. No movement. No sound. But he felt watched.
Worse of all he could feel it, The abomination had been here. It might still be.