The Child lay there, in the middle of the forest. Eyes swollen. His body trembling from the aftermath of his cries. As he lay between the roots of many trees, there was nothing in his mind except his cries and desperation—now dissipating into a cold surrender. The child knew that he could no longer find his lost shelter—the place he had known best in this jungle. His cries grew muffled and then, finally, were lost in the vast silence of the forest.
The child slowly rolled towards a large green fruit that had fallen nearby. The hunger now cleared from the fog of his desperation and tears. The child tried to open the fruit with his four hands, but it wouldn't budge—too hard for the child to open. He tried again. This time, marks of nails were engraved into the fruit, symbolizing it could be chewed. He tried again, and again, the nails digging deeper. After a while of trying, the fruit finally opened—white flesh spilling out from inside, green on the outside. The child tried to put a large chunk of it into his mouth, but he had no teeth to chew. So, he took it out and, with his hands, broke off a small portion before placing it in his mouth. The child found it sour. He wanted to spit it out, but his hunger did not let him. Swallowing it, the child felt a warmth spread in his stomach. The taste was unpleasant, but the effects of the fruit were worth the effort. Little by little, the child ate half of the fruit, filling his stomach.
The effects of the fruit seemed to lessen the pain of the reopened wound on his side—perhaps offering the slight relief as a natural painkiller. By this time, it was already late at night. Exhausted from the day's ordeal, the child felt sleepy, but there was nowhere that seemed safe enough to sleep. He couldn't see any bushes or protective formations nearby. So, the child rolled toward a root protruding from a tree. He crawled close to it and slept beside it. The night passed quietly, with little happening around him.
Then, the dawn broke.
With the dawn, the child's senses sharpened. Coming to his senses, the child felt something constricting around him. At first, in a dreamlike state, he didn't understand, but as he fully woke, he saw it—his body was ensnared. A bulky, massive, rope-like muscle coiled around him—similar to the one he had seen the day before, but smaller in size. The child, initially taken aback, could hardly comprehend what to do. His senses rang with panic as he struggled to free himself. The tight, root-like coils dug into his skin, the pressure growing ever stronger, crushing his bones.
In a panic, the child tried to free his hands, but the root constricted even tighter. With a sharp creak, the child screamed in pain—one of his arms had dislocated. The coils tightened mercilessly, and the pain intensified, bones nearly touching on opposite sides. The child glanced to the left, where he saw the head of the creature. A large mouth, wide open, ready to consume him as soon as he fit.
For the first time, the child looked directly at death. He felt no fear, no pity—only rage. Anger flooded him, his body responding to the fury he didn't understand. The child, with no clear idea of what to do, acted on sheer instinct. His fangs—grew, as if out of this world's phenomenon and then it extended—as he sank them into the Spiteack. The fangs buried deeper than the creature had expected from such a small thing. It writhed in pain, twisting the child, but still it didn't let go.
The child didn't give up. He kept sinking his fangs deeper into the snake, and when his bite couldn't go any further, he pulled back and bit again in the same place. The Spiteack continued to writhe in agony, tightening its grip with each passing moment. The child's upper arm was already dislocated, and now, with a loud crack, the other fractured from shoulder to elbow. The pain surged, but the child barely registered it, his adrenaline and the numbing effects of the fruit dulling the sensation.
Fueled by rage more than ever, the child tore a chunk out of the small Spiteack. Though powerful, it was still far smaller than the one the child had encountered the previous day.
The big chunk the child took seemed to have some effect on the little Spiteack. Its grip loosened ever so slightly, but for that very brief moment, the child acted. In this rage-filled moment, every millisecond counted. The child quickly loosened his back arms, crossing them over the top of the Spiteack's coil. Seeing this, the creature tightened its grip again with its injured body. But it was too late.
The child burrowed his two strong back hands inside the Spiteack's gaping wound. What his hands found inside were gooey materials and slippery objects. With each slip of the child's fingers inside the Spiteack's stomach, the creature writhed. The coil loosened. The child grabbed onto something deep inside the Spiteack, perhaps causing it immense agony. The child mercilessly pulled it out, feeling whatever had caused the creature such pain.
The Spiteack quickly released its coils around the child and dragged its body away from him, desperate to escape. But it had underestimated the child's resolve. The child wasn't satisfied with just one part of the Spiteack's insides. He chased it, dragging himself with his back arms, pulling his body upward. He quickly caught onto the wounded creature—now moving in a writhed manner.
The child grabbed its tail with one of his good hands. The Spiteack, in a last-ditch attempt to counterattack, lunged its head toward the child. The child caught it with one hand. But, unable to fully overpower the Spiteack, he let go of its tail and grabbed its head with both hands.
In its desperation, the Spiteack coiled its body around the child's hands. And that one move proved to be its biggest mistake. The child instinctively bit into the Spiteack again and again until he tore a chunk out of it. A red-like fluid entered the child's mouth, giving him enough energy to fuel his rage and continue the fight.
This time, the child gave the Spiteack no chance to recover. He bit into it repeatedly, tearing out large chunks of its body. The Spiteack, no longer able to hold onto the child, gave up. Its body lay limply, its head still clutched in the child's hands. Though still alive, it had no strength to move. It bled out from the wounds, and its body could do no more.
The child, with one hand, pulled a large string from inside the Spiteack's stomach—perhaps its intestines—and ate it. Though it didn't taste good, it still had some nutritional value. The child understood this, taking out chunks and devouring them. Every time he pulled something from the Spiteack, it writhed, but the child didn't care.
For the first time in his life, the child ate something hot, something that gave his stomach a sense of fulfillment. Slowly but steadily, he consumed every part of the Spiteack's insides. Some parts, like the sour tail section, didn't suit his taste, but he left them by the side of the ground.
The only part the child truly enjoyed was the gooey matter inside the Spiteack's head and the part of its internal organs that still beat with a regular rhythm. The child watched it for a moment, then, feeling compelled by instinct, he ate it. His stomach now full, the child looked at the Spiteack.
He had come far from the moment he first encountered the creature—or rather, when he first woke up, only to find himself trapped by its coils. His hands were covered in marks from the Spiteack's fangs, and as time passed, a fever began to rise in his stomach and spread throughout his body.
Unfortunately, not only had he been bitten many times by the Spiteack, but he had also consumed its poison bag. Though it was sour and not to the boy's liking, for some reason, his body had instinctively forced him to eat it. The child didn't understand why, but he was grateful for it. The blood and poison inside the Spiteack's poison bag not only filled his stomach but also quenched his thirst for some time.
Looking at his battered body—two unmoving limbs, one dislocated and the other fractured—the child realized that he had won. This was his first victory, far from the familiar shelter he had once known. He had won.
This victory fueled the child's confidence for the journey ahead, showing him the forest in a new light, one where he could survive.