I stayed there, perched on that branch, thinking.
I was definitely not a good predator.
Two weeks in this hell, and I was still prey.
But by surviving, failing, trembling, I was starting to understand. To learn. To extract something from my mistakes. Not a divine lesson, not a sacred teaching. Just... clarity.
First thing: I was too focused on my target. Every time I hunted, my eyes, my breath, my entire mind… concentrated on the prey. I forgot about the shadow. The silence. The danger behind the danger. If I hadn't had that damn sixth sense, earned during my last evolution, I'd already be dead. For good. A simple monkey's leap, a single water jet — and my skull would have burst like an overripe fruit.
Second thing: I had to be faster. Sharper. In my movements. In my decisions. Fear, stress, panic… I couldn't erase them. Not yet. But I had to adapt. I had to act despite them, even when my legs trembled, even when my breath shattered. Climbing down from a tree, staying exposed, hesitating... meant death. Every second of doubt here was an invitation to disappear.
Third point: now that the calm had returned... I could feel it. I wasn't stupid. I wasn't crazy. But there was something new, something deep, rising inside me. A strange excitement. The pleasure of confrontation. The urge to see that damn monkey again. To face it. To beat it. It wasn't hatred. It was more twisted. A shiver of domination. The idea of crushing a rival, tearing out the fangs of another hunter, pleased me. Thrilled me. I didn't know if that feeling was born here, in the hunt, or if it had always been there, buried under my skin. But one thing was certain: I had to be careful. Not to mistake strength for recklessness.
And the fourth point, the most shameful, the most serious...
Yesterday, I lost it.
I lost control.
I rushed after that monkey like an idiot, like an obsessed fool, like a madman. Not by strategy. Not by necessity. Just by instinct. Wounded pride. I wanted to eliminate a potential danger... and I threw myself into the wolf's mouth.
No plan.
No hindsight.
I had become stupid.
Stupid like a goblin.
My fingers tensed. My teeth clenched. My gaze darkened.
I hated myself.
More than anything.
Yesterday, I acted like a FUCKING goblin.
Like a beast.
Not a strategist.
Not a survivor.
Just an animal chasing its rage to exhaustion.
And this time, I got away with it.
But if I did it again...
The forest wouldn't forgive me twice.
And neither would I.
The positive in all this chaos?
Now, I knew.
The monkey couldn't fire twice in a row.
His water jet, that ultra-pressurized attack that had grazed my cheek... it was powerful, fast, precise — but unique.
He didn't follow up.
He didn't insist.
He fled.
And if that was his only offensive weapon, then I had a window. A flaw. A margin of action between two shots. A breath of possibility in this duel between hunters.
Of course, I couldn't get complacent with that idea.
This world changed too fast.
Creatures evolved. Like me.
And the next time I ran into that simian bastard, he might have changed. He might have gained a new skill. Another mouth. A faster shot. Poison in his veins. Or worse: strategy.
But at least... I had a starting point.
Some data.
I knew what his body looked like, his way of moving, his way of judging me. I knew he wasn't just an animal, but a hunting spirit. And that was a key.
A beginning of an advantage.
But as my thoughts were starting to reform...
A noise.
In the distance.
A sharp crack in the silence.
A run.
Not the soft step of an animal. Not the rustle of a rodent or a raptor. No... a chaotic, hasty, disordered gallop. Something was running at full speed. And not for fun.
My body froze.
My ears, sharpened by two weeks of survival, tensed despite myself.
I knew the difference now.
Between the sounds of the forest...
…and those that weren't from the forest.
And this one...
This one was anything but natural.
It was living panic. A desperate charge. Branches snapping. Leaves flying. Roots trampled blindly.
It was coming my way.
Little by little.
Faster and faster.
And I had a pretty good idea of what it would be.
One of those damn goblins.
Another one.
But the closer the sound came...
The more I understood it wasn't just footsteps.
There was something else.
A parasitic, irritating, shrill sound growing in the air like a cramp in the inner ear.
Rapid vibrations.
Wingbeats.
Buzzing.
Yes.
Fucking buzzing.
And not just one.
Not a lone bug.
A swarm.
And then I saw him.
He burst between two trunks like a raging, panting mass, fleeing something only hell could have designed.
A goblin.
Big. Strong. Too strong. About 1.5 meters tall, built like a mobile boulder, hard-skinned, muscles bulging. He ran with a raging precision, his arms covered in blood and stings. One of the four leaders. I recognized him. He was one of those who, from the start, had taken the lead, formed small groups, dictated the rules… and despised the weak like me.
And yet, now...
He was running away.
Mouth open, eyes wide, his skin streaked with black marks.
And behind him... the swarm.
They were no longer bees.
Creatures about thirty centimeters each, big like flying daggers. Their wings beat at a delirious speed, generating an organic motor noise that vibrated through my teeth. Their abdomens were sharp, armored, covered in a shiny black exoskeleton, crisscrossed with amber-colored veins. Their eyes — six each — gleamed with a sickly green light, and their stingers… damn. Black syringes. Long. Curved. Quivering.
But the worst?
They coordinated their attacks.
They flew in formation.
Some went to harass, sting, block the goblin's path. Others stayed higher, ready to dive if he slowed down.
They weren't insects.
They were a squad.
A fucking group of winged killers.
And even this goblin colossus… even this muscular survivor, this leader, this predator in power...
He was fleeing.
And he was heading straight toward me.
His body was swollen in places.
Stings, surely. Patches of infection under the skin. Bulging, blackened veins, muscles pulsing too hard, too fast. He panted. He ran like a madman, but I could already see the signs.
In his place... I'd already be dead.
Fucking world.
Even among goblins, I was trash.
Trash among trash.
And now, in this long road of survival, in this suspended moment, I had to choose.
Do I help him?
Or do I let him die?
Because I knew what would happen. Even with his strength, even with his size... he would end up exhausted. The bees would harass him, gnaw at him from the inside, drain him. He didn't have long.
But he was strong.
Much stronger than me.
And me... I needed help.
These last two weeks had ripped my eyes open: I couldn't succeed alone. My traps had limits. My strategy too. My body, even enhanced, remained small, vulnerable. I couldn't keep going without ever truly sleeping, without ever letting my guard down.
I needed support. Another hand.
Someone who could hold a weapon while I rested. Someone to stand watch when my eyelids weighed like stones. Even if it was a fucking goblin. Even if he was a moron.
I could use him.
Not love him. Not trust him.
Just... use him.
He could take hits for me. Fight for me. Get spotted for me. Lighten my burdens.
He wasn't a friend.
He wasn't a brother-in-arms.
He was a tool.
And if I wanted to survive in this forest, I had to start thinking like the monsters that lived in it.
Coldly.
Calculatingly.
Without shame.
So, I loosened my vine.
Little by little.
Calmly.
While he ran below, along the river, panting, harassed by the insects, ready to collapse from exhaustion.
I was barely breathing.
My eyes fixed on him.
On his path.
He would pass right there, between my branch and the water.
Exactly there.
Perfect.
I blew out through my nose.
A rictus twisted my lips.
A chuckle escaped me.
Was I laughing?
Fuck, what was happening to me?
Why was I laughing in this situation?
Why this weird spasm of joy, now?
It was ridiculous. Incongruous. Sickly.
But I didn't have time to dwell on my mental health.
I let go of my thoughts.
I refocused.
The plan was in place.
The moment was approaching.
It was my only chance.
My instant.
One jump.
One strike.
One stone, two targets: a bee and the colossus.
And me, the invisible predator.
So I counted down in my head.
3...
I felt my legs tense.
My muscles, tight, burning with anticipation.
2...
My breath caught.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a flesh alarm.
My spear, held in both hands, was pressed against my back, ready to slice the air in a deadly arc.
1...
I jumped.
My whole body unfolded.
My legs exploded like springs.
A perfect jump.
Directed. Calculated. Brutal.
And in that momentum — suspended between sky and river, between strategy and chaos — I swung my arms.
My spear traced a wide arc.
A circular strike.
All my strength.
All my nerves.
All my rage, concentrated in that single movement.
A predator's fang.
A silent cry etched into the air.
I was no longer a goblin.
I was the blade.