Jason lunges first. Feet sliding in loose dirt, he closes the distance, blade raised.
A second figure steps forward, limbs long and jointed at angles that shouldn't bend. Its bark-dark skin glistens faintly under the scattered light, veins pulsing with a slow, eerie rhythm. It tilts its head, observing him, chest rising and falling in deliberate, unhurried movements, as if every step were measured and unthreatened.
He swings again. Too wide. The blade skims bark and air.
"Too slow," he hisses. "Too slow."
His arms burn. Breath snags halfway in. Each step feels borrowed, like his body is asking for payment he does not have.
"Focus," he says. "You've done this before."
A claw scrapes past his shoulder. He stumbles.
"Great. That's great."
Wind pushes through the clearing, carrying dust that sticks to his skin. He dodges late. The ground tilts.
"No shortcuts," he says, laughing once. "Funny how that works."
Another strike misses. His wrist trembles.
The creatures close in from different angles, feet scraping against the ground, bodies cutting off the light one by one. Jason steps back, heart pounding.
"Wait," he says, lifting a hand. "Hold on."
The creatures lunge simultaneously.
His vision dims at the edges. A faint red pulse flickers low in his sight.
"No," he whispers. "Not yet."
He raises his weapon anyway.
And something heavier steps forward.
Jason slashes in panic.
"Get away from me."
The blade strikes deep. The creature recoils.
Purple light spills from the wound. He steps back. Then, finally.
"What is that?" he breathes.
Symbols glow beneath the bark, lines cutting and bending like marks drawn by a nervous hand.
"Okay. That's new."
The glow falters when Jason stills, thinning to a dull ember. His heart jumps, and the markings flare sharp and bright in response. He swallows, a tight breath slipping out. "Yeah," he mutters, watching it closely. "Thought so."
He circles. The dirt shifts under his boots.
"Count," he whispers. "Strike."
The blade whispers against the wind, striking the creature a second time.
The symbols shift again. Not random. Folding. Aligning.
"Wait," he says, squinting. "I know this."
He hesitates. The light flickers weak.
"No," he says quickly.
Another creature closes in. Dust rises between them, catching the glow.
He swings, another cut.
The markings draw inward, lines folding over themselves until they form clean angles and repeating cuts, like a diagram sketched too many times in the same place. Short strokes link into longer paths, breaking, then reconnecting with intent. Jason stares as a dull pressure settles behind his ribs.
He tilts his head, breath shallow. "I've seen this before."
Symbols snap into place.
The wind howls violently.
Pain flares. Jason staggers.
"No," he says quietly. "Not like this."
A memory cuts through the noise, clear as a bell.
"What's holding you back, Jason?"
Mrs Morello's voice. Calm. Unmoved.
Jason clenches his jaw.
"Stop," he says.
The creatures pause.
The howling dies down.
He straightens, forcing his breath slower.
"Again," he tells himself. "One more time."
The attackers surge forward.
The clearing blurs. Wind presses against his back.
"I can do this," he says.
He steps forward. Too late.
A claw drives into his side. Heat bursts through him.
He gasps, dropping to one knee.
The red pulse flares.
"No," he whispers.
His grip slips. The world tilts.
"Stay awake," he says. "Jason, stay awake."
The creatures loom closer. Silent. Waiting.
A big red bar hovers in the air, steady at first, then it dips, not smoothly, but in harsh drops, as if something is tearing pieces out of it. His arms sag. Each breath drags longer than the last, muscles refusing clean commands.
Another creature lunges. The red pulse flares. Another chunk vanishes from the bar. A low warning blinks beside it, stubborn and quiet.
"I tried," he whispers, shoulders slumping.
The ground tilts, then rushes up.
And everything goes dark.