The day broke just like any other, light illuminating the mist in a fairy-like twinkle along with fractured beams littering the forest floor.
But it wasn't calm, just like it hadn't been anyday. But today it felt sharper.
Pluto jerked up, fearing sound before sight. Luckily, they weren't in any immediate danger, but the roaring sounded too close for comfort. Multiple of them.
His mark had just woken up too, so they definitely weren't agitated because of him. He turned to his side.
Saul was already sitting upright against the mossy stone with bright eyes despite pain.
"You're slow, we could have been dead," Saul said expressionlessly. His gaze of locked ahead, staring at the slight rattling in the leaves.
Pluto yawned and pushed himself up, gritting his teeth as his shoulder greeted him. He smacked his mouth, feeling dehydrated. "What's happening?" Pluto asked before looking into the thermal world.
"A fight. Three to six, numbers in humans favour," he said, slightly unsure of his words.
Pluto shifted slightly, trying to angle his thermal radar lower, since the damp mist was interfering with his clarity. He saw, but briefly.
In a large clearing a few yards away, three predators – smaller than the one that had killed the third of the trio, but still packed with muscles and prickly bark – surrounded a group of six. Coordination was lacking, but necessity created a sort of loose sync between them. Fear bled from them, pushing them more compact together.
Noticing that closeness would strain flexibility, one stepped out of the formation. He was so lean he could be called emaciated. He had a rusted spear in his hands whose tip flickered with a flame anything he gripped it hard enough. The fire seemed to have a mind of its own, and it currently wanted to drive itself into the heart of its master's enemy.
The man thrust out, forcing the grotesque tendril of one of the predators to recoil. The other followed suit. The intention was right, but the execution was misplaced. Neither of them wanted to spearhead the attack, so they all flocked around each other as they struck.
Pluto watched their heat intently. He was trying to understand, like Saul always did. He wanted to know how humans thought when they fought, how they reacted in tight situations, how they planned mid-fight. And how predators did the same things.
Predators were a strange mix. They were animalistic, but they had brains surpassing even the smartest animals in the regular world. And therefore, it was impossible to predict what they would do next.
The fire user lunged again, flashing a brighter flame into the abdomen of the one nearest to him. The blade pierced through the bark quite easily, scorching the threads that held it together. The predator roared, more irritated than wounded.
His teammate tried to join him in attacking, but he had neglected caution and didn't watch the other ones move.
A claw tore through his side, a bit too deeply to survive. His gag was short and shocked as he opened, saved from splitting completely by a few strands of flesh.
Pluto frowned. " They won't win," he voice was quiet and somber.
"No," Saul agreed. "And the decaying stench will attract more predators as time ages."
Pluto drifted his fingers across the weapon Saul had earlier given him. He understood from Saul's words that they couldn't stay here anymore, but that was his plan already, so it changed nothing.
Saul glanced at him. "Are you considering helping them?" As much as the tone sounded curious, Pluto knew it wasn't a question. He didn't answer right away, instead he focused and continued watching.
The fire user drove his spear into the jaw of a predator that had been preoccupied with the insistent slashes of another entrant. The blade sunk through like a heavy object in water. Flame burst out from the sides, and the smell of burning flesh filled the air.
Another scream carried shortly through the mist. Pluto hadn't seen what happened, all he saw was a flattened body under a bulking mass.
The numbers were evening out. Four to three. Then seconds later, three to three.
No one was outnumbered, but the humans were outmatched. The flame weaker, their eyes more disheartened, and their bodies more drained.
Pluto's eyes narrowed. He could intervene now. He could help out. Not because he was stronger, but because a large cut on the predator's neck was left ignored.
But he wouldn't. There was no guarantee that exploiting the cut would kill it. Even if it did, the odds would still be lopsided. And now, the forest was shifting again. Predators in the distance were being drawn towards him. Even these ones were. They would have attacked him if their hands – or tendrils – weren't occupied at the moment. If he stepped into the clearing, it would not end at three.
It would add, then multiply, then become something harrowing.
Saul looked at him again. "Well?"
"They're not our responsibility," said Pluto as he began to turn away.
The fire user screamed as he swung his blade with wild abandon, trying to force the predators to retreat. But they didn't, one clamped down on his thigh and his eyes turned bloodshot. He stopped trying to protect himself and tore the throat of it with a ruthless rip.
Two to two now. But the predators were furious and the humans were not. One was limping and the other shaking.
"They could become variables later," Saul said with a thin line of smile. "Grateful variables," he added. He wasn't of the idea that the entrants should be saved, but he wanted to see Pluto's reaction. He wanted to know how much the forest had changed him.
Pluto stopped moving for a moment to consider it, but he shook his head. He spoke back.
"Dead men can't be grateful."
It wasn't cruelty. It was reality. And the sooner he could accept harsh ones like that, the better.
He helped Saul up and they began moving again. Behind them, a final roar through the clearing and silence reigned after.
Someone or something had died, but there was no one to mourn them.
***
Mira had started to treat the Sam tree as it was supposed to be treated. Just a tree.
The first time her noticed the repetition, it had unsettled her. The second had frightened her. The third angered, and now she simply passed it.
The owl no longer pretended to lead her anywhere, the constant circling was now of her choice. It was less boring to do so. It also made her aware of how unimaginable her cage was.
Whenever she trailed away from the path, she felt reality subtly resist her until she returned to the corridor proper.
Apart from that, she was free to do whatever she wanted. It would not let her leave, but it would not control her as far as she was in it.
Her frustration had been searing hot before, but now it sat heavy. Her crime had been powerlessness and dependence.
She studied the owl that had perched on a branch a metre ahead. It felt her gaze and turned to look at her.
"Since I gave you two battle seeds already, I believe it'll only be fair if you answer some of my questions," her voice was strangely hopeful.
The owl paused briefly. "Three questions."
Mira thought for a while, before speaking. She had to make it count.
"What's the structure behind all this?"
The owl's beak parted, but not in a smile. "Murder is the fuel that keeps the forest running. So naturally, the structure is murder. There are four thousand and ninety-six participants, when half die the region changes and forest is no longer forest."
Mira gulped. The stats where against her, but not abysmally so. Maybe she was foolish to think she could preserve human life, especially when only their deaths could guarantee her passing from here.
She asked the second one. "And after that?"
"You'll compete again, and then again. Until all nine trials have been overcome."
Her eyes widened. If half died each time the regions changed..."How many will survive?"
"Sixteen."
The number hung in her ears as if she had heard the day she would die. A day that realistically, might not be so far away.
Sixteen out of thousands. Less than one percent make it through.
She swallowed, then looked away. She wanted to throw up. Pluto, Saul, the members of the trio, herself. Would any of them make it through?
***
Ronan missed his footing again, thankfully not by the margins that sent him falling down.
Khalifa noticed it. She also noticed the third's weakness. His breathing was short and ragged, rattling slightly.
He had kept them safe by maintaining a field of invisibility around them intermittently for days. He had a strange ability that could blur their presence from sight or sensory perception. Of course there were still some limitations, but caution was enough to overcome those.
He had not complained with the strain but him in the gut, and he still didn't complain when he collapsed face first into the muddy soil.
Khalifa dropped down beside him, her face radiating with concern.
"Hey– hey," she snapped her fingers at him. "Don't give up on us."
The air around them buzzed, then went flat. His ability was dead. And now the forest could see them.
Ronan should still. He wasn't concerned, not in the raw sense. He was measuring, considering what it would take to save him versus what it would cost in the long run.
"We can carry him," Khalifa said as she looked up at Ronan's grim face.
"With what strength?" he asked with a cold gaze. They could barely walk, and now she wanted to carry him. That idea was too stupid, he had only thought of protecting him there and not turning him into a bag of beans on his back.
"We can rotate –"
Ronan interrupted. " And when he wakes up, he'll burn himself out again and we'll do it again. What happened when we encounter something hostile? When we are too slow to grab an opportunity?"
"After all he did, you are just so willing to abandon him?"
Her voice was desperate.
"After all he did?... You can thank him now and let's move on. He's not dead now but he will be."
Khalifa's shoulder slumped. She hated the fact that he was so starkly right. She looked back at the unconscious body. His breath was growing more shallow and uneven.
She knew she had to leave him. Her eyes glimmered with tears. He had never complained, never asked for more than he got. He had just helped in a world were no one was willing to help. And that made leaving him harder.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Ronan wasn't. He was grateful that the man had helped them, and considered it a stroke of bad luck that he had to go out this way.
She stood up and they began walking away. Behind them he laid alone. Breathing slowly, unaware of the treachery.
By the time he woke – if he woke at all– they would be long gone. And the forest would decide the rest.