In every living being, whether great or small, there exists a sacred spark, a divine essence, that reveals the holiness of life itself. It is this spark that binds all creatures in the shared wonder of existence, reminding us of the preciousness and sanctity bestowed upon all things that live.

  - Leader of the Faithful of Undisputed, on matters of life

  Panic rose in his throat, bitter and suffocating. He turned in place, trying to retrace his steps, but every direction looked the same. The trees loomed impossibly tall, their silhouettes twisting against the sky like skeletal fingers clawing at the heavens. He called out—a foolish, desperate thing—but his voice was swallowed by the vast empty shadows around him.

  Except the shadows were not so empty.

  A low rustle to his left froze him mid-step. The underbrush shivered—not with the wind, but with the weight of something alive. He squinted into the gloom, heart thudding against his ribs like a war drum, dread crawling up his spine like icy spiders.

  A branch snapped.

  Ellias spun to face it. He had no blade, no bow, no steel to his name. Just his hands, and the weight of fear gripping them. He crouched low, scrambling for anything—anything—his fingers could find. A thick branch lay half-buried in leaves nearby. He seized it, heart pounding so loudly it seemed to drown out the forest.

  Another crunch, heavier this time. Then a grunt—low, wet, ragged. Not human.

  The beast came.

  It burst from the undergrowth in a chaos of sound and fury. A boar, monstrous and wild-eyed, its frame scarred and bloodied. One tusk jutted jaggedly from its gnarled mouth, the other broken to a brutal edge. Its fur was matted with old wounds and fresh blood, its eyes clouded with pain and fury. Its breath came in short, angry huffs, steam rising in thick plumes in the cold air like smoke from some infernal furnace.

  The boar had been wounded—by another hunter, perhaps, or some forest predator—but now it had found something weaker. Something it could destroy. It charged without hesitation.

  Ellias barely managed to dive aside. The boar’s bulk thundered past, its overgrown tusks piercing his leg. Pain exploded through his thigh as the beasts jagged weapons tore away Ellias’s flesh.

  He saw his blood gushing out of his leg, dark crimson in this darked wether, his knees felt weak as he never saw this much blood coming outside of him.

  The boar's charge slammed into him like a falling tree, its momentum too great to resist. Ellias was thrown backward, the world a blur of earth and sky as he was flung off balance. His heels slipped on the wet, moss-slick slope behind him, and gravity did the rest. He tumbled, limbs flailing, over the edge of a steep incline hidden by the thick underbrush. Rocks and gnarled roots tore at his clothes and skin as he rolled, bouncing hard off the earth, each impact driving the air from his lungs in painful bursts. Sharp stones scraped his arms; a jutting root caught his shoulder and spun him midair before he thudded down again. The descent seemed endless, chaotic, violent. When he finally came to a crashing halt against the trunk of a tree at the base of the hill, he lay still, stunned and breathless, the metallic taste of copper filling his mouth as blood oozed from his split lip.

  He groaned, barely managing to push himself upright, his limbs trembling beneath him. Blood streamed from the deep gouge in his thigh, soaking the ground beneath. His head swam, ears ringing with the impact of the fall, and the world around him tilted precariously as if the forest itself were spinning. The branch he had clung to during the attack was gone—lost somewhere in the chaos of his tumble down the slope. His fingers clawed at the earth around him in a daze, trying to find it, but all he grasped were dead leaves and splinters. He blinked against the blinding throb behind his eyes, nausea crawling up his throat. Every breath came shallow, ragged. The air around him was thick with the reek of blood—his and the boar’s—the sour tang of sweat, and the raw, primal stench of something ancient and violent. He was alone, dazed, and grievously wounded, without even a weapon to keep the beast at bay.

  The boar turned with terrifying speed for something so massive, its muscles twitching with pain and wrath. It began its descent down the slope, staggering but unrelenting, sending sprays of earth and fallen leaves cascading in its wake. Its hooves struck the hillside with force, cracking branches and flattening the underbrush in a chaotic rush. Each ragged breath it took was a furious snarl, steam billowing from its flared nostrils. Blood poured from its side, but its gaze—cold, fixed, full of hate—never wavered from Ellias.

  Ellias, dazed and gasping, fumbled in the muck for something—anything. His eyes flicked desperately across the ground. The branch was gone, swallowed by the fall, and the pain in his leg made standing a torment. His fingers closed around a sharp-edged stone, slick with moss and wet soil. This time, he didn’t let it go. Clutching it tight in his left hand, he turned his gaze to a nearby splintered root jutting from the hillside like the broken rib of the earth—maybe sturdy enough. He reached for it with his right hand, tugging until it cracked free with a dry snap. He hefted it, barely more than a club, but it would have to do. One hand held the root, the other the stone. He could barely keep upright, blood pouring down his thigh, but he readied himself. Sweat stung his eyes, and every heartbeat was a hammer blow in his skull. The boar was nearly upon him, and Ellias could taste death in the air—iron and rot and fear.

  With a guttural snort, the boar lowered its head, hooves pawing at the earth. It didn’t leap—not like some predator—but surged forward in a brutal, straight-line charge, muscles coiled like ropes beneath its thick hide. The ground trembled beneath its pounding steps, each one a thunderous warning. Its single tusk jutted forward, aiming low to gore and lift. Leaves and dirt sprayed in its wake as it barreled toward him, driven by pain and primal fury.

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  This time, Ellias didn’t try to run. He planted his feet in the wet, unstable slope, digging his heels into the loam, barely able to stay upright. Terror still gripped him, but it boiled over into something jagged—survival, not bravery. He gritted his teeth, raising the jagged root in his right hand while his left clenched the stone so tightly his knuckles went white.

  The boar charged—not like some beast in a fable, but as it truly would, low to the ground, fast and deadly, its massive shoulders surging forward in short, brutal bursts. It didn’t roar. It didn’t bellow. It grunted—deep and rhythmic—as it pounded forward, its tusk aimed like a hooked blade toward his belly.

  Ellias swung the root sideways, striking the boar’s snout. It splintered instantly, the brittle wood no match for bone and fury. The boar’s head jerked, but it didn’t stop. The hit had only enraged it. It slammed into him with all its weight, a wall of muscle and rage, and Ellias was lifted off his feet by the force.

  Pain tore through his side as the tusk grazed deep, slicing through flesh and cloth. He was flung backward again, vision sparking white. The world became nothing but cold air, motion, and agony.

  He went down again, the world tilting. The boar’s tusks slashed his side—deep, hot, agonizing. He screamed, a raw, guttural sound. His fingers scrabbled at the ground, desperate, wild. They closed around the stone he had in his other hand, now slick with moss and also blood.

  Ellias’s heart pounded in his chest, each beat a frantic drum. The stone felt heavy in his hand, slick with blood and sweat. As the boar charged, he swung it with everything he had left, his muscles aching, his grip faltering. The first strike landed with a dull thud against the boar’s thick skull. The impact rattled his bones, but the beast barely flinched. It let out a grunt and pushed forward, undeterred by the blow.

  Ellias’s vision blurred with exhaustion, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He hold ont the beast's tusk with one hand, and readied the stone in his other. The boar was on him, trying to impale him with its tusks, glistening with Elias's blood in the dim light. There was no time for thinking. His hands trembled as he swung the stone again, this time with less force, more desperation. The stone hit the boar’s head again with a sickening crack. Blood splattered across his chest. The boar let out a wild snarl and paused for only a second before surging forward once more.

  Pain flared in his side as couldt hold on to the tusk and feeling the boar's tusks scraping across him, a fresh wound opening in his ribs. The world tilted, but Ellias stayed upright, his knees threatening to give way. He couldn’t stop. If he let up now, he would die. His breath was shallow, ragged, and his vision was closing in, but he swung the stone again. It struck again in the same spot on its skull, giving an audible crack. Elias could see the gore he made with the stone on the boars skull. But even after getting its skull cracked the damned beast still stood, it was desperate for survival as well.

  Ellias’s muscles screamed in protest as he threw himself against the boar, his arms burning from exhaustion. With a grunt, he shoved his shoulder into the beast’s thick neck, trying to force it down. The boar’s wild eyes locked onto his, its breath coming in heavy, labored huffs. It snarled, snapping at him with tusks that could easily kill him with a single blow. But Ellias held on, digging his fingers into the boar’s wet, matted fur.

  He used his weight to push the boar’s head down, keeping its tusks away from his face. His free hand, slick with blood, clutched the stone, now cold and heavy in his grip. His vision swam with pain, but he didn’t have a choice. His breath shallow, he swung the stone with all the strength left in his arms.

  The rock hit the boar’s skull with a sickening crack, a precise blow aimed at the same spot just above its eyes. The impact rattled his bones, the pain in his shoulder making him gasp, but the boar’s head snapped back, and it staggered, momentarily stunned.

  Ellias didn’t wait. His body ached with every movement, but he was running on pure instinct now. With a grunt, he swung again, the stone smashing against the same spot on the boar’s skull. This time, he felt something give—bone breaking beneath the force of the strike. The boar let out a pained grunt, its body shuddering with the force of the blow.

  But it wasn’t enough. The boar’s tusks scraped dangerously close to his face as it shook its head, snarling in fury. Its bloodshot eyes were wild, its body twitching with muscle, still desperate to fight. The stench of its sweat, mixed with the thick metallic scent of its own blood, filled Ellias’s nostrils. He felt his grip slipping, fingers slick with his own blood and the boar's, sweat pouring down his face, mixing with dirt and grime. Every breath felt like a struggle, each one more shallow than the last. His arm ached, the stone trembling in his hand as his body screamed for respite, but there was no time for weakness.

  The boar’s hooves dug into the earth, pressing forward, forcing him to dig in his heels to avoid being shoved backward. His side burned with a fresh wave of pain from the tusk wound. His breath came ragged and uneven, the world tilting, the weight of the fight bearing down on him. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears, feel the ache in his limbs, but still, the boar fought on. It was wounded, but its rage was unrelenting.

  Elias’s hands gripped the beast’s thick, bristling neck, his fingers locking around the coarse, slippery hide. His entire body burned with exhaustion, his blood pounding in his ears as he fought for purchase. The boar’s grunts and snorts were deafening, its body thrashing beneath him in a violent, desperate attempt to throw him off. But Elias’s focus was singular. He pushed his weight forward, pressing his knee into the boar’s spine, his hands pulling tighter around its neck.

  With one final, Herculean effort, he tightened his hold, his nails digging into his own flesh. The creature’s body stilled as it gasped for breath, its movements weakening. He could feel its pulse, erratic and fading beneath his hands. The stench of the boar’s sweat mixed with its blood—thick, pungent, and warm—sliding over his skin in slick rivulets.

  Then, with a final, wet crack, the boar’s skull gave way. Blood and fragments of brain splattered out from the crack in its skull, coating Elias’s hands and face. The creature’s body twitched once before collapsing beneath him, the fight finally drained from its muscles.

  Elias, barely able to keep his eyes open, fell forward. His chest heaved in shallow breaths, and the world spun. His bloodied fingers slipped away from the boar’s neck, and he crumpled to the ground beside the beast, his vision fading to a blur of crimson and shadow.

  Pain coursed through him—deep, gnawing, and unrelenting. The wounds burned like fire, the pressure of his blood loss growing more insistent. His chest felt hollow, a vast, cavernous emptiness where his strength used to be. His breaths grew fainter, his thoughts a fractured jumble as the blackness closed in.

  Elias crawled, he could swear he could hear a river somwhere in the distance, the fight left him tired and thirsty. If he could get even one sip of water he could feel better.

  Step after step, push after push elias chased after the sound of water.

  With a final, unsteady breath, Elias’s world went dark.