Elsewhere.
High above the trees, the jungle’s air was crisp and damp. Mist hung low among the branches.
A massive fanged fire fox, over three ters long with a coat like blazing embers, padded silently along a stream. Its massive, curved fangs glinted in the moonlight as it dipped its head to drink.
It paused.
Sothing in the air felt wrong.
Sniffing cautiously, the beast turned and trotted toward a nearby pond fed by the ravine. Its sharp gaze scanned the water before it dipped a paw in, then a leg. After a mont’s rest, it bolted—hackles raised.
The pond, disturbed, sent ripples outward like silver fire.
Then it stilled.
After a long silence, a pair of eyes broke the surface.
Caked in mud and gri, Axel erged, every movent cautious. He scanned his surroundings before hauling himself onto the bank.
“In the danger zone now,” he muttered.
The pond had ford where the ravine cut through a small river. He hadn’t wiped off the mud. Out here, camouflage was survival.
Without pause, he slid back down into the trench.
By the ti the second day dawned, Axel had already made considerable ground. For the last two hours, he hadn’t run into a single mutant beast. Now and then, he could sense their presence lurking at the edge of his awareness, but they never ca close—not while he stuck to the ravine.
The terrain was his shield. Most mutants avoided the deep trench, as if so primal instinct warned them away.
But not all of them.
The stronger the beast, the smarter it was. And so far, he’d encountered beast three tis that they pushed closer, curious, cautious, but unafraid.
The first two tis, Axel had escaped detection by saring himself with mud, lying motionless for over an hour, slowing his breathing to a whisper of life. They sniffed, searched, lingered… then moved on.
But this ti, it had been different. He’d been reaching for water when the hair on the back of his neck stood up.
He dove back into the muck, letting the swampy water swallow him whole.
If he used Alienation now and transford into a beast not native to these woods, he risked drawing aggression from the local fauna.. And his Force was also a problem.
He gnawed on so dried rations, his back pressed to the cold wall of the ravine. Then, without a word, he continued forward.
By dusk, signs of battle were still scattered through the landscape—broken branches, scorched ground, claw marks deep into bark and stone.
The trail was thinning. Fewer scorch marks. Less blood. The signs of resistance were growing fainter.
Axel’s brows knitted together, and beca worried.
.......
“Seventy, maybe eighty kiloters in.” The next afternoon, he was halfway out of the gully when he froze.
A low tension vibrated through the canopy above.
Trouble.
High-pitched shrieks echoed from the treetops. Dozens—no, scores—of large, black-furred apes with arm spans approaching three ters swung effortlessly between the massive branches. Their howls were sharp and guttural.
Long-Clawed Blackleaf Monkeys.
Axel had morized the Mirabelle bestiary before ever setting foot in the forest. These brutes were second-level mutant beasts—agile, territorial, and nasty as hell in a pack. Their claws could shred stone, and their bite strength rivaled any predator’s.
“Shit,” Axel muttered.
He spotted them early, and tried to steer wide around their territory. But the troop was massive—dozens of them, easily claiming both hilltops that flanked the ravine. There was no clean way around.
And the ravine had been his natural cover. Leaving it now ant exposing himself in open terrain.
Then ca the screeches.
Two of the apes dropped down from the canopy, landing with practiced grace on the ridge. They turned toward his position, nostrils flaring.
Even with the mud sared head to toe, his scent still gave him away.
They barked sharply—warning calls.
Shit.
Axel crouched lower, pressing himself into the earth as more of them gathered above.
He heard another body drop. Then the ground shook.
A huge ape landed in the center of the group. This one was different—massive, easily four ters tall, with white cheek fur and battle-scarred limbs. The others gave way to it instantly.
The alpha.
Its cold white eyes scanned the gully.
And then it walked—straight toward Axel’s hiding spot.
Behind it, the others grew still. Tension thickened the air. You didn’t move unless the alpha told you to.
The big one barked a command.
Two of the smaller apes leapt down the ravine wall, landing just a few ters away. But they didn’t attack.
They watched.
Axel had no choice now.
His body shifted beneath the mud, bones warping, skin hardening, hair sprouting.
By the ti the apes reached him, what they saw wasn’t a human.
It was one of their own—a mid-sized Blackleaf, hunched lazily against the ravine edge, arms limp, chest rising in slow, even breaths.
He looked… asleep.
The two scouts hesitated, sniffing the air, confused. Their heads tilted side to side as they grunted to each other.
“Squeak?” Axel imitated the call as best as he could.
The monkey king circled him twice, sniffing and observing with narrowed eyes.
Then suddenly—
ROARRRR!
The alpha’s fur bristled as he let out a deafening, guttural roar that shook leaves from the trees. A wall of sound hit Axel square in the chest.
All around, the black-furred apes fell silent in an instant.
Axel’s heart hamred against his ribs.
Shit… was I exposed?
But no one pounced. No claws. No teeth.
Just stares. Watching. Waiting.
The monkey king was posturing—asserting dominance.
Axel lowered his head and let out a shaky whimper, his eyes wide with fear. He took several awkward, backward steps and hunched his shoulders in submission.
“Squeak…”
The monkey king snorted and seed satisfied. His fur flattened, and the other apes slowly dispersed.
Axel let out a breath. “Good thing I surrendered the second he opened his damn mouth,” he muttered under his breath. “Otherwise, I’d be a bloody sar by now.”
He clutched his travel pack tight. Compared to the size of the apes, it was no more suspicious than a leaf stuck to his fur.
Axel had never participated in the monkey group's activities, and he had just been used by the monkey king to establish his authority. From then on, the troop saw him as the bottom of the barrel.
The other long-clawed Blackleafs prodded, shoved, snapped their teeth near his face. One even threw a half-chewed fruit at him.
Axel endured it all. But when he tried to sneak off—just inch away from the gully, hoping to continue his journey—a few apes would always appear like clockwork, snarling and blocking his path.
After the fourth failed attempt—and another round of roars from the monkey king—Axel got the ssage.
He glanced up into the canopy, where silhouettes jumped from branch to branch, always within range.
This whole “free roaming” thing? It’s bullshit. These bastards are under orders. No one’s allowed to wander too far from the group.
“Great. Just great,” he muttered, wiping mud off his brow.
As night fell, the troop grew restless.
A deep growl from the monkey king echoed through the trees, followed by a chorus of shrieks.
The group began moving again—leaping, swinging, and scampering through the trees deeper into the Mirabelle range.
Axel had no choice but to follow. Stray now, and he’d be ripped apart in seconds.
He chewed on a strip of mutant at, barely holding down the bile. The taste was disgusting—like rotten fish soaked in tal.
The apes were surprisingly… structured.
They hunted along water sources. Ate at the tops of the tallest trees. Slept in rotational shifts.
Axel morized every tree, every directional landmark he could. He had to keep track of the ravine, even if he couldn’t follow it anymore. It was his thread ho.
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