The sun stabbed his eyelids like tiny daggers. Adrian winced, groaning, as the heat rolled over his body in thick, humid waves. His mouth was dry, lips cracked, throat sticky. The taste of salt lingered at the back of his throat.
"Urgh... where the hell...?"
He pushed himself up slowly, brushing coarse, sun-baked sand from his cheek. His winter jacket felt like a straightjacket, suffocating in the heat. He peeled it off with effort and tossed it to the side.
Thud.
A muffled sound behind him. He turned. A black shape slumped into the sand—his backpack. His pulse skipped.
She left me with this? His fingers twitched. "Camilla... what the hell are you playing at?"
His gaze drifted to the horizon.
The island stretched endlessly in all directions—dense jungle to his left, turquoise ocean to his right. Sharp, rocky hills pierced the treecanopy in the distance like jagged teeth. Thunderclouds churned and circled the island's outer rim, but the sky above remained eerily clear.
It was beautiful. Untouched. Silent.
And completely, utterly alone.
Adrian slowly stood. That's when it hit him. A sharp burn, straight into his chest. He stumbled, gasping as he clutched his hoodie. The fabric was glowing red—no, something beneath it. He yanked it over his head, revealing bare skin now marred by a jagged, circular scar right over his heart. It pulsed faintly with a dim crimson glow.
"The seal...?"
No blood. No pain anymore. Just that strange warmth. And an odd sensation—like invisible threads pulling across space, drawing his attention to something. Others. Somewhere out there, moving.
"So I really am not alone..."
He grabbed one of the tomahawks from his backpack, its weight grounding him. With one last look at the beach, he stepped into the jungle.
DAY 2
The first night was miserable.
He hadn't built a fire in time. The cold had clawed into his bones, damp air soaking his clothes as unseen insects crawled on his skin. Every sound had kept him awake—branches snapping, wind howling, things slithering through the underbrush.
But he didn't die. That was worth something.
By midday, he had built a crude base near a rock formation that resembled a split fang. He cleared a wide space of underbrush using his tomahawk, wove thick vines into rope, and used sharpened sticks to mark a perimeter.
When he couldn't sleep, he practiced. Telekinesis.
He started small—lifting pebbles, balancing them mid-air, trying to get a feel for the weight. Then he worked his way up to flinging sticks like javelins, bending branches out of his way as he moved.
"I'm basically a forest wizard," he muttered dryly. "What a life."
DAY 3
He needed food. His stomach had given him hell all day.
That's when he spotted them—small silver fish near a rock pool where the sea met a narrow inlet.
He sharpened a stick into a makeshift spear, then tried to practice precision flicks of his finger to redirect the fish's motion... a glowing green spark, a twitch in his hand—and splash, a direct hit.
He grinned for the first time in days. "I could get used to this."
He roasted the fish over a fire that night, savoring every flaky bite. He made note of everything—what plants he could eat, where certain animals moved, what sounds came from what directions. This was no longer just survival.
It was observation. He was learning.
DAY 4
A storm rolled in—but only around the island.
The clouds on the horizon never reached the sky above him. It was like being inside a dome, nature bending in an unnatural pattern. Adrian sat for hours, staring upward.
"There's something off about this place... like it's watching me."
That night, he dreamed of black waves swallowing the jungle, and whispers crawling into his ears.
When he woke, sweat dripped from his brow. But the jungle was silent. Still.
He practiced using telekinesis to hurl rocks while running, training his coordination. He learned to swing from trees with makeshift ropes. The tomahawk became an extension of his hand.
DAY 5
He ventured deeper inland for the first time. The trees grew twisted here, bark charred as if struck by lightning.
He didn't go too far—he could feel it. That creeping instinct again. Something dangerous lived deeper inside the island.
He found signs of it—a half-eaten boar carcass, strange claw marks on trees, a huge footprint he didn't recognize.
"That territory... not mine," he muttered. He backed away and returned to his base, reinforcing it with a second layer of sharpened stakes.
And every night, as the sun dipped below the horizon, he'd whisper the same words to himself, half-prayer, half-madness:
"Just have fun."
Even if the island was starting to whisper back.
DAY 6
The night came wrapped in thunder.
Rain hammered against the canopy like bullets. The wind screamed through the trees like something alive. Adrian lay hidden beneath a coat of dirt, sweat, and wet leaves, chest pressed to the cold jungle floor. Mud slicked his hair to his forehead, his hoodie now torn and brown, clinging to his skin like a second layer of wet tissue. His pants were ripped at the knees, stained with old blood and damp with rain. His once-black boots were scuffed and cracked, barely holding together from days of trekking and survival. His face had grown gaunt, shadows under his eyes..
And something was coming.
Fast.
He felt it before he saw it—like a whisper slithering along the back of his neck. The jungle seemed to recoil, the trees shifting as if to clear a path for it. Branches snapped one after the other, but he couldn't pinpoint a shape, only the flashes of something unnatural flitting between shadows. No light. No footsteps. Just wet leaves, gusts of air displaced by inhuman speed, and the gut-deep sense that he was prey.
"Focus."
He tucked the Glock into his waistband, fingers curling tighter around the cold metal handle of the tomahawk. His breath slowed. He crouched beneath a low branch, half-buried in muck, barely breathing.
And then—it was here.
A flicker of movement. A shimmer of muscle and bone slipping between lightning flashes. A long, hunched figure crept into view like it had peeled off from the forest itself. Lanky limbs. Pale, corpse-white skin stretched too tightly over jagged bones. Its face was wrong—too human, but sunken and wrinkled like old parchment. Deeply set eyes without irises—just white voids. Long, dripping black hair clung to its shoulders, and beneath it, a mouth filled with far too many teeth, some of which seemed to curl inward.
It moved with the confidence of a hunter, silent and calculated, slipping behind trees and foliage, always angling for Adrian's blind spots. A sound bubbled from its throat. A gurgling moan that somehow almost sounded like a human crying. But warped.
I can't let it get the jump on me.
Adrian climbed the tree with practiced urgency, limbs burning, and perched like a predator above the clearing.
His fingers twitched.
Then, in one fluid movement, he jumped.
Using telekinesis midair, he launched himself downward like a missile. The force sent wind howling past his ears. His tomahawk, raised overhead, glinted red as the Soul-mark in his chest flared to life, casting an eerie crimson light.
The light struck the monster's face—and for a brief moment, Adrian saw it clearly.
Too long. Too thin. Its jaw unhinging slightly at the sight of him, revealing a twitching, black tongue and yellow gums. Its mouth stretched into something like a grin.
But it was already turning to flee.
"No you don't—!"
Adrian focused, pushing luck into the axe.
As the beast darted, the tomahawk veered with unnatural precision. A sickening crunch rang out as the blade sunk into its upper back. Adrian gritted his teeth and held on, his entire body whipping forward as the monster shrieked.
A wail burst from its throat—wet, choked, and humanlike, like someone gasping for breath through shredded vocal cords. It bolted into the jungle, dragging Adrian through the underbrush like a ragdoll.
Thorns—branches—stones—
Pain lanced through his legs as they scraped against root and rock, his body jarring with each bump. His arms screamed as he clung to the embedded axe, until the beast suddenly jerked, turning toward a massive tree.
"Shit—!"
With a split-second force push, Adrian braced his body, halting just enough to soften the impact. The tree cracked from the force, bark exploding outward. Adrian tumbled off, landing hard in a tangle of roots.
Everything spun.
His knees throbbed, his back ached—but he wasn't dead.
He staggered up, gun already in hand. Where—?
A prickling sensation down his spine.
Behind!
He turned just as a long, clawed hand lashed toward his face.
A fraction of a second too slow—
But instinct took over.
His telekinesis kicked, jerking the creature's arm up violently. The beast staggered forward, off balance. Adrian ducked beneath its torso, gun now pressed flush against its abdomen.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Muffled flashes erupted as he emptied three rounds point-blank into its gut.
The creature let out a gargled howl, stumbling back, more confused than hurt. Its voice cracked like a sob—wet, wheezing, almost pleading.
Adrian stood there, chest heaving, blood dripping from his mouth and legs, tomahawk still in his off-hand. He didn't blink. He didn't speak.
The moment it turned its back, it was over.
Adrian reacted without thought, the tomahawk leaving his fingers in a perfect spin. He guided it mid-air with raw telekinetic force, a jagged blur through the night—an arc of red streaking across the shadow-stained jungle.
CRACK.
The blade sank deep into the side of the creature's head with a disgusting wet crunch.
The monster let out a scream—a warbling, glitched imitation of something almost human. It started low, like a person choking, then burst into a shrill screech that echoed between the twisted trees, cutting through the storm. It sounded like someone screaming through torn vocal cords, words that never existed trying to form.
Adrian didn't stop.
He sprinted forward, feet slamming the wet earth, flinging droplets of mud behind him. His hands were outstretched, red light flaring from the edges of his fingertips—Telekinesis flooding into his legs, making each step a small explosion, boosting him forward faster than the wind.
The jungle blurred. The creature was pulling away, somehow still moving with the axe jutting from its head. Adrian's control strained to hold it back, pushing against its limbs with invisible pressure. His nose burst, a crimson stream running past his lips. Blood leaked from his ears—warm, hot, iron.
"Breathe. Have fun."
He muttered it like a mantra. Not because he believed it, but because anything else would lead to fear.
Through the blurred motion, he sensed the monster more than saw it—a rippling presence through space. No need for eyes. Just raw instinct. That was when he felt the tomahawk again—cool steel vibrating softly in the earth ahead.
Adrian slid across the ground, one hand sweeping up the axe in a clean spin. His fingers curled around the handle just as his boots tore through damp ferns. He didn't even slow down.
But then—he froze.
Something wasn't right.
He was still locked onto the first creature, still tracking it with every bit of focus—but there was something else. A cold shift in the air. A shiver down the back of his neck. The hairs on his arms rose.
He'd been so tunnel-visioned, he missed it.
The second one.
It dropped out of a tree above, silent until the last moment—a blur of long, tangled blonde hair, soaked and clinging to pale, sickly skin. It had the same horrifying, sagging face, skin stretched too tight in places and melting off in others. Its eyes were glowing white, milk-blind but somehow focused. And those teeth—uneven, jagged, like shattered porcelain jammed into rotting gums.
Adrian twisted, force-blasting it in mid-air. BOOM—a red pulse, lighting up the creature in full view for the split second it hung in space. It flailed as it was launched sideways.
He didn't waste time.
Adrian propelled himself behind the tree it had leapt from, placing both palms flat against the bark—his arms locked straight.
Then—he fired.
The shockwave was devastating. The tree launched forward, its trunk splitting in the middle, and the creature—mid-recovery—took the full brunt. It was crushed beneath the crashing mass of wood and leaves, the sound a horrifying cocktail of splintering bark and shattered bone.
But he wasn't safe.
The first one had circled back.
Adrian turned—just in time to see it.
An impaling strike, a blur of pale limb aimed straight for his chest.
He moved, barely. A charge of luck twisted reality just enough.
The claw missed—but the second swipe connected.
Adrian flew.
The hit cracked into his ribs, his body twisting midair. He slammed into the jungle floor hard enough to bounce once, mud and debris flying.
He tried to stand—
His leg crumpled.
A jagged, unnatural pop.
Pain flared up like fire licking through bone. He shouted—but didn't stop.
The creature was already above him, drooling, breathing heavily in glitching gasps that started as growls and ended as broken words.
It lunged, claws slashing—Adrian rolled, narrowly avoiding the fatal blow, but its second hand caught his side.
Flesh tore. He screamed.
But he didn't stop.
Adrian reached up, grabbed its disgusting face—the sagging, uncanny skin slick and cold beneath his fingers. His hand slid until he could grip the skull underneath.
Blood poured from his ears. His eyes were already bloodshot. His head felt like it was going to burst.
He clenched his jaw, locked eyes with the soulless, glaring white orbs above him—and pushed.
All of it.
Every ounce of telekinetic pressure.
Inside.
The creature's skull folded inward.
There was no scream.
Just a sound—like glass imploding and meat tearing, all at once.
Its body spasmed, jaw still twitching, long fingers clawing weakly at his arms. Then it slumped, head caved in like a collapsed watermelon. Grey matter, blood, and hair splattered over Adrian, mixing with the red light still glowing from his hands.
He lay back, chest heaving, covered in blood—half of it not even his.
His leg was broken. Ribs too, probably. Arms covered in slashes. His hoodie was in shreds. But he was still breathing.
His heart was still beating.
"Fun"
His chest rose and fell in shallow gasps. The world spun. His fingers twitched but wouldn't respond. His leg throbbed with every heartbeat, a constant drum of searing agony.
Am I dying...?
He felt the cold seep into his limbs as consciousness began to fade.
But then—something changed.
It began with a hum. Low, deep, vibrating in his spine. Then he felt it.
Warmth. Creeping into his skin.
His vision blurred, not from blood loss now—but from something else. Something unnatural.
All around him, the air shimmered like heat over asphalt. Tiny orbs began to rise from the corpse's shattered remains—droplets of blood, thick and dark, suspended midair as if weightless. Slowly, they drifted toward him, like crimson fireflies pulled by an unseen gravity.
The first drop touched his cheek.
It sank into his skin like water into dry earth.
Then another.
And another.
Soon there were dozens, then hundreds—streams of blood floating through the storm, winding around his limbs in sinuous trails before sinking into his wounds. The sensation was indescribable. Like needles threading through his veins—but not painful. No, it was soothing. Hot. Electric.
Then came the stench.
Rot. Copper. Death.
He gagged, tasting the foulness in the back of his throat.
"This... this is disgusting," he muttered, voice hoarse. "But it works..."
The pain began to dull. The broken skin on his arms began to stitch itself shut, muscle knitting back together under the influence of that corrupted, borrowed blood.
And there was smoke—or was it vapor? Thin wisps rising from the seams of his wounds, swirling in the humid air like breath on a cold morning. Steam hissed from gashes as they sealed. His body grew hotter, almost feverish. But it wasn't unpleasant—it felt alive.
Adrian forced himself to sit up, breath shaky. His hoodie hung in shreds off his frame, matted with dried blood and blackened mud. His arms and chest were covered in new scars, pale ridges over pink, freshly regrown skin.
Only his leg remained fractured, the bone slowly knitting beneath the surface. He could feel it—every aching, twitching second of the marrow reconnecting.
He laughed—quiet, bitter.
"Blood Control, huh? That's what was written in the notebook... Should've known it would be something this cursed."
He looked around, then at the floating trails of blood still swirling lazily around his form like ribbons. The red glow of his chest pulsed faintly under his torn shirt. It was almost beautiful—in a horrifying way.
As the process finished, he dragged himself toward the remains of the monster. Bone fragments and splintered fangs littered the jungle floor around the mangled corpse. One glinted in the mud near his foot—long, curved, slightly yellowed, with jagged ridges. Like a malformed dagger.
"These'll be useful," he muttered, scooping them up and stuffing them into his backpack. "Barbs, traps… maybe a knife."
But the weight in his chest returned.
Empty.
I can't track anything without that power. I'm blind now.
And it was dangerous out here. Very.
He forced himself up with a grunt, hobbling on his half-healed leg. His foot dragged slightly, but he could walk. Just barely. Blood trickled down his temple. His body screamed at him to stop.
But he moved anyway.
The path back to the hideout was sluggish, blurry. The wind howled through the jungle as if mourning something. Adrian stumbled through it, soaked and shivering. His footfalls were uneven, but he never stopped.
By the time he reached the hidden alcove between the rocky outcroppings, he collapsed into the shelter like a puppet with cut strings.
When he opened his eyes again, the world was bathed in orange. The sun was already setting—its last rays painting the sky in soft firelight.
He sat up, blinking.
His body was stiff. Scarred. But the pain was mostly gone.
His legs flexed. He stood—tentatively. Then more firmly.
His hand touched his side. The gashes were gone—only faint, jagged lines remained.
"Not bad," he muttered.
He looked at his reflection in a pool just outside the hideout. His face was pale, eyes slightly sunken. Blood still clung to the ends of his hair, and his hoodie looked like it had been dragged through war. But there was something... rugged about it. Wild.
He was changing.
He had changed.
Adrian walked toward the beach, the last light glinting off the dark waves. The ocean stretched endlessly, silent, reflecting the bruised sky. He stared for a long while, arms at his sides.
"What am I even meant to do here?" he asked aloud, voice carried slightly by the sea breeze.
Nothing replied.
Only the sounds of insects, waves, and distant birds.
Silence.
He laughed under his breath. A bitter chuckle.