The third day in the Endless Storm felt like someone had dipped the world in a boiling pot of chaos and turned the heat all the way up.
We were supposed to leave for the Vast Bare Plains today. That was the plan. That was the deal. Two days mining in the lightning storm, then move on to a landscape that didn't constantly try to electrocute us with every raindrop.
But nooo, of course things had to go off-script.
I don't remember who heard it first—probably Buzzcut, his ears always twitch when he's nervous—but I felt it. That low rumble beneath my boots, like the earth had a stomachache and it was about to go very, very wrong.
"...Do you feel that?" Rythe asked, her hand twitching toward her sidearm.
"Yeah," I said, already backing up. "And I hate it."
The ground exploded to our left. I screamed, Buzzcut screamed louder, and then a thing burst out of the earth like it had been fired from the planet's crust itself.
A mole.
A two-meter-long, muscle-wrapped nightmare with claws like swords and teeth made for crunching bone. Its skin was the color of rain-drenched granite, and its eyes gleamed like twin shards of obsidian.
"Lurkers!" Baldie shouted.
"No shit!" I shouted back, already bolting.
Then three more burst out of the ground like demonic dolphins, chasing us with a hunger that made everything worse. The lightning above cracked in sync with our screaming. Warm blue rain slapped my face like someone trying to wake me up from this living nightmare. The storm howled like it was cheering the damn moles on.
And we ran. Okay, correction: they ran. I was out.
I sprinted in rhythm, the bracelet on my wrist pinging lightly as I surged ahead. I didn't even think
Instinct kicked in, my feet remembering every cruel drill Phaser ever put me through.
The storm blurred around me, raindrops crashing like warm bullets, thunder rolling like some distant drumline hyping up the end of the world.
"HOW ARE YOU THIS FAST?!" Sunglasses roared behind me.
"GOD BLESS PHASER'S TORTURE CIRCUITS!" I yelled back.
Baldie was falling behind. Buzzcut tried to zigzag but tripped on some Synsiline shard half-buried in the ground. Rythe was panting hard beside me, her face streaked with wet hair and defiance.
I turned and caught a glimpse of the mole launching itself through the air so high that I thought that it could fly.
"IT CAN JUMP?!" Rythe screamed. "I'M SUING EVOLUTION!"
We bolted left, skidded down a slippery incline, and the mole slammed into the spot we had just vacated, exploding it into mud and lightning-charged mist.
Then two more burst out ahead of us.
"Oh come on!"
I ran faster. My pickaxe was still strapped across my back. I didn't have time to fight, not unless I wanted to be mole chow.
"BACK TO THE MINING RIDGE!" Baldie shouted. "MOVE, MOVE!"
We cut hard across a narrow trail where we had mined earlier, ducking under half-eroded rock arches and vaulting over pits filled with glowing water. The moles weren't stopping. They knew the area better than we did. The earth was their element. We were just tourists trespassing in their stormy paradise.
One got real close to Rythe. I grabbed her by the back of her collar and yanked her forward as its claw swiped just inches from her spine. She didn't even yell. She just nodded and ran harder.
Buzzcut tossed a rock behind us. It cracked mid-air, releasing a sound that mimicked the high-pitched scream of a dying wailbeast—nasty, loud, and enough to confuse anything with sensitive hearing. The moles flinched, burrowing back down to escape the screech.
It gave us just enough time to slam into the hollowed mining site, where our tents and gear were stored. The storm's intensity dulled under the thin shield we set up, flickering but holding.
Everyone collapsed to the ground in a chorus of gasps and groans. Sunglasses pulled off his soaked jacket and flung it across.
"That wasn't a hunt. That was an execution."
Baldie rubbed his bald head with a rain-drenched cloth.
"They're hunting anything that moves. The Plains are probably crawling too."
Rythe was still panting, her voice soft. "They weren't supposed to be here today."
I leaned against the nearest pillar, soaked but still grinning like an idiot.
"Change of plans, I guess."
Buzzcut wheezed, then let out a weak laugh. "You. You ran like you were powered by caffeine and trauma."
I gave him a thumbs-up. "My two fuel sources back in my old job."
They laughed genuinely, if shaky. For a moment, we forgot about the storm outside, the thunder, the fact that we had just been chased by underground demons with claws the size of swords.
I looked out through the barrier.
The rain kept falling. Beautiful, even, if you squinted through the chaos.
Just another day in the Cursed Basin where we almost died. Lurkers have extremely tough skin so challenging it was suicide. And even though I'm an Ennéa, I'm not thet powerful to actually challenge something that fast and skilled.
By the time the adrenaline wore off and our legs stopped shaking from the full-speed sprint from hell, the five of us sat huddled around the heatless fire core near the edge of our camp shield, soaked to the bone and covered in dirt, rainwater, and all kinds of regret.
The Lurker ambush had made one thing painfully clear: the Vast Bare Plains were a death sentence.
Baldie—still drying his scalp with a pathetic excuse of a cloth—was the first to say it out loud.
"We're not going to the Plains."
No one argued. Not even Sunglasses, who usually had an opinion about everything from battle tactics to breakfast portions. We all saw what the Lurkers did. Out in the Plains? Where there's zero cover, no elevation, and nowhere to hide? We'd be mole-snacks with a side of roasted bones by midday.
"Besides," Buzzcut grunted, throwing a broken Synsiline shard into the dirt, "the other groups already left for it. Half of 'em left last night. They're probably deep in already, fighting over ore like starving scavengers."
I exhaled sharply, still eyeing the stormy horizon. "Competitive groups in the Plains with mole-lords chasing everyone? That's not mining. That's a bloodbath."
Rythe nodded quietly. "And... they're Tria Threes and Fours. Some are even Pente and Exi. They can fight."
We all shared a glance. None of us had to say it out loud. They were Tria One and not high-ranking elites or powerhouse soldiers. They were the low-rankers barely surviving on footspeed, bluffing, and sheer panic.
Buzzcut scratched his chin. "Well, the only other place left to go is—"
"The forest," I finished.
Even the storm outside seemed to hush for a moment.
The Spooky Forest, as it's known around these parts. Real name: Shadene Veldt. But nobody uses that. Because when people do, they usually don't come back to repeat it.
According to Shannon's orientation briefing (which half the group definitely slept through), the forest had a 25% survival rate. That's not an exaggeration. That's a statistic the RPC proudly kept on record. One in four survived.
The rest? Either didn't listen… or looked back.
"We're really considering this?" Sunglasses asked, arms crossed, glaring at the ground. "The creepy-ass forest with ghost trees and whatever the hell else lives in there?"
"You got a better idea?" Baldie replied, completely deadpan.
Sunglasses didn't answer.
Baldie stood up, his silhouette outlined by the dim glow of the camp's safety barrier. He looked all of us in the eye one by one, his version of a serious moment, which was admittedly less powerful considering he had a wet sock on his shoulder.
"If we go to the forest, there are rules. You break one, you don't make it out. Clear?"
We all nodded.
"Rule number one. No noise. Don't speak. Don't hum. Don't whistle. Don't even breathe loud. The forest is acoustically alive. The louder you are, the faster something finds you."
Rythe shivered slightly beside me. "Like what kind of somethings?"
"No one knows," Buzzcut murmured. "They usually don't come back long enough to give details."
My stomach tightened. Cute.
"Rule number two. Never look back. Not once. Not if you hear something. Not if someone whispers your name. Not if you feel something brush your neck. Don't. Look. Back."
That got a reaction. Sunglasses raised an eyebrow. "That's… psychological horror level nonsense."
"It's real," Rythe said. "They say the forest doesn't like hesitation. Or curiosity."
"Which brings us to rule three. If you see a phenomenon—glowing light, misplaced building, strange sound, distorted figures—ignore it. Don't follow it. Don't 'investigate'. You're not a hero. That's how people die in there."
There was a brief, eerie silence. Only the patter of warm rain filled the space between us.
I swallowed and leaned back, trying to process it. We were choosing this. We were going to willingly enter a place that was basically a living test of psychological warfare, illusion, and possibly spatial distortion.
And yet… it felt safer than the Plains.
Running was our strength. And in the forest, if we were quiet, cautious, and followed the path, we might live. Lurkers couldn't tunnel through the dense roots and layers of the forest. The terrain wasn't ideal for them.
I took a deep breath. "Alright. I'm in."
"Same," Rythe added immediately.
Buzzcut gave a tired shrug. "Beats being mole food."
Sunglasses took the longest. He stared at the fire core like it owed him rent. Then, finally, he grumbled.
"Fine. But if I die, I'm haunting all of you."
Baldie gave us one last nod.
"We leave before first light. The entrance to the forest is about four hours northeast. Make sure your bracelets are secured. Double-check your gear. The forest isn't a place for second chances."
As the others moved off to prep, I stayed sitting for a moment, watching the rain blur against the edge of the storm barrier.
Never look back.
I repeated that in my mind like a mantra. Like it would save me. We didn't seek glory. We just wanted to survive. And in a place like that?
Survival was the only win that mattered.