Absolute instinct

The world around him was chaos.

Before him, the carcasses of beasts lay scattered across the ground. The once serene forest had turned into a battlefield, littered with the broken bodies of creatures that had been too slow, too weak to match his newfound strength. The ground was soaked with blood—his own and that of the monsters he had slain.

His body was covered in dirt, torn clothing clinging to his muscular frame, sweat dripping down his face. His left eye, once the mark of vulnerability, had become a symbol of his survival. The scar, still fresh but healing at an unnatural rate, pulsed with an energy he couldn't explain. His other senses, heightened by the surge of power, burned with the knowledge that more beasts were closing in.

The air was thick, humid, and heavy with the scent of death. The rumble of the distant creatures echoed through the trees, an ominous reminder that his battle was far from over. He could hear their movements—each footstep, each growl, each breath. The beasts were out there, waiting for him to make the first move. But he was no longer afraid.

He had been forced to survive on sheer instinct. His training, his discipline—none of it had been enough when the beasts attacked. It was only the wildness within him, that untamed hunger for survival, that had kept him alive.

And now, as the sun began to dip behind the horizon, casting long shadows over the battlefield, he could feel the primal force within him stir again.

He had learned to fight like this—the instinctive rush of adrenaline, the unpredictable movements, the raw ferocity. His body moved without thought, without hesitation. His hands, once unsure, now gripped his weapons with lethal precision. The sword he had taken from his father was heavy in his hand, but it felt right now—like an extension of his will, an instrument of destruction. He swung it with a force he hadn't known he was capable of, cutting through the thick fur and bone of the monsters.

But the beasts were relentless.

The first wave had been a blur—too quick, too savage. But as the fight dragged on, he found a rhythm, a brutal dance of violence. His feet moved faster than his mind could follow, his hands more skilled than they had ever been in training. He twisted, turned, and struck, using his environment—the trees, the rocks, the thick underbrush—to his advantage. Every swing of his sword, every kick, every strike, was fueled by the primal fury that surged in his blood.

It was not clean. It was not controlled.

It was raw, brutal, and unrelenting.

He slashed through the thick hide of a mutant boar, its tusks scraping against his shoulder as it charged. The pain was sharp, but he didn't pause. The wound began to bleed, but he ignored it, letting the blood spill, mingling with the blood of his enemies.

He leapt over a charging creature, a massive, mutated wolf with fur as dark as night. It snapped at his heels, but he was already in the air, his body twisting as he brought his sword down in a brutal arc. The blade sliced through the creature's spine with ease, and it fell, its blood spraying across the dirt.

His chest heaved, his muscles screamed for rest, but there was no time. More were coming.

The fight was endless.

The creatures came from all directions—huge, twisted, mutated animals, some walking on two legs, others on four, each more grotesque than the last. There were hundreds of them, filling the space around him, pushing him to his limits. His legs were beginning to shake, his vision blurring from the pain. His chest burned with exhaustion, but he refused to stop. His hands were slick with blood, his grip slipping, but he held on, swinging his sword with whatever strength he had left.

A monstrous jaguar, its fur streaked with unnatural colors, lunged at him from the shadows. It was fast, far faster than anything he had fought before. He barely managed to block its jaws with his blade, the impact sending a shockwave through his body. His arm trembled, the force of the blow rattling his bones. But he didn't stop. He twisted the sword, driving it deep into the jaguar's chest, feeling the bones crack as it let out a final, guttural scream.

But it didn't end there.

Another wave of creatures surged forward, faster, more determined. A giant lizard-like beast with claws like razors swiped at his face, catching him across the cheek. The flesh tore, and pain shot through his skull, but he didn't hesitate. His instincts took over, and he dove under the beast, rolling to the side as it lunged again. He came up with his sword raised, driving it into the creature's underbelly. It let out a shrill cry before crumbling to the ground.

But the battle wore on. He had lost track of time. Hours had passed, or maybe days—he couldn't tell. His body was a patchwork of injuries, cuts, bruises, and broken bones. His chest ached with each breath, his limbs felt like lead, but his mind—the part of him that refused to give in—kept pushing him forward.

A massive creature appeared in the distance, larger than any he had faced before. It was a bear, but not like any bear he had ever seen. Its fur was matted and thick, its eyes glowed with an unnatural yellow hue. It let out a roar, shaking the ground beneath his feet.

He could feel the terror rising in his chest, but he pushed it down. Fear was a weakness. Fear would get him killed.

He stood tall, sword in hand, and faced the monster head-on.

The bear charged, its massive claws slashing through the air. Our main character dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the strike. He came up behind it, slashing at its exposed flank, but the creature turned on him with surprising speed. The force of its counterattack sent him crashing to the ground, pain radiating through his back.

But he didn't stop.

He gritted his teeth, blood spilling from his mouth, and rose to his feet. He could hear the bear's heavy breaths, feel its fury. It would not stop. And neither would he.

With a guttural roar, he surged forward, charging at the creature with everything he had left. His sword found its mark, slicing through the bear's throat. The beast let out a final roar before collapsing, its blood pooling around him.

For a moment, the world was silent.

The ground beneath him seemed to tremble. The forest was still.

But he knew. There would be more.

And he would be ready.

End of Chapter 3: The Awakening of the B