The lost (false) demigod

'Huff' 'huff' 'huff'

My lungs burned as I ran through the fluffy snow, each step sinking deep into the cold, treacherous ground. The trees around me cast gigantic shadows, their ice-laden branches creaking under the weight of winter. Moonlight poured into the forest, painting the snow with a silvery light—enough to guide me, but not enough to make me feel safe. Behind me, the sound of paws crunching the snow mixed with low, guttural growls. I glanced back—a mistake. His eyes glowed like embers in the shadows—hungry, relentless.

I clutched the small leather bag against my chest, its weight pressing into my ribs. Inside were two futuristic syringes—sleek silver cylinders, one pulsing faintly with blue light, the other empt . They were the reason I was running. They were also my only hope of survival.

Every breath was a battle. The icy air clawed at my throat, and my vision blurred with exhaustion. The howls came again—sharp, piercing, and full of menace. A warning. A promise. My strength was draining as fast as my options.

Then my foot caught on an ice-covered trunk. I fell hard, snow biting into my hands and knees. Pain flared, but panic roared louder. Get up. Get up now! My limbs felt like lead, but I forced myself upright, my fingers scrambling for the bag. Relief flooded me as I felt its strap still secure.

Ahead, a frozen stream shimmered under the twin moons, its surface shining like fragile glass. I didn't hesitate. I shot out onto the ice, the brittle surface cracking with every step. The wolves stopped at the edge of the stream, their growls deepening as they sniffed the air, their glowing eyes locked on me. Their hesitation bought me a moment, but I knew it wouldn't last.

My boots crunched back into the snow as I reached the other side, pushing toward the hill ahead. Its rocky outcrop promised shelter, or at least a distance from my pursuers. My legs screamed in protest as I climbed, the powdery snow sliding beneath my boots. Each step was agony, but stopping wasn't an option. The wolves were too close—I could feel their presence like a shadow at my back.

Finally, I reached the top and threw myself against the trunk of a gnarled pine. My chest heaved, and my hands clawed at the frozen bark as I dragged myself onto a higher branch. Hidden in the shadows, I clung to the tree like it was my last lifeline. My body shook uncontrollably—fear, cold, and exhaustion all blending into a single, overwhelming sensation.

Below, the wolves circled, their dark forms stark against the pristine snow. Their tracks crisscrossed the clearing in a chaotic web of pursuit. The leader—a massive black wolf with ice-flecked fur—stepped forward, his eyes burning like coals. He threw his head back and let out a bone-chilling howl, a sound that echoed through the silent forest. Slowly, he turned and led the pack away, their reluctant growls fading into the distance.

I didn't move. I barely breathed. Only when the silence crept back into the forest did I dare to open the bag. The syringes were still there, slightly warm despite the cold. Whatever was in them, it was important enough to risk my life.

After all, if only one was enough to make me able to run from wolves for hours straight, I can only imagine what would happen if I applied the other one, but let's not be greedy, I need to get out of this situation first. after that, I will think of applying strange things that I don't know where they come from on my body.

As soon as I calmed down enough, the weight of the night pressed down on me, dragging me back into memory.

I've always been a survivor. Not because I wanted to be, but because life never gave me another choice. I grew up on the edges of society, where kindness was just another word for weakness. Family? Gone before I even knew what the word meant. Friends? They either betrayed me or vanished when things got tough. The scars on my body weren't just proof of battles fought—they were the price of being alive in a world that didn't want me.

For years, I scraped by, fighting in underground rings, working jobs that broke my back but barely paid the bills. Somehow, I kept going. And just when I thought things might finally turn around, life laughed in my face.

It was raining that night, cold and relentless. I was heading home after another grueling shift when I heard a scream. A woman, trapped in an alley by a group of thugs. I could've walked away. Should've, probably. But something about that scream... it dug into me. Before I knew it, I was charging in, fists flying.

It wasn't the first time I'd fought outnumbered. I knew how to take a hit, and how to make every punch count. I fought like my life depended on it—because it did. But then I felt it. A sharp, cold pain in my side. One of them had pulled a knife.

They ran, and the woman ran too, yelling something about getting help. But I knew it wouldn't matter. I slumped against the wall, the rain washing my blood into the gutters. My vision blurred, and I thought, So this is how it ends, how patetic.

Except it didn't.

When I opened my eyes, I wasn't in that alley anymore. I was in a forest—a snowy, freezing forest under a sky with two moons. At first, I thought I was dreaming, or maybe hallucinating. But then I tried to move, and that's when the real panic set in.

My body wasn't mine. My hands were tiny, clumsy. My legs barely worked. I stumbled to the edge of a frozen stream and saw my reflection: a child. No, a toddler. Maybe two years old.

I didn't understand what had happened or why I was here. All I knew was that I was alive, and that meant one thing: survive. That's what I'd always done. That's what I'd always be.

The cold wind snapped me back to the present. My breath misted in the icy air, and my fingers tightened around the leather bag with the syringes. The wolves would return, and I needed to be ready when they did. Survival wasn't just a habit—it was the only thing I knew.

Well, there's something they don't know, the syringes aren't the only thing that I got, and with a bunch of concentration I summoned what appeared to see a round trident with a monster eye on the center of it, which for some reason was still alive and looking straight into my eyes, but all I felt was joy, the joy of knowing that I can survive in this shitty world.

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