Mortis silently walked through the dense forest, his steps light with the lowest possible sound. Moonlight shined through the towering trees, casting long, twisting shadows across the forest floor. Every step he took, he kept his senses sharp, his ears tuned to the faintest rustle of leaves or crack of a twig.
The deeper he went, the more unnatural the silence became. There were no chirping insects, no howling winds—just an oppressive stillness. It was as if the forest itself held its breath.
His instincts screamed at him. Something was off.
'No small animals, no birds… This is wrong.'
Tightening his grip on the crude hunting knife at his waist, he walked forward, scanning the area for any signs of movement.
It wasn't long before he found them—tracks imprinted in the damp soil. Clawed footprints, large and oddly spaced, heading in a curved path through the undergrowth.
Clearly it wasn't left behind by ordinary animal.
Mortis crouched, running a hand over the print. The size suggested something larger than a wolf, yet lighter in weight. The spacing of the steps indicated that it moved with unnatural agility. He narrowed his eyes.
'A predator.'
He simply wanted to hunt an animal for food and, more importantly, harvest the bone powder for his potion. But, unfortunately for him, a predator had already cleared the area of smaller prey. The eerie silence of the forest made that much clear. No rustling of small creatures, no chirping of birds—just an unsettling stillness.
And yet, Mortis couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't alone.
Somewhere in the darkness, behind the trees and shifting shadows, something was watching. Waiting.
A low growl rumbled from the darkness ahead.
Mortis stilled. His muscles tensed as his eyes darted toward the source of the sound.
Two glowing amber eyes emerged from the darkness, peering at him from behind a deformed tree. A shadow shifted, revealing a massive catlike creature, its dark fur blending seamlessly with the night. Its fangs shone as it bared its teeth, saliva dripping onto the forest floor.
'Damn. It's something like panther.'
The creature was looking at him like predator looks on his prey.
But, Mortis had no intention of being its next meal.
Slowly, he slid his foot back, shifting his weight into a stance that would allow him to move in an instant. The panther's muscles coiled in response, its body lowering as it prepared to strike. The tension in the air was suffocating, a deadly silence…
Then, it pounced.
Mortis reacted instantly, twisting his body as he threw himself to the side. Claws sliced through the air where he had stood a fraction of a second before, carving deep gouges into the bark of a nearby tree.
Rolling to his feet, he turned just in time to see the panther recover with unnatural speed. It crouched low again, its gaze fixed on him, tail flicking side to side like a metronome of death.
He needed a weapon—his knife wouldn't be enough.
His eyes darted around, scanning for anything useful. A sharp glint near the base of a tree caught his attention. A broken spear tip, rusted but still solid. Perhaps a remnant from a long-forgotten battle or a previous victim of the panther.
He didn't have time to question it.
Dashing toward it, he slid across the damp soil, snatching the spear tip just as the panther lunged again. He twisted at the last second, driving the sharp metal edge upward.
A sickening sound echoed through the trees as the spear tip sank into the panther's side. The beast let out a deafening roar, thrashing wildly. Mortis released his grip and dove backward, avoiding the panther's claws as it staggered in pain.
Blood dripped onto the forest floor. The wound wasn't fatal, but it was deep.
The panther growled; its breath ragged. It knew this fight was no longer worth it. With one final glare, it turned and bolted into the darkness, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.
Mortis exhaled, his chest rising and falling heavily. His fingers trembled slightly as the adrenaline disappeared away.
'That was close. Too close.'
Shaking off the lingering tension, he refocused on his hunt. The panther had driven away most of the smaller animals in the area, but there had to be some left. He just needed to go slightly deeper into the forest.
Walking forward, he searched patiently until he found fresh tracks—rabbit-like creatures and a few deer-like beasts. He crouched low, tracking them carefully.
After some time, he finally spotted his targets. A pair of creatures resembling small deer were drinking from a nearby river. One was slightly larger than the other—perfect for his purposes. Without hesitation, he sprang forward, moving swiftly and silently.
The first kill was quick and efficient. He sneaked behind it with hunting knife in hand and precisely stabbed the creature's neck, ensuring it didn't suffer. This one would provide the bone powder he needed.
The second animal attempted to flee, but Mortis was faster. He lunged, catching it by the back of it's neck and cutting it's throat he swiftly killed it too without too much suffering. This one would serve as the food for him and mysterious man.
With both animals secured, Mortis stood, scanning the darkening forest. Shadows stretched long between the towering trees, their gnarled branches swaying gently in the night breeze. The distant hoot of an owl was the only sound that broke the eerie silence.
This was it—his best opportunity.
Here, in the solitude of the wilderness, away from the mysterious man and all the necessary ingredients, he could finally brew his potion. Who knew if he'd get another chance once they resumed their journey to the testing grounds?
Without hesitation, he knelt on the forest floor and retrieved the necessary ingredients. First, the nettle leaves he had gathered earlier from their way through the dense forest. Next, the bone powder he had just harvested from the deer-like creatures. Lastly, he pulled out the ground oats and black pepper he had collected from the carriage before the massacre.
He took out his flask for water, uncorked it and methodically combined the ingredients, carefully following the recipe. A faint herbal scent mixed with the sharp bite of pepper as he stirred the concoction.
Once finished, he raised the flask to his lips and drank it in one swift motion. The liquid was bitter, the coarse powder clinging to his tongue, but he swallowed it down without hesitation. Then, with a practiced motion, he refilled the flask from a nearby river.
At first, he felt nothing. No noticeable change in his body. That was to be expected. The effects of this potion were subtle, a really minimal enhancement rather than a high effective transformation. But even so, it was a welcomed boost.
Determined, he prepared and drank several more doses until, at last, felt like his body slightly hardened itself. It was minimal, barely noticeable, but Mortis could tell—something had changed.
A small smirk tugged at his lips. It wasn't much, but it was still good. But after the consumption of all these doses it was already pretty much in vain to drink more of this potion. His body already became resistant towards it.