The blade wasn't special. Just a 10-inch tanto edge, blackened steel, dull from years of use. But it had killed the man who deserved it most. And now, it trembled in the grip of Caleb Rhys—a man hollowed out by vengeance, walking deeper into Bloodwood Hollow, where the trees groaned like dying men and the fog thickened with each step.
Caleb had come here chasing a rumor. The last man on his kill list—Marshal Brax—had vanished into this place five years ago after leading the raid that killed Caleb's wife and unborn son. Locals whispered that Brax went mad, that he’d seen things no man could endure. Others claimed he became something else entirely.
The forest swallowed sound. No birds. No wind. Just Caleb’s boots crunching the rot.
Signs began almost instantly. Twisted effigies—branches tied like broken bones. Teeth hanging from twine. A voice whispered his name on the wind, but when he turned, no one was there. His mind screamed turn back, but his rage pushed him forward.
Night fell fast in Bloodwood. Caleb found an old shack made from warped lumber and moss-covered stone. He lit a small fire inside. The walls were carved with symbols, all identical—an eye, split vertically like it was crying. Beneath it, the word "REMEMBER."
Sleep never came. Just a dream that was more like a memory. Of Brax laughing. His wife’s blood soaking the floor. And behind him—a tall figure with skin like burlap and a grin that split its entire face.
He woke to whispers outside. Shapes shifted in the fog. He stepped out with his blade drawn.
They weren’t people. Long limbs. No eyes. Moving like smoke through the trees. The blade sunk into one—it screamed like a baby being drowned. The fog bled red. The thing crumbled into ash.
He ran. Branches clawed at him. The forest moved, reshaped. Trees with faces. A deer with six legs ran backwards. Caleb tripped and slid down a ravine, landing at the feet of a stone monolith.
It bore Brax’s face—carved in screaming agony. And nailed beneath it…was a body. Emaciated. Alive.
Brax.
Eyes wide. Lips stitched shut with bramble. Carved into his chest: “I OFFERED.”
The moment Caleb touched him, the forest screamed. A thousand voices. A single word: “BETRAYER.”
Brax’s mouth burst open, and black smoke poured out. He howled and changed—bones cracking outward, eyes filling with darkness. The forest birthed him anew—a crawling, jerking thing, mouth unhinged and limbs like rusted tools.
Caleb fought with everything. He stabbed, hacked, screamed. The blade shattered. Brax kept coming.
So Caleb picked up a branch sharpened like a pike and rammed it through Brax’s jaw. The thing convulsed, then hissed, "It never ends."
The trees howled. Brax’s form split open, revealing a pulsing red cocoon—inside, a version of Caleb. Whole. Clean. Holding a child.
The illusion pulled at him. “Stay,” it whispered. “You can have them back.”
Caleb stepped close. Tears fell.
Then he set the forest on fire.
He burned it all. The illusion. Brax’s corpse. The trees. The symbols. The soil screamed.
He walked out at dawn, soot-covered and broken. No blade. No answers. Just ash behind him.
In his hand: a single tooth tied to a string.
And somewhere, in the smoke… the eye opened again.
Caleb had come here chasing a rumor. The last man on his kill list—Marshal Brax—had vanished into this place five years ago after leading the raid that killed Caleb's wife and unborn son. Locals whispered that Brax went mad, that he’d seen things no man could endure. Others claimed he became something else entirely.
The forest swallowed sound. No birds. No wind. Just Caleb’s boots crunching the rot.
Signs began almost instantly. Twisted effigies—branches tied like broken bones. Teeth hanging from twine. A voice whispered his name on the wind, but when he turned, no one was there. His mind screamed turn back, but his rage pushed him forward.
Night fell fast in Bloodwood. Caleb found an old shack made from warped lumber and moss-covered stone. He lit a small fire inside. The walls were carved with symbols, all identical—an eye, split vertically like it was crying. Beneath it, the word "REMEMBER."
Sleep never came. Just a dream that was more like a memory. Of Brax laughing. His wife’s blood soaking the floor. And behind him—a tall figure with skin like burlap and a grin that split its entire face.
He woke to whispers outside. Shapes shifted in the fog. He stepped out with his blade drawn.
They weren’t people. Long limbs. No eyes. Moving like smoke through the trees. The blade sunk into one—it screamed like a baby being drowned. The fog bled red. The thing crumbled into ash.
He ran. Branches clawed at him. The forest moved, reshaped. Trees with faces. A deer with six legs ran backwards. Caleb tripped and slid down a ravine, landing at the feet of a stone monolith.
It bore Brax’s face—carved in screaming agony. And nailed beneath it…was a body. Emaciated. Alive.
Brax.
Eyes wide. Lips stitched shut with bramble. Carved into his chest: “I OFFERED.”
The moment Caleb touched him, the forest screamed. A thousand voices. A single word: “BETRAYER.”
Brax’s mouth burst open, and black smoke poured out. He howled and changed—bones cracking outward, eyes filling with darkness. The forest birthed him anew—a crawling, jerking thing, mouth unhinged and limbs like rusted tools.
Caleb fought with everything. He stabbed, hacked, screamed. The blade shattered. Brax kept coming.
So Caleb picked up a branch sharpened like a pike and rammed it through Brax’s jaw. The thing convulsed, then hissed, "It never ends."
The trees howled. Brax’s form split open, revealing a pulsing red cocoon—inside, a version of Caleb. Whole. Clean. Holding a child.
The illusion pulled at him. “Stay,” it whispered. “You can have them back.”
Caleb stepped close. Tears fell.
Then he set the forest on fire.
He burned it all. The illusion. Brax’s corpse. The trees. The symbols. The soil screamed.
He walked out at dawn, soot-covered and broken. No blade. No answers. Just ash behind him.
In his hand: a single tooth tied to a string.
And somewhere, in the smoke… the eye opened again.
