Chapter 10: Into the Night

  Gaia World, 3 Days After The Shattering

  Pawel's hands shook as he crammed the last of his gear into his backpack—the tent bundled haphazardly, the sleeping pad strapped on top, his slingshot and hatchet shoved into side pockets. The purple cracks in the sky loomed ominously, their anomalous energy humming in the distance, spawning those knee-high tadpole things in erratic bursts. They scattered aimlessly at first, but he knew it wouldn't last. The pond nearby would draw them like a magnet, and his camp sat right in their path. "No time for neatness," he muttered, slinging the pack over his shoulders with a grunt. The weight settled unevenly, but he ignored it, gripping his spear tightly in his right hand

  He cast one last glance at the surroundings making sure nothing was forgotten. turned his back to the slope with mysterious cracks in reality on top and was about to take his first steps into the forest when movement caught his eye—a frantic rustle in the underbrush, about twenty meters away. A small, raccoon-like animal burst from the bushes , its fur matted and streaked with mud, eyes wide with exhaustion. It was roughly the size of a large cat, with banded markings on its tail and a pointed snout, but its gait was labored, legs wobbling. It panted heavily, sides heaving, clearly at the end of its rope—running on fumes from whatever had chased it this far.

  Pawel froze, instinctively shifting his spear to a ready position, point forward and braced against his hip. The motion was unconscious, born from the spider fight and his growing wariness of this world.

  And that's when he saw it: trailing the weary creature by just a few meters, emerging from the same patch of bushes with a deliberate, unhurried waddle.

  The thing was exactly as he'd glimpsed from afar—knee-high when standing, shaped like a tadpole that had sprouted two stubby legs midway down its elongated body. Its front end widened into a bulbous "head" with small, beady eyes set close together, glinting like wet pebbles in the fading light. The skin—or hide?—looked like it had been crudely sculpted from moist clay, clumps and ridges glued together in uneven patches, giving it a lumpy, almost handmade appearance. A subtle sheen coated its surface, as if perpetually damp, reflecting the suns fading glow in faint, oily highlights.

  The color was a uniform reddish clay, earthy and unremarkable on its own, but it stood out starkly against the vivid greens of the surrounding grass and bushes, like a lump of fired pottery dropped amid lush foliage. From the head gaped a wide mouth, lined with sharp, triangular teeth arranged in a precise, even row—like serrated blades waiting to snap shut. Its "tail" tapered gradually, not the abrupt narrowing of a real tadpole, but a smooth, flowing transition to a narrow point that dragged slightly on the ground as it moved. It ambled forward on those two short legs, each step a deliberate plop against the soil, no other limbs to speak of—no arms, no fins, just that bizarre, bipedal waddle that propelled it with surprising steadiness.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  The raccoon-thing spotted Pawel and veered slightly, too tired to alter course much, but the tadpole's eyes locked onto his movement—the shift of the spear, the subtle tension in his stance. It halted abruptly, head tilting as if assessing this new, larger target. Then, without warning, its jaw began to chatter—teeth clacking together in a rapid, loud staccato, like castanets made of bone, echoing through the clearing with a menacing rhythm. The sound was unnerving, primal, designed to intimidate or perhaps to signal its intent.

  Pawel's heart pounded, adrenaline surging as he gripped the spear tighter. The creature crouched low on its stubby legs, coiling like a spring for just a second, its teeth still chattering furiously as it fixed him with those tiny eyes.

  With a sudden explosive leap, the tadpole launched itself forward—covering nearly three meters in a single bound, its body hurtling toward Pawel's legs like a living projectile. He sidestepped instinctively, thrusting the spear downward in a reflexive jab. The point scraped across the creature's clay-like hide, skittering along the lumpy surface with a smooth slushing sound, as if he'd struck a real lump of wet clay. Bits of the outer layer flaked off in moist clumps, leaving a gouged mark that revealed no veins or organs , just more of clay-like substance , like scraping the surface of fresh pottery.

  The tadpole landed with a thud, rolling once before righting itself, undeterred. It chattered again, louder this time, and coiled for another jump, clearly tracking Pawel's every motion.

  Compared to the spider, this one was noticeably slower in its movements, giving him a precious moment to react.

  The raccoon-thing, forgotten in the chaos, scampered past Pawel and vanished into the forest, its exhausted scrabbling fading into the brush. Pawel circled slowly, keeping his eyes on the tadpole, spear at the ready.

  "Come on, you lump of mud," he growled under his breath, his voice steady despite the fear knotting his gut. Pretending to be more confident than felt.

  This thing was no spider in terms of speed, but its predatory gaze chilled him. It tracked his shifts, reacting to the motion, its small eyes unblinking.

  It leaped again, aiming higher this time, straight for his groin. Pawel swung the spear like a club, connecting solidly with the side of its head. The impact jarred his arms, the hide yielding slightly like wet clay under the blow, but it sent the creature tumbling sideways. It hit the ground with a thud , rolling away.

  Pawel used those opportunity to create even more distance to safely scan surroundings for more attackers.

  It was still just one on one.

  Creature , undaunted, scrambled back up, chattering its teeth in rapid fury, and charged once more—waddling forward to close the gap before leaping.

  But instead of changing its charge into a jump fluidly it stopped in preparation again.

  This time, Pawel was ready. As it coiled, he lunged, driving the spear's point straight into its open mouth.

  The triangular teeth clamped down instinctively, but the force of his thrust pushed through, piercing the outer clay layer with a squelch. Inside, the tissues were softer, yielding like damp sponge as the spear sank deeper.

  The tadpole thrashed wildly, its body convulsing as ichor—thick and brownish like diluted mud—oozed from the wound. Pawel twisted the spear, grinding it deeper, using his weight to pin monster to the ground. It writhed for what felt like an eternity, legs kicking futilely, tail whipping against the dirt, but gradually its movements slowed, the chattering fading to a weak click before stopping altogether.

  Pawel yanked the spear free, stepping back warily, breath coming in gasps from excitement.

  The creature lay still, its clay-like form crumbling slightly at the edges, as if drying out in death. Then, just like the spider before it, it dissolved into a puff of purple mist, swirling briefly , but this time it dissipated into the air instead of chasing Pawel.

  A faint warmth spread through Pawel's veins regardless—not the burning from before, but something subtler.

  He was momentarily tempted to test if something changed with his new senses, but he could not afford distraction.

  The man glanced at the purple cracks rising menacingly into the sky in the distance. Then at his DIY spear – it was already damaged from creature's teeth gnashing on it – but still usable .

  He shouldered his pack tighter and hurried away, spear still clutched like a lifeline, weaving deeper into the forest.