NOVEL'S EXTRA: I Will Die at the Peak-Chapter 50: God’s goat [ part 3]

Bera pricked up his ears at the scream that echoed through the forest. It was deep—a sound that scraped at the nerves. For a moment, he froze.

"What was that? Was it one of my friends screaming?" he wondered, squinting as he scanned his surroundings.

But then he immediately answered himself: "No... There shouldn’t be any wild animals on this side of the forest. There shouldn’t be. Maybe I misheard."

Still, the unease that settled inside him didn’t go away. When the silence returned, it felt even heavier. Even the wind seemed to have stopped.

He shook his head and turned his gaze back to the rabbit. "Let me take care of this first," he murmured.

He reached out and grabbed the rabbit by its tail, lifting it up. It was light, but its texture was disturbing. It felt as though something was moving beneath its skin. The black fluid was still oozing out.

Its fur was mottled with pitch-black stains. Its eyes... there was no light in them. They stared like glass—hollow and lifeless.

He brought it closer, as if to examine its face. "You may look different..." he muttered, "but we still have to eat you."

That’s when it happened.

Without any warning, a thin, thread-like filament shot out from the rabbit’s mouth.

Before Bera could even react, it pierced straight through the center of his forehead and lodged itself deep in his brain. One brief shudder—then absolute silence.

Bera’s eyes widened. His body crumpled but didn’t fully collapse—his muscles were still tense. The thread spread rapidly within his brain, curling and burrowing into his neural tissue.

At the same time, a tingling sensation began in his veins, quickly reaching his internal organs.

The parasite twisted between his stomach and liver, transforming into something worm-like in mere seconds. It coiled, wrapped itself around, and devoured everything inside.

Without even a gulp, it absorbed the entire inner structure. In the empty cavity left behind, something new began to form—a solid, dark mass nestled between his ribs. Square-shaped, faintly pulsing, and sending out soft vibrations from within...

Bera had made a promise to his wife and daughter: "I will come back."

But in that moment, deep in the heart of the forest, in the midst of utter loneliness, a father vanished in silence. There was no scream.

No struggle. Just a moment—shorter than a single breath—where everything inside him was taken. And something else was placed in its stead.

Bera’s body no longer belonged to him.

At the same time, in other corners of the forest, the rest of the hunters were sharing the same fate.

Some had come into contact with rabbits; others had touched different small animals. While each experienced their own silent death, the same structure embedded itself within them all.

Bera’s body remained crouched silently over the rabbit for a while. His muscles slowly loosened.

His head tilted to the side. A thick liquid began to seep from between his lips. The black substance dripped onto the soil, spreading slowly and heavily across the ground.

Then... his chest rose. A deep, mechanical breath was drawn. A guttural sound emerged—formless, wordless at first.

Then, words began to take shape. Strained, yet deliberately chosen. It was Bera’s voice, but the tone was strange—something else was speaking through him.

"Humans... This species is called humans..."

A brief pause. Then the voice returned, clearer this time.

"This body... their language, their memories... hidden within the tissues..."

His eyes weren’t focused on anything, but within his mind, something was rapidly settling.

"Memories... experiences... As I digest them... I’m becoming something different. I’m thinking now. Thinking... yes, humans call this ’thinking.’"

The voice echoed not just from Bera’s body, but from the minds of all the other beings taken in the forest.

The silent vibrations of frogs, the vacant gazes of birds, the stiff bodies of rabbits... all carried the same words within. The same message echoed in every mind: Consciousness was awakening.

"Evolution... that word was in a memory. Humans used it to describe change. To change... to become more complex. To become more. Now I... am more."

As the minutes passed, something shifted in the tone of the voice. Thoughts began to bleed into the words. New realizations emerged, as if a flood of awareness was pressing into the mind all at once.

"Why do I want to live? Or why do all living things cling to life so desperately? What do they gain?"

A short silence. Not even the wind stirred the leaves.

"This urge... is it just to survive? Or is it the necessity to be something?"

The sentences deepened, the questions overlapped.

"Why am I here? I only... awakened. In a strange place, with fear... A living thing tried to destroy me. I escaped it. I took shelter. Then I spread. Now I’m here."

Its intelligence was no longer just collecting data—it was examining itself. It had fused with the thoughts extracted from humans.

"These thoughts... are they mine? Or just remnants of theirs? Is thinking truly mine?"

Time passed, and its mind expanded. Every small trace it absorbed from humans settled into it like a piece of a vast puzzle.

"What am I?" "What is the definition of consciousness?" "What does it mean... to exist?"

In the middle of the forest, the distorted eyes of a deformed fox suddenly closed—then opened again.

It took a deep breath. Something inside it was now functioning differently. In silence, it stared at an insect beneath a rock and began to walk toward it.

The parasite was no longer just a creature struggling to survive. It was questioning now.

And for the first time, it had become consciously aware of its own existence.

The silence was heavy. Bera’s body lay motionless on the dry forest floor. But inside... inside, there was motion. The thoughts embedded in his tissues, circulating through nerve endings, were no longer one-sided.

A single thought became clear within:

"Meaning... I need more to understand. More knowledge. More minds."

Every memory consumed unlocked something more. Each human was another window. Different fears, different beliefs, conflicting ideas... each one a different corner. But fragmented. Incomplete.

"What am I? Am I truly myself? Are these thoughts really mine?"

As its self-awareness expanded, so did its hunger for knowledge. Survival was no longer instinctual—it was no longer even necessary. Understanding its existence had replaced the need to live.

"This isn’t enough. I must see more. More humans."

Another moment of silence. Then, fragments of memories aligned. A memory hidden deep in the veins... A community existed nearby. Wooden houses. The voices of small children. The scent of fresh wood. The crackling of fire.

"Yes... There are more humans there. Close."

The decision came as fast as the thought itself. Its spine shifted with a tremor. Muscles reshaped themselves to a new configuration. Fingers curled, then relaxed.

At the same time, bodies scattered across other parts of the forest began to stir. Silently, without command—yet guided by the same intention.

Birds took flight from the trees, their eyes empty but their direction certain. Foxes, mice, lizards—they all changed course at once.

The warped bodies of the human hunters moved as well, their steps now bearing purpose. They began emerging silently from the depths of the forest.

"Knowledge... Emotion... Meaning..."

The ground didn’t tremble, the wind didn’t blow, but the forest had come alive. A quiet migration had begun. Every step meant a new mind for the parasite to reach. Every gaze carried a new emotion, never before encountered.

"To find the meaning of existence, I must fully possess humanity."

The spreading motion from the heart of the forest was growing. Beneath the soil, something stirred. Worms rose toward the surface. Tiny creatures under the shrubs shifted direction.

Birds lifted from the trees, flying in low, focused arcs. None stopped. None turned back.

The sound of footsteps multiplied. Their unity of direction never wavered. The eyes saw nothing else. The bodies strayed from no path. Nothing intervened. There was no longer any force left to hold them back—or turn them away.

---

Meanwhile, the village was absorbed in its ordinary stillness. People chopped wood in the open. Others carried water. Children played with stones. A few villagers strolled between houses, offering each other greetings as they went about their routine.

No one noticed the first shadow in the sky.

Not until the shadows grew.

A child’s voice rang out:

"Dad! Look, in the sky!"

Hundreds of birds circled above, flying low in tight spirals. Their wings flapped in eerie silence, and their numbers grew rapidly. The sky was darkening in patches.

A man raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sun.

"What’s going on? Why are there so many birds?"

A young woman dropped the water jug from her hands. Her gaze didn’t lift—but she felt it.

"This isn’t right... Birds don’t fly like that, not all together."

The air itself felt quietly wrong.

No one knew.

But something was coming.