The God of Nothing.-Chapter 10: The Price of Arrogance

The forest was too quiet.

Caelith crept through the underbrush, his boots crunching lightly on frost-laced leaves. Dawn's pale light filtered through the canopy, painting the mist in ghostly silver. Kaden's mocking words—"Still just a rabbit, though"—clung to him like a burr. Today, he'd return with proof that mattered. Something to carve that smirk off the man's face.

A rustle ahead.

He froze, breath fogging in the cold air. The sound came again—soft, skittering, like small paws darting through dry foliage.

His lips twitched. Another hare. Pathetic. But even a hare would be better than returning empty-handed.

He crept forward, blade low, the morning dew soaking into his trousers as he knelt.

The rustling stopped.

Caelith peered into the thicket. A shadow shifted, small and hunched.

Moonlight glinted off beady eyes.

Definitely a hare.

He relaxed slightly, rolling his shoulders.

This would be quick.

Too quick. He almost pitied the creature.

He lunged, sword slicing through the brush—

The shadow moved.

Not with the frantic scramble of a hare, but with liquid, predatory grace.

Caelith's blade struck empty air as the creature melted backward, vanishing into deeper shadows.

His stomach dropped.

What—?

A low growl rippled through the trees, closer now.

Caelith spun, heart hammering. The forest floor was still, but the air prickled with malice, thick as the mist clinging to his skin. His fingers tightened on his sword, the leather grip creaking.

There.

Movement flickered at the edge of his vision—a shadow slinking between trees. Too large for a hare. Too silent. Caelith's mouth went dry. He stepped back, boots sinking into mud, scanning the gloom. The scent of rot and wet fur filled his nostrils.

A twig snapped behind him.

He whirled, blade raised, but saw nothing. The growl came again, closer, vibrating in his bones. His pulse roared in his ears.

'Not a hare. Not a hare.'

A patch of ferns trembled. Caelith lunged, slashing wildly—

The creature exploded from the undergrowth.

Black fur blurred like smoke, and Caelith barely registered the jagged bone spurs along its spine before claws raked his forearm. He stumbled back, blood dripping from the wound, hot and insistent.

The beast—a Shade Wisp Jackal—crouched before him, amber eyes glowing like forge coals. Saliva dripped from its fangs, hissing as it ate into the soil, leaving pockmarks that steamed in the cold air.

Caelith's mind raced. '1-star. Common. But not harmless.'

Kaden's warnings echoed: "Even rats bite when cornered."

The jackal circled, its movements fluid, half-substantial, paws leaving no imprint in the mud. Caelith mirrored it, blade trembling.

The beast lunged again, dissolving into shadows mid-leap. Claws materialized at his flank, tearing through his tunic.

He cried out, slashing blindly, but the jackal re-materialized out of reach, its growl taunting.

Illusions. Tricks.

Caelith forced his breathing steady. The jackal's acidic drool sizzled on the leaves—a trail. He focused on the faint hiss, the scorch marks in the earth. Sweat stung his eyes.

There.

He feinted left, then pivoted, sword arcing toward a patch of seared moss. The blade struck true. The jackal yelped, solidifying as steel bit into its haunch. Black blood splattered the ground, bubbling where it pooled.

But the beast didn't flee. Its eyes narrowed, bone spurs quivering along its spine. With a snarl, they shot forward—projectiles aimed at Caelith's chest.

He dove behind a tree, spines embedded in the wood with a sickening thunk. The jackal lunged, jaws snapping.

Caelith rolled, mud caking his hands, and slashed upward. The blade carved into its shoulder, but the beast twisted, its fangs sinking into his sword arm.

Agony exploded. Caelith screamed, the jackal's weight driving him into the mud. Its breath reeked of decay, hot and suffocating.

He grabbed for his boot with his free hand, fingers closing around the hilt of a jagged kitchen dagger.

With a roar that shredded his throat raw, Caelith drove the dagger deep into the jackal's left eye. The blade met resistance—a sickening pop as it pierced the gelatinous orb—before sinking to the hilt in warm, quivering flesh.

The beast's shriek split the air, a sound like rusted nails dragged across slate.

It reeled back, claws raking its own muzzle in a frenzy, black blood spraying in hot, stinking arcs that seared Caelith's skin where they landed.

He scrambled backward, his mangled arm dangling grotesquely, tendons snapping like frayed rope with every jerking movement.

Coppery blood flooded his mouth, his teeth slick with it, as the jackal's form flickered—shadow and flesh warping like oil on water—before it dissolved into the undergrowth.

Its final snarl lingered, vibrating in Caelith's molars long after the creature had vanished.

He collapsed, lungs heaving, the forest floor cold and clammy against his cheek.

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His arm was a nightmare of shredded meat and splintered bone, the stench of torn muscle thick enough to taste.

Each breath sawed through his ribs, sharp as the jackal's spines.

Move. Move or die.

He crawled.

Mud oozed into his boots, icy and cloying.

Fallen branches gouged his knees, their edges as sharp as knives, causing a jolt of pain to shoot through his body.

The sound of cracking wood echoed in the stillness of the forest, while the smell of damp earth filled the air.

The forest blurred into a fever-dream haze—shadows lunging with phantom claws, the jackal's guttural growls echoing in every creak of bending trees. Time unraveled. The sun bled into dusk, painting the sky in bruised purples, the air thickening with the damp rot of decaying leaves.

When the estate walls materialized through the gloom, Caelith's vision tunneled.

The world tilted, his body sliding sideways into a patch of nettles that stung like a thousand needles.

Kaden's scent hit him first: stee,l oil, and wood smoke, cutting through the stench of his own ruin.

"Pathetic," came the growl, but the hands that gripped Caelith's shoulders were firm, urgent. A calloused palm pressed against his throat, checking for a pulse.

Relief flickered through Caelith as Kaden's rough hands steadied him—safe, finally.

But his body gave out, the jackal's wounds and hours of crawling burning through his last strength. The forest tilted. Kaden's voice faded, replaced by a hollow roar in his ears.

His vision darkened at the edges, swallowing the campfire's glow, Kaden's scowl, everything.

He tried to speak, but the void rushed in, swift and silent.

Then—

Black.