The woods behind the Guild were no training ground.
They were a graveyard waiting to be filled.
And Eudora had been sent alone.
"Scout the outer perimeter. Confirm the presence of a lone crawler. Return before dusk." That was the order.
They made it sound simple. It never was.
The crawler—a six-legged reptilian abomination with bone armor and razored tendons—was real. And it was hungry.
Eudora had no real weapon. Just a rusted short sword and a dull dagger. Guild policy: Let the recruits bleed. See who walks back.
The air grew colder the deeper he moved into the tree-line. Fog rolled between the roots like it was breathing. His hands trembled, but he kept walking.
He didn't pray.
Gods didn't live out here.
---
He found it near a dried-up creek bed.
The crawler hissed before Eudora even saw it—sinewed legs scraping bark, its red eyes gleaming through the fog.
It lunged.
He didn't think.
He moved.
He rolled under the first strike, then slashed upward with the sword. The blade skidded off bone-plated skin. The monster snarled, coiled back, and struck again.
This time, it caught his leg. Blood sprayed.
Eudora screamed through clenched teeth and stabbed at its open mouth.
Steel pierced flesh.
The crawler recoiled—but not before biting down on his arm, tearing through muscle and cracking bone.
Pain blinded him. He dropped the sword.
They rolled into the mud, one trying to kill, the other just trying to not die.
Then—
Eudora's hand found the dagger.
With a primal cry, he shoved it deep beneath the crawler's jaw—up, until he felt resistance. Then he twisted.
The beast spasmed. Collapsed.
Dead.
Eudora lay beneath it, soaked in his own blood, the stench of death curling in his throat.
His right arm was half gone—torn nearly to the elbow.
His breath came in ragged gasps.
He was going to die.
Again.
---
Then it began.
The burning.
From spine to skull, it surged—like fire threading through frozen veins.
His vision blurred. His bones itched. His nerves screamed.
And before his eyes, flesh began to move.
Tendons slithered like snakes reconnecting. Veins pulsed. Muscle reknit like cords being rewoven. Skin bubbled over the exposed meat.
Within minutes, his arm—blood-soaked and mangled—was whole again.
Not perfect. Not painless.
But real.
Eudora stared at his fingers. They twitched. They moved.
He vomited.
Not from pain—from knowing.
This was no gift.
It was a curse wearing the skin of survival.
A part of him had just died… and then come back.
Not all of it felt human.
---
He stood.
Took one step.
Then five more shadows rose from the fog.
More crawlers.
More teeth.
More hunger.
They encircled him.
This time, no fear.
Just fury.
His hand tightened around the dagger still slick with monster blood.
The whisper inside returned.
Bleed to learn. Break to grow. Die to evolve.
He grinned, empty and cracked.
"Let's see if I really can't die."