The jungle’s quieter now.

  Ash still clings to the trees behind him, but ahead? Just green. Vines. Wet roots. Buzzing wings.

  [THOUGHTS]

  Not hunted. Not bleeding.

  This… peace?

  Jarrell moves slow, following muddy indentations near the stream — not animal tracks. Boot prints.

  Someone’s been here.

  He follows.

  Hours pass. He crests a hill.

  There — tucked against the slope — a hut. Round stone walls, thatched roof. Smoke from the chimney. A cloth banner fluttering outside.

  [THOUGHTS]

  Real place?

  Or another test?

  He approaches carefully. Knocks.

  No answer. The door creaks open.

  Inside? A simple layout. Rug. Fire pit. Hammock. Water basin. Even dried fruit hanging from a rafter.

  Jarrell stares. Then touches the rug. Real.

  He drinks. Eats two berries. Sleeps.

  ---

  Hours later, fire crackling.

  He thinks of her again.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  The cloaked woman.

  That flash of blue hair.

  [THOUGHTS]

  Don’t know name. Don’t know face.

  But I remember her…

  FLASH.

  His brain jolts.

  His vision flickers — like his eyes rewired.

  And suddenly…

  The rug shifts.

  The walls flicker.

  The entire hut glitches like static.

  The illusion drops.

  And what he sees?

  A monstrous, pulsating mass of flesh shaped like a shack — veins feeding out into the earth. A single red eye blinked in the fire pit. Tongue retracting from the water basin.

  Jarrell freezes.

  [THOUGHTS]

  ...What the hell.

  But he doesn’t run.

  Doesn’t scream.

  He closes his eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out.

  Steps outside.

  The illusion resets for a moment.

  He pretends nothing’s wrong.

  Just keeps walking…

  ---

  “Going somewhere?”

  A man stands behind him.

  Too clean. Too well-groomed for the jungle.

  But Jarrell sees it now — his flesh pulses wrong. The edges of his silhouette twitch like bad reception.

  [THOUGHTS]

  Still part of the spell.

  “You saw through it,” the illusionist says, voice calm. Curious.

  “No one’s ever broken it without help.”

  [SPEAKS]

  “…Don’t know how. Just… happen.”

  “Interesting,” the man says.

  “That makes you dangerous.”

  He steps forward.

  Jarrell backs up — just one foot.

  Then the illusion vanishes again.

  Now Jarrell sees him fully:

  No man. Just a warped beast made of bark, smoke, and pale faces whispering from his skin.

  ---

  The fight begins.

  The creature splits into five clones, each shifting shape.

  Rell dodges the first — a wolf. Counters with a sweeping leg. Too slow — it passes through him.

  Another lunges from the side. A woman’s shape, dagger drawn.

  Jarrell blocks — redirects the blade. Elbow to the temple. She flickers into mist.

  He uses Wing Chun centerline parry to flow between two more. Claws graze his ribs.

  One clone stabs him deep.

  Or so it thinks.

  Jarrell gasps. Collapses.

  ---

  The beast laughs.

  Steps forward.

  “All that fight for nothing.”

  It kneels. Reaches for Rell’s neck.

  SNAP.

  The real Rell appears behind it, arm locked.

  The beast twitches. Eyes wide.

  Rell’s foot crunches into the spine.

  The illusionist drops limp.

  [SPEAKS]

  “…You just fell for the oldest trick in the book.”

  He wipes his mouth.

  [THOUGHTS]

  Some illusionist.

  (SFX: Pfft.)