Okay. If it’s going to kill me in my sleep, I’ll just… stay awake.

  And if it followed me back from the jungle? Then I’m not going back there. I stay here. My leafy mansion. My turf.

  What followed was me staying completely stationary—no scouting, no venturing, just clutching a sharpened stick and fighting to stay awake. Two days in, maybe more—hard to track time without a watch—and I start feeling it. The creeping weight behind the eyes. The way shadows move just a little too much when I blink.

  Maybe it followed me from the jungle.

  Maybe it never left.

  I sigh, shoulders sagging, and collapse into the frond pile that passes for my bed.

  Screw it.

  If I die tonight, might as well do it with my boots—makeshift sandals—off.

  And just in case, I leave a signal—a chopped palm tree, right at the edge of my shelter. Easy marker. If I wake up and it’s standing tall again, I’ll know.

  Drifting off now… into the dark…

  ***

  I wake up the next morning.

  I’m alive?

  Relief floods in—light and cautious, like it’s scared to stay. I sit up, rubbing grit from my eyes, and head to the signal tree.

  Still standing.

  Uncut.

  Perfect.

  So it does attack when I sleep—and it’s been stalking me ever since the loop point. The loop point probably requires it. Thanks, Swart. Satan.

  Fine.

  New plan.

  Stay awake longer.

  Let it lose patience. Let it strike while I’m still conscious—while I still have a shot at fighting back.

  Let’s see how long it can wait.

  Or me. I’ve stayed awake for almost a week now.

  Turns out, mana doesn’t help much with sleep deprivation—not even with a brain soaked in it.

  Maybe it’s just mental weariness. Or maybe my brain’s too hard-wired to shut down after a point, no matter how much power I pump through it.

  Still, I push. I try to claw every hour, minute, second I can.

  I prod myself with sharp objects—break the skin.

  I move constantly, pacing like a caged beast.

  But my body’s shutting down. Muscles twitch. Vision swims.

  I can’t hold out much longer.

  ***

  I wake up.

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  I slept.

  The first thing I do is check the palm tree.

  It stands tall. Straight.

  Mocking me.

  I died again—my will broken before whatever’s endless patience.

  Hah.

  Of course I die—even after I subject myself to torture.

  This is definitely hell. Bait me with the promise of battle, then drag it out into pure suffering. No fight. No answers. Just paranoia, exhaustion, and failure on loop.

  Great. What the hell am I supposed to do?

  Only answer I’ve got: get stronger. Maybe if I reach the next level, I’ll finally sense whatever’s hunting me.

  So—fine. Training. Level Four.

  Combinations. Layering.

  Different mana types, used together, inside and outside the body.

  Can I shape that into something useful? Maybe a web—no, a sphere—of mana around me. Not for defense, but as a sensor. A tripwire. Something that’ll twitch if whatever-it-is gets close.

  But how do I expand my mana that far without draining it dry?

  Maybe… I thin my shield, spread it wider—not enough to block a blow, just enough to feel disruptions. Flux. Contact.

  Or maybe I blend mana types. Protective blue as the structure. Infused wind to keep it swirling—moving. If something enters the current, I’ll feel the disturbance.

  A mana radar. Primitive, but it might work.

  Time to build the trap.

  ***

  After countless loops spent honing the technique—tweaking flow, adjusting density, testing range—I finally feel it.

  A tiny fluctuation.

  Just above me. Descending too fast to react.

  Then—death.

  Again.

  I don’t know how it killed me, or what it even was. But something did happen. Something real. My trap worked—barely. A whisper of presence, gone too quick to stop… but felt.

  That alone is enough.

  After what must be a hundred—maybe two hundred—loops, I’ve lost count. I don’t know how many tries I’ve been given, only that it feels infinite.

  Sometimes that feels like a blessing.

  Most days, a curse.

  Especially now.

  But with this sliver of progress—this single, undeniable ripple—

  I don’t feel as hopeless anymore.

  ***

  After countless more attempts—never sure if this was even the right path, or if the idea itself was flawed—I kept pushing.

  That sliver of hope was enough.

  I told myself: I’ll see tomorrow.

  And the day after.

  Slowly, steadily, I developed the technique. I call it mana sphere. Not the most original, but I don’t exactly have a teacher.

  The principle is simple—at least now.

  I take the protective blue mana, thin it out—less like armor, more like vapor. From solid to gas, basically. Then I swirl it with wind mana, spreading it in a sphere around me—about five meters in radius. A shell, light and reactive.

  Any foreign mana that touches it? I feel it. Instantly.

  I’ve been using the nearby wildlife—the aggressive ones—to test the sphere. I die most times, in the most painful ways.

  I want to get used to it. But maybe it’s good I don’t.

  Because pain—and the fear of death—mean I’m still human.

  At this point, I can walk with my eyes closed. The sphere guides me.

  And today?

  I felt it. The thing.

  Something fast—clawed—like a feline. It obliterated my head before I could move.

  No pain. Just darkness.

  But I felt it. Real. Sharp. Closer than ever.

  The unseen is becoming seen.

  And one day soon, I’ll see it coming.

  And I’ll survive.

  ***

  Countless more loops pass as I train the skill—refining the sphere, sharpening instinct. It feels like years. Maybe it has been. I don’t know. Biologically, I’m the same. But mentally?

  This time, something’s different.

  For the first time ever—

  I’m going to fight back.

  Tonight, I lie in my leaf-built villa, the mana sphere coiled and primed, sharper than it’s ever been. I pretend to sleep—body still, breath shallow, limbs heavy. But every muscle is on edge. Every heartbeat pounds like a war drum.

  The air hums with tension. Insects drone in the canopy, the wind stirs loose fronds, but none of it touches the quiet encircling me. The wrongness is back.

  It always comes in silence.

  I pull the thin veil of sleep over my thoughts, keeping just enough awareness to react. The leaves beneath me rustle when I shift slightly—too loud. I freeze. I steady my breath again, let the illusion settle.

  The sphere flutters once.

  A disturbance—faint. Barely a whisper.

  Then—

  There.

  A tremor through the mana. The sphere tenses like drawn wire. Something brushes its edge—not a breeze, not wildlife.

  It.

  I focus hard, every nerve lighting up. The air splits. A paw—wide, clawed, fast as a bullet—tears through the darkness, slicing toward my skull like it owns the space.

  Blue light flashes—the impact shatters my hasty shield. Bone-deep instinct kicks in. I roll. The second strike misses by inches, carving a trench into the soil where my head was.

  No time to think.

  I dodge again. Then again.

  Claws slice past me, invisible save for the disruption they leave in the sphere. Each motion is a blur—each breath a countdown. The creature is relentless. Precise. Fast.

  And then I see it.

  A shape—pitch black. Feline. Panther-like.

  Not sleek—monstrous.

  It doesn’t reflect moonlight. It devours it. The air around its fur dims, like even light is afraid.

  No sound. No growl. No warning.

  It moves like smoke, but every impact shakes the ground.

  We trade motion—me dodging, it striking. I hurl a kick, hoping to force space.

  It slips past. Too fluid.

  Its claws swipe again. I block with a mana-coated arm—blue sparks flash. Pain tears through the limb, and the shield buckles.

  It’s driving me back—faster now. The sphere feeds me every microsecond of warning, but I’m losing ground. Finally, my back hits bark.

  A tree.

  No more room.

  I lash out with a desperation strike, sword-shaped mana flaring in my palm. But it sees it. It reads it.

  It ducks low—spins.

  My chest rips open before I feel the pain.

  Slash.

  The world tilts. My vision blurs. Blood pours like water.

  It ends me fast after that. Merciful, in its way.

  ***

  I wake.

  The palm tree stands tall, untouched.

  For once, I don’t feel frustration.

  I grin.

  Not the empty grin of a madman. Not the snarl of someone pushed too far.

  A real, genuine smile.

  Because I saw it. I fought it. I blocked the first strike. Dodged the second. Felt the weight of its existence instead of just dying in confusion.

  The first victory was survival.

  Even if just for seconds.

  I lie back, staring at the canopy with raw exhaustion and something else burning in my chest.

  Purpose.

  It has a form now. A body.

  It can bleed.

  And when I’m fast enough—strong enough—

  It will.