His breaths were hoarse, hollow, magnified by the hollows of his helmet. Sven barely had strength left to keep his Rogue Blade from scraping along the Jungle floor. Long beams of pale moonlight streamed in through gaps in the canopy, glancing off his armour, by light of the pale lunar face he could see the forest stretching on eternally in every direction, a twilight labyrinth that he could never escape.
The crickets chirped, the owl's hoot disapproving upon his back, a few strange creatures scurried out of his way as he trampled through the brambles and shrubs, panting, heaving, eyes heavy, body possessed of some unknown will to live. This was Radiant Jungle, definitely, the spell of his scroll had gone askew as the Lycan pounced upon him and had catapulted him to the remnants of one of their abandoned towers, colonised by the Dire Legion like termites. He'd found himself in the centre of one of their outposts, erected in victory over the rubble that was once the Tower.
A rustle from behind, Sven spun around, holding his blade with shaking arms, not just from exhausting from running for so long, through day, and night, and day, and night, so many times he lost count. No, they shook because he couldn't help it. They knew what he was, they knew, they knew his secret.
Sven spun around again to face another direction as he heard something scraping against bark, backing slowly in the direction he'd been forging before. His tired eyes, bloodshot and kept awake with the promise of pain and the horrible torment the Dire offices would inflict. They knew his secret now, they knew how to make him scream in pain and writhe in agony.
Another snap, this time accompanied with a canine growl and the padding of paws against dirt. Sven's breaths were now so deep and tired they pressed painfully against his breastplate with each motion. The Lycan was strong, well-rested even before when Sven was tired, their trip to the Dire outpost had done nothing to ease this imbalance. He wasn't sure if he could-
He had to stand, he had to fight, he could feel his legs shaking from the many miles he'd trekked the past few days, herded in circles by the great wolf, like a play thing to bat around and kill at a whim.
I'm not some play thing.
He had a nagging suspicion that he was lying to himself as he watched a stray shadow flit around him, as if circling, stalking. He dug his heels into the ground, the soft soil and rutty mud rising midway to his ankles, the weight of his sword drove him into the earth as he raised it to his side.
I'm not prey.
The lie didn't stop his arms from shaking, didn't straighten his ragged breaths, but they made him feel a tiny warmth in the cold inferno of his spent body. He watched the shadow, now sure that it was his pursuer, his bloodshot eyes meeting the yellow ones in the dark. It was ready to lunge, ready to pounce upon him. He needed every sliver of steel he had left, so he lied one more time.
I'm not afraid.
The Wolf snarled.
Well, here's chapter 7, or 6.5? A mini chapter, so as to shed a bit of light on Sven's current whereabouts. Only about 500 words, but I hope I was able to capture an air of suspense in this one, leave a review telling me if I did good, if I didn't, and until next chapter, ciao!