Blood and Gods

Part 5

He leaned forward slightly, trying to get a clearer view, his pulse quickening. What was it? A person? An animal? or Something else?

He held his breath, eyes locked on the mysterious figure, waiting to see if it would move or reveal itself.

The mountaineer kept his gaze fixed on the strange figure behind the bushes, his mind racing with questions. Was it a person? An animal? Something else entirely? and the longer he stared, the more unsettling the silence became.

Then—

Boom!

A sudden, deafening thud echoed from the sky. It was unlike anything he had ever heard, deep and metallic, almost as if a massive dome of steel had been struck by an enormous force. The sound vibrated through the air, shaking his very core.

The shock sent a jolt through his body, and he nearly lost his balance while kneeling by the river. His heart pounded as he instinctively looked up, his breath caught in his throat. The peacefulness of the forest shattered in an instant, birds screeched and scattered into the sky, insects buzzed in frantic motion, and the once-serene river seemed to ripple with unease.

For a moment, all he could do was listen as the strange sound faded, its echo lingering like a ghostly whisper. What was that? A storm? An explosion? Something falling from the heavens?

His hands trembled slightly as he turned his eyes back to the other side of the river, back to the figure hiding in the bushes.

The mountaineer’s breath was unsteady as he remained fixated on the bushes across the river. He needed to know if the strange figure was still there.

Reaching down, he picked up a small stone and slowly stood up. His eyes never left the spot where he had seen those unsettling eyes. With a steady hand, he tossed the stone toward the bushes.

No reaction.

The figure didn’t move, didn’t flinch, nothing. It was as if it wasn’t even there. Or maybe… it was something else entirely.

A cold shiver ran down his spine, but his curiosity outweighed his fear. He bent down again, this time choosing a slightly heavier stone. He took a deep breath, carefully aimed, and threw it directly at the peering eyes.

Thud!

The stone hit its mark.

In an instant, the eyes vanished behind the foliage.

For a second, there was silence.

Then—

A scream.

It wasn’t just any scream. It was loud, piercing, and unnatural, like the sound of something in excruciating pain. It echoed through the trees, sending a wave of terror rippling through the forest. It was human-like, yet not quite human. It was a mix of agony and hysteria, stretching far beyond what any normal person could produce.

The mountaineer’s blood ran cold. His hands trembled at his sides.

Whatever he had just hit… it wasn’t normal.

The birds that had returned to the trees once again took flight, their wings flapping in chaos. The rustling of leaves and hurried footsteps could be heard from different directions, as if the forest itself was disturbed by the horrifying cry.

His heart pounded in his chest.

What had he just provoked?

And was it still watching him?

The mountaineer barely had time to react before the figure behind the bush lunged forward.

Then out of the thick foliage, a man emerged, a tribal warrior, his face twisted in pain, his left eye bleeding from the stone’s impact. The injury was severe, fresh blood trickling down his cheek, staining his dark, weathered skin. But despite the wound, his other eye burned with fury, locked onto the mountaineer with an intensity that sent chills through his spine.

The warrior’s appearance was fierce, his body lean yet muscular, his chest bare, displaying tribal tattoos that coiled around his arms and torso like ancient symbols of war. His attire was made of rough, natural materials. A tattered wrap covering his lower half, adorned with bones, stones, and ornaments, giving him the look of a seasoned hunter. Around his neck, small skulls and carved fangs dangled from woven fibers, clinking softly as he moved.

In his right hand, he gripped a weapon, a cruel-looking blade, forged from metal but reinforced with human bones, its jagged edge worn yet sharp.

The mountaineer’s breath caught in his throat.

The warrior was shorter than him but radiated an undeniable presence of danger. His teeth were yellowed and jagged, evidence of a life spent in the wild with little concern for cleanliness. His bald head gleamed under the dappled sunlight, sweat and dirt covering his rugged features.

The man did not speak, he only stood there, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling as he clenched his weapon tighter. The pain in his eye was clear, but so was the rage.

The mountaineer felt his heartbeat thunder in his ears. He had injured this man. And now, he had no idea what was going to happen next.

The wounded warrior, now filled with rage, let out another guttural scream, a sound that sent shivers down the mountaineer’s spine. His furious, pain-fueled cries weren’t just for himself.

He was calling for others.

Without hesitation, the tribal warrior charged into the shallow river, splashing through the water in a rush. His feet slammed against the riverbed, his bloodied eye doing nothing to slow him down. His mouth twisted into a furious snarl as he raised his bone-and-metal blade, his voice echoing through the trees like a battle cry.

Then, from behind the bushes, more figures emerged.

The mountaineer’s stomach dropped as he saw them.

Dozens of tribal warriors emerged from the dense underbrush, bursting out from their hidden positions with an alarming ferocity. They stepped into the open with the same savage appearance as the first, their presence an unsettling spectacle. Their bodies were cloaked in primitive garments, woven from animal hides and decorated with bones, stones, and worn-out ornaments, each piece telling a story of survival and battle. Their skin, weathered and marked by time, was etched with dark tattoos, intricate patterns that stretched across their arms and chests, symbols of their tribe’s fierce heritage. Faces streaked with dirt, their eyes gleaming with wild intensity, they were a terrifying force. Their hair was a chaotic mess of unkempt tangles or shaved close to their scalps, and their teeth, jagged and stained, seemed to glint like weapons themselves. Every warrior was armed, brandishing spears, clubs, and blades, some forged from bone and obsidian, while others carried weapons crafted from human remains, gruesome trophies of past hunts.

And worst of all, they were all screaming.