(Time-Stilled World, 5 Kilometers into the Forest of Death)
Minutes passed, and the fog surrounding the team did not stop thickening.
It kept creeping higher and higher, rising from their chests up to their necks, as Patricia— the shortest in the group at 5'10"— now had her night vision goggles dipping beneath the line of fog, making it impossible for her to see more than half a meter in any direction.
Shadows flickered where there should be none, trees vanished into the white of the fog, and the path ahead seemed to narrow, collapsing into a corridor of ghostly haze.
"Everyone, link up. Use the same hand you're holding your mana stone with to grab the wrist of the person in front of you," Raiden instructed, as each of them reached out to clasp the wrist or forearm of the one ahead, moving in single file like children crossing a battlefield.
Leo was near the center— Patricia ahead of him, Bob behind.
Raiden led from the front, with Cipher and Karl forming the rear.
"Don't speak unless you have to," Raiden warned.
"If the grip loosens, shout. If someone breaks off, stop."
The rules sounded simple on paper— yet in execution, they proved insufficient.
Because just minutes later, it happened anyway.
A flick. A twitch. A whisper.
"Something moved behind me," Bob said lowly.
Leo turned sharply, his grip instinctively tightening around Patricia, who also shifted at that moment.
And for that one terrifying moment, her hand slipped from Karl's, which immediately alarmed her as she tried to grab it again, only to miss it completely as she clutched at nothing but air.
"RAIDEN!" Karl's voice tore through the fog.
"There's a break!" Patricia followed up, as she took two cautious steps forward, hoping to bump into him— but her hands met only emptiness.
"What the hell—" she whispered, unable to fathom how someone who was just ahead of her could disappear so suddenly.
"Stay put! Patricia—"
"I can hear you! Hold on!"
"Over here!"
Voices called from a distance, sounding like they belonged to Raiden, Cipher, and Karl, but coming from at least 20 to 30 meters away.
"There's no way to be sure if it's really them, don't respond," Leo said immediately, his voice tight and low, as he narrowed his eyes in anger.
"Those voices might not be real… We can't trust any voices in this forest." He warned, as Patricia nodded, her eyes wide.
"Do not chase. Do not move. Let's just stay put for now… I doubt even this cursed forest can perform teleportation magic, so we should be fine as long as we don't move, The fog must clear out eventually" Leo reasoned, as both Bob and Patricia gave firm nods in return.
The trio backed into each other, forming a three-point stance. Triangle formation. Blades drawn. Fog curling up to their noses now.
Leo's mind reeled. He tried [Absolute Vision] again— but instantly regretted it, as the skill returned nothing but screaming white static, which forced him to shut it down before it made him nauseous.
"This fog's not normal," Bob muttered. "It's hard to breathe in… and there's no way to know if it's toxic or not."
He tore a strip from his assassin robe and tied it over his mouth like a makeshift mask.
Leo didn't argue. He reached into his storage ring and pulled out an actual gas mask, one he had bought from the Orange Panthers Store before departure.
*Creek*
A wooden creaking echoed from somewhere nearby, instantly alerting the team.
Then— a human-shaped silhouette drifted behind the mist which faintly bore the height and shape of Raiden.
"Raiden?" Leo called once, hoping to hear back from their teammate, but unfortunately only silence followed... until finally:
"We're here. Hold on."
The voice came, soft and slow— in Raiden's tone, but distorted. Like someone playing a recording just a little too slow.
No one replied.
*Squeak*
Bob's fingers tensed around the leather shaft of his tall knife, the slight squeak sounding as he adjusted his sweaty grip on the weapon.
And although no words were exchanged, that sound alone was enough for Leo and Patricia to understand his thoughts.
They felt it too— deep in their guts.
That silhouette wasn't Raiden.
And whatever was approaching them…. Was definitely not their teammate.
The silhouette didn't stop.
In fact, it multiplied.
Two more forms emerged behind the first, gliding forward through the mist in eerie synchrony— just like their formation.
All three walked hand-in-hand, the leading figure bearing Raiden's frame, followed by Cipher and Karl, their outlines vague but familiar enough to stir the heart into hoping.
They stepped into partial view, their faces calm… too calm… their movements precise…. Almost too precise.
Karl was the first to speak, his voice carrying a light cheer as if nothing was wrong.
"Sorry," he said, smiling gently. "My hand must've slipped."
He reached out toward Patricia once more, his hand extended for hers.
But before he could make contact, Patricia slapped it away without hesitation, eyes sharp with distrust.
"Don't," she said coldly, fingers curled tighter around the hilt of her blade.
Raiden's gaze shifted to Leo next, locking on like a magnet finding its charge.
Leo didn't flinch.
He tilted his head slightly, his voice casual, almost amused as he spoke.
"Say, Raiden… What was the name of the bistro we first met in?"
There was a pause.
Too long of one.
Raiden's brow furrowed, his tone turning clipped.
"What does it matter?" he snapped. "We don't have time for games, let's move on."
He reached forward, this time for Leo's wrist, as–
*Slash*
Bob moved.
A single, fluid motion, as his blade carved through the fog, slicing through Raiden's arm at the elbow.
*Thud*
The limb dropped with a dull thunk, but there was no blood, no bone visible.
Just bark.
Where flesh should have been, there was splintered wood wrapped in a tight weave of fibrous vine.
Cracks raced along the remaining arm like spiderwebs, spreading through the figure's body like fractures in a porcelain shell.
And then the truth unraveled.
The three forms contorted— first twitching, then unraveling as the illusion peeled away to reveal creatures carved from rot and bark.
Their faces remained human-like, eerily accurate masks molded from the memories of those they mimicked.
Tree Nymphs.
Born from cursed trees. Fed by fear. Molded by memory.
Over the past few hours, these damn creatures had learned their formation, their voices, their rhythm.
And now, it was testing how much they remembered about each other, as if Leo had not somehow figured their deception out, then it would have probably led them to their source tree, where they would be restrained and absorbed for nutrients.
*Sigh*
Leo took a step back, raising his blade with a slow exhale.
"Well," he muttered, cold and steady. "So much for waiting out the fog."
As he lunged at the three targets in front of him, with Bob and Patricia in support.
Together, the three of them easily dismantled the tree nymphs, who were barely any fighters apart from their deceptive abilities, as once they took care of the nymphs, the fog began receding noticeably.