Chapter 2: An Uneasy Alliance — Survive the Hunt

After Zuberi reached the crystal formations, he turned, ready to to grab the spear of the machete, whichever would prove adequate to fight the colossal beast on his tail. There was nothing. Not even a swaying branch where, moment before, Zuberi would have sworn whole trees had fallen. He narrowed his eyes. The silverbacks, at least, were no figment of his imagination. They remained at the edge of the lush jungle, standing tall, agitating their quills to produce what Zuberi imagined flesh-eating cicadas would sound like.

The black crystal formations provided less comfort than Zuberi had hoped. They shielded him from the persistent light of the twin suns, but the structures also hummed with a low, resonant energy. The hum, different from the one in the jungle, vibrated through the ground, an unsettling lullaby that fractured his sleep. In his dreams, the humming transformed into whispers, voices that told tales beyond comprehension while swirling colors painted impossible patterns. Sometimes Zuberi tasted phantom saltwater. Other times, the markings on his arms pulsed in rhythm with the crystalline song. He spent the first cycle in this dubious shelter securing necessities, circling the cluster of black minerals, noting its abrupt rise from the glittering black sand, as if it had grown out of the ground. There was no other growth as far as Zuberi could see. His refuge was a lone landmark in a vast, exposed expanse. Each time he passed certain faces of a given growth during his initial exploration, the humming intensified, as if responding to his presence or to the alien marks branded into his flesh.

When he had almost completed his first round of the structure, he noticed the one thing that made him decide to stay. Near the formation's safety, close enough that he could dash there and back without fear, Zuberi found a pool of brackish, barely drinkable, metallic-tasting water. Once he was certain dehydration would not kill him, he needed to make sure the cure would not be as deadly as the illness. To clean the water, he needed fire. Earlier, he'd spotted a dead, dry log near the slope he'd tumbled down upon arrival. Cursing at himself for not snagging the log when he first saw it, Zuberi waited until the distant silverbacks were busy hunting moon-fur rabbits, only other creatures in the black expanse. The small animals, most black or white, some a shade of gray, all with a contrasting crescent on their backs, would jump out of the jungle at regular intervals and spend some time digging, then sit upright, look around, flick their ears left and right, and lower their snouts back into the sand. Sometimes, one rabbit would emerge with an orange bulb, about the size and shape of a mango. The rabbits always ate on the spot and in record time. Then they would dash back, scale the slope as if it was not nearly vertical, and they would not appear until the cycle repeated. With a shake of his head, Zuberi dashed across the sand, collected as much wood as he could carry, and returned to his crystalline refuge. The crystals themselves did not constitute an actual shelter, but, for some reason Zuberi did not want to question, the silverbacks stayed away from the black minerals, which was the second reason he chose to extend his stay.

Back in his humming shelter, Zuberi carefully unwrapped the flint and steel stored in a small pouch around his neck. Layers of cured skin, beeswax, and buffalo fat protected its contents, a meticulous precaution against home’s torrential rains, one not meant for oceanic submersion.

Brow furrowed, he broke off smaller twigs from the the main log, and peeled some of crumbling bark. Should he offer a prayer? Towards the twin suns? Twice the suns, twice the miracles—or twice the desolation. The thought soured in his mouth. Or, perhaps, he should pray to her god? Bile rose in his throat, hot and bitter, at the mere idea. The dark thoughts and the damp chill that had seeped past all the protective layers to dampen the flint sparked a wave of irritation. He cursed under gritted teeth and struck the flint harder than he intended.

A sharp tink echoed as a tiny fragment chipped off the flint, ricocheting off the nearest crystal face. The crystalline hum’s pitch spiked for a moment, and strange geometric patterns flickered across its surface like ripples on water. He felt an odd sensation as he struck again—like how it felt to inhale the desert dry air on a scorching day, while the markings on his body tingled with an almost buzzing energy. Looking down, his eyes widened when he saw the bundle of twigs and bark. They weren't just sparking—they were smoking, having caught fire far more readily than they should have. The flame that appeared had an unusual bluish tinge at its core, dancing in ways that defied the still air. With careful tending, Zuberi coaxed the flame into a familiar, strong orange with a stable white core.

Only after securing the fire did Zuberi turn to the local flora, resuming risky experiments. Any boy who had passed his second hunter trial knew what must be done if one had to spend time in an unfamiliar wilderness. Zuberi spend a few moment trying to remember when girls had to prove the same knowledge, but he gave up after a few heartbeats, a frown creasing his brow. This was not the first time he caught his mind wandering useless paths when he should be focused on ensuring his survival.

A patch of vibrant orange fungi was nestled near the base of most crystal growths. A shade lighter than the bulbs the rabbits favored, the mushrooms had a white stalk and an orange cap. One bite, raw, resulted in violent stomach cramps, leaving Zuberi weak and trembling, never to forget this world's hostility. Back home, the timid portion, even from the deadliest mushroom would have upset his stomach, made him hurl, at most.

By the cycle's end, profound weariness, deeper than physical exertion alone, had settled over Zuberi. A sense of dread, a certainty that impending doom would befall him soon, weighed on him. He blamed his sour mood on the foul water and poisonous fungus.

Soon the first cycle, hard to call them days with no idea of their duration, blended into the next, the comforting flame nearby the only difference from the cycle before. The fire’s flickering light kept the deepest shadows at bay, and Zuberi had yet to meet a creature foolish enough to ignore the flame. If one existed, it would not have survived long in this harsh world.

His sleep failed to restore his energy, but Zuberi knew he needed to push forward. He gathered large, spiral-shelled snails that lived in the sandy mud near the dirty pool. Their sluggish movements made them easy prey. Unwilling to risk eating anything raw, given his previous experience, he cooked them directly in the embers, hoping, given their abundance, for a readily available food source. The result proved disastrous.

The meat was tough, rubbery, and left a bitter aftertaste that refused to recede. When he bit through his lip and noticed only after tasting the coppery tang of blood, Zuberi froze, third morsel never making it to his mouth. Although he had consumed a small amount, as one should in these circumstances, the snails caused more severe hallucinations than the azure berries, which had been the first thing Zuberi had labeled unsafe. Invisible colors shifted and blended into impossible shapes. A voice, melodious, charming, insidious, whispered in his mind. It suggested he use one of the black crystal's sharp tip. All he had to do was lean against the one that branched from the main growth at a right angle and—one thrust and all would end. Peace at last. Reunion with Bakari, Amara, Father—his people. He could finally atone. When he didn't acquiesce, the voice went from suggestion to demand, then it cajoled, threatened, and went back to begging—on and on until the nightmare ended.

When the hallucinations subsided, leaving Zuberi trembling and nauseated, he swore off the foul-tasting snails, or further experiments altogether. Competing against the silverbacks for moon-fur rabbits was preferable to this madness.

However, the snail shells proved useful. After cooking what almost became his last meal, Zuberi noticed the shells remained unchanged. No discoloration or flaking, which was typical with the ones he caught and grilled as a boy. He tapped a shell against a crystal, then two shells together, hearing a similar ding. Either the shells were made of metal or crystal. Zuberi chose the former theory because it explained the water taste. Placing two shells on top of each other, their openings facing, he filled the bottom one with the rank water and placed it in the center of the smoldering coals, angling the top shell to catch and collect the steam. Droplet by droplet, clean water condensed on the metallic walls of the top shell and accumulated.

The work was slow and tedious but yielded water free of metallic taste and, hopefully, sickness. The fatigue persisted, and though he drank his fill for the firs time in what felt like weeks but could only be two days at most, the snails' poison was nothing to scoff at. To make matters worse, the silverbacks were relentless; two moved along the basin’s perimeter, violet eyes focused unnervingly on the crystal outcrop. Waiting. On a few occasions Zuberi had seen the first beast, recognizable by the fresh wound still on its flank and its gait that favored one side as it surveyed the black sands. It came at random intervals, approached one of its kin nearby and, after a series of growls, went back to the jungle, scaling the slope in two of three powerful jumps despite its injury.

It was not long before even the constant crystalline buzzing grated on his senses, their song growing more insistent with each passing moment. It felt draining, as if they were somehow feeding on his presence, drawing something from him that he couldn't name. Sometimes, in moments of exhaustion, he thought he saw faint lines of force connecting the crystals to his marked skin, like faint ripples, invisible threads pulling at his essence.

On the third cycle, Zuberi prepared to leave. He woke sluggish, with heavy limbs, the faint glowing lines on his arms dimmer than he had ever seen them before. Watching the ever present silverbacks, he managed to nab two more moon-fur rabbits. Tough it was a dash of a hunt, the likes of which he had performed countless times, the effort of it drove him to the brink of exhaustion.

Once he caught his breath and while the meat cooked, a fast and hard boil, better for travel, he crudely prepared the skins, boiling them in what clean water he could spare before shaping makeshift water skins. Treated as crudely as they were, the skins would not last long, but this would meet his needs.

Zuberi filled one with precious, clean water. Selecting big chunks of charcoal from the dead fire, he crushed them in his fist, and let the fine dust trickle into the second skin before covering with water and shaking it. However little he wanted to eat unknown fruits or animals, he was under no illusion his provisions would last or how common the rabbits, only edible food he had identified so far, were.

He packed the precooked meat, wrapping two bundles, each in layers of the large leaves that floated on the pond and looked like lotus plants. He’d chewed bits of the leaves at regular intervals and had noticed no aches or illness. Watching the twin suns crawl across the alien sky, he spotted three silverbacks positioned strategically around the basin, attention fixed on the crystals. One stayed closer, clearly a sentinel, while the other two drank. As he watched the creatures' pink tongues lap the dirty water, Zuberi snorted, thinking it was a miracle only the fungi and snails had tried to kill him.

With a sinking feeling, Zuberi realized the silverbacks were not going away. Their intelligence unnerved him. This exposed cluster of humming, energy-sapping crystals, watched by increasingly bold predators, was no sanctuary—it was worse than he originally thought. It was a slow death sentence.

Zuberi waited until the larger beast he'd wounded made its rounds, exchanging its typical series of bark-like growls and left. Shortly after, a group of moon-fur rabbits dashed from the jungle, moved a little ways to the west, and started their ritual of digging for the orange bulbs. He waited moments after the main group of silverbacks had followed the rabbits for another hunt, leaving only a single watcher. Zuberi seized his chance. Slinging the water skins and meager provisions across his shoulder, securing them with his sash, he broke from the crystals and sprinted across glittering black sand toward the distant indigo haze of the horizon, praying he hadn't condemned himself to an even swifter death in an endless desert.

Zuberi ran, forcing his weary body forward. At every step, he expected to feel the breath of the sentinel in his back, and though he heard it give chase, its steps soon receded and stopped altogether. He did not stop or turn to confirm. Not until he noticed a change to his surroundings.

The transition was abrupt. One moment his feet pounded shifting black sand under the harsh mauve sky; the next, he plunged into deep green shadow.

The air grew thick, heavy with moisture and the scent of damp earth mingled with a sickly-sweet aroma that curled into his nostrils. Glittering sand gave way to soft moss and tangled roots underfoot. The crystals' hum faded behind him, replaced by the vibrant, pulsing rhythm of the jungle, a chaotic thrum he felt deep within.

Every shadow and leaf felt alive, watchful. This place was primal, unsettling, yet undeniably alive in ways the desolate basin was not.

Zuberi moved through dense foliage with a predator’s grace, each step silent on mossy ground, senses alert to every rustle of leaves, every faint chirp or snap.

The weight of the machete and chakram secure on opposite hips anchored him, like a tether to who he was. They comforted him, reminding him of the warrior he had been before this place took him. No. He clenched his jaw. Before they took him.

His thoughts drifted to his tribe, their laughter, their faces, now little more than echoes haunting him. Guilt clung to him like a shadow, a constant whisper of his failure.

He’d failed in his most sacred duty. Their safety. Yet here, in this alien wilderness, something stirred within—more than regret. Purpose. As if this world were offering a chance for redemption. It might have been a fantasy or the lingering effect of the slug poison, but Zuberi clung to the idea the way a drowning man does a lifeline.

The sound of running water, a river or a stream, guided him, its murmur leading deeper into the jungle. Then he felt it—a shift, as if the jungle had exhaled. Vines barring his way fell slack; roots writhed back into the earth. A narrow path opened before him where only the echo of one had existed before.

He inched forward. The narrow path opened into a small clearing bathed in the twin suns' mauve light. Wiry, crackling with restless energy, younger than Zuberi, a man stood at the edge of the clearing, leaning against a moss-covered tree.

His clothes seemed from another world: strange, tattered cloth covering his chest, legs clad in faded blue fabric, and a worn jacket made of dark, cured hide draped over one shoulder. His hair was a wild mop of red, vivid as fire. But it was his eyes, piercing green, sharp, and wary, that captured Zuberi’s attention. Beneath the jacket, Zuberi noted the distinct bulge of a concealed bulk with an odd stillness to it, as if the shadows clung there and banished the jungle's light.

Zuberi stopped, hand still on his machete's hilt. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice low, steady, betraying none of the unease within. He'd meant to speak in Isabel's tongue, the only other he knew besides his own, but felt none of the clumsiness he'd always felt when trying it before. And yet, the stranger seemed to have understood him.

The man snorted softly, pushing off the tree. "That's the question, isn't it?" he said. "Stripped of our lives, tossed into this alien hellhole like pieces on a board…does it even matter?"

Zuberi's gaze remained unflinching, though irritation simmered beneath the surface. The man's mocking tone grated on him. He knew this type. A leader must find ways to deal with his ilk, men who tried boundaries and provoked and poked and taunted, searching for violence or stability.

Zuberi held his calm, eying the man as one might study a mangy wild animal. Desperate as it may appear, you underestimated it at your own peril and, something Zuberi had seen far too many times, that foolish mistake would be your last.

"Name's Hanz," the man said, extending a cautious hand. "Hanz Muller," he repeated, flashing a smile as if hinting at a shared secret. Met by Zuberi’s blank stare, he shook his head. "And you are…?" he asked.

"Zuberi," Zuberi said.

After a pause, as if expecting more, Hanz gave him a once-over, taking in his attire and steady grip on his machete. "Zuberi," Hanz said. "Sounds like a warrior’s name. So, what's your story? How’d you end up here?"

"I was taken," Zuberi said evenly, though his shoulders tensed. "From my people. My home."

Hanz barked a humorless laugh. "Yeah, sounds familiar. One moment I was…" He stopped and something dark flickered across his face. He shrugged, his voice regaining its cynical edge. "Doesn't matter. We're here now. That's all that counts, isn't it?" he asked.

"Have you seen others?" Zuberi asked, eyes narrowing.

"Not people," Hanz said, absently rubbing his side. Zuberi noticed a faint, dark stain spreading on his shirt.

"You're injured," Zuberi said, stepping forward.

Hanz's expression instantly hardened. He tensed, his hand hovering over the tear in his shirt. "It's nothing," he said, teeth clenched.

Before Zuberi could retort, the ground shook. A deep growl rumbled through the clearing, vibrating up Zuberi's feet. Both men froze.

From the jungle's edge, a beast broke out of the canopy’s cover. It was a hulking creature with sickle-like claws and black fur matted with dried blood. Its eyes glowed red; its breath escaped in steaming bursts, reeking of rot. To Zuberi it looked like a rhinoceros with fur, three horns along its long muzzle, and a bright red crest atop its head.

"Well, shit," Hanz muttered, taking a step back.

Zuberi’s instinct brought his hand to the chakram, but he stopped. Against a beast this size and the thickness of a hide thick enough to hold the muscles that rippled as it charged, the disc felt inadequate. He needed reach or weight. The spear, secure in a travel-carry, string resting against his chest, would be hard to bring to bear quickly. That left the machete, which Zuberi drew in a smooth motion.

"Stay back," he ordered, placing himself between Hanz and the creature.

"I'm not some damsel, tribal king," Hanz said, spitting to the side for good measure.

The beast, which had traversed the clearing in long, powerful strides, lunged. Zuberi moved before thought caught up, body a blur. He sidestepped its claws, the world slowing as his instincts sharpened.

Muscles coiled, he swung the machete, the blade biting deep into the creature's flank. The beast, thrown off at not having skewered or chomped its enemy in half, landed awkwardly. It turned and eyed the two men as if deciding which to attack first, then let out another roar.

Zuberi saw shadows ripple around Hanz's feet, crawling like snakes across the ground. But these weren't natural shadows. They moved against the light, with nothing material to cast them, writhing with an almost liquid consistency, responding to Hanz's wriggling fingers. Upon closer inspection, Zuberi noticed that the tips of Hanz’s fingers, black as night now, faded to gray then to pink by the time they reached his palms. Then, the familiar lightning pattern appeared and vanished under Hanz’s shirt. On Hanz, it was a barely perceptible gray instead of the gold that snaked around Zuberi’s own body.

The beast sprang again, jaws snapping. Before Zuberi could respond, the shadows around Hanz's feet intensified. The darkness was no longer faint; it had gained substance and form, as if the very essence of shadow had taken on physical presence and weight. They coiled around the creature's legs with serpentine precision, and Zuberi noticed how the beast's own shadow joined in on the attack, betraying its master. The shadows hardened like obsidian bonds, tripping the monster mid-strike. Zuberi glanced at Hanz and saw shock mixed with something else on the man's face as he stared at the darkness twisting under his plain command.

Zuberi didn't hesitate. He stepped into the strike, the machete slicing through the air with deadly precision. Though fainter this time, Zuberi felt the wave of heat that sparked from within, ran along his chest, down his arm and out of his armed hand, before coming back to him in a backrush of heated air, like when he opened a cauldron of simmering soup. The beast's roar choked into a wet gurgle as the blade sank deep into its skull.

Its body shuddered in a final spasm before slumping to the ground, the earth quaking once beneath its weight.

Zuberi exhaled, chest heaving as silence settled back over the clearing. He glanced down at the chakram still secure at his hip. The memory of throwing it, only for it to return unnaturally to his grasp, stopping itself just short of slicing his fingers, sent a shiver down his spine. It wasn't right. Weapons were tools, extensions of the wielder's will, predictable. That chakram... it felt like something else now, imbued with the same strangeness as this entire world. In a place where the rules were unknown, relying on a weapon with a mind of its own felt like courting disaster. No, better the solid weight of the spear, the familiar heft of the machete–tools he understood, tools that obeyed him. Zuberi straightened, chest still heaving, and wiped his machete clean on the beast’s fur. He turned to Hanz, noticing the shadows still writhing around his hands.

"What manner of sorcery is this?" Zuberi asked, regretting the word choice as soon as the words left his mouth. They felt foolish and hypocritical given the oddities he'd noticed about himself and this place.

Hanz stared down at his hands, watching the shadows cling to his fingers like dark smoke before fading into thin air. Zuberi noticed how the jungle's natural shadows seemed to lean slightly toward Hanz now, as if drawn to him. "I… I don't know," he admitted, voice shaking. "But it feels… familiar somehow. Like something I've always been able to do, just never knew how." For a moment, his assured mask dropped, replaced by something raw and uncertain.

Then he smirked, deflecting. "Not bad, tribal king," he said. "Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

Zuberi studied him a moment longer before saying, "I was trained to protect my people. But this…" He glanced at the beast’s corpse. "This is something else."

Hanz scoffed. "Feels more like a death trap."

"Perhaps. But we work well together." He noticed Hanz’s eyes flick briefly to the rabbits wrapped in leaves slung over his shoulder.

Hanz stiffened. "Don't get any ideas. This doesn't make us friends. But…" He glanced at Zuberi again, grudgingly saying, "We're better off not killing each other, I suppose."

This Hanz had fought, survived so far, and the strange way he manipulated shadows, made them solid, had proven effective. There was strength in numbers, Father had always said. Zuberi agreed. Even numbers this uncertain.

"Agreed," Zuberi said, extending his hand, deliberately going against ingrained caution. "An alliance for survival."

Hanz hesitated, then clasped Zuberi’s hand. "Fine," he said. "But I'm watching you."

As their hands released, a faint breeze stirred the clearing, carrying with it the subtle scent of ozone.

Zuberi glanced toward the trees, instincts on edge. "We should move," he said.

Hanz walked next to him. "So, oh wise leader, what now?" he asked.

Zuberi let out a sigh. "Now, we stay alive," he said. "Hopefully, we can find others.

Chapter 1: The Hunter’s Path — Survive the Hunt

The hum came first. It was low and melodic, threading through Zuberi’s groggy mind like a song once cherished, now half-remembered.

Mundane UniverseDany G. Zuwen