After a full minute of frantic sprinting, the boy's legs finally give out beneath him. He collapses onto the cold, unforgiving ground, his body trembling with exhaustion. Sweat clings to his skin like a second layer, soaked into his clothes and mixing with the sharp sting of urine—an involuntary release from sheer fear. The sensation is mortifying, sticky and raw, but there's no time for shame.
His chest rises and falls in rapid, uneven gasps. Each breath feels like it's tearing through him, as if his heart is trying to break free and escape from the confines of his ribcage. The pounding in his ears drowns out all other sound, a frantic rhythm of survival. He curls in on himself instinctively, clutching his arms tight around his body in a desperate search for warmth, for comfort, for anything familiar.
"Scary…" he breathes, his voice trembling, barely audible. He shudders, hugging himself tighter. "This place... is scary."
After some time, the boy's breathing begins to slow. The trembling in his limbs fades to a dull tremor, and though the fear still lingers, it begins to loosen its grip on his chest. He sits up slowly, wincing as the cold clings to his skin, and exhales a shaky sigh.
"I… I don't remember what happened," he murmurs, his voice hoarse and uncertain, like it hasn't been used in years. "I just remember waking up in this place."
His words hang in the air, unanswered, and the silence that follows only makes them feel heavier. He glances around again, his eyes wide with confusion, and continues speaking—if only to remind himself that he still can.
"Wait a minute…" His brow furrows, panic slowly creeping back into his tone. "Who am I? What's my name?"
He clutches his head, overwhelmed, thoughts spiraling like a storm. The emptiness of his mind is more terrifying than the darkness around him. But then—something stirs. A faint thread of memory, fragile and distant, tugs at him.
"Oh, right…" he breathes, as the realization gently dawns. "It's Lavos."
Lavos glances down at himself, his face scrunching up when he sees the piss-stained, ragged pants clinging to his legs. He stares for a second, then mutters under his breath, "I did… all of that?"
A faint flush rises to his cheeks, and he quickly looks away, like someone else might be watching.
"I… I really am pathetic, aren't I?" he says, forcing out a weak laugh that dies just as fast.
Right on cue, his stomach lets out a long, miserable growl. Lavos freezes, then groans and clutches at it. "Great. Now I'm starving too. And thirsty."
He slowly gets to his feet, legs still shaky, and his eyes catch on a nearby tree—old and gnarled, with patches of moss growing along its bark. It's not food. He knows that. At least… he thinks he does. But right now, it's green, it's soft, and it's the only thing around that doesn't feel like it's going to kill him.
With hesitation, Lavos walks over, digs his frail fingers into the moss, and starts eating it. It's bitter, spongy, and sticks to his teeth—but he swallows it anyway.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then he says keeping a straight face. "Well... That's definitely Disgusting."
Lavos slumps against the base of a tree, the moss still clinging to his lips. He lets out a long, tired sigh. "I'm surprised I'm even still alive..."
But before the thought can settle, a deafening screech tears through the air. It's distant, but piercing—unnatural, like metal scraping against bone. Lavos jolts upright, eyes wide.
"Shit!" His breath catches in his throat. "That son of a bitch was looking for me this whole time!"
Without thinking, his body kicks into motion. He takes off running, lungs burning, legs aching, heart racing faster than his thoughts. The forest blurs around him, branches slapping at his arms, the ground uneven beneath his feet.
Then, without warning, that massive Spider from earlier bursts through the underbrush behind him—its limbs clicking, its eyes glinting with unnatural hunger. It charges forward, letting out another screech that echoes like it's coming from inside Lavos's own skull.
"Huff... huff... What do you want from me?!" he yells over his shoulder. "Can't you see I'm literally just skin and bones?!"
The creature gains on him fast, skittering through the trees with terrifying speed. Lavos tries to push harder, but he can already feel his body giving out. The screech comes again—closer, sharper, louder.
Then—WHAM. A high-pitched, piercing sound explodes in his ears. Lavos stumbles mid-step, clutching his head.
"Gaaah! That hurts!" he cries, staggering as his vision spins. A sharp, burning ring drills into his skull, and everything around him blurs—sound warping, trees bending, reality twisting.
Lavos sprints through the undergrowth, branches whipping across his face and arms, the pounding of the spider's legs thundering just behind him. Desperate, he reaches for his pocket—his fingers fumbling, searching for the one thing that's always given him some sense of security.
But there's nothing.
His hand brushes only fabric—thin, ragged, and pocketless.
"No… no… no…" he mutters, panic starting to claw at his throat.
He frantically checks his other side, then around his waistband, then behind him as he runs, almost tripping over a root. Still nothing. No handle, no sheath, not even a strap.
And then it hits him like ice water down his spine.
"I forgot it…" he breathes, eyes wide. "I forgot my knife!"
His voice cracks with disbelief, the realization sinking in like a knife of its own. The one thing that might've given him a fighting chance—and it's gone. Just gone.
There's no time to mourn it. The screeches behind him grow louder, closer, more frenzied. He pushes his legs harder, lungs screaming, heart threatening to explode.
"C'mon, dumbass. Use your head!" Lavos growls to himself, eyes darting wildly for anything he can use.
But then a shadow looms overhead.
He looks up—and the spider is mid-air, its massive body hurtling toward him like a nightmare made of limbs and fangs.
Out of sheer terror, he pisses himself again, warm and shameful—but it barely registers. His survival instinct kicks in, loud and primal, drowning everything else out.
His eyes lock onto something, a jagged tree trunk, snapped at the base, its edge splintered into a wicked point.
Without thinking, he lunges toward it, throws his hands around the thick bark, and plants his feet.
"Grgggh… C'mon!" he grits out, veins bulging as he strains every fiber of his thin, trembling body. The weight is crushing, his muscles scream, his breath comes in short, pained bursts.
The spider is seconds away—falling, diving straight for him. Blood starts to trickle down his arms as the bark bites into his skin, tearing through layers already raw and battered.
"Grgggh... GRGAAAAAAH!" With one last roar of desperation, Lavos lifts the trunk upright just as the spider crashes down on him—
SKKKRRRCH!
The pointed wood drives straight through the creature's soft underbelly, impaling it with a sickening crunch.
The spider lets out a final, gurgling screech before its weight collapses fully onto the trunk.
Lavos stumbles back, panting, covered in sweat, blood, and filth. His arms hang limp at his sides, torn and trembling.
He stares at the dying beast, chest heaving. Lavos stands there, trembling, barely able to hold himself up. His breath comes in shallow, ragged bursts, the adrenaline slowly wearing off—leaving only pain and confusion in its place.
He looks down at himself, frowning. "Weird… Huff… Huff… It feels so warm down there…"
His hand moves instinctively, pressing against the warmth between his legs—expecting the familiar dampness of fear-induced piss. But the moment he pulls his hand back, his breath catches.
His fingers are soaked in red.
Thick. Wet. Blood.
Panicked, he touches himself again, more urgently this time—dreading what he might find. More blood. It coats his hand like paint. No wound he can see, no obvious injury—but it's coming from there.
His mind reels, unable to process it. His knees buckle. A cold sweat spreads across his skin as the horror sinks in, deeper than the fear of the spider ever did.
The world tilts, the ground rushes up to meet him, and Lavos collapses—unconscious, crumpled in a heap beneath the towering trees.