Steve saw.

  This time, he saw everything.

  The man before him was no longer hidden by the cloak or the tent’s shadow. The moonlight illuminated the exposed face—human… or what remained of it. The skin still held its shape, still resembled someone alive, but the mouth—the mouth was wrong.

  The lips were torn, pulled back like dead flesh. Teeth exposed, darkened, some broken. The gums looked rotten, black at the edges, as if something had gnawed from the inside out. A thick strand of saliva mixed with blood slowly dripped down the chin.

  Steve’s stomach churned.

  He took a step back.

  Then another.

  His hands shook uncontrollably. His entire body sweated despite the night’s chill. His heart pounded so hard it drowned out the distant sounds of the forest. Every instinct screamed danger.

  “W-who…” his voice failed. He swallowed hard. “Who are you people?” he asked, almost pleading. “What do you want with me?”

  The man tilted his head slightly.

  The skin on his face began to contract.

  Steve watched in horror as small fissures appeared around the mouth, like cracks in dried clay. The jaw cracked. The eyes lost their human gleam, turning dull, dead. The smell shifted—grew stronger, more putrid.

  “This…” the voice came out slurred, thick, distorted “…no longer matters.”

  The man’s body began to tremble.

  It wasn’t a shiver from cold. It was convulsion. Bones cracked beneath the skin. The neck stretched at an impossible angle. The spine arched with a dry snap, and Steve heard something tear inside the body.

  Then the transformation was complete.

  There was no longer a man there.

  The creature before Steve was a full undead. Grayish skin, empty eyes, mouth gaping and drooling dark blood. No expression, no reason—only hunger.

  Steve broke.

  He turned and ran.

  His legs moved in pure desperation. He bolted through the village, past thatched houses, barrels, extinguished fires. His breath burned in his lungs. Behind him, an inhuman sound echoed.

  A growl.

  Heavy.

  The Abject charged into rage.

  The creature pursued him with awkward but unnaturally fast movements. No hesitation, no fear—only the blind need to reach him.

  Steve hurled whatever he found in his path: a wooden bench, a basket, a stone. Nothing stopped it. The objects struck the creature’s body and fell away, useless.

  “Help!” Steve shouted, his voice tearing through the night.

  Then, a metallic sound cut the air.

  Clang—clang—clang!

  A bell.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Abject alert!” someone shouted. “Abject alert!”

  Lights began to appear in the houses. Doors opened. Villagers awoke, rushing out—some armed, others merely watching. The entire village stirred to the horror.

  Steve ran a few more meters.

  His foot slipped on a stone.

  The world spun.

  He fell hard, the air knocked from his lungs. He rolled onto his back and saw it.

  The Abject was on top of him.

  Its mouth wide open, drooling blood, the putrid smell overwhelming everything. The creature lunged at Steve, its teeth snapping inches from his face.

  Steve screamed.

  An arrow sliced through the air.

  THOCK.

  It embedded itself dead center in the creature’s forehead.

  The undead body collapsed heavily onto Steve, motionless.

  For a second, everything was silent.

  Steve shoved the body aside, gasping, heart racing. Sweat streamed down his face, mixed with dirt and blood. He stared at the fallen creature, wary, too tense to relax.

  “It’s over…” he murmured, trying to convince himself.

  Then the body moved.

  The Abject’s eyes snapped open.

  The creature rose all at once, too fast, blood gushing from its forehead. An inhuman roar escaped its ruined mouth, and it lunged at Steve again.

  Without thinking, Steve grabbed something from the ground.

  A loaf of bread.

  He shoved it hard into the creature’s open mouth.

  The Abject bit down anyway, trying to reach his face. Drool, blood, and chunks of flesh splattered onto Steve, soaking into his clothes and skin.

  “Get off! Get off!” Steve yelled, using all his strength to hold it back.

  Two spears cut through the air.

  One pierced the creature’s stomach.

  The other struck the forehead again, exploding blood in all directions, covering Steve completely.

  The Abject was hurled away, collapsing to the ground and thrashing uncontrollably.

  Then the leader appeared.

  Sword in hand.

  Without a word, he advanced and, with a single precise strike, decapitated the creature.

  The body stopped.

  Heavy silence fell.

  The villagers watched. Some with blank expressions. Others weeping silently.

  An older woman broke through the crowd, screaming. She fell to her knees beside the headless body, clutching it tightly.

  “My son… my son…” she wailed, desperate.

  Steve remained frozen, covered in blood, the crushed bread still in his trembling hand.

  Not understanding.

  Barely able to breathe.

  And feeling, for the first time, something far worse than fear.

  Doubt.

  Steve walked back to the room as if his body were on autopilot.

  The village resumed an artificial, forced silence. People dispersed slowly, without murmurs, without questions, without lingering glances. They simply obeyed. As if that scene—the Abject, the blood, the mother’s grief—were something… too commonplace to warrant reaction.

  Steve glanced back one last time.

  He saw the leader kneeling beside the decapitated body, holding the weeping woman. He spoke something low, inaudible, while with his other hand he gently closed the dead eyes of the young man who had become a monster. The gesture was careful. Respectful.

  But Steve felt a chill.

  It didn’t look like pity.

  It looked like ritual.

  He turned away and entered the room.

  Closed the door.

  The smell of blood still clung to him. Even after washing his face with water, the odor seemed stuck to his skin, embedded in his pores. He lay on the bed, staring at the wooden ceiling. His heart took a long time to slow.

  Abject.

  The word echoed in his mind.

  “He was human.”

  “He had a mother.”

  Steve closed his eyes.

  He slept poorly.

  Dreamed of mouths opening. Of teeth. Of chewing.

  When he woke, the sun was already high.

  For a moment, he thought it had all been a delusion. But then he moved—and felt it.

  His body… was different.

  Steve sat up slowly.

  He expected pain. Expected stabs, stiffness, the weight of the wounds from the forest. But what he felt was the opposite. His muscles responded better. His chest rose more easily. The arm that could barely lift before now moved steadily.

  He frowned.

  “…What?”

  He got out of bed.

  Flexed his fingers. Rolled his shoulders. Took a few steps. No sharp pain. No collapse. The wounds were still there, covered by bandages, but his body felt… more whole.

  “This doesn’t make sense…” he murmured.

  He looked at his own abdomen. Took a deep breath. Felt none of the burning he remembered from the night before. On the contrary—there was a strange sense of solidity, as if something were reorganizing inside him.

  Steve swallowed hard.

  “I should be worse… not better.”

  Driven by a strange—almost nervous—impulse, he stood in front of a small metal mirror hanging on the wall. He observed his own body. His posture. The natural tension in his muscles.

  He tried a pose.

  Then another.

  Flexed his arm, like he’d seen in videos from the real world. The muscle responded. Not huge, but more defined. Firmer than he remembered.

  “Okay… this is officially weird,” he said, letting out a short, incredulous laugh. “Did I turn into an adventurer now?”

  That was when the door opened.

  Steve nearly jumped back.

  “AH—!”

  The leader was there.

  Standing in the doorway, silent as always. His calm gaze landed directly on Steve… still shirtless… in the middle of a completely ridiculous pose.

  The silence lasted a second longer than necessary.

  Steve felt his face burn.

  “I-I can explain—” he blurted, lowering his arm too quickly.

  The leader tilted his head slightly.

  “No need,” he said, voice serene. “I see you’re recovering quickly.”

  Steve cleared his throat, embarrassed.

  “I… thought it was strange too.”

  The leader entered the room and closed the door behind him. He approached without hurry and sat on a wooden bench. The air seemed to grow heavier with his presence.

  “About last night,” the man began, “it wasn’t something you were meant to see.”

  Steve’s stomach tightened.

  “That man…” he said. “He was one of you, wasn’t he?”

  The leader did not answer immediately.

  His hand slowly rose to the veil covering the lower part of his face. His fingers lingered there for a moment, as if weighing something.

  “This village exists to serve the Goddess of the Forest,” he said. “Not everyone who lives here can bear the weight of it.”

  Steve felt a chill crawl up his spine.

  “What happens to them?”

  The leader looked directly into his eyes.

  Then he pulled the veil down.

  Steve held his breath.

  The face still bore human features. The nose. The structure. But the mouth…

  The mouth was dead.

  Lips retracted, flesh grayish, teeth exposed and uneven. The surrounding skin dark, rotten. It was the same deformity. The same horror.

  The same fate.

  Steve took a step back without realizing it.

  “…You…” his voice failed. “You’re like him.”

  The leader smiled.

  Or something close to it.

  “No,” he replied calmly. “I merely still control it.”

  Steve felt his heart race again.

  And for the first time since arriving in that world, he was absolutely certain of one thing:

  He hadn’t been saved.

  He had been accepted.