The silence the ogre left behind was a physical weight. This entire forest is a deathtrap, David thought. They were fish on a hook. A random monster could turn their song into a short, bloody note. The thought was a solid, practical—a clear understanding of his new reality. I need to level up. And I need bodies to make that happen. They wouldn’t exactly be a fighting force, they would be backup dancers, cheerleaders, coordinated chief pencil sharpeners. The type you’d use to stop a twenty-foot-tall problem from using you as a toothpick.

  Survival meant building a weapon from the broken pieces around him. Every person was a potential resource, a piece of gear in the grim arithmetic of staying alive. Rather than looking for allies; he intended to audit assets. That one might be good for carrying things. That one girl who ducked looked like she could swing a piece of metal, or has a skill for it—it’s all about finding the right tool for the job, and the job is not dying.

  The wrecked plane sat where it had crashed, a stable, if a little out of place in a forest of giant trees, a landmark in the alien landscape. Its metal walls were the closest thing to a barrier they possessed.

  David waited at the tree line, his eyes fixed on the clearing. He had long since progressed from the existential dread state of ‘We’re so dead’ to the more pragmatic state of ‘how do I turn this into a story I tell my grandkids’ as he eyed the plane’s wreckage and the people inside, planning his next steps.

  Let’s give it a solid hundred-count. See if it pops back in for a forgotten lunch. He watched the empty space where the ogre had stood, his body coiled tight, ready to melt back into the forest if so much as a leaf moved wrong. When the count finished and the clearing remained still, he let out a slow breath. Alright. Time to take inventory.

  He started toward the torn fuselage, his steps intentional as he approached the resource depot. Let’s see what’s still functional in there. I need a perimeter, I need distractions, and I need at least one person who can follow a simple order without puking. As he ducked through the gash in the plane’s side, the wall of sound and smell hit him—a potent mix of sweat, fear, and rising hysteria. And it sounds like the stock is rapidly depreciating.

  Inside the torn fuselage, the survivors were already fracturing along predictable lines. A clear divide was forming between those who saw the plane as a fortress and those who viewed it as a tomb. The instinct to stay within the metal shell warred with the desperate urge to flee before the ogre’s return.

  The plane, partially buried from the initial crash, creating a cramped, downward-sloping cave. The panic inside had reached a fever pitch as the passengers pressed against the safety of the buried cockpit. They’re going to crush each other before anything else gets a chance, David observed, watching the seething mass of people.

  He saw a man yelp in genuine pain as the crowd, surging toward the perceived safety of the buried nose, twisted his arm against a jagged piece of the seat frame. There it is. Self-inflicted casualties. This is what happens when you have a herd with no shepherd. A shame the shepherd role seems to involve preventing them from stomping each other to death.

  The human algorithm is pretty simple under threat: find the center of the group and push, David mused. It’s a great way to present a single, consolidated target. That was why he avoided the plane when the Ogre teleported beside him, despite the fact that it was much closer than the treeline. At the time, he hadn’t wanted to present it with ‘canned David.’

  The logic was primal and flawed, but he understood it. In the absence of a plan, the body seeks the warmth and presumed safety of others. It was the same instinct that made fish ball up when a shark showed up. Of course, the shark would just get a denser meal.

  A passenger near the back had already checked out of the fight. The man was slumped in a corner where the wall met the ceiling, his body limp and his eyes closed, passed out from the stress. He clocked out early. System shock, David diagnosed, his gaze passing over the man without lingering.

  One less mouth to feed, one less body to protect. Harsh, but that’s the balance sheet now. He made a mental note. The man was occupying space, but he was no longer an asset. He was part of the environment.

  “We have to keep our heads!” Corbin’s voice was a sharp crack, trying to splinter the rising panic. He stood with his back to the buried nose, a man trying to hold back a flood with his hands. Evans was a solid presence beside him, his own voice a low, firm counterpoint. “Pushing is only making it worse for everyone! Just breathe and hold your position!”

  They’re trying to use reason on a mob. That’s like trying to put out a fire with a lecture. David watched their efforts with a detached curiosity. It’s a noble effort, but they’re fighting a losing battle against basic biology. You can’t talk people out of their own heartbeat.

  The smell of vomit hit David’s nostrils first, a familiar scent of total system failure. Then David saw Simeon, the evidence of his total digestive failure splattered on his pants. Well, he's off the active roster.

  He was already out of commission before I even got here. Mark him down as a liability. The stain was fresh, but the event clearly predated his arrival. It was information, confirming the overall low quality of the raw material he had to work with. He already knew how Evans, Corbin, Rhea, Mara, and even Henderson’s group reacted under fire, what he was looking for were stand-outs among those who remained.

  A child’s cry cut through the murmur, escalating into a sharp, piercing keen of pure terror. The sound was a needle in the eardrum. A woman near the front spun around, her face a mask of wild-eyed fear. “You have to quiet her! That thing will hear! It’ll come back for the sound!”

  David’s gaze fell on the small, crying form within the huddle. The child was still alive—a surprise. Its small size may have kept it off the ogre’s radar, a statistical probability given the creature’s apparent appetite for challenge. He observed the mother attempting to quiet the child, an effort doomed against such primal distress. Either way, it was a major risk.

  “I heard something outside!” a voice shrieked from the torn opening near the tail. The words were a spark on gasoline. “There’s something moving out there!” A fresh wave of panic, hot and thick, washed over several of the packed survivors. Shoulders tensed and people shoved instinctively.

  David immediately checked the direction the man was looking through and saw nothing. Rhea, who had stationed herself at a cracked window, shook her head, her voice cutting through the new fear. “It’s clear. I see nothing.” Her report was flat, factual. Good. Someone’s keeping their head on a swivel, David noted. The forest is probably full of things moving. The trick is not letting every rustle dictate your next move.

  “This is a death trap!“ a man started shoving his way toward the jagged exit, his movements frantic. “We need to leave now!” he yelled, his voice cracking under the strain. He was making a beeline for the opening, driven by a terror of the enclosed space.

  And there’s the first volunteer for the Darwin Award, David thought, tracking the man’s progress. He’s so scared of the cage, he’s sprinting for the slaughterhouse. The man truly believed the known terror of the ogre was worse than the unknown horrors of the forest. It was a critical miscalculation.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Immediately, hands reached out from the crowd. They grabbed the man’s arms, his shirt, pulling him back into the human mass. The resistance was firm and desperate. “Don’t!” someone pleaded. “You can’t go out there!” It wasn’t violence, but a possessive, terrified clinging.

  They were anchoring him to the only known variable, terrified of what his flight might attract. They’re not trying to save him. They’re trying to save themselves from the consequences of his stupidity, David observed. It’s a selfish, logical, and entirely correct impulse.

  A sharp, hissed argument broke out, defining the two sides of their terrible dilemma in the gloom. “It knows we are here!” a man argued, his voice a strained whisper. “Staying is just waiting for it to come back!”

  “Leaving is a death sentence!” a woman shot back, her tone just as fierce. “We don’t know what’s out there! We stay put, we stay together.” The two philosophies clashed in the dark, cramped space. The ‘Die Now’ faction versus the ‘Die Later’ committee, David mused, listening to the debate. Both sides have a point. It’s a shame both points lead to a grave.

  The child's piercing cries softened as a woman pulled him close, tucking his face against her shoulder. Her hand moved in a frantic, rhythmic pat on his back, a universal gesture of comfort that seemed absurd given their circumstances. There's the ancient programming kicking in, David observed. Quiet the young in danger. It was profoundly unfortunate that the danger weighed two tons and teleported.

  Near the gaping tear in the fuselage, two men began moving with a grim, quiet purpose. They dragged a mangled suitcase and a twisted section of an overhead bin, stacking them near the opening. It was a pathetic wall, a child's idea of a fort, but the act itself was a powerful signal. "It's something," one of them muttered to the other, who just nodded, his face pale. A symbolic boundary. David appreciated the initiative, at least. Might as well be a line in the sand for all the good it'll do, but it makes them feel like they're doing something. Can't fault the logic.

  David’s eyes scanned the huddled survivors, his mind automatically cataloging the faces. One was conspicuously absent. Theo’s not here. The man had either been taken in the chaos or, more likely, had made a break for the trees. Running into that without a plan is just a slow-motion suicide. I thought he was smarter than that. The image formed in his mind: a man alone in the dark, unable to keep watch, exhaustion finally pulling him under for the last time. Out there, the moment you close your eyes is the moment something opens its jaws.

  That simple, brutal logic was a significant part of why he’d returned to this broken metal hive. I’m stuck with them. At least for now, during the night. Until he could push his constitution high enough to maybe reduce his need for sleep—assuming it could even do that—he was as vulnerable as the rest of them the second he lost consciousness. He needed a watch. At least one person. More than that, he needed bodies to help him gain levels, to form a perimeter, and to serve as a diversion against the ogre. The endgame was non-negotiable: he had to personally surpass that thing’s level. Everything else was just a stepping stone.

  Amid the low din of fear, a voice of strained reason piped up. “We should take a count,” a woman said, her voice trembling but clear. “We need to know who’s… who’s left.” The suggestion was a lifeline, a concrete task in a sea of abstract terror. It was something to do, a numbers problem to solve instead of an existential one.

  They did a quick, hushed roll call, whispering names into the tense air. The result was a cold, hard fact: four people were missing, not counting the ones they knew were dead. A heavy silence followed the realization. No one, not a single person, suggested forming a search party. The unspoken agreement was unanimous and absolute: whatever was out there could keep them.

  David ran the numbers in his head, tallying the ogre’s takings. Let’s see. Three confirmed kills: Robert, the blond girl, and the first runner it pancaked. Then it had snatched four others alive. Then the ones at the treeline bolted for the forest. Eleven people. Gone in a few minutes. Quite the shopping spree, he thought. The four forest runners could still make it back if they have weapons and make it before midnight, let’s consider them maybe-alive for now.

  His mind circled the part that bothered him the most: why take four alive? The obvious answer was food, a larder for later. But something about that felt off. Maybe it needs workers. Or it could be for something worse and demonic, like fuel for a spell or parts for a ritual. He let the thoughts surface and then dismissed them. Speculation is a luxury. I don’t even know what demonic means here—this isn’t Earth. Knowing why it collects stamps doesn’t help you stop the mailman from beating down your door.

  He replayed the ogre’s words. It had called them “pieces.” The word carried a strange, possessive quality, like a collector assessing new acquisitions. And it had said their kind “rarely reaches this place.” That implied others like them, at least in size—maybe even other humans, had been here before. Could there be allies? A hidden settlement? He immediately shut the thought down. The ogre said it was rare. Hoping for rescue is a fantasy, and fantasies get you killed. The only safe assumption was that they were utterly alone and could only depend on themselves. In this place, trust was a weapon you turned on yourself. Everything here, from the trees to the teleporting giants, would kill you the moment you blinked.

  The shouting match from earlier had burned itself down to embers. The two factions were now just trading tired, brittle phrases in the dim light. "We can't just wait here," a man insisted, his voice husky with exhaustion.

  "And go where?" a woman shot back, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Into that?”

  The energy had shifted from explosive panic to a heavy, weary tension. A consensus settled over the group, unspoken but absolute. It was Evans who finally gave it a voice. "We stay. For now. No one goes out. We keep a lookout, prepare for the next trip to the stream. For now, we keep everyone where we can see them." There were no objections, only a collective, shuddering exhalation of relief. They had chosen a cage, but it was a cage they could see.

  People began to sink to the floor, their bodies giving out from under them. They settled into loose clusters, not based on friendship or family, but on proximity. The man who had tried to run earlier sat with his back against the cold metal wall, his knees drawn up. No one held him down, but every few seconds, someone's eyes would dart in his direction, ensuring he hadn't moved.

  A thick, waiting silence descended, broken only by the sound of ragged breathing. No one spoke. No one coughed. It was as if the entire group was holding its breath, terrified that the slightest noise would be an invitation.

  And there you have it, David thought, watching the human herd settle into its temporary pen. The most realistic conclusion a bunch of civilians could possibly reach. Hide in the metal box. It's the only move that doesn't require immediate, certain death. He understood it completely. He even understood why people as capable as Evans and Corbin had chosen it—as air Marshals, they felt a collective responsibility for the remaining passengers. The unknown outside was a bigger monster than the one they'd seen.

  David’s own mind, however, was already several steps ahead, running a different, colder calculation entirely.

  Running would only delay the inevitable. Staying would simply speed it up too. Both options were bad ones.

  You can't reason with a hurricane, he mused, thinking of the ogre's casual brutality. And no cavalry is coming. This isn't a movie. The credits won't roll because we held out long enough. The path was terrifyingly clear. The only way out is up. I have to figure out this world's rulebook—the stats, the skills, the mana—and I have to break it over my knee faster than anyone thinks is possible.

  The others aren't my friends, he reaffirmed, his gaze sweeping over the huddled forms. They're my buffer. Their purpose is to draw attention, to be a distraction, to be a shield. If they die, their bodies will tell me what kills us. The thought was devoid of malice, a simple statement of function. That was how humanity worked, how they evolved as a species—you protected each other, but if a caveman ate a colorful berry and croaked? Well, then berries were off the menu.

  In this place, even a corpse was a source of intelligence.

  My only job is to become the biggest predator in this forest before the ogre returns. Hunt everything that moves until it’s no longer a threat. He had no intention of leading, of arguing, of challenging their fragile peace. Let them have their safety. Safety makes them predictable. Predictable is useful.

  His decision was made. He would use this respite—the forest, the Imps, the Wargs, the Warlocks, and whatever else the woods had to throw at him—alongside every tool and every ally at his disposal.

  All of it to grow strong enough to turn the ogre’s next visit from a mere harvest into a full-blown war.