In a blur of motion, the creature lunged at Adam, its clawed limbs tearing through the air, its jaws gaping wide. A guttural, bestial roar echoed deep within the cavern.

  At that precise instant, Adam felt it again—that strange internal pulse. That sensation of absolute clarity. As if he were reading the future in the movement of the air, in the rhythm of the beast itself. He knew—before it even happened—what the creature was about to do.

  When the alien brought its claw down violently toward him, Adam reacted without thinking. His body dropped in a smooth, fluid motion, guided by a supernatural intuition. The rush of the strike skimmed his face, stirring a suffocating gust of air. In the same motion, he raised his iron bar and drove it with all his strength into the creature’s exposed abdomen.

  A shrill, guttural scream filled the cave. The alien staggered back, its glowing eyes narrowing in rage—then shifting into something new: fear.

  Adam straightened, panting, soaked in sweat and mud, but still standing. Steady. Determined. He locked eyes with the creature without flinching. There was no room left for fear.

  It had changed sides.

  Cornered now, the beast growled weakly. Its gaping maw snapped shut with a nervous clack, as if trying to hide its vulnerability. It began to retreat, one step at a time, slowly, as though it understood that its opponent had gained the upper hand.

  Adam did not hesitate. He stepped forward, breath ragged, and raised his blaster, his grip trembling with determination. The barrel nearly touched the creature’s scaly forehead. He pulled the trigger.

  A blinding discharge erupted, lighting the cave with a red-white flash. The sound cracked like an explosion in the oppressive silence.

  The monster collapsed with a dull crash, its massive body slamming against the rock in a final, definitive impact. Its breathing ceased.

  Adam remained frozen, his chest rising and falling with harsh breaths. Silence returned, broken only by the slow drip of water filtering from the cave ceiling.

  He stared at the corpse at his feet, the acrid smell of burnt plasma mixing with the more organic stench of violet blood seeping from the beast.

  A wave of relief, triumph… and exhaustion washed over him.

  He had done it. Against all odds, he had survived. More than that—he had just killed one of this world’s predators.

  But he knew it was only one step.

  His gaze traveled over the creature’s body. He would have to feed on it—the question was no longer if he could, but how. How to butcher, transport, and preserve such a mass of alien flesh? And above all… how to make use of it without poisoning himself?

  He slowly knelt beside the body, still breathing hard.

  “We’ll see what you’ve got inside,” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.

  Adam moved closer to the massive corpse. It lay there, inert, jaws slightly open, a black, viscous tongue hanging loose, its four eyes dull and empty. The tension of the confrontation still lingered in his muscles, but the adrenaline was slowly giving way to a deep, gnawing fatigue… and hunger.

  He examined the monster’s flank, then its hind limbs. One of them, partially folded beneath the weight of the carcass, caught his attention. It was long and muscular, threaded with thick tendons and bulging veins. It would be the easiest—and most useful—part to harvest.

  But he had no knife. Only his iron bar.

  “Well… we improvise.”

  He tightened his grip on the metal bar and drove it sharply into the creature’s knee joint. A wet crack echoed, followed by the slow ooze of dark violet fluid. The skin was tough, almost armored, but where the scales were thinner—deep in the joint—it gave way. Adam struck again. And again. He pressed, stabbed, twisted, tore. The metal, though blunt, did its work through sheer force. He leaned into it, wedging the bar between bone and cartilage, throwing his full body weight into the effort. Tension burned through his shoulders, arms, core. Breathing hard, muscles shaking, he let out a final roar of effort.

  A sharp crack rang out.

  The bone gave way.

  Adam dropped to his knees, gasping. In front of him, the creature’s leg hung loose, partially severed. He stood again, planted the bar into the ground to use it as leverage, and with a long, agonizing pull, tore the limb free from the body.

  The leg hit the ground with a heavy thud, kicking up dust and splattering organic fluid.

  The severed limb must have weighed close to eighty kilos. Adam paused, assessing the colossal task ahead of him. Carrying such a mass through several kilometers of soaked forest seemed almost impossible. The return trip would take hours.

  But did he really have a choice?

  He bent down, slid his hands beneath the muscular limb, bracing himself for the crushing weight.

  Nothing.

  No resistance.

  The mass lifted with disturbing ease, as if he were hoisting a simple branch.

  Adam froze, the limb still in his arms. A breath of disbelief escaped his lips. That wasn’t possible. Not without assistance. Not with his arms.

  And yet… he had done it.

  He glanced at his hands, his tense forearms, the alien limb resting across his shoulder. Was this another effect of the Estherian Chair? That strange power growing within him? His strength—like his healing—felt altered. Transcended.

  But he had no time to question it. Not here. Not now.

  The forest remained a silent trap, and the metallic scent of blood spread through the air like an invitation to every scavenger on this world. Adam adjusted his grip, secured the limb on his shoulder, and started moving. Despite the burden, his steps were steady. Powerful. Silent. He moved through the undergrowth like an animal returning to its lair, senses sharpened.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  The rain persisted, drumming on the leaves above like fingers beating a living drum. Each drop underscored the depth of his isolation. The air was heavy with moisture, saturated with the scents of churned earth, sap, and wounded flesh. Adam advanced at a steady pace, eyes alert. His newfound strength bolstered his confidence—but caution remained his guide. Here, everything could kill.

  At last—after what felt like an eternity of vigilance—the twisted shapes of the wreck emerged between the trees. Crumpled metal. Familiar silhouettes. Crash marks.

  Shelter. A landmark. Hope.

  He was back.

  Back at the wreck, Adam quickly searched for a sheltered spot, away from drafts and protected from the rain still pounding against the ship’s hull. In a recess of the fuselage, shielded by a warped section of plating, he found a dry space large enough to work. There, he set down the massive limb. Still armed with his faithful iron bar, he began cutting.

  The flesh was dense, fibrous, wrapped around powerful muscle. Every motion required strength and precision. Adam worked carefully, breaking the leg into smaller, more manageable pieces. His hands—dirty, numb—moved with fierce concentration.

  Once the meat was prepared, he pulled an essential piece of exploration gear from his pack: a plasma lighter. Small and compact, barely larger than a human thumb, this survival tool had become standard in emergency kits for over half a century. Its function was simple—produce an extremely hot plasma jet, capable of igniting even green or soaked wood.

  Adam stacked several pieces of wood gathered earlier in the forest, bracing them with metal plates torn from the ship to form a crude fire shelter. He pressed the lighter’s button. A searing blue jet burst forth, licking the wood fibers, which immediately ignited with a sharp crackle. Flames grew quickly, pushing back the darkness and warming the icy air of the wreck. The damp wood smoked heavily, but the heat was real, and the flickering firelight danced across the warped interior like the shadows of ghosts.

  Adam slowly sat near the fire, letting the warmth seep into his chilled body. The crackle of the flames contrasted with the dull pounding of rain against metal. For a brief moment—despite the wreckage, the dead creature, the solitude—something resembling peace brushed his mind.

  He sighed.

  Finally… a moment of respite.

  He arranged the meat on an improvised rack: twisted metal rods suspended above the fire. The heat made the flesh sizzle slowly, and a strange yet appetizing smell filled the confined space. The aroma—sweet, metallic, and rich with burning fat—made his stomach growl. He thought of the protein bar he had eaten the day before—bland, rubbery—and sighed again.

  For the first time in days, a real meal.

  Seated by the fire, eyes fixed on the dancing flames, Adam savored the pause. His thoughts still churned—the chair, Kiran, the transformation of his body—but he pushed them aside. The moment was too precious. Survival came first.

  The creature he had killed was no longer just a threat—it was a resource. Thanks to it, he could last several more days. Maybe more.

  When he brought the first piece of grilled meat to his lips, the heat of the flesh clashed with the damp air. The taste—wild and slightly metallic—was far better than expected. After only a few bites, a strange sensation spread through him: a new energy, an inner warmth that revitalized every muscle, every fiber of his being. This wasn’t mere satiety—it was a surge of strength, almost supernatural.

  Was it the composition of the alien meat? Or another effect of the Estherian Chair’s mutations?

  He didn’t know. But it was real.

  The fire crackled softly, its light dancing along the ship’s deformed walls. The atmosphere was almost soothing. For the first time since the crash, Adam felt a little safer. A little more in control of his fate. He closed his eyes briefly, letting the warmth chase away the cold that had clung to him since his arrival on this savage world.

  Outside, despite the rain, the smoke from the fire rose into the sky—visible for hundreds of meters. It could betray his position… or serve as a signal.

  Maybe Kiran would see it.

  Maybe he would come.

  But first, there was something essential to do.

  Adam rose slowly, his stomach full and his mind clearer. His gaze shifted to the door of the room where Zena lay. His expression hardened. He couldn’t leave her like that—lying without burial in the remains of a torn-open ship. She deserved better.

  Even on this alien world.

  Even here.

  He fashioned a crude tool by fastening a metal plate to the end of his iron bar using cables salvaged from the ship’s walls. The shovel was rough, but sturdy enough. He stepped outside the hull, beneath a rocky overhang not far from the wreck, and began to dig. The ground was hard, soaked, tangled with roots—but he persisted. He dug for over an hour, maybe more, until the grave was deep enough.

  Then he returned for Zena.

  He gently freed her from the seat, wrapped her in a silver emergency blanket, and carried her outside. He laid her in the grave with infinite care.

  Before covering her, he knelt, bowed his head, and whispered:

  “You deserved better than this, Zena… I’m sorry.”

  He stood, slowly filled the grave, and placed several heavy stones atop the mound. An improvised cross—two metal rods bound together—was planted at the head.

  He remained there a while, silent, arms crossed.

  The wind whispered through the trees. For a fleeting moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

  Then Adam turned away.

  The day dragged on. Adam sat by the fire, tending it, watching daylight slowly fade into the black night of this world. Another day had ended. He marked the ship’s wall with his iron bar, carving two lines.

  “Already two days on this world.”

  Then he closed the door behind him and lay down on the now-empty bed. The mattress—hard and uneven—still held the fire’s warmth. Tonight will be better, he thought, as exhaustion finally pulled him into sleep.

  But the peace didn’t last.

  Adam jolted awake, heart pounding. A metallic noise echoed outside—like a ghostly sound reverberating through the ship’s guts. He sat up in total darkness, ears straining. Objects were falling, sliding, scraping across the floor.

  Someone was rummaging through the wreck.

  The smell of meat…

  Another predator? Or something else?

  He instinctively grabbed his blaster and checked the charge.

  “Shit… no ammo,” he whispered.

  His sleep-stiff muscles protested as he stood, but adrenaline finished waking him. He took the iron bar—his last line of defense.

  Moving quietly, Adam approached the door. He slowly slid the metal panels into the wall, trying not to make the rusted mechanism screech. A narrow opening let him peer into the corridor. Outside, the fire cast shifting shadows across the warped hull.

  Everything seemed still—

  Until another sound rang out. Something toppled. Then a scrape. Almost animal.

  Adam slipped out of the room, empty blaster in one hand, iron bar in the other. The noises came from the front of the ship, where the structure was most damaged. He advanced carefully, each step accompanied by the distant drumming of rain on metal.

  As he drew closer, the sounds sharpened—muffled grunts, rapid movement among debris. Someone—or something—was searching methodically.

  Then… a silhouette.

  Blurred. Partially hidden behind twisted plating.

  Adam pressed himself against the wall, holding his breath. It moved quickly. Nervously. Digging through the wreckage like its life depended on it.

  Humanoid.

  He tightened his grip on the iron bar, ready to strike. But as he edged closer, the intruder’s features became clearer.

  A woman.

  Young. Soaked. Covered in mud. Long black hair plastered to her face. She moved frantically through the remains of the ship, hands trembling, eyes wild.

  Adam hesitated.

  She looked desperate—not hostile.

  He took a deep breath, stepped into view, and called out in a firm but measured voice:

  “Hey! You! Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  The woman flinched and spun around. For a brief moment, their eyes locked. Panic filled hers. She immediately raised her hands halfway, showing she was unarmed.

  Is Adam really in danger facing this woman?

  And Kiran… where is he, truly?