The sound hit the camp like a physical blow.
It was not a roar or a shriek, but an obscene symphony of both, a sound woven from the grating of celestial gears and the agony of a billion tortured souls. It ripped through the jungle's nocturnal chorus, silencing the insects, frogs, and night birds in a single, heart-stopping instant. The air itself seemed to curdle, vibrating with a malevolence that was ancient and deeply, fundamentally wrong.
In the lean-to, Bobby Klein was ripped from a pleasant dream of pepperoni pizza and catapulted into a waking nightmare. He shot upright, a strangled gasp tearing from his throat, his body drenched in a sudden, icy sweat. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic, trapped bird trying to escape his chest. He didn't know what had made the sound, but every primal instinct in his body screamed that it was the sound of the end. The jungle, once a challenging but manageable backdrop, was suddenly a suffocating, living tomb, and he was alone. Charlie was gone.
"Ch-Charlie?" he whimpered, his voice a pathetic, trembling thread of sound. "Bro? Where are you?"
The silence that answered him was more terrifying than the scream itself.
Thousands of miles away, the drone's feed filled computer screens across the globe. The livestream chat, which had been a sleepy trickle of memes and late-night banter, exploded.
Nightcrawler_22: WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT SOUND?!?!?
KatieR_updates: OMG OMG OMG IS BOBBY OKAY?? THAT WASN'T CHARLIE'S SCARE PRANK WAS IT??
MMA_Fanatic: That wasn't an animal. I've heard every sound the jungle can make. That was something else. Something BAD.
Jhon_IronWill: Leo, get a camera on Charlie NOW. Find him.
Leo, the drone operator, felt a cold dread snake down his spine. His fingers, usually so nimble on the controls, felt thick and clumsy. Charlie's "scare drill" story now seemed like a flimsy, pathetic lie. That sound had been real. It had been monstrous. He fought the urge to pan the drone into the darkness, remembering Charlie's chillingly serious command. Don't follow me. He kept the camera fixed on Bobby, who was now scrambling for the satellite phone, his face a mask of pure terror. The content had just gotten a little too real.
In a dusty, non-descript warehouse in a Mexican border town, Javier Morales woke with a psychic snap so violent it felt like a physical blow. He clutched his chest, a pain that wasn't physical but was somehow worse searing through him. The connection—the intricate, master-student bond he had forged with his Amazonian scout—was gone. Severed.
He staggered to his feet, his handsome face contorted in a mask of grief and fury. He stumbled to a large, faded map of the world tacked to the wall, his finger tracing a path to the heart of Brazil.
"No," he whispered, his voice cracking. A single, hot tear traced a path through the grime on his cheek before he angrily wiped it away. "No. Not him. I taught him. I gave him books. He was learning… he was my creation."
His sorrow curdled into a black, simmering rage. He slammed his fist into the concrete wall, the impact cracking the plaster but leaving his Demonic Regeneration-enhanced knuckles unscathed.
"Who?" he snarled, his voice a low, guttural growl that was more demon than man. "Who did this? Who dared to touch what is mine?" He stared at the map, his mind, sharpened by the Infernal Harbinger's power, already piecing together the scant clues. Yes, it must be those tribes from Brazil. They will pay for their insolence not just with their life, but with their soul.
The jungle was silent again, the natural order slowly, hesitantly reasserting itself. Charlie walked back to camp, the adrenaline of the hunt fading, leaving a strange, hollow quiet in its wake. The world felt different, as if a veil had been torn, revealing the jagged, monstrous reality beneath. He looked up at the canopy, where a sliver of moon hung between the leaves, and sighed.
If I hadn't evolved to Unbreakable Body 2 Stars… I'd be a smear on the rocks back there. The thought was cold and clear. He had won, but the margin for error was non-existent. And that scream… it had to have woken Bobby. He felt a pang of guilt, but pushed it down. It was necessary. Keeping Bobby ignorant was keeping him alive.
He reached the edge of the clearing just as Bobby, satellite phone in hand, finally managed to get a signal. "Charlie!" Bobby sobbed, dropping the phone and running to him, pulling him into a frantic, clumsy hug. "Bro, I thought you were dead! What was that sound?! Oh good, are you hurt?! And why are you covered in mud?!?!"
Bobby watched the scratch marks on Charlie's body and his body covered in mud.
Charlie returned the hug with a firm pat on the back, his face a carefully constructed mask of calm reassurance. "Just a jaguar, Bobby. A big one almost caught me. It's gone now; I scared it with my Aztec death whistle. You're safe." It was a weak lie, but in his panicked state, Bobby clung to it like a life raft.
Later, after Bobby had calmed down and finally fallen into an exhausted, fretful sleep, Charlie sat by the fire, staring into the flames. He needed to be stronger. He pulled up his mental display, the familiar blue glow a comfort in the oppressive darkness.
The Skill Book he'd received, 'Primal Roar', shimmered in his inventory. He focused on it.
Skill Book: Primal Roar
Description: Channeling the latent, primal power within your evolved form, you can unleash a terrifying roar. This sonic shockwave does not cause physical damage but instills a deep, instinctual fear in all lesser beings within a 50-meter radius, causing momentary paralysis, panic, or disorientation. The roar can also be used to assert dominance over non-demonic predators. Requires significant stamina to use.
Charlie's lips curved into a grim smile. A fear-based area-of-effect attack. He stood up, walked to the edge of the clearing, took a deep breath that seemed to draw power from the very earth beneath his feet, and let it out.
The sound that erupted from his throat was powerful. It was the roar of a warrior, amplified and sharpened into a weapon. It was the sound of the apex predator claiming its domain. The jungle, which had just begun to whisper again, fell silent once more. In the distance, a troop of monkeys shrieked and scattered. Even the insects seemed to hold their breath.
He felt the power of it, the satisfying assertion of his place at the top of the food chain. He could leap like a cat, and now he could roar like a lion. He was becoming the jungle.
A cold thought intruded. Will there be more of them, System? More demons?
The System's reply was instantaneous, and the cold, seething hatred was back, more intense than ever.
Yes, Charlie. Something is seeding this world with these abominations. It is a heresy against the very fabric of existence. The one responsible, the Harbinger, is a blight that must be located, and every atom of its being must be purged from reality.
Charlie shivered, the System's righteous fury more chilling than the demon's scream. "System, chill. What do I do with the body? Should I burn it?"
You cannot, Charlie. Its flesh is infused with infernal energy. It is fire-resistant.
"What?" Charlie frowned. "Then… what? Do I cook it?"
The System's silence was so profound it was practically an eye-roll. If you wish to be poisoned by energies that corrupt the soul and induce agonizing madness, do so.
"Oh, come on!" Charlie snapped, his patience fraying. "Just tell me what the fuck I do with this thing!"
A solution is available in the System Shop. A one-time-use item for the disposal of low-tier heretical entities.
Charlie grumbled but accessed the shop. There it was: Corpse Dissolution Vial - $600. A small price to pay to avoid leaving a demon corpse lying around. He purchased it. Balance: $89,350.
A small, unremarkable vial appeared in his hand. He trekked back to the grotto, the journey feeling shorter now, his confidence bolstered. He poured the vial's clear, viscous contents onto the demon's corpse. The effect was immediate and horrifying. The demon's flesh began to bubble and hiss, dissolving not into liquid, but into a cloud of black, greasy smoke that smelled of sulfur and ozone. Within a minute, there was nothing left but a dark stain on the rocks, which quickly faded, leaving no trace that the abomination had ever existed.
Back at camp, Charlie did a full system check, needing to ground himself in the reality of his own power.
Name: Charles "Charlie" Finch
Evolution Progress: 36%
Battle Instinct: 62%
Balance: $89,350
Perks:
Unbreakable Body (2 Stars): Body is 10x more durable than a peak human. Bones, skin, and organs are hyper-resilient. Resistance to toxins and extreme temperatures.
Fearless (Passive): Immune to all forms of fear, terror, and intimidation.
Pumped Up (Passive): Excess fat burns 20% faster. At low body fat, muscle gain increases by 20%.
Kinetic Redirection (Passive/Active): Passively reduces felt impact force by 50%. Can actively absorb and redirect 75% of kinetic energy from one blow into the next attack.
Agility Spike (Passive): Agility and footwork enhanced by 20%.
Stamina Surge (Passive): Overall stamina and endurance increased by 30%.
Leap Ability (Active): Can leap up to 80 feet horizontally and 30 feet vertically.
Primal Roar(Active):Channeling the latent, primal power within your evolved form, you can unleash a terrifying roar. This sonic shockwave does not cause physical damage but instills a deep, instinctual fear in all lesser beings within a 50-meter radius, causing momentary paralysis, panic, or disorientation. The roar can also be used to assert dominance over non-demonic predators. Requires significant stamina to use.
Skills:
Boxing (4/5 Stars)
Taekwondo (3/5 Stars)
Jiu-Jitsu (3/5 Stars)
Kickboxing (3/5 Stars)
Muay Thai (3/5 Stars)
MMA (3/5 Stars)
Cooking (3/5 Stars)
Jungle Survival (1/5 Stars)
He stared at the glowing text in his mind, the sheer breadth of his transformation laid bare.
Silence.
The jungle was silent again, the natural order slowly, hesitantly reasserting itself after the demon's purge. Charlie walked back towards the camp, his mind a whirlwind. He was a monster-killer, a wielder of primal power, and his friend was asleep a few hundred yards away, thinking this was all a grand adventure. The absurdity was a bitter pill. He looked up at the sliver of moon hanging between the leaves and sighed. I need to be stronger.
He reached the edge of the clearing, his steps making no sound. The fire had burned down to glowing red embers, casting a soft, pulsing light on the lean-to where Bobby snored, oblivious. The drone, a silent, metallic insect, still hovered near the entrance, its red camera light a single, unblinking eye. Charlie was about to slip back into his own sleeping bag when a new, restless energy surged through him. It was the Primal Roar, a skill itching to be used, a power begging to be unleashed. He needed to test it, to feel its true measure.
He turned away from the camp, moving deeper into the shadows, his mud-streaked face a savage mask. He needed distance.
Unbeknownst to him, the drone followed. High above, in the canopy, its rotors whirred almost silently. Leo, the operator, thousands of miles away in his dimly lit gaming room, leaned forward, his eyes glued to the screen. Charlie's "scare drill" excuse felt thin. The first scream had been chillingly real, and now Charlie was moving with a predator's grace into the darkness. What is this kid up to? Leo thought, his curiosity overriding his instructions. He kept the drone high, using its thermal imaging to track Charlie's heat signature, a faint ghost moving through a sea of black and green.
Charlie found a small clearing, a cathedral of ancient trees whose branches formed a vaulted ceiling high above. He felt the power welling in his chest, a raw, untamed force drawn from the very earth beneath his feet. He planted his feet, his Unbreakable Body a solid anchor, took a deep, lung-expanding breath, and let it out.
The sound that erupted from his throat was not normal. It was the roar of a warrior. It was a sonic shockwave of pure, unadulterated dominance that ripped through the jungle's fragile silence. It shook the leaves on the trees, sent a troop of monkeys shrieking and scattering in the distance, and silenced every cricket and frog for a mile in every direction. It was the sound of the apex predator claiming its domain.
The drone's sensitive microphone peaked, the audio distorting into a blast of digital static. Leo flinched back from his monitor, yanking off his headset, his ears ringing. "Holy shit," he breathed, his heart pounding. He rewound the feed, watching the thermal image of Charlie throw his head back and unleash that impossible sound. This wasn't a prank. This was something else entirely. His fingers flew across his keyboard, clipping the last thirty seconds of footage.
The livestream chat, which had been a quiet murmur, erupted into a chaotic cascade of capital letters and exclamation points.
Nightcrawler_22: MY EARS! WTF WAS THAT ROAR?? SOUNDED LIKE A GODZILLA TRAILER!
MMA_Fanatic: Clipped and downloaded. The power from his diaphragm to produce that... it's physically impossible. This kid is something else.
KatieR_updates: Is that Charlie?! That's… Imposing. And also kinda hot? I'm confused.
Jhon_IronWill: That's it. That's the sound of a fighter who's lost his fear. He's not just a boxer anymore. He's a warrior.
SludgeFan_01: THE KING OF THE JUNGLE! LFG JUNGLE BROS! POGGERS!
Within minutes, the clip was everywhere. Leo, recognizing content gold, had already uploaded it to every video-sharing platform he could think of. The titles were bombastic, click-bait perfection: "JUNGLE BROS: THE ROAR OF THE BEAST!", "REAL or FAKE? You hear this scream you fight like a warrior!", "Charlie: The Warrior King". Montage edits followed, pairing the roar with clips of Charlie's brutal workouts, his fearless handling of the snake, and his intense, mud-streaked face. Bobby's subscriber count skyrocketed. Donations flooded in. Charlie, alone in the dark jungle, had just become an internet legend.
---
In the lean-to, Bobby was ripped from his exhausted sleep for the second time that night. The roar vibrated through the ground, through the very air in his lungs. It was different from the demon's shriek. That had been a sound of alien wrongness. This was a sound of primal, earthly power. It was the sound of something at the absolute top of the food chain, and it was close.
He sat bolt upright, his heart trying to claw its way out of his throat. "Not again," he whimpered, grabbing the heavy machete and holding it like a child's security blanket. His mind raced. Another jaguar? No… no jaguar sounds like that. That was bigger. Louder. What if the first one wasn't a jaguar? What if Charlie lied? What if he's out there right now, fighting some… some mega-jaguar? He felt a fresh wave of terror, followed by a surge of desperate, protective anger. What the hell is going on out here?
He stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, wide-eyed and trembling, listening to the profound, unnatural silence that had followed the roar.
As the first, faint fingers of dawn began to touch the canopy, Charlie walked back into camp. He moved with a languid, easy grace, a stark contrast to Bobby's ragged, sleep-deprived state. He saw the terror in his friend's eyes, the white-knuckled grip on the machete.
"What was that?" Bobby demanded, his voice a harsh, accusatory whisper. "Don't you dare tell me that was another jaguar, Charlie. I'm not an idiot."
Charlie allowed a small, tired smile to touch his lips. He ran a hand through his hair, the picture of nonchalant exhaustion. "Relax, bro. It was me."
Bobby stared, his mouth agape. "You? You made that… that scream?!?!"
"Practicing," Charlie said with a shrug, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "Learned it from a survival documentary. A way to establish a territory, scare off any predators for good. See?" He gestured to the peaceful, bird-song-filled jungle around them. "It worked. Nothing bothered us."
He stretched, yawning theatrically. "Man, all that… roaring… it really takes it out of you. I'm hitting the sack for a bit."
He turned and slipped into his sleeping bag, leaving Bobby standing there, utterly dumbfounded. The explanation was insane. It made no sense. But looking at Charlie, so calm, so powerful, so utterly in command… it was just plausible enough to short-circuit Bobby's fear-addled brain. He was left holding his machete, feeling both foolish and deeply, deeply confused.
Inside his sleeping bag, Charlie's nonchalant mask fell away. He wasn't tired. He was electric. The roar had been a release, a declaration. The hunt had been a trial by fire. He was buzzing with the raw, untamed power of his new form, and he had a score to settle.
The dread he used to feel before Sleep Fighting was gone, replaced by a cold, eager anticipation. The faceless man was no longer a nightly executioner. He was a challenge. A final exam. A whetstone on which Charlie would sharpen his soul.
He closed his eyes, welcoming the pull of the dream-world.
Alright, you faceless bastard, he thought, a grim, predatory smile spreading across his face in the darkness of the tent. School's in session. Let's see how you like it when the punching bag hits back.