With their meager dinner finished, Traebus stretched, feeling the fatigue settle deep into his muscles. The day had been long, and despite the chaos in the storage building, progress had been made. That was enough for now.
He stood and dusted himself off, casting a glance at the flickering fire before turning toward the storage room. He stepped inside, ushering the smaller lizards out with tired motions. "No mischief tonight. I will throw anyone who messes with the meat into the river."
The lizards trilled in what he suspected was mock innocence before scattering off into the night.
Dusk gave a slow blink, flicking his tail lazily as he followed Traebus toward the main house. With a grunt, Traebus pulled the heavy stone door across the entrance to the storage building, sealing it shut. Satisfied that nothing—at least nothing without thumbs—would be getting in, he did the same with the entrance to the house. The solid weight of the stone settled into place with a reassuring finality.
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair as he turned to where Dusk and the remaining lizards had curled up for the night. The fire cast dancing shadows on the walls, but the warmth was welcome.
Collapsing onto his makeshift bedding, he muttered, "If anyone wakes me up tonight, I’m going to turn them into a pair of enchanted boots."
Dusk huffed in amusement, but the smaller lizards were already dozing, their bodies tucked into a cozy pile.
For once, the island felt still, secure. Traebus closed his eyes and let sleep take him.
The peace didn’t last.
A distant, guttural roar shattered the stillness of the night, jolting Traebus awake. His heart pounded as the echoes of the sound reverberated through the stone walls. Dusk’s frills flared, and the smaller lizards stirred, some letting out nervous trills.
Then came the unmistakable sounds of battle—deep, bellowing bellows, sharp snarls, and the unmistakable thud of massive bodies slamming into each other. The ground trembled slightly beneath them, as though something huge was throwing its weight around nearby.
Traebus groaned, rubbing his face. "Of course something’s trying to kill something else near my house. Why wouldn’t there be?"
A deep, resonating moo cut through the chaos.
Traebus blinked. "Was that a cow?"
Dusk tilted his head, clearly just as perplexed.
Another deafening roar echoed, followed by the crunch of trees snapping like twigs. Whatever was happening, it was big—and it was getting closer.
Traebus exhaled sharply and turned to Dusk. "You stay here," he ordered, his voice firm. "You’re still limping, and I don’t need you getting into another mess while you’re not at full speed."
Dusk let out a low rumble of protest, but didn’t argue. Traebus then turned to the smaller lizards, who were already peering toward the house entrance, their frills raised in curiosity.
"Same goes for you lot. Stay put. No heroic nonsense."
They trilled in response—whether in agreement or mischief, he wasn’t sure.
With that settled, Traebus reached for a solution. He needed a weapon. Something quick. He knelt down, pressing his palm to the stone floor, and willed it to shape beneath his touch. A long, sturdy shaft formed, tapering into a sharp, reinforced spearhead. He ran a hand along its length, feeding mana into it to strengthen the material. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do.
As he stood, he felt the familiar weight of absence on his face. His goggles. They were gone—lost in the madness of his last escape. He grimaced. Those had allowed him to see in the dark, identify threats, and analyze everything around him. Without them, he was stumbling blind.
"Great. Just great. Back to the stone age, literally."
He sighed and reached for a bundle of kindling, striking flint against steel until a small flame flickered to life. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. He quickly fashioned a crude torch, letting the fire’s glow cast flickering light onto the stone walls.
"Alright, let’s see what fresh nightmare is waiting outside," he muttered, gripping his new spear tightly as he stepped toward the entrance.
He pulled the heavy stone door open just enough to slip through, wincing as the hinges let out a faint grinding noise. The humid night air hit him immediately, thick with the scent of damp earth, salt, and something else—something sharp and metallic, like fresh blood.
Keeping his grip firm on the spear, Traebus moved toward the gatehouse, his footsteps quiet against the stone. He expected darkness, the flickering light of his torch providing the only illumination. Instead, the world around him was bathed in an eerie, silver glow.
He frowned and tilted his head upward.
For the first time since arriving in this world, he truly looked at the night sky. Until now, the dense jungle canopy had robbed him of the chance to see beyond the tangled branches and shifting shadows. He had caught glimpses here and there—tiny breaks in the foliage where moonlight peeked through—but never a full, unobstructed view. Now, standing on open ground with nothing above him but the vast stretch of the cosmos, the sheer scope of what he had been missing left him breathless.
Three moons loomed high above, massive and luminous, casting pale light over the landscape. The largest of them had an eerie, jagged trail of debris expanding outward behind it, glittering like distant stars as they caught the light. The second moon, smaller but no less stunning, had a faint bluish hue, its surface marked by deep craters that formed strange, almost deliberate patterns. The third was the smallest, a deep red sphere that looked more like a wound in the sky than a celestial body.
For several long moments, Traebus simply stood there, staring. He had spent his life as a scientist, a researcher, a mage driven by logic and discovery. And yet, for all his knowledge, he had never seen anything as awe-inspiring as this.
"Alright," he whispered to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. "I may have been taking this whole ''stranded on an alien world'' thing a bit too lightly."
The distant battle roars reminded him why he had come outside in the first place, snapping him out of his stunned reverie. He blinked, shook his head, and mentally slapped himself. "Right. Focus, Traebus. Sky later, murder-beasts now."
Gripping his torch and spear tighter, he took off at a jog toward the gatehouse, his boots crunching against the stone. As he neared, another deep, resonating moo rumbled through the night, followed by a bone-rattling roar and the unmistakable crack of something massive slamming into the ground. The sheer absurdity of it all made him want to laugh, but considering the amount of times the universe had already tried to kill him, he decided to keep that reaction in check.
"If this is some kind of cosmic joke, I''d like to file a formal complaint," he muttered as he passed through the gatehouse and prepared to witness whatever fresh nightmare awaited him on the other side.
Just beyond the gatehouse, the source of the chaos revealed itself—a battle between two massive creatures. On one side, a towering carnivore, easily twelve feet tall at the hip, stalked forward on powerful hind legs. Its thick muscles rippled beneath its scaly hide, its elongated skull filled with serrated teeth that gleamed in the moonlight. The beast moved with practiced patience, its piercing yellow eyes locked onto its opponent.
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Facing it was a broad, four-legged herbivore, its sturdy frame covered in thick, pebbled skin. Three forward-facing horns jutted from its massive head, two over its brow and one at the tip of its snout. A heavy, bony frill shielded its neck, making it a walking fortress of muscle and armor. Traebus recognized the species—it was similar to the ones he had seen in the jungle, but this one was noticeably smaller, likely a younger or lesser variation.
The carnivore circled slowly, its long tail swaying for balance, waiting for an opening. It was an apex hunter, built for ambush and overwhelming power, but the three-horned herbivore held its ground, stomping a massive foot and letting out a deep, guttural bellow. The sound resonated through the night like a war horn, shaking loose debris from the nearby trees. The carnivore flinched but did not retreat.
Traebus remained still, gripping his spear tightly. The sheer tension between the two creatures was palpable. The carnivore lunged forward, feinting an attack, testing its opponent’s reflexes. The herbivore responded with a violent thrust of its horns, nearly catching the predator’s chest. The carnivore twisted away at the last second, claws raking the air where flesh had nearly been.
This was a dance of death—two titans locked in a contest of strength, endurance, and raw survival instinct. And Traebus, standing in the gatehouse, was the only witness to it under the watchful gaze of three moons.
For the briefest of moments, the three-horned herbivore’s gaze locked onto his. The connection was instant, a sudden and overwhelming flood of raw emotion that hit Traebus like a punch to the gut.
Hopelessness.
It wasn’t just fear or the instinct to survive—this creature knew it was losing. It had fought before, had held its ground time and time again, but this was different. This was an opponent it couldn’t outlast.
The feeling left Traebus momentarily breathless. His grip on the spear tightened.
He hadn’t planned to intervene. He had barely started to establish his own safety in this world—throwing himself into a battle between prehistoric titans was the exact opposite of self-preservation.
And yet…
His eyes darted back to the carnivore, watching the way it moved, the way it probed for an opening, its tail twitching in anticipation. It was methodical, practiced. This wasn’t just brute force—it was a calculated takedown. The herbivore was running out of space, backing closer to the edge of the cliff. The moment it was pinned, the predator would strike.
Traebus sucked in a breath, rolling his shoulders. "Alright, big guy," he muttered under his breath, "let’s see if we can even the odds."
He lowered into a stance, scanning the battlefield, waiting for his own opening to strike.
The predator hadn''t noticed him yet, its focus locked entirely on the wounded three-horn. It circled cautiously, its powerful hind legs tensing with each deliberate step. Then, as it shifted sideways, its long claws digging into the dirt for traction, Traebus seized the moment.
With a focused breath, he reached out through the earth, channeling his mana into the ground beneath the predator’s feet. The stone trembled, then abruptly shifted—just enough to throw the beast off balance.
The carnivore let out a startled screech as its foot slid out from under it, its weight crashing awkwardly to the side. It wasn’t a full collapse, but it was enough. The three-horn saw its chance and charged.
The impact was brutal. The herbivore’s horns slammed into the predator’s exposed flank, a sickening crunch echoing into the night as bone and muscle gave way. The carnivore let out a shriek of pain, staggering as blood sprayed from deep wounds along its side.
But even injured, it fought back.
With a desperate, savage twist, it lunged for the three-horn’s back, its powerful jaws clamping down onto the thick, pebbled hide. The herbivore bellowed in agony, trying to shake free, but the carnivore dug in, its talons raking deep gouges into its prey’s flanks. The ground trembled beneath their struggle, dust kicking up around them as predator and prey became a writhing mass of muscle and fury.
Traebus tightened his grip on his spear, his mind racing. He had helped, but the fight wasn’t over yet.
As the two beasts separated for the briefest moment, he seized his next opportunity. With a sharp thrust of his will, he raised a thin wall of stone between them, the barrier barely a foot thick but just sturdy enough to force a pause in their struggle.
The three-horn hesitated, breathing heavily, its flanks heaving from exhaustion and pain. Traebus took a step forward, waving an arm. "Move! Get across the bridge! Now!" he shouted, hoping the beast could at least sense his intent.
Whether by instinct or sheer desperation, the three-horn responded, staggering sideways toward the stone bridge, dragging its wounded frame toward safety.
But the carnivore wasn’t done.
With a furious, ear-splitting roar, it lunged forward, smashing into the thin stone wall. Cracks splintered outward instantly, and with a second strike, the barrier shattered into jagged shards. The predator shook off the debris and whipped its head around, eyes burning with fury as it set its sights back on its prey.
Traebus grit his teeth. "Of course that didn’t hold."
Without thinking, he did the least rational thing possible.
He charged.
Spear in hand, Traebus sprinted past the wounded three-horn, straight at the predator. The herbivore froze in what could only be described as sheer disbelief, its massive eyes watching the absurd sight of a single, squishy biped voluntarily throwing itself toward the apex predator.
The carnivore, however, did react. It snapped its head up, momentarily forgetting its bleeding prey as it locked eyes with Traebus. It hesitated—something was wrong. Things did not run toward it. They ran away.
Which was exactly what Traebus was counting on.
"YEAH, THAT''S RIGHT!" he bellowed, gripping his spear tight as he bore down on the carnivore. "I''M CRAZIER THAN YOU! COME GET SOME!"
The predator let out a deafening, earth-shaking roar, shaking its bloodied body and thrashing its tail.
Traebus skidded to a stop, blinking. "Oh," he muttered. "Right. You also yell."
The beast stomped forward, its confidence returning now that it had established which of them had the bigger set of lungs. Traebus took a step back, reassessing his life choices, but it was too late to turn back now.
"Okay, new plan!" he shouted, gripping his spear tighter and sidestepping toward the bridge. "Let’s see if you like getting stabbed!"
The carnivore lunged, its massive jaws snapping down where Traebus had been just a second before. He barely twisted out of the way, the rush of hot breath hitting him like a blast from a forge. The creature’s teeth clamped shut with a bone-rattling snap, inches from his shoulder.
"Nope! Nope, nope, nope!" Traebus yelped as he dodged again, skidding across the dirt. He ducked beneath a swinging claw, realizing with a surge of panic that his spear was utterly useless unless he found an actual vital spot to stab. And considering how thickly muscled and armored this thing was, that left him with…
His gaze flicked downward.
Oh.
Oh no.
The only truly vulnerable target within his reach was dangling between the beast’s legs.
Traebus hesitated for only half a second before muttering, "Oh, I am so sorry about this."
The carnivore twisted toward him, jaws opening wide for another bite—just as Traebus lunged forward with everything he had, driving the spear upward like a javelin into the single most devastating weak point in the history of predatory anatomy.
The resulting screech was otherworldly.
The massive predator reared back, letting out an ungodly mix between a roar and a strangled yelp, its eyes bulging in sheer agony. It stomped, thrashed, and flailed, tail smashing into trees and nearly taking Traebus’s head off as it convulsed in raw pain.
"Okay! That worked!" Traebus shouted, scrambling backward as the beast’s thrashing threatened to flatten him. "And also I think I just declared war on every carnivore on this planet!
The predator staggered, its entire body shaking with the sheer magnitude of pain radiating from its most unfortunate injury. It let out a high-pitched, breathless whimper—then, with delicate precision, lowered its head to very, very gently remove the spear embedded in its nether regions.
Traebus, despite knowing he should be using this moment to escape, found himself morbidly fascinated. The great beast, this monstrous apex predator, was now behaving like someone trying to pluck out a particularly nasty splinter. It gave a full-body shudder as it dislodged the weapon, letting the broken remains of the spear clatter to the ground. Then, slowly, it lifted its gaze and locked onto Traebus.
Its slit-pupiled eyes narrowed.
"Oh," Traebus muttered. "I think I just made it personal. Again."
The predator took a slow, deliberate step forward, murder gleaming in its reptilian stare. Traebus swallowed hard and, without breaking eye contact, reached down and pulled another spear directly from the ground with a flick of his magic.
The predator’s eyes went wide.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, with a final furious roar—one laced with deep, primal frustration—the beast made a choice.
It spun, tail lashing as it turned on its heels, and bolted into the jungle with an awkward, limping gait, determined never to face the spear-wielding madman again.
Traebus exhaled, lowering his weapon. "Yeah, that’s right. Keep running! You better run!" Then, under his breath, he muttered, "Oh gods, I can’t believe that worked."
He exhaled heavily, rolling his shoulders before turning back toward the bridge. The wounded three-horn still stood at the edge, its massive flanks rising and falling with each labored breath. It regarded him warily, shifting its weight as if unsure whether to trust the strange, loud creature that had just chased off its would-be killer.
Traebus took a deep breath and started toward it, crossing the bridge at a steady, unthreatening pace. As he did, he made a mental note to double the height and thickness of the wall he had originally planned—because apparently, everything on this planet had a grudge against him.
"Alright, big guy," he muttered, slowing his approach. "Let’s see what we can do about getting you patched up."
The three-horn snorted, its body shifting slightly as it watched him with wary eyes. It was still tense, still ready to bolt or fight if needed, but the raw exhaustion in its posture told Traebus that it knew it didn’t have the strength for another round.
He took another step forward, raising both hands in what he hoped was a universal sign of not here to stab you. "I know, I know. I’m not exactly the most reassuring sight after what just happened, but trust me, I’m your best bet right now."