Cassian and Simon clung to the thick branches, barely saving themselves from turning into bloodied smears on the jagged rocks below by the river cutting through the valley. But even now, they weren't out of danger—one wrong move, one slip, and gravity would finish what their enemies started.
They were still too high, right in the middle of the drop—survival was hanging by a thread.
"I'm starting to see how you've made it through all that crazy shit before…" Simon muttered, grinning nervously despite the tremble in his body as he crawled onto a sturdier branch.
Cassian followed suit, swinging over with his one good arm—his other still writhing and reshaping as it regenerated. Simon glanced at it, wide-eyed.
Cassian grinned wide and gave a nod. "Told you—we just gotta not die, and we'll be fine," he said, raising his arm.
It was still regrowing, muscle and sinew wriggling beneath the skin like twitching tentacles. The sight was downright disgusting—flesh knitting itself back together at an unnatural pace. Simon turned his head away, brow furrowed in discomfort.
"I didn't know you had healing abilities. And this strong?" he said, glancing back at Cassian, clearly surprised. He had pegged him as more of a Cullblade type—someone built for chaos and destruction, not regeneration.
Cassian shrugged. "We didn't exactly have time to get to know each other," he replied, his tone layered with double meaning. He wasn't about to lay all his cards on the table just yet.
"That's understandable..." Simon nodded with a sly smile. He hadn't exactly been open either, so he didn't press for more. Instead, he glanced around, scanning the area for any path—up or down—that wouldn't leave them trapped here.
"Any idea how we're getting down from here?" he asked casually.
Cassian didn't answer right away—he was too focused on his arm. He watched closely as muscle, veins, and skin reformed in real time. It was a little grotesque, but also fascinating. A perfect chance to study the mechanics of the human body—especially since arms weren't something covered in the massage books he'd been reading through the system, courtesy of Katherine. This kind of real-time learning wasn't something you passed up.
But with danger closing in—higher-circle warriors likely not far behind—Cassian tore his gaze away and scanned their surroundings. The tree they stood near was growing just above a section of the valley wall where soil mixed with stone. But below that, the wall sloped inward, smooth and unforgiving. There were no ledges, no footholds. No obvious way down.
He was still trying to figure out a plan when Simon suddenly grinned and drew his knives.
"I think I can work something out…" he said, stabbing one of the blades into the stone wall.
It sank in with a satisfying crack, chipping into the rock and embedding deep. Simon leaned on it with his full weight—it held firm. Smirking, he drove the second knife in a few feet below and then jumped down, hanging with one hand on each blade.
"Come on," he called up, eyes gleaming. "Hop on my back. Let's climb down."
Cassian gave a firm nod, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips. "Good thinking," he said, stepping closer to the edge. Truth was, he could've done something similar on his own—his fingers were strong enough to grip and dig into stone—but with only one arm working at the moment, that plan was out.
He glanced at Simon, already hanging there like it was no big deal, and exhaled through his nose. "Guess I'm catching a ride."
He crouched low, then carefully jumped onto Simon's back, wrapping his good arm around his friend's shoulders while hooking his legs around his waist for support.
"Just don't slip and drop us both to our deaths," Cassian muttered.
Simon smirked. "Just relax."
With a grunt, he yanked one knife free and stabbed it into the stone a little lower than before. His feet searched for any kind of support—cracks, bumps, anything to take some weight off his arms. Once the blade was secure and holding steady, he reached up, pulled the higher knife free, and drove it even further down.
Bit by bit, they began their slow descent—methodical, controlled, and just risky enough to keep Cassian slightly tense with every shift.
At the edge of the cliff, the three pursuers had already arrived. One of them stood slightly ahead of the others, holding a freshly severed human arm—still bleeding. He brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply, then sank his teeth into the flesh with a sickening crunch.
"I can smell him down there…" he muttered between chews, blood dripping from his lips. He swallowed a mouthful, then licked his fingers with a delighted grin. The arm looked freshly cut—cleanly severed just above the elbow, raw and still warm.
"He's becoming more and more delicious," the man added, his red eyes glowing faintly in the dimming light.
The other two stared at the arm, saliva glistening at the corners of their mouths. One of them, twitching with excitement, said, "What're we waitin' for, Captain? Let's catch them and enjoy a nice dinner—it's gonna be night soon."
"Be patient, Heran," the captain replied, wiping blood from his chin. "Good meals deserve good hunts."
He took another bite, then casually tossed the half-eaten arm to Heran. "Here. You two can chew on that for now. Just don't eat so much, leave enough to track them later."
Had Cassian and Simon heard what was being said above, even they might've felt a chill run down their spines. Being hunted was one thing—but being hunted as food? That was a whole different kind of nightmare.
They were still halfway down the cliff, focused on survival, unaware that their pursuers didn't just want them dead—they wanted them served raw.
The thought of being dinner would've shaken most. And maybe, just maybe, it would've shaken them too.
But then again… the three hunters didn't know everything.
They didn't know what Cassian was truly capable of when cornered.
They had no idea Simon might be holding a trump card of his own.
And more importantly...
They'd forgotten one simple rule:
Never play with your food—especially when it can still bite back.