Chapter 22: The Thorns of Death (Part 1)
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The Spike Maze was silent.
Too silent.
Ren stood at the boundary between the Flower Graves and the Spike Maze, his boots on the soft moss, his eyes on the twisted trees ahead. The air was cold—colder than the Canopy, colder than the Flower Graves. It smelled of iron and old blood.
He opened his system screen.
Level: 36. XP: 95/660. JC: 47,056. Lifespan remaining: 209 years.
Soulbound: Vine King's Heart-Core (+5% stealth), Sun Serpent's Eye (+10% perception), Bloom Mother's Petal (+20% poison resistance).
Next target: Thorn Walker (level 250).
He closed the screen. Stepped forward.
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The Spike Maze was a forest of thorns.
Trees with needles instead of leaves. Vines covered in spikes. Ground littered with broken spines that crunched underfoot. The maze was natural—twisted passages between walls of thorns, dead ends, false paths. Some thorns were as long as his forearm, black and glistening with a sticky residue. Poison, maybe. He didn't want to find out.
Ren moved slowly. Unseen Presence active. His heartbeat slowed to forty beats per minute. His breath became a whisper. His body temperature dropped to match the cold air.
Sound is the enemy here. The Thorn Walker hears everything.
He had studied the beast for weeks. Level two hundred fifty. Three thousand years old. It had no eyes—it sensed the world through vibration and sound. A single footstep, a single cough, a single heartbeat too loud could give him away.
Ren placed each foot with care. Heel first. Then toe. Then weight.
Silence.
A thorn brushed his sleeve. He froze. It didn't break. He exhaled silently and continued.
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He walked for an hour.
The maze twisted and turned. The thorns grew thicker. The walls grew higher. The sky disappeared behind a canopy of needles that blocked the sun. The only light came from glowing fungi on the树干—pale blue, faint, casting long shadows.
Then he heard it.
A scrape. Like claws on stone. Slow. Deliberate.
Ren froze mid-step.
Unseen Presence: Holding.
The scrape came again. Closer. The ground trembled slightly.
The Thorn Walker emerged from around a corner.
It was massive—twelve feet tall, fifteen feet long from snout to tail. Its body was covered in black spines, each one as long as Ren's hand. Its hide was dark gray, thick as ironwood bark. Its head was small, flat, with no eyes, no ears—just a slit of a mouth filled with needle teeth and a cluster of sensory pits on each side of its snout. Its legs were thick, corded with muscle, each foot ending in three curved claws that dug into the ground with every step.
System notification.
Crown Beast detected: Thorn Walker. Level: 250. Threat: Extreme.
Recommended party size: 20-25 hunters. Recommended minimum rank: A+.
Your current rank: D. Your current party size: 1.
Ren closed the notification. His heart wanted to pound, but he forced it to stay slow.
The Thorn Walker stopped. Its head turned. Sensory pits flared, opening and closing like gills.
It knows something is here. But not what. Not where.
Ren didn't move. Didn't breathe. His chest burned from the lack of air, but he held.
The Thorn Walker's tongue emerged—black, forked, tasting the air. It swept left, right, then retracted.
The beast turned away. Continued down the path.
Ren exhaled silently. His vision swam for a moment, then cleared.
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He followed at a distance.
The Thorn Walker moved through the maze with purpose. It knew every turn, every dead end, every hidden passage. It had lived here for three thousand years. This was its home.
Ren memorized the route. Left at the dead tree with the split trunk. Right at the pillar covered in glowing moss. Straight through the arch of interlocking thorns that looked like a ribcage.
The beast reached a clearing—a circular space surrounded by walls of spikes fifteen feet high. In the center, a pile of bones. Human skulls. Rib cages. Femurs. Pelvises. Some were old, gray, crumbling. Others were fresh, still white, with scraps of dried flesh clinging to them.
Ren counted the skulls. At least sixty.
The Vine King killed fifty-two. This thing has killed more.
The Thorn Walker circled the bone pile three times, then curled up on top of it. Its spines settled. Its breathing slowed. Its sensory pits closed.
Sleeping.
Ren waited. Ten minutes. Twenty. Thirty.
The beast's breathing became deep and rhythmic. Its body relaxed. A low rumble came from its throat—not a snore, but a vibration, like a cat's purr but deeper, more menacing.
Now.
Ren checked his arrows. Poisonthorn—five. He had coated them the night before, dipping each tip in a mixture of Painthorn extract and Sleepbloom sap. If the poison entered the bloodstream, it would paralyze within thirty seconds.
The throat. It's the only soft spot. The scales there are thinner, almost like leather.
He moved closer. Thirty feet. Twenty. Ten.
His feet found gaps between the bones. No sound. His breath was barely a wisp. His heart rate was thirty-five beats per minute.
The Thorn Walker's throat was exposed—pale gray skin, pulsing with each breath. A network of veins visible beneath the surface.
Ren notched an arrow. Drew the bow. The string creaked—barely audible, but in the silence, it sounded like a scream.
The Thorn Walker's sensory pits flared open.
It heard.
Ren fired.
The arrow flew straight—silent, fast, true.
It struck the throat—but the beast had moved. At the last instant, it had shifted its head. The arrow hit the edge of the neck, not the center. Blood sprayed—black, thick, steaming in the cold air.
The Thorn Walker screamed.
Not a sound—a vibration. The ground shook. The thorns trembled. Bones flew in all directions. Ren was thrown off his feet, landing hard on his back.
He rolled. Came up with a second arrow.
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The Thorn Walker was already moving.
Its claws tore through the ground, sending up a spray of dirt and bone fragments. Its spines bristled, standing straight up, making it look twice as large. It lunged—not at Ren, but at the space where Ren had been.
Ren dodged left. A spine grazed his arm—just a scratch, but it burned like fire.
Poison. The spines are poisoned.
He notched the second arrow. Fired.
The arrow struck the beast's shoulder. The thick hide stopped it halfway. The Thorn Walker didn't even seem to notice.
This isn't working.
Ren ran.
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The Thorn Walker chased him through the maze.
Its claws scraped the ground. Its body crashed through thorn walls, shredding them like paper. Ren could feel the vibration of its footsteps through the earth.
He turned left. Dead end. Turned right. A narrow passage. He squeezed through, ignoring the thorns that tore at his leather armor.
The Thorn Walker tried to follow. Its shoulders were too wide. It slammed into the passage, wedging itself between the thorn walls.
Now.
Ren notched a third arrow. Turned. Aimed for the beast's exposed throat.
The Thorn Walker's head snapped toward him. Its sensory pits flared.
It opened its mouth.
A cloud of black spores burst from its throat—thousands of them, tiny, sharp, like microscopic thorns.
Ren dove behind a pillar of stone. The spores struck the pillar, eating into it. The stone hissed and crumbled.
Acid spores.
He couldn't stay here.
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Ren ran deeper into the maze.
His arm was burning from the spine scratch. His vision was blurring—the poison was working its way into his bloodstream. He had maybe ten minutes before paralysis.
Need to end this. Fast.
He found a narrow crevice between two thorn walls. Squeezed inside. His back pressed against the thorns. Spikes dug into his shoulders, his spine, his hips. Blood trickled down his back.
The Thorn Walker's footsteps grew closer.
Ren held his breath. Slowed his heart. Cooled his skin.
Unseen Presence: Active.
The beast passed by the crevice. Its sensory pits flared. It paused.
Don't move. Don't breathe.
The Thorn Walker's tongue emerged. It tasted the air near the crevice.
Ren's blood was dripping onto the ground. The beast could smell it.
The tongue touched the blood.
The Thorn Walker screamed.
Its claw slammed into the crevice. Thorns shattered. Ren was thrown backward into the passage beyond—a wider tunnel, lined with bones.
He landed hard. His bow flew from his hand. His arrows scattered.
The Thorn Walker forced its way through the crevice, ignoring the thorns that tore into its hide. It was bleeding from a dozen wounds, but it didn't stop.
It wanted him dead.
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Ren crawled backward, searching for his bow. His hand touched wood. He grabbed it.
The Thorn Walker lunged.
Ren rolled. The beast's claws slammed into the ground where his head had been. He notched the fourth arrow—his fingers were shaking, numb from the poison.
He fired.
The arrow struck the beast's throat—the same wound, deeper. The Thorn Walker gurgled. Black blood poured from its neck.
It didn't fall.
It lunged again.
Ren couldn't dodge.
The claw caught him in the chest.
He flew backward into a wall of thorns. Spikes pierced his back, his shoulders, his arms. He screamed—couldn't help it.
The Thorn Walker stood over him. Its mouth opened. Its tongue extended toward his face.
Ren's vision blurred. His blood soaked the ground. His heartbeat was loud in his ears. Too loud.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The Thorn Walker's sensory pits locked onto his chest.
It's going to rip my heart out.
Ren tried to move. His body wouldn't respond. The thorns held him in place. His leg was pinned. His arm was useless. His bow was gone. His arrows were gone.
He had nothing.
The Thorn Walker's claw pressed against his chest. Spines dug into his skin, through his leather armor, through his flesh.
I'm going to die.
Ren thought of Grandmother. Of the shop. Of the roof that didn't leak.
I promised.
But there was nothing he could do.
The Thorn Walker's head lowered. Its mouth opened wide, revealing rows of needle teeth.
Ren closed his eyes.
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End of Chapter 22
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