The Next Chapter

Chapter 3: The Next Chapter

Logan stumbled through the dense undergrowth, his vision blurring and his movements growing increasingly unstable. It felt as though he could collapse at any moment, every step a battle against his own exhaustion. But he pushed forward, driven by the desperate need to escape the pursuing monster.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of stumbling and tripping over roots and fallen branches, Logan got out from the thick forest. Blinking against the harsh light of the open space, he saw an old man with white hair and a matching beard, dressed in traditional farmer attire that was wearing a faded plaid shirt, tucked into sturdy denim overalls. Boots that were scuffed and caked with mud and a weather-beaten hat sat atop his head.

Summoning every ounce of strength left in his body, Logan let out a desperate scream for help. The old man's attention was immediately drawn to the sound, and he quickly stood up, scanning the area to locate the source of the cry.

Logan, with his striking silver-blue hair matted with sweat and blood, stood before the old farmer, his expression etched with pain and desperation. His torn white shirt, now stained crimson, hung loosely from his shoulders.

Without hesitation, the old man rushed to Logan's side, concern etched deeply into the lines of his weathered face. As the old man closed in, Logan's stamina reached its limit. His eyes began to fade, and slowly consciousness slipped away from him. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

The old farmer cradled Logan in his arms, carefully shifting him onto his back. He then called out to his wife, who was tending to the sheep nearby.

"Mary!" he shouted. "Quick, let's get him to the house and tend to his wounds!"

Mary nodded and hurried over. Together, they carried Logan towards their home, hoping they weren't too late to help him.

***

"Ahhhhh!" Logan woke up with a start, letting out a loud scream he took a deep, ragged breath and tried to get up from the bed. Pain shot through his shoulder, forcing him to lie back down. Slowly, his breathing calmed, and he took a moment to look around.

He was in a small, cozy room that looked like it belonged in another era. The walls were made of rough-hewn timber, and the floors were covered with thick, hand-woven rugs. There was a small fireplace on one side of the room, with a few logs smoldering inside. The bed he lay on was old but sturdy, covered in a thick quilt with colorful patches. Shelves lined the walls, filled with jars of herbs, dried flowers, and other items. A small window let in a soft glow, revealing a view of rolling hills and grazing sheep outside.

As Logan took in his surroundings, the door to the room creaked open. An old woman stepped in, carrying a small tray with a cup and some herbs. She had kind eyes and a warm smile. Her hair, gray and tied back in a neat bun, matched the simple yet clean dress she wore. It was made of soft, earthy fabric, with an apron tied around her waist.

"Oh, you woke up," she said, her voice gentle. "Well, that's good. I brought you some medicine."

Logan tried to get back up, but the pain in his shoulder made him wince. "Ah," he groaned, clutching at the sore spot.

"Careful," the old woman said, her tone soothing. "Your wounds are not fully healed yet."

Logan eased himself back down onto the bed, grateful for the soft pillows. The old woman placed the tray on the small table beside him and sat down on a chair opposite to the bed.

"You're pretty lucky to have survived," she said, her eyes thoughtful. "That dense forest is crawling with beasts."

Logan's voice was weak and filled with pain as he replied, "I don't call this lucky. I nearly lost my life."

The old woman chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and relief. "You're right, of course. You were unconscious for a whole three days, and your wounds were so deep that my husband had to go to the city and get a doctor to treat you."

Logan's eyes widened in surprise and gratitude, "Thank you for everything you've done for me."

"Don't worry about it," the old woman replied, her smile warm. "I'm just glad you're saf..."

Before she could finish, there was a knock on the door. She rose from her chair and opened it to find two men standing there. One was in his forties, a tall and lean with a light tan complexion, dark brown hair with a few grey strands, and sharp hazel eyes set in an angular face marked by noticeable scars, dressed in a simple but well-made tunic and trousers, with a sword hanging at his side. The other was younger, in his twenties, with a slight tan a Dark blond, tousled and a bit longer on top, with an easy-going, slightly messy style a Bright brown eye Youthful, with high cheekbones and a strong jawline. A light dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks also carrying a sword.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," the older man said with a smile. "Is the patient awake now?"

"Yes," she replied. "He just woke up, so don't push him with questions."

"Of course," the younger man said, nodding respectfully.

"Okay, I'll leave the rest to you," the old woman said, stepping aside to let them in. She glanced back at Logan with a reassuring smile before leaving the room.

The two men entered the room, their eyes focused on Logan as he lay in bed. The older man, with grey streaks in his hair, stepped forward and spoke calmly. "I'm Bartholomew Harris," he said. "And this is Detective Estefan. We're with the private investigation agency."

Estefan, younger and sharper-looking, spoke next, his voice serious but gentle. "We're here to ask you some questions," he said. "But please, don't be uneasy. We're here to help."

Both men sat down on the chairs beside Logan's bed. Logan felt a bit nervous as he asked, "Questions? What kind of questions?"

Estefan quickly answered before Harris could speak. "We're here about the attack in the forest. We need to know what kind of beast attacked you."

Harris nodded and added, "We handle these kinds of things often. It's best if you tell us exactly what you saw."

Logan took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. "It wasn't a beast that attacked me," he said slowly.

The two men exchanged surprised looks. Harris asked, "It wasn't a beast? What do you mean?"

"Like I said," Logan repeated, "it wasn't a beast."

Estefan leaned in closer. "Can you explain what attacked you then?"

Logan's voice trembled as he spoke. "I... I don't know how to describe it. It was like a demon. It wasn't just a beast. It was more than that... it... it was a monster. it a has Sharp and a bony spines instead of a head there was some kind of a gapping maw i think, what can i say that dose not look an ordinary beast to me."

Logan's body shook as he recalled the terrible encounter. The two men looked at each other again, their faces serious. Harris gave Estefan a small nod, and they both stood up.

"It's time for us to leave," Bartholomew said softly, placing a hand on Logan's shoulder. "Please rest and get well soon."

With that, the detectives left the room, closing the door quietly. Logan let out a deep sigh, trying to relax. He reached for the medicine the old lady had brought him earlier. As he did, his hand touched something strange.

There, just within reach, was a black book with golden text and intricate patterns on the cover. Logan's heart raced. He remembered dropping this book in the forest during the attack. He was sure he hadn't picked it up again.

How is this book here? he whispered to himself.

Logan carefully opened the book like always all the pages were blank except for the first two. Confused and astonished, he wondered how the book had come back to him.

***

Meanwhile, outside the farmhouse, Harris and Estefan were heading to the capital. Their carriage bounced along the rough road, creaking with every turn. Inside, Harris lit a fancy-looking cigarette, smoke curling around him. Estefan was reading a newspaper, which had an article about missing people in the woods.

"Do you think he's back?" Estefan asked without looking up.

Harris blew out a cloud of smoke, his face serious. "Yes, no doubt about it. If we don't report this and get help, those farmers and that man are in danger."

Estefan put down the newspaper, looking worried. "Was it safe to leave them? The Abductor might reach them before we get back."

Harris took a deep drag on his cigarette and blew out more smoke. "Don't worry. I set up some barriers before we left. They should hold off The Abductor for at least an hour. But we need to hurry."

The carriage rolled on, taking them away from the farmhouse and into the growing darkness of the night.

***

Back in his room, Logan put down the book and took a sip of the medicine. It tasted bitter, making him grimace. "It's so bitter, but that's how you know its medicine," he muttered to himself.

He picked up the black book again and lay back on his bed, staring at the cover. "What are you?" he asked softly. "Are you responsible for all of this? What did I do to deserve this? "

"I miss drinking beer." Logan said with a sad expression.

As if in response to his words, the golden text on the book began to glow faintly for a few seconds before fading back to its original colour. Logan sat up quickly, eyes wide with surprise. _What in the world is that? _ He exclaimed.

He flipped the book open to the first page, searching for answers. The page was unchanged except for one detail: the author's name had transformed into three asterisks (***), followed by the name "Mr K."

"Mr K?" Logan muttered, puzzled. "Is that the author of this book? Or is there more to it? Or its another life and death situation"

Curious, he turned to the second page. It was the same as before: "Chapter One: The Man and the Beast." But as he flipped to the third page, something strange happened. Just like the last time the words began to appear out of thin air, floating down to settle on the blank page.

Logan watched, mesmerized, as the letters formed a title:

"Chapter Two: The World of Codex."