Bandits or Guinea pigs

The days passed in a steady rhythm for the boy as he continued to live in the forest, his focus solely on gaining control over the virus. Every day was a test—a push and pull between him and the strange power within him. He could now summon the tendrils at will, though they came weaker than when they had acted on their own. Still, progress was progress. He knew he couldn't rely on raw strength for now, but control was something he could work with.

He had adapted to the routine: hunt, eat, train, repeat. His movements were sharper, more precise. The virus responded more predictably, its wild hunger subdued, at least for the moment. But even with this control, there was a gnawing frustration at the back of his mind. He was surviving, yes, but the virus felt restrained—held back. He needed a way to truly test its potential, a way to push the limits he hadn't yet reached.

That chance arrived unexpectedly one afternoon.

He was stalking through the forest, moving silently as he scouted for more game when he heard it—voices. Faint at first, murmurs carried by the wind. His instincts sharpened, and he moved toward the source, careful to stay out of sight. As he crept closer, he caught glimpses through the trees—figures, rough-looking men dragging something behind them.

A body.

The boy crouched low behind a thick trunk, observing from the shadows. The group—bandits, by the looks of them—were hauling the dead man without any care, his limbs limp, head lolling with each drag. The boy narrowed his eyes, staying silent as the bandits continued to walk, unaware of his presence.

He could hear their laughter now, crude and vile, echoing through the stillness of the forest. One of the men kicked the corpse as they stopped to rest, laughing louder when the body rolled limply.

"Poor bastard," one of them snickered, "didn't even see it coming. A shame he was broke—barely worth the effort."

"Still," another chimed in, "we got a good laugh out of it, didn't we?"

Their conversation continued, filled with cruel jokes and jabs about their victim. The boy stayed still, his stomach twisting slightly at their words. He had seen plenty of cruelty in the underworld, but this—out in the open, without reason or restraint—still struck him differently.

As he crouched in the shadows, watching the bandits, his mind wandered briefly to the world he had left behind. Back then, before his reincarnation, he'd started watching an anime series—Attack on Titan. He hadn't finished the first season before everything had changed, but the bits he remembered felt unnervingly relevant. The towering walls, the constant fear of Titans, and the relentless cruelty of the world around the characters—it wasn't all that different from what he'd seen here.

A cold truth settled in his mind. This world, just like in Attack on Titan, was one that didn't care about people like him. Survival came first, and power mattered more than anything else. He hadn't understood it fully when watching the show, but now he was living it. And unlike in the anime, there were no clear heroes, no soldiers in uniform fighting for freedom. Here, it was just him—alone in the forest, struggling against something far bigger than himself.

His thoughts snapped back to the present as the bandits continued talking, unaware of the danger lurking nearby.

His eyes stayed locked on them, cold and calculating. He wasn't scared of them; he was thinking, analyzing. The bandits were sloppy, unaware of their surroundings. He could take them by surprise, no problem. But more than that—this could be the perfect chance to test his powers.

Humans.

The thought echoed in his mind. He hadn't wanted to face the truth, but after the failed experiments with animals, he knew. If he wanted real power, the kind he had felt when he consumed Rose, he would have to take it from humans. It was the only way to fully understand what this virus was capable of.

His grip tightened. These men were murderers. Bandits. They wouldn't be missed.

The boy moved swiftly, weaving between the trees, his gaze locked on the bandits ahead. Their careless voices filled the forest, but he remained silent, his steps light and deliberate. The virus pulsed beneath his skin, a slow, steady rhythm that matched the growing anticipation in his chest.

One of the bandits, a tall man with a scar across his cheek, gave the corpse a hard kick, laughing as it rolled over. "Another one who thought he could fight back. They never learn."

"Yeah," another bandit grunted, "but they're always good for some easy money".

The boy's eyes narrowed. He kept his distance, moving effortlessly through the shadows as he followed them. His heart pounded, not from fear, but from the raw power building inside him. The virus thrummed through his veins, eager and restless. This time, he didn't bother holding it back.

Ahead, the trees began to thin, revealing the edge of a clearing. The bandits slowed, unaware of his presence as they dragged the body into the open. They were laughing, making crude jokes about the dead man, their guard down.

The boy crouched behind a tree, his eyes never leaving them. His breathing was steady, his mind cold and calculating. The virus was stirring now, stronger than before, tendrils writhing just beneath his skin. He could feel the power waiting—hungry to be used.

He smiled, feeling the pulse quicken inside him.

This was it. His chance to test the limits of what he could do.

The bandits, still unaware, stood at the clearing's edge, talking among themselves.

"We should head back soon," one of them said, "see if there's anyone else dumb enough to put up a fight."

The boy felt the virus swell within him, his muscles tensing. He crouched lower, eyes gleaming with the anticipation of what was about to happen. They had no idea he was there, no idea what was about to come for them.

He smiled again, dark and cold.

This was going to be good.