Capítulo 197: Chapter 197
The Fling Flong Forest in Madagascar was a place of myth. No one who entered it ever left the same. The people of the nearby villages knew it as the place where innocence vanished, leaving only hollow shells behind. No one dared venture too far into its depths. But there were always those who, driven by curiosity or defiance, thought they could outsmart the forest.
Lazaro, a young man from a village on the outskirts of the dense forest, had always heard the warnings. He'd grown up listening to old stories whispered by the elders. It was said that the forest fed on the purity of the soul, stealing the innocence of those foolish enough to wander inside. Those who came back were never the same. Their eyes were empty, their faces hardened, and their laughter... it didn't sound like laughter at all.
One evening, when the sky hung heavy with dark clouds, Lazaro decided he would prove the legends wrong. He'd heard the stories since he was a child, and though they had always unsettled him, they had also filled him with a strange fascination. This night, he couldn't resist any longer. He gathered his things, tucked a knife into his belt, and made his way toward the forest.
The air outside the forest was thick with humidity, the air heavy, as though the very atmosphere was charged with some unseen energy. As he approached the edge of the Fling Flong, the trees seemed to stretch higher than any trees he had seen before. They twisted unnaturally, their branches curling in strange directions, as though they were waiting for him.
The first step into the forest felt wrong. His boots sank deeper into the soil than they should have. The ground was soft, like it was made of something other than earth. It felt... hungry, somehow. Lazaro shook the feeling away. He wasn't afraid of some old stories.
But the deeper he went, the more the trees seemed to close in around him. The path, what little there was of it, became almost impossible to follow. Vines dripped from above, hanging like curtains of thick green silk. The air grew damp and smelled of decay. There was no sound except for his own footsteps, the occasional rustle of a creature moving in the underbrush, and something else—something faint but present—a soft, eerie hum.
Lazaro's heart began to beat harder. He tried to shake it off. It was just the forest. It was just trees. But even as he told himself that, his senses screamed at him to turn around. He ignored them.
The deeper he went, the thicker the trees grew. The sky above him was barely visible now, hidden behind a dense canopy that shut out the light. He was surrounded, trapped, like a fly in a web. And then... then the air grew colder. He didn't notice it at first, but his breath came out in thin, visible puffs, even though the humidity should have kept the air warm. It wasn't just cold. It was as though the temperature had dropped all at once, a sudden, unnatural chill that sank into his bones.
Then there was the silence.
He had noticed it before, but now, it was impossible to ignore. No birds. No insects. Nothing. Only the soft rustling of the trees and the faint hum that was getting louder. Lazaro stopped walking. The hum seemed to move around him, rising and falling in a way that made his skin crawl. His fingers twitched at his sides. He wanted to leave, but the path had disappeared. The forest had swallowed it whole.
Suddenly, from deep in the forest, a figure appeared. It was a man—at least, it looked like a man. He was tall, with skin as pale as bone, and eyes that glowed faintly, almost unnaturally. His face was frozen in a half-smile, his mouth twisted in a way that made Lazaro's stomach churn. He stood perfectly still, his long limbs stiff as though he had not moved in years.
"Lost, are we?" the figure's voice was barely a whisper, but it echoed like thunder in Lazaro's mind.
Lazaro tried to speak, but no words came out. His mouth was dry, his throat tight. The man didn't seem to notice. His eyes, glowing dimly, never left Lazaro.
"You shouldn't be here," the figure continued, his smile widening. "None of us should."
Lazaro's body moved on its own, stumbling backward, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The figure didn't follow. Instead, he stood there, watching with that strange, knowing smile.
The hum grew louder. Lazaro's hands shook as he tried to steady himself. He had to get out. He turned and ran, crashing through the underbrush, but no matter which way he went, it felt like the forest itself was shifting around him, trapping him in place.
It wasn't long before the trees began to change. The branches twisted in ways that were no longer natural. The bark of the trees warped, growing darker, almost black. They seemed to reach toward him, as if they were alive, hungry, and willing to pull him deeper into the dark heart of the forest.
Lazaro stopped running, gasping for breath. Sweat poured down his face, and his heart pounded in his chest. He couldn't keep going like this. His mind raced. What was happening to him? Was it real? Or was he losing his mind?
And then it happened.
The ground beneath him gave way. One moment, he was standing, and the next, he was falling. The drop was too deep, too sudden, and he had no time to react. His body hit the ground with a sickening thud, and for a moment, everything went black.
When he came to, it was as though nothing had changed. He lay on his back, staring up at the trees, but something was wrong. He could feel it deep inside of him. Something was missing. Something had been taken.
He rose slowly, his body stiff, like a puppet with its strings cut. He looked around. The trees weren't the same. They were darker, twisted, like they were alive and watching him. And in the distance, he heard something—something that sounded like crying.
Lazaro followed the sound. It grew louder, closer, until he stumbled upon a clearing. In the center, there was a woman. She was kneeling on the ground, her face hidden in her hands, shaking with sobs.
"Please," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Please, don't take it from me. Not again."
Lazaro stepped forward, but she didn't notice him. Her body trembled violently as she continued to sob. His heart pounded in his chest. There was something so wrong about her. Her voice, her cry... It was like something hollow.
And then, she stopped. Her body went rigid, and her head slowly lifted. Lazaro froze as he looked into her eyes—if you could even call them eyes. They were empty, voids of blackness that seemed to suck in all the light around them.
"You should never have come here," she said, her voice no longer hoarse but cold, hollow. "You don't know what it's like to lose it all."
Lazaro didn't understand. He wanted to scream, but no sound came from his throat. He reached for her, but as his fingers touched her skin, it felt like touching the surface of water, like he was sinking into her.
Her skin rippled and dissolved, and as it did, so did his mind. The innocence he had carried with him, the joy, the lightness—it drained from him, leaving him raw, exposed, empty. His sense of self began to disintegrate. It wasn't just fear. It was something deeper. Something worse.
His body shook as memories that were not his own flooded into his mind. Faces of people long gone, cries of pain, whispered words that made no sense—they all began to fuse together in a chaotic mess of confusion. He could feel his soul unraveling.
The last thing he remembered was the woman's eyes. Black holes that swallowed everything. His own body collapsed into the void, and he felt himself being pulled deeper into the forest, the last shreds of his innocence torn away by the hunger of the Fling Flong.
The forest waited.
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