Chapter 10: You Don’t Belong Here

Previously on SURVIVE: The Island…

Graham hesitantly stepped into the unnervingly pristine lighthouse, leaving a skeptical Mayoli outside. At its peak, he discovered a massive blue crystal—an unsettling sight made even more alarming by the approach of Tyfanna, striding toward him with unwavering determination.

Meanwhile, deep in the island’s shadowed underbelly, Travis completed his transformation into a hunter, fully inducted into the pack as he received the chilling pronouncements of the Master within a crater pulsing with blue energy.

At the same time, the volatile confrontation between Andrea and Chris reached a breaking point—an event that threatened to reshape the island’s power structure. Jordan, watching from the sidelines, bore witness to the shift and had to choose. Nearby, Jim followed Claudia, who revealed she had been on the island for sixteen days. She spoke of a sickness and safe havens, all while keeping a wary eye on a deeply troubled Mayo.

Mike floated above, watching it happen, eager to wake.

Bryan, in a brutal and harrowing encounter, absorbed the power of a grotesque entity, claiming a newfound dominion over the island itself. Hidden in the shadows, Ian bore silent witness to Bryan’s transformation, leaving him in a dangerously uncertain position. Within the confines of a shadowy laboratory, Rosendo uncovered disturbing visions of the island’s past, hinting at a history darker and more sinister than he had imagined.

At the water’s edge, Boon was dragged beneath the sand by unseen forces—only to be inexplicably returned moments later, leaving Cowin and Andrew shaken and bewildered. From the sea, Jordanna emerged changed, imbued with a cold, blue light and a directive to confront a looming crimson force, while Jill came to grip with her own new powers.

High in the Bloodwood Tree, Michelle unleashed a scream so powerful it decimated the dark figures around her. When she awoke, she possessed a broader awareness of the island’s warring factions and the corruption spreading across it.

Chelsea and Peter found themselves on the brink of non-existence, facing a critical choice—standing at the threshold of transformation, confrontation, or survival—as the island’s true nature, and the forces battling for control, became increasingly clear.

Jump to:
Tyfanna, Graham & Mayoli
Chris, Andrea & Jordan
Jim, Claudia & Mayo
Travis
Ian, Rosendo & Bryan
Andrew, Jill, Cowin, Jordanna & Boon
Michelle
Mike
Chelsea & Peter

Choice Submission Form

Part 1: The Compass Lies Still

(Tyfanna, Graham & Mayoli)

Tyfanna
You chase after Mayoli. Your legs move without resistance, your focus sharp as a knife. She’s fast, but you match her pace with unnatural ease. The lighthouse looms ahead, its dark frame cutting into the night like an open wound. The voices rise, urging you forward—commands without words, pressure without pain. And then—

Silence.

Like the snap of a branch, the voices are gone. The weight behind your ribs vanishes. The compass in your palm stops spinning.

You expect relief, but what you feel is normalcy. No more aching in your hand, no more urgent pull toward the lighthouse. No more sickness in your thoughts. The absence of control should terrify you, but it doesn’t. Instead, a sudden clarity settles over you like morning fog. You’re fine. The island isn’t clawing at you anymore.

Mayoli is ahead, reaching the closed lighthouse door. You slow, blinking against the eerie sensation of balance, of calm. There’s no reason to be afraid now. Everything is fine.

She turns sharply as you approach, muscles coiled, breath sharp. She sees you— really sees you. The way she tenses, the way her eyes flick to your hand, to the embedded compass, tells you she’s expecting something wrong.

But there is nothing wrong.

“It’s okay,” you say, because it is. “I was—” You pause, searching for words that moments ago would not have belonged to you. “I was confused. But I feel better now.”

She doesn’t believe you. Not yet.

And then the door swings open.

Graham barrels down from the lighthouse interior, eyes wide, breath heaving. He stops dead when he sees you both. His stare locks onto you. He notices everything— your steadiness, your ease, the compass frozen in place. His eyes narrow.

For a split second, you can see him calculating. Measuring.

The silence where the voices used to be feels full now, brimming with something else. A slow, steady understanding that you are not just standing here—you are waiting for him.

Mayoli steps back, ready to run if needed. Graham’s shoulders tighten, his body halfway turned to bolt back inside.

You should be afraid of what comes next. But you aren’t.

You feel fine.

And if you feel fine, then Graham and Mayoli will too. It’s just a matter of time.

Graham
You take the stairs two at a time, breath sharp, heart hammering. The lighthouse groans around you, old wood shifting under your weight. You don’t know why you’re running—only that you need to be down there, now.

The moment you burst through the open doorway, you skid to a stop.

Mayoli is there. So is Tyfanna.

For a second, your body locks up. Everything in you screams danger.

But they aren’t fighting. No raised voices, no fear in Mayoli’s stance. And Tyfanna—

You stare at her. Something is wrong.

Or rather, something isn’t.

She looks fine. Too fine. Her breathing is even, her shoulders loose. Her eyes meet yours with calm assurance.

You’ve only known Tyfanna as fractured. A woman barely holding herself together, twitching at the edges, pulled by forces unseen. But now? She stands still. Whole. As if everything that was tormenting her has simply… vanished.

Your stomach twists. The compass embedded in her palm is still there, but—

It isn’t moving.

No more violent spinning. No more shaking. No more pull. And she doesn’t seem bothered by it.

She sees your suspicion, steps forward slowly. “Graham,” she says, voice steady. “It’s okay now.”

A thousand thoughts fight for space in your head. You glance at Mayoli. She’s watching you closely. Evaluating you like you’re evaluating her. You both know something isn’t adding up, but there’s no immediate threat. Not yet.

Tyfanna doesn’t try to grab you, doesn’t try to force anything. Instead, she speaks with reason.

“I was sick before,” she says. “The voices—whatever they were, I pushed them back. I feel like myself again.”

Too easy. Nothing on this island works that way.

But what if it did?

You glance at Mayoli again. She isn’t backing away. If anything, she looks more uncertain than you’ve ever seen her. And uncertainty from Mayoli is rare.

She hesitates, then says, “Graham, she might be telling the truth. I don’t love the idea of being stuck in the lighthouse, but I’m convinced the way to fix all that is in the basement.”

That stops you. You frown. Mayoli convinced about something? She doesn’t speak on instinct alone. She must have seen something. That makes you hesitate. The basement. You weren’t sure if that’s what you wanted, but now… it clicks.

Tyfanna nods. “We need to go down. That’s why we’re here, right?”

You know what’s waiting below. The lighthouse pulled you here. It pushed you past the crystal, down toward something older, deeper. And Mayoli chose this too. She ran here believing the answers were in the basement.

You exhale, shifting on your feet.

Agreeing it aloud would almost make it feel like it was your choice all along, but you don’t even try.

Mayoli exhales sharply, the tension in her shoulders giving way to reluctant acceptance.

“Alright,” she says. “We go together.”

You glance one more time at Tyfanna.

She still looks fine.

That should be reassuring.

It isn’t.

Mayoli
The first few steps feel easy. Too easy.

The stairwell curves downward, smooth stone beneath your feet, the walls pressing close, yet something about the space feels… open. Your pulse, which had been hammering in your ears, settles into something slower, something measured. You remind yourself to stay alert, to keep your senses sharp, but the air is still. The silence is deep.

Graham walks ahead, cautious but moving steadily. Tyfanna is right beside you, calm, collected—like she was never broken in the first place. She was a mess when you first saw her, but now? Now she just moves. Like the past hour was some kind of fever dream and she’s simply awake now. She makes sense. She shouldn’t, but she does.

You hate that.

A dim glow begins to gather in the walls. Small pinpricks of blue light, pulsing faintly, like the heartbeat of something too large to see. Graham slows when he notices, his fingers twitching at his sides. You don’t blame him—you’ve never seen this color before, not on this island. Instinct warns you to avoid it, to keep your hands away from the walls, to not touch.

Tyfanna doesn’t have the same hesitation.

She inhales sharply beside you, and for the first time since reaching the lighthouse, you see something more than eerie calm in her. Her head tilts slightly, eyes fixed on the spores as if she recognizes them.

The deeper you go, the thicker the spores become, curling across the stone like veins in flesh. Graham picks up the pace, avoiding them. You do the same. Tyfanna, though—

She reaches out.

Just for a second. Her fingers hover over the glowing strands, close enough to brush them. But at the last moment, she pulls back, exhaling like she’s just caught herself slipping.

You don’t say anything, but you watch her closer.

The deeper you descend, the more the blue glow intensifies, casting long shadows across your faces. The silence doesn’t last. A soft, distant hum curls into the air, something barely audible, something that isn’t there, but is.

Tyfanna flinches.

Then—

She smiles.

It’s subtle at first, a twitch of the lips. Then her shoulders loosen, her breath steadies. You expect her to whisper about the voices, about the pull, about the sickness—but she doesn’t.

Instead, she murmurs, “They’re happy.”

Your stomach knots. Graham stiffens ahead of you.

“Who’s happy?” you ask, voice tight.

Tyfanna’s gaze remains forward, on the spores, on the glow, on where the stairwell is leading you.

“They’re singing,” she says, voice thick with something almost like reverence. She glances at you, eyes dark with some emotion you can’t name. “It’s different this time. They’re welcoming us.”

You swallow hard and keep moving.

The descent ends suddenly. The stairs flatten out, leading to a vast, open chamber carved from smooth black stone. It is cold, silent.

And in the center stands the altar.

Bodies are frozen in place, locked in moments of agony and ecstasy alike. Some stand with hands reaching upward, their expressions twisted in silent screams. Others are curled into themselves, faces twisted in quiet despair. And some…

Some look at peace.

They kneel in reverence, heads tilted back, mouths slightly parted as if caught in a whisper of rapture. Their expressions are serene, as if whatever moment they were captured in was not suffering—but something close to joy.

Their mouths do not move. Their eyes do not blink.

But you can feel it.

Something is watching you.

Graham exhales sharply beside you. Tyfanna tilts her head, eyes flicking over the figures not with fear, not with horror—

But with understanding.

For a moment, no one speaks.

Then, the silence lingers.

Tyfanna, Graham & Mayoli’s Options (Choose Here)

Examine the altar closely: The figures’ differing expressions suggest a meaning beyond simple death. Were some chosen, willing? What separates agony from ecstasy?
Inspect the markings on the ground: Strange symbols and grooves surround the altar, etched deep into the stone. Are they warnings? A ritual? A way to understand what happened here?
Touch one of the frozen figures: The answer might be locked within them. But can they be freed? And if they can—should they?
Turn and run up the stairs: You don’t really want answers anyway. This place is creepy and whatever you’ll find is not worth it.

Part 2: Waves Against the Storm

(Chris, Andrea & Jordan)

Chris
You own this moment.

Electricity hums in your veins, crackling beneath your skin, a raw and limitless power gifted to you by the island. The air is thick with fire and ice, the scent of something on the verge of imploding. Andrea stands at the edge of the roaring waterfall, feet braced against slick rock, her arms lifted like she’s the one in control. She isn’t. She can’t be.

Lightning arcs from your fingertips, searing ice-cold, lashing toward her in a chaotic web of energy—a strike that should end this immediately. But the water moves before she does, rearing up in a towering wall, catching the bolt and diffusing it into nothing.

That’s not possible.

Andrea smirks, and the waterfall pulses in sync with her heartbeat.

Your gut twists. This power has made you unstoppable. It has to. But she isn’t breaking. If anything, she’s stronger now than when she arrived. The realization itches under your skin, deep and infuriating.

“You don’t belong here,” she says, voice calm, absolute. “This power isn’t yours.”

“You think you’re some kind of chosen one?” Your voice cuts like thunder, amplified by the crackling storm of your rage. “This island is just as much mine as it is yours.”

The moment she moves, you react—surging forward, hands outstretched, sending another blast directly into her chest. She should be incinerated, bones flash-burning to charcoal, but—

The water coils around her like armor, swallowing the electricity, bending it around her like she’s redirecting a river’s current.

Something in you snaps.

Andrea throws her arms wide, and suddenly you’re the one struggling.

The water lashes out, grabbing your wrist, twisting like a living thing. The force rips you sideways, slamming you against the wet, unsteady stone. Your breath chokes in your throat as the water begins to pull.

No. No.

Your feet slide toward the edge, the mist swallowing you. The roar of the waterfall is deafening now, like a thousand voices screaming at once.

Andrea is winning.

Unacceptable.

You whirl your head toward Jordan, who still stands behind you, watching. He hesitates, hands clenched into fists, his body vibrating with power, but he isn’t moving. Not yet.

Time slows.

You see it in his eyes—the battle waging inside him. The moment where he could still turn back.

He won’t.

Not when you command him to act.

“Now!” you bellow, pouring everything you have into the order.

Jordan steps forward.

A second surge of raw, burning energy erupts beside you, crashing into Andrea with twice the force, the blue glow of the water meeting the corrupt crimson light of the island’s traitor.

And this time, the water buckles.

Andrea stumbles.

You grin.

She’s finally going down.

Andrea
You feel the island in your blood.

The waterfall rumbles in your bones, a steady heartbeat in sync with your own. The energy of the water, the pulse of the land—it’s always been here. You’re not taking power; you’re simply letting it move through you. This is what the island wants. This is how it fights back.

Chris doesn’t belong.

You hold your ground as the storm crashes against you. Lightning carves through the mist, jagged veins of white-hot energy trying to slice into you, but the water bends around it, redirects it, makes it harmless. He’s lashing out in frustration now. He knows.

Chris wants to drown the island in his poison, but he doesn’t understand. The island is alive. And it fights back.

“You don’t belong here,” you say, voice steady, calm despite the storm raging around you.

Chris snarls something, but you barely hear it because you move first.

You summon the current, twisting the water into a serpent of pure force, and hurl it forward.

Chris is too slow. The water grabs him, latches onto his wrist, twists, pulls—

Yes. This is it.

For the first time, you see something flicker behind his eyes. Not arrogance. Fear.

But then Jordan moves.

And suddenly, everything changes.

A second wave of energy explodes toward you—not just Chris’s electric barrage, but something else. Something uncertain, wavering, but still strong enough to tear through the water’s balance.

The moment it collides, you feel the island shudder beneath your feet.

No—

The force is too much, too unnatural, and the water that has always protected you buckles under the weight.

You stagger back. The waterfall pulses, but it doesn’t rise fast enough.

You feel it happening, but you can’t stop it.

The electricity rips into you, and for the first time, you feel pain.

A sharp, burning crackle bursts through your chest, like the first flash of a lightning storm before it splits the sky.

You gasp, and the sound is wrong. Shaken. Weak.

Jordan is fully in the fight now, his power woven into Chris’s, and the two of them together are too strong.

Chris’s laughter rings in your ears as the water begins to fail you.

Your body shakes. You try to summon the current again, but your grip on it is slipping—

No, no, NO—

Their power is swallowing yours. Whole.

And for the first time since stepping onto this battlefield, you are afraid.

Jordan
It shouldn’t feel this good.

Power hums beneath your skin, thick and electric, like a second heartbeat. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. Every nerve is alive, every thought sharper than before. The world bends at the edges, stretching out like a thread waiting to be pulled.

Chris’s voice snaps through the air like a whip.

“Now!“

You don’t think. You move.

The energy surges forward, spilling from your hands—icy blue, freezing, colliding with the misty golden water. And for the first time since this fight began, Andrea stumbles.

The island shakes beneath you.

She tries to push back—of course she does—but she’s losing. You can see it in her trembling hands, the way her stance shifts as the force overwhelms her.

She was winning just seconds ago. But not anymore.

Chris is grinning now, his power twining with yours, pressing forward in a tidal wave of raw energy.

Andrea gasps, her body jerking as the current rips through her. She looks small now. Fragile.

And for a moment, something inside you hesitates.

You could stop.

You could pull back.

There’s a split-second where you think, this isn’t what I wanted.

But the thought is too slow—because the power is already moving through you, burning away everything else.

Chris pushes harder, and you do too.

Andrea buckles, her arms dropping to her sides, her body slumping beneath the force of the attack.

It’s over.

You won.

Then you see her eyes.

Not afraid. Not pleading.

Just looking at you—as if she recognizes something in you that you don’t yet understand.

And suddenly, you hate it.

Your hands tighten into fists. You force more energy forward, drowning out whatever she’s about to say.

You don’t want her to say anything.

Because if she does—

You might have to hear it.

And you’re not ready for that.

Chris steps forward, his laughter sharp over the crashing water.

“That’s right,” he says. “You feel that? That’s real power, Jordan. We did that. Together.“

The words settle in your chest like stone.

You glance down at your hands, still crackling with energy.

You expect to feel victorious.

You don’t.

But you don’t feel regret either.

You feel nothing at all.

And that’s the worst part.

Chris & Jordan’s Options (Choose Here)

Finish the Job: She’s already on her knees. Weak, spent, broken. There’s nothing left for her now but the fall. One more strike and it’s over. No more fight, no more resistance. Just the satisfaction of knowing you didn’t stop halfway. You started this. You finish it.
Spare Her: She’s not worth it. Not anymore. Look at her—barely holding herself up, barely clinging to what little strength she has left. If you leave her like this, she’ll never recover. Let her crawl away. Let her feel the weight of her failure. She’ll know who won.
Try to Turn Andrea: She’s powerful. She could be useful. And now, she knows what happens when she stands against you. She has a choice—stay broken, or come back stronger. She just has to understand. You don’t have to be enemies. Not anymore.

Andrea’s Options (Choose Here)

Use the Last of Your Strength to Lash Out: It’s not over. Not yet. The pain is overwhelming, the weight crushing—but there’s enough left. Just enough for one more strike. A final act. A warning. A wound. If this is the end, let them remember it.
Beg for Your Life: They’re stronger. You know that now. There’s nothing left but words, but words can be weapons too. You can make them hesitate. Just for a moment. Just long enough. Maybe that’s all you need.
Stay Silent, Accepting Whatever Comes: You could fight. You could beg. But why give them that? Why give them anything at all? Let them do what they will. Let them sit with it. You won’t make this easy for them.

Part 3: Whispers at the Edge

(Jim, Claudia & Mayo)

Jim
You’re out of time.

The battle rages above—a clash of gold and blue, of something impossibly bright and powerful. The golden figure is losing. The two blue ones are pressing forward, relentless, their power coiling together in crackling waves.

You don’t know what happens if the golden one falls—but you’re certain you don’t want to find out.

And yet—none of that matters right now.

Mayo stumbles beside you, breath ragged, her eyes too wide, too distant. Claudia pulls her forward, her grip tight and desperate as they run.

But you don’t wait for them.

You’re done waiting.

The water calls to you.

A deep, glowing pool just ahead—pulsing with light, warm, alive, something more. Claudia swore this was the only way to fight off the sickness, to stay yourself before the island twisted you into something else.

You’re not waiting to find out if she’s right.

Your legs burn, but you don’t stop. Your feet pound against the wet stone, and then you’re at the edge—

And you jump.

The moment your body hits the water, everything changes.

There’s no cold.

No shock.

Only heat—not burning, but radiant, like standing in the sun after a lifetime of shadow.

The energy surges through you, sinking into your muscles, your bones, your thoughts.

You gasp, but your lungs don’t fill with water—they fill with something else. Something powerful.

The exhaustion in your body vanishes. The ache, the fear, the hesitation—gone.

You are weightless.

You are alive.

And for the first time since setting foot on this cursed island, you feel strong.

Your body moves without resistance, as if the water is an extension of you, lifting you up instead of pulling you down. The glow intensifies, wrapping around you in crimson-red waves, pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

You lift your hand. The red glow still clings to you, woven into your skin.

Something deep in your chest thrums, like an ember catching fire.

Claudia is in the water now, too—but Mayo isn’t.

You turn just in time to see her jerk backward, her body stiff, her breath coming in short, terrified gasps.

And for the first time, you see what she sees.

Above, the golden figure is faltering.

The two blue ones—one crackling with electricity, the other exuding a slow, steady force—are smothering their light.

Your eyes narrow. The first blue figure, the one wrapped in lightning, looks familiar. Chris.

You don’t know the golden one, and you don’t know the other blue one either.

But Chris—you remember him. A conversation, distant but clear. You barely spoke. But even then, something about him had felt off.

And now, here he is.

Winning.

Mayo is frozen at the edge of the water, staring at them like they’re her salvation.

Like she doesn’t know which side she belongs on.

Claudia
The light calls to you.

It’s ahead—golden, pulsing, not just light but life itself, and you feel it pulling at you from the moment you see it. It wants you back.

Your breath is ragged, your legs burning, but the pain is nothing compared to what waits for you at the edge of the pool.

You drag Mayo behind you, her wrist slick with sweat, her steps uneven. She’s slowing down, stumbling, but you don’t stop.

You can’t stop.

You feel the pool’s warmth before you even reach it. It’s not just heat—it’s a promise. A relief you haven’t felt since stepping foot on this island.

It knows you.

It welcomes you.

It will make you whole again.

You don’t hesitate. Your body moves on instinct, feet hitting slick stone, the last step sending you weightless into the glow.

And the moment the water embraces you, you are home.

The jungle vanishes. The sickness, the voices, the fear—gone.

The warmth spills into you, wrapping around your skin, your lungs, your bones. It hums in your blood, pulling out the cold, the exhaustion, the weight of every terrible thing you’ve seen.

It never wanted to hurt you.

It was only ever trying to call you back.

You breathe in deep, and the water doesn’t fight you. It fills you instead, sinking into your chest, a pulse in sync with your own heartbeat.

It feels like belonging.

And then—

You realize.

You are alone.

Mayo isn’t with you.

Your eyes snap open. The warmth shatters, replaced with ice.

You break the surface with a gasp, twisting toward the shore—

Mayo stands at the edge of the pool.

Frozen.

Staring upward.

Your breath catches as you follow her gaze.

Above, two glowing figures stand victorious over a third, their blue energy crushing the golden one beneath them.

The golden figure is faltering, their light dimming, their body buckling under the weight of whatever the blue ones are doing to them.

And Mayo is watching them like they’re divine.

Like they’re the only thing that matters.

“No…” You push through the water, reaching toward her. “Mayo, entra en el agua. ¡Ahora!“

Her body shudders, but her eyes don’t leave the ones above.

“…ellos son los buenos,” she murmurs.

A chill races through you.

“¿Qué estás diciendo?” Your voice trembles.

She doesn’t answer.

She doesn’t even see you.

Jim emerges beside you, panting, his body shimmering with golden light. He follows your gaze. He sees what you see.

The golden figure is seconds from being destroyed.

Mayo is seconds from slipping away forever.

Jim turns to you, his face set, serious. You both know what’s coming next.

Mayo
You can’t believe she’s here.

For so long, you’ve felt alone, slipping between terror and exhaustion, running, hiding, obeying—but now Claudia has you, her hand tight around yours, pulling you forward.

You don’t resist. You don’t want to. You just want to go where she goes.

She says you’re close. That the pool will make everything better.

You want that. You want that more than anything.

She runs, and you run with her, matching her steps as best as you can. You feel lighter somehow, like maybe, if you can just keep going, if you can just hold on—

You’ll be safe.

The air warms the closer you get. The mist glows ahead, a golden shimmer pooling at the base of the falls.

It’s beautiful.

It’s safe.

And for the first time since you woke up on this cursed island, you believe.

Your breath catches in your throat as you see Jim leap into the water. His body erupts in light, and when he surfaces—he looks stronger. Like he’s been reborn.

Yes. This is it. This is where you belong.

Claudia tightens her grip.

You keep going.

You’re almost there.

And then—

You stop.

Not because you mean to.

Because you can’t move.

Claudia’s hand yanks forward as she keeps running, but you stay behind, like something unseen has slammed into your chest, locking you in place.

Your breath stutters. Your legs won’t work.

It’s like you’ve hit an invisible wall.

A whisper brushes your ear.

“You’re already home.”

A shiver crawls up your spine.

“Why are you running?”

Your pulse pounds. Your mouth opens—to say something, to call for Claudia—but the voices tighten around your mind, warm and soft and familiar.

“How many times have you tried to escape?“

“And how many times have we found you?”

Your breath comes faster now, shallow and panicked.

No. No, I want to go in.

“You don’t need it.”

Claudia shouts your name, and you try—God, you try—to move toward her, but the pull shifts.

Not toward the pool.

Toward the battle above.

The blue ones.

Your family.

You stagger back, and for the first time, Claudia turns to look at you—really look at you—and her face twists in horror.

“Mayo, entra en el agua. ¡Ahora!“

You want to.

You swear you want to.

But the water feels so far away now.

And the brothers above feel so close.

Wouldn’t it be easier just to stop fighting? Just this once?

Wouldn’t it be easier to listen?

Jim & Claudia’s Options (Choose Here)

Pull Mayo Into the Glowing Pool: She’s near the edge, just a few steps away, looking at them—not you or the water. She doesn’t understand. If she stays out there, she’ll be lost. One sharp pull, and she’s safe. One pull, and she stays yours.
Get Out and Intervene at the Top of the Waterfall: Time is slipping away. Every second wasted means the golden one suffers more. This isn’t just their fight anymore. You know the pool’s power—you’re stronger now. If you don’t act, who will?
Stay and Absorb More Power—You May Need It: The water is still filling you. You could leave half-formed, uncertain. Or give it one more moment to strengthen you. If you go now, will it be enough?

Mayo’s Options (Choose Here)

Allow Your Body to Be Pulled up to the Waterfall: They are calling to you in a warm, familiar way. You recognize them. You’ve been running for so long. Maybe this is where you were meant to be.
Fight with Every Last Fibre of Your Being Towards the Pool: The voices tighten around your mind, but you aren’t theirs. The golden-red glow is waiting for you. Claudia is waiting. You have to break free and fight. Whatever pulls you away—you will not let it win.
Stand Still and Try to Calm Your Own Mind: You can’t let them decide for you. This influence is stronger when you’re afraid. What if the only way to win is not to fight at all? Just stand. Breathe. See what’s real.

Part 4: Who Do We Kill First?

(Travis)

The jungle belongs to you now.

It bends for you, lets you crawl through the underbrush on all fours, your hands and feet pressing into the damp earth, moving in perfect sync with the others. The trees breathe around you, rustling like they whisper secrets only you and your pack can understand.

You belong here.

A low chuffing laugh ripples through the pack, a sound that used to be human but isn’t anymore.

“We smell him,” one of them growls beside you, amusement laced in his voice.

“Not far now,” another purrs. “His light is flickering.”

“We’ll eat well tonight,” another giggles, voice sharp like rusted metal.

Jim.

The Master wants Jim.

Your packmates snarl and snap at the air, baring teeth that aren’t quite the same as before, elongated, sharpened. Their hunger for the blue is thick, almost tangible.

Jim is supposed to be like them.

But if he isn’t—

Then his light will be ripped away.

“Tell us, Travis,” the one beside you croons, his voice slithering into your ear like a song you used to know. “Tell us about the one we hunt.”

Your muscles tighten. You remember Jim.

He helped you. He wanted to keep helping you.

But you have new friends now.

New family.

Jim has run too far from his place.

Your voice comes out in a low growl, natural, effortless. “He’s a fighter. He doesn’t just want to fight. But he thinks he is stronger than us.“

Your pack laughs.

“No one fights forever.”

The scout returns, slinking through the brush, his wide grin splitting his face. “He’s there,” he says, eyes gleaming. “At the water. Where it rushes too fast. Too bright. But it doesn’t matter. He’s waiting.”

You move.

Together.

A single, fluid shape, weaving through the jungle, your bodies low to the ground, swift and silent.

And then, you see it.

The waterfall crashes before you, a terrible, endless force, churning with light too unnatural, too strong.

And there—Jim.

But not as you expected.

He glows crimson.

The pack halts, their breath hitching in unison. A ripple of hesitation.

“No,” someone mutters. “No, that’s not right.”

“The Master didn’t say he’d burn.”

Your stomach twists. You stare at Jim, at the red light pouring from his skin.

He doesn’t look weak anymore.

Beside him, a second red figure swims—another enemy.

She glows like the first. Burning. Wrong. Corrupted.

But the other woman—

She is different.

She is faint blue, flickering, uncertain, like she could still be brought home.

The pack shifts uneasily, uncertain.

And then—

They see the ones above.

Two brilliant blue lights blaze at the top of the waterfall, crackling with power, standing victorious over another fallen red enemy.

Chris.

You remember him too.

Not much. But enough.

You liked him.

You think he’ll make a great ally.

The pack sees what you see.

Their unease vanishes.

One by one, their low, guttural sounds shift into something like a cheer, a howl, a celebration.

“The Master is pleased,” someone whispers.

“We have friends here,” another hisses.

“The blue will rise.”

The pack is no longer uncertain.

You have options now.

Jim, the lost one, glowing wrong, waiting to be claimed or killed.

Or the fallen red figure at the top of the waterfall, waiting to be snuffed out for good.

You crouch low, muscles tense, ready to move.

Travis’s Options (Choose Here)

Attack Jim as a Pack: He glows wrong. He was supposed to be yours, supposed to join, but now he burns red. He is waiting to be claimed or killed. Either way, he won’t escape.
Attack the Fallen Red Figure at the Waterfall: The battle is nearly over. The red one has already fallen. It would be easy—snuff them out, end them for good. A final act of devotion.
Split Up—Half for Jim, Half for the Waterfall: Why choose? Two enemies, two battles. Some of you will finish Jim, the rest will end the fallen one. A perfect hunt.
Stay Still, Wait, and Watch: The blue is winning. Maybe there is no need to strike—not yet. Urge the pack to wait and see what happens.

Part 5: A Gift

(Ian, Rosendo & Bryan)

Ian
You run towards the bunker through the trees.

The jungle is thick, swallowing you in damp shadows, the air clinging to your skin like something alive. Every step feels too slow. You should be faster. You should have planned better. But none of that matters now, because Bryan saw you.

You knew something was wrong the moment he turned.

It wasn’t just the way he stared directly at you as you hid, head tilted as if listening to something you couldn’t hear. It wasn’t just the way the air felt different, charged with something unnatural. It was the way he looked in your direction—not at you, but into you.

Like he already knew where you were.

Your footfalls are quick but clumsy, your heartbeat a frantic drumline in your ears. The bunker is ahead, buried in the dense foliage, concrete and steel—your last hope for safety. If you can just make it inside, you can barricade the door, catch your breath, figure out a plan.

Bryan isn’t following. That’s the worst part.

You take a chance, glance over your shoulder—and there he is.

Standing in the clearing, perfectly still.

He isn’t running. He isn’t chasing. He just watches.

The faintest of smirks curls at the edges of his mouth. Not anger. Not bloodlust. Curiosity.

Like a child testing the limits of a new toy.

You veer left, off-course, into thicker undergrowth. Maybe if you break line of sight—

Something tightens around your ankle.

At first, you think you’ve stepped into a root. Then the root moves.

It jerks backward, yanking you off balance, sending you sprawling to the ground. Dirt fills your mouth. Leaves scrape your skin. You twist, kick, but the roots—they slither.

They curl up your legs, wrapping tight, pulling you down.

Panic spikes through you like electricity. You claw at the dirt, at the tangled mess ensnaring your body, but the more you fight, the tighter they squeeze.

The ground isn’t just holding you—it’s taking you.

And when you look up, Bryan is walking toward you.

His movements are unhurried, deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment. The smug expression on his face is worse than rage—it’s satisfaction.

He lifts a hand, fingers curling.

The roots obey.

They surge upward, tightening around your thighs, your waist. Your ribs compress. The pressure builds—not enough to crush, not yet. Just enough to remind you who is in control.

Bryan stops a few feet away, tilting his head, studying you.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” His voice is calm, almost amused. “How quickly things change.”

Your breath is ragged. He’s enjoying this.

You knew Bryan back at the shipwreck. He wasn’t like this. He was just another survivor, scared, angry, hungry like the rest of you. But now…

Now he’s something else.

Something more.

The jungle seems to breathe with him, responding to his every unspoken command. You don’t know how, but you feel it. He’s part of the island now.

And you’re nothing but prey.

A shudder crawls down your spine. You have seconds to decide—maybe less.

Rosendo is still standing, but not for long. He has a chance to escape—if you can buy him the time. Keep Bryan focused, keep him talking, keep him looking at you instead of Rosendo. If he kills you, at least Rosendo gets away. Do you really want to die here?

Maybe if you beg, if you give him something to want more than revenge, he’ll let you live. Or turn him against Rosendo. Bryan’s rage is a wildfire, and fire doesn’t care what it burns. Remind him who put him in this position—maybe that will help you survive.

No good options. No guarantees.

The roots shift again, pulling you deeper.

Bryan hasn’t made his decision yet.

But he will.

Rosendo
You should have never come here.

The thought pounds through your skull as you stumble up the concrete stairs, breath ragged, heart slamming against your ribs. You wanted answers. That’s why you pried open the rusted doors, why you stepped into the dark, why you told yourself you could handle whatever you found.

Now you just want to get out.

Your hands shake as you grip the railing, pulling yourself forward. The stench of rot clings to your clothes, thick and nauseating, coating your tongue. The laboratory was supposed to be your salvation—a place of understanding, of control. Instead, it was a tomb.

And you were not alone.

You never saw it. You never had to. The sound was enough.

A slow, deliberate exhale, too deep to be human. The scrape of something heavy against the walls, claws dragging, testing, waiting. It wasn’t rushing. It knew you had nowhere to go.

You move faster, legs burning, the stairwell stretching into infinity. The air behind you feels thick, pressing at your back like something is leaning in.

It’s coming.

Your mind races—should you have locked Bryan out? The thought hits you out of nowhere, rising between the panic and the nausea. You don’t even know if he’s alive. You don’t know if he got away after you shut that door in his face, if he’s out there now, waiting. You don’t know anything.

And now you’re alone.

A low thud.

The sound echoes from below, reverberating up the stairwell. A second later, the scrape starts again.

You slam your shoulder against the final landing, gripping the bunker door with both hands, yanking it open. The humid morning air rushes in, shocking your lungs. You don’t hesitate. You throw yourself outside and turn, slamming the door behind you, locking whatever is down there inside.

Your breath shudders out of you. You’re safe. You made it.

And then you see him.

Bryan.

Standing in the clearing, alive.

No—more than alive.

He’s changed.

You freeze where you stand, pulse hammering in your ears. He looms over Ian, who is sprawled on the ground, his limbs tangled in twisting, writhing roots. Ian isn’t screaming. He’s staring at Bryan, chest rising and falling in short, frantic breaths.

You take a step back. A mistake.

Bryan’s head turns.

His gaze locks onto you.

For a second—just one second—your breath catches. You see something in his expression that wasn’t there before.

Satisfaction.

Like the island just handed him a gift.

The realization slams into you like a wave of cold water. You ran from one nightmare straight into another.

You don’t know what happened to Bryan after you locked him out. But looking at him now—the way the jungle seems to shift with his presence, the way Ian is helpless beneath his power—you know whatever came next, it changed him.

And you’re not sure you can stop him.

Your mind races. The bunker door is shut, locked tight behind you. You could turn around, go back inside—but you know what’s waiting in there. You could run, but Bryan is stronger now, faster, and you don’t know how far his power reaches.

Or you could try something else.

Appeal to him. Apologize, tell him you were wrong, hope that something human is still left inside.
Fight. If you strike first, maybe—maybe—you can catch him off guard.
Or run. Hope your legs carry you faster than his roots can grab you.

Bryan tilts his head.

Behind him, the roots tighten around Ian’s body.

He’s choosing.

And you don’t know if you’ll get the chance to run before he decides.

Bryan
Ian looks small.

You never noticed it before. He always had that quiet presence, that careful distance, never too close, never fully part of the group. He watched from the edges, studied, calculated.

But now?

Now he’s nothing.

The roots coil around his legs, his arms, his chest. They pulse, slow and deliberate, adjusting to his shallow, rapid breaths. You feel them. Not just see them—you feel them.

The damp weight of the vines in the soil. The sharp prickle where they touch his skin. The way they squeeze, the way they want to squeeze tighter.

You flex your fingers, and they obey.

A test.

Ian gasps as the roots shift, pulling him a fraction deeper. Just a fraction.

His eyes snap to yours, wide and pleading.

“Bryan—”

The name feels distant, hollow. It means nothing now.

There was a time you might have cared. A time you might have hesitated. But that time is gone, pulled into the ground just like Ian will be.

This is what they all deserve.

The ones who played their little games. The ones who thought they were smarter, stronger, better. You’ve spent too long being a pawn. Too long watching, waiting, hoping for scraps of power while others dictated the rules.

Not anymore.

The island chose you.

It hums in your blood, in your bones. It fills the space where doubt used to be, whispers where hesitation once lived. You don’t second-guess anymore. The moment you took the power, it became part of you.

The earth beneath your feet isn’t just earth—it’s yours.

You exhale, closing your fingers into a fist.

The roots squeeze.

Ian chokes. His body jerks as the tendrils tighten around his ribs. A weak, strangled sound leaves his throat. His hands, trembling, try to pry at the vines, but there’s no breaking free.

And then—

A sound.

The slam of a metal door.

You turn.

Rosendo stands outside the bunker, bathed in golden morning light. His chest rises and falls too fast, his hands clenched, his posture stiff. He looks afraid.

Good.

You remember him.

The bunker door. The way he locked it. The way he locked you out.

For a long time, you weren’t sure if you’d ever see him again. Maybe he was already dead, buried beneath the island’s secrets. But here he is—shaking, sweating, alive.

He saw something in there. You can tell.

It’s in his eyes, the way they dart between you and Ian, the way his muscles stay taut, like he’s trapped between two horrors and doesn’t know which one is worse.

A slow smile spreads across your lips.

You already know which one is worse.

The island hums again, low and deep, curling around your mind like a whisper. It gave you what you wanted.

Ian. Helpless. At your mercy.
Rosendo. Frozen, knowing what he did, knowing he might be next.

This is it.

You have everything.

You could finish Ian right now. Bury him. Erase him. Make him an example, so the others learn what happens when they underestimate you.

Or—

You could turn your power on Rosendo. Make him see what locking you out really cost him.

You breathe in.

The earth shifts.

Ian’s Options (Choose Here)

Keep Bryan Focused on You: You can’t break free, but you can buy time. Keep talking, keep him locked on you. If he’s paying attention to you, he’s not chasing Rosendo.
Beg for Your Life: Say anything, promise anything. You don’t want to die here. Bryan was normal once—maybe there’s still a way to reach him.
Turn Him Against Rosendo: It’s not too late to shift the target. Make Bryan see that Rosendo is the real problem. If he chases him, you might survive this.

Rosendo’s Options (Choose Here)

Attack Bryan in a Rage: You won’t run. You won’t beg. If Bryan wants a fight, give him one. The best defence is a good offence.
Flee into the Jungle: This isn’t your fight anymore. Bryan is dangerous, Ian is doomed—get out while you still can.
Open the Door and Hide Outside: Whatever is inside could deal with Bryan for you. Or at least it could be a useful distraction.
Open the Door and Go Back In: You know what’s behind that door. Bryan isn’t your biggest problem. Go back inside—you’d rather face what’s in there.

Bryan’s Options (Choose Here)

Finish Ian First: Rosendo isn’t going anywhere. Ian is right here, restrained, helpless. End him now—then deal with Rosendo.
Turn on Rosendo: Ian can wait. Rosendo is the one who did this to you. Make him pay, make him regret ever crossing you.
Cool Down, Stop the Madness: You’ve already gone too far. If you keep going, there’s no coming back. Walk away. Prove you still have control.

Part 6: There Are No Good Options

(Andrew, Jill, Cowin, Jordanna & Boon)

Andrew
You’ve made a lot of bad decisions on this island, but this isn’t one of them. Following the scream is the right move.

The island has a pattern—bold choices get rewarded. People who play it safe? They get sharked, swallowed, or worse. And sure, that scream sounded like it came from something currently removing someone’s spine, but that just means it’s where the action is.

You turn to Cowin first, because you know he’s the easier sell.

“Alright, man. Think about it. We’ve been through some real premium-grade nightmare fuel together: first, the bone-dust freakshow on the shipwreck that gave us the world’s worst headache. Then, the storm that launched the ship out to sea like it was nothing. Then, oh yeah, the SHARK. And just when we thought ‘Wow, this place sucks, but at least the ground is stable,’ Boon got slurped into the Earth by like a million hands.“

You give Cowin a look. A ‘Tell me, honestly, how does it get worse than this?’ look.

Cowin exhales through his nose. He hates that you make a good point.

“Fine,” he mutters. “But if I get eaten by the next thing we find, I’m coming back to haunt you.”

One down.

Now for Boon.

You try humour, because it’s the only tool in your survival kit that hasn’t completely failed you yet.

“C’mon, Boon. You follow us, I promise not to get handsy.”

It lands with the grace of a thrown brick.

Boon doesn’t react. Not even a side glance, not even an exhausted sigh. Instead, he stands there, arms crossed, staring at the ocean like it’s going to apologize.

The island broke something in him. You can tell.

You want to ask him what he saw down there. You really do. But now’s not the time.

Better to wait for a nice campfire moment. A “we finally found food and we’re actually eating it” moment. A “we’re not about to be murdered by everything and everyone” moment.

For now, he’ll follow. Because being alone isn’t an option.

You start walking.

The sand shifts beneath your feet as you move up the beach, jungle looming ahead, shadows getting thicker. And that’s when your gut twists.

Left side.

You had already noticed the shipwreck had moved. You were pretending you didn’t. Because the last time you saw it? It was sinking. In the ocean. As in, nowhere near here. But now it’s just… sitting on the coast like it’s been there forever. Like it belongs.

And someone is walking from that direction.

This isn’t great.

You don’t even have to squint to know this isn’t someone you’ve seen before.

She’s got this whole ‘lost mom at a grocery store’ energy. Like she should be handing out homemade sandwiches and reminding you to call your grandmother.

Which would actually be nice. You miss your mom.

But also, your body instantly doesn’t like her.

It’s not fear. It’s something worse.

It’s like the moment you lock eyes with someone at a party and know, deep in your soul, that they’re about to trap you in a 45-minute conversation about politics.

Except instead of your brain wanting to escape, it’s your whole body.

You want to move away from her.

You don’t know why.

And that? That’s a bad sign.

Your grip tightens. You ready yourself.

Jill
You haven’t interacted with another person in hours.

It shouldn’t feel like that long, but time stretches differently here. The island swallows it, bends it, makes you question how long you’ve really been alone.

And loneliness is dangerous.

So when you see them—three figures moving along the beach—relief washes over you like sunlight after rain.

Even before you get close, you already know things about them. It’s more than body language, more than intuition. Something deep inside you reaches out—pulls you into the shape of their pain.

The frantic one—wired, restless, like he’s waiting for the world to punch him in the face so he can laugh about it later. He’s Andrew. He keeps moving, keeps thinking like he’s playing a game he’s starting to realize might not have rules.

The big one—his steps slow, deliberate, like he’s bracing himself for the next thing to go wrong. That’s Cowin. He wants to believe in survival, but he’s exhausted, in a way no amount of sleep can fix.

And the last one—Boon.

You barely need your newfound sight to know he’s unwell.

It’s not just exhaustion. It’s not just fear. It’s something deeper.

As you step closer, it sharpens. You can almost see what he’s been through.

The shipwreck. The storm ripping apart the world around him.

The woman—Mayo? Her face twisted, something unnatural taking over, forcing him to fight, burning his hand.

And then way more hands.

Your stomach clenches. Not just hands. Arms. Bodies beneath. Dragging him down. The sand swallowing him whole, pulling him into the dark beneath the island.

The pain he carries is all-consuming, but it hasn’t infected him. Not like the other two.

Because Andrew and Cowin…

They’re sick, too. But not like Boon.

Boon’s pain is raw, fresh. It needs healing.

But Andrew and Cowin’s sickness is buried. Twisted into them. Like a deep, festering wound that hasn’t started showing on the surface yet.

And worse—they don’t know it.

For a split second, your body reacts before your mind.

It wants to pull away.

You push the feeling down.

Because you care. And caring means pushing closer, not pulling away.

So you keep walking.

They see you now, and Andrew’s reaction is immediate. His stance shifts—not aggressive, but defensive, like he’s bracing for whatever comes next.

Cowin is more measured, watching, waiting.

Boon barely looks up.

You raise your hands slightly—not surrender, just openness.

“I saw what happened to you.”

Cowin tenses. Andrew’s eyes narrow.

“That so?” Andrew says, voice sharp but not unkind.

“I want to help.”

And you mean it. More than anything.

Cowin doesn’t trust you yet. But he doesn’t push you away. That’s enough.

Andrew studies you, searching for the catch, then shrugs.

“Well, we’re following the scream. You in?”

And you smile.

Because they heard a scream.

But you?

You heard a call to action.

Cowin
You walk.

One foot in front of the other, sand shifting beneath you, the jungle getting closer. It should be a relief—more cover, less exposure—but your gut twists tighter with every step.

Because Jill is with you now.

She’s walking just ahead, shoulders loose, pace easy, like this is normal. And maybe for her, it is.

But nothing about this is normal for you.

You keep a little distance—not enough to be obvious, just enough to feel in control. But deep down, you already know.

She’s a part of this now.

And that? That unsettles you more than anything.

She doesn’t look like someone who should survive here. She’s not wired like Andrew, not worn thin like Boon, not waiting for the worst like you. She looks… steady.

And you don’t trust that.

Safety doesn’t exist here. You learned that back at the shipwreck. You learned it in the storm. You learned it when the shark looked at you like it knew you.

People don’t stay steady here. They break. They shatter. They get swallowed by the sand.

But Jill?

She’s still standing.

And somehow, that makes her feel more dangerous.

You glance at her, trying not to be obvious about it. She’s watching you too. Not openly. Not in a way that most people would notice. But you’re not most people.

She’s choosing her words carefully. She’s giving just enough information to feel honest, but never more than that. You recognize the tactic. You’ve used it before.

And yet, you can’t shake the feeling that she knows more than she’s letting on. Not about the island. About you.

It makes your stomach curl.

You’ve had plenty of people look at you before. But you don’t think anyone’s ever looked at you like this.

Like they see something in you that you don’t.

And you don’t know if you want to know what it is.

The jungle looms just ahead, the trees dark and thick, the wind stirring the leaves. It should feel like an escape. Instead, it feels like you’re walking into something waiting for you.

And maybe you are.

You glance at Jill again, just for a second.

And she smiles.

It’s not fake. It’s not forced. It’s warm, honest.

And it makes your throat go tight with something you don’t have a name for.

Because Jill is safe.

And she’s the worst possible thing that could’ve happened to you.

You don’t know why.

But you know enough to be afraid.

Then, without breaking stride, you feel it.

A shift in the air behind you, like pressure dropping before a storm. The weight of something powerful—something deliberate—moving toward you.

You don’t turn around right away. You already know what’s there.

And that’s what terrifies you the most.

Jordanna
You follow them. They don’t know it yet.

They move up the beach, walking toward the jungle’s edge, their backs turned to you. You don’t need to hear their words to understand what’s happening. Andrew’s restless, full of noise. Cowin’s cautious, holding his exhaustion like armour. Boon is barely moving.

And the woman…

The moment your eyes land on her, your stomach twists.

She glows. A deep, bloody crimson, pulsing with something unnatural. It isn’t like the island’s energy. It isn’t like the comforting whispers. It is wrong.

The sight of it makes you sick. Not the kind of sickness that weakens—it’s a rejection, a force deep inside you that wants to expel her like poison in the blood.

She doesn’t walk like the others. She moves like she belongs here, like she understands something they don’t. Like she’s already figured out the answers you had to claw through blood and salt water to find.

She is wrong.

The voices are clearer now, but they don’t scream. They don’t demand. They simply guide. You know this isn’t like before. The power inside you isn’t something to fear anymore. It’s part of you now.

Your fingers curl, feeling the charge thrumming beneath your skin, ready to be released. You haven’t tested it, but you don’t need to. The knowledge is already there. You aren’t afraid of losing anymore. You aren’t afraid of anything.

Boon is nothing. A nuisance. The island is done with him. He has no further use.

Andrew and Cowin—they are something else. They could be valuable. They could help you. The voices don’t tell you to spare them, but they don’t command their deaths, either.

Jill must go.

There is no hesitation, no doubt. This is certainty.

You step forward, the soft heat of the morning sun not touching your skin as you move out of the tree line. The fire behind you has long since burned down, leaving only cold ash. You don’t need the fire anymore. You don’t need anything but this moment.

The power in your hands is coiled, eager, instinctive. It surges through you, waiting to be released. You pull on it like a muscle, a part of you that has always been there, waiting to be used. This is what you were meant for.

And then—you feel it.

Something pushes back.

A sharp, invisible force against your chest. Not pain, not quite, but a rejection. Like two poles of a magnet repelling each other.

You don’t understand at first. And then you do.

She feels you, too.

Her presence resists yours, like oil and water refusing to mix. You’re the same, but not. Two forces that cannot coexist.

Your fingers snap forward, blue light crackling at your fingertips. The energy moves without effort, like your body has known how to do this forever. It’s effortless. It’s right.

And in that moment, you think of Lauren.

She could have killed you. She could have taken everything from you, consumed you entirely, and made you nothing. But she didn’t.

You should be grateful. You should feel relieved.

Instead, there is only a dull, inexplicable sadness.

Did it mean something? Was that sacrifice going to be worth anything?

But it’s too late now.

You’ve committed.

The power leaves your hands, surging toward the crimson woman.

There is no turning back.

Boon
You should be dead.

You thought you were dead.

You still might be.

Because this? This isn’t real.

You lie in the sand, body weak, arms limp at your sides, the taste of salt still thick in your mouth. It should have ended back there. Beneath the sand, in the dark, in the suffocating nothing where you saw…

No. Don’t think about it.

But you can’t help it. You saw something moving under there. Not just the hands. Not just the ones that grabbed you, that clawed at your skin, wrapped around your throat, dragged you under like you weighed nothing. They were just the surface, just the first layer of whatever lives beneath this place.

There was something deeper. Something huge. It shifted beneath you like a living wave, rising and falling with slow, deliberate movements. It was made of them. Of the lost. Of those taken. Arms and legs and faces all pressed together, stretching, twisting, writhing, thousands of them fused into one endless thing. Some reached for you, their mouths opening soundlessly. Others had no mouths at all. And at the very center of it all, something was looking at you.

And then you were gone. Or it was.

You should be dead. Maybe you already are.

Because now, here you are, lying in the sand, barely holding yourself together while the world tears itself apart around you.

The fight is happening above you, all around you, and it’s too much.

Jordanna and Jill—they aren’t people anymore. They are something bigger, louder, heavier. They are forces colliding, forces that shouldn’t exist in the same place.

The wind screams past your ears, the sand lifting, swirling, trying to bury you again. Your body aches, your ribs burn, but you can’t move. You can only watch.

Jordanna moves with purpose, with hunger. Eyes glowing blue, the same shade you saw in Mayo before she lunged at you like an animal. But this is worse. Because this isn’t desperation. This is certainty. Jordanna isn’t trying to survive. She is delivering a message.

Every time her hands snap forward, lightning tears through the storm, cutting through the walls of sand Jill keeps trying to build. The force of it shakes the ground beneath you, sends sharp jolts through your skull, like something deep in the earth is answering her call.

You hear her voice through the wind, sharp and commanding. Not her voice, exactly. Something layered beneath it. Something older.

Jill doesn’t run. She stands firm, hands raised, the sand around her twisting into walls, spiraling into shields. The lightning shatters them on impact, but she keeps pulling more from the earth, the storm feeding her as much as it’s feeding Jordanna.

The wind howls. The sky darkens. The clouds multiply too fast, too thick, rolling in like the end of the world. You can hear something cracking, splitting apart—not from the storm, but from the energy Jill is pulling up from the island itself.

And then you realize—you aren’t the only one being torn apart.

You try to focus, to move, to shake yourself out of it, but your body isn’t yours anymore. Your skin burns, your breath feels thick and wrong, and you see them.

Andrew.

He’s staggering, eyes too wide, pupils too dark. Blood drips from his nose, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His fingers twitch like something is trying to crawl up through his veins, moving beneath his skin, waking up inside him. He looks sick. He looks like he’s fighting something. And losing.

Cowin is shaking. His breath too slow, too deliberate. The veins in his arms are dark, standing out in deep, branching lines across his skin. He looks rooted in place, like he’s holding himself together by force alone. But you can see it in his eyes—he doesn’t know how much longer he can fight it.

They aren’t just being hurt.

They’re being pulled into something.

And Jordanna is the one pulling them.

If she wins, what happens to them?

Do they change? Do they break? Do they become like her?

You don’t know what to do. Your hands dig into the sand, but there’s nothing to hold onto. The air is too charged, too heavy, pressing in from all sides, making it impossible to breathe.

Then, the final moment crashes down.

Lightning meets sand. A final, killing strike, both of them unleashing everything at once.

The world splits apart.

Time stops.

The air pauses.

And something speaks.

Not words. Not human. Something older. Something absolute.

Choose.

Survive—or be consumed.

There is no other option.

And suddenly, you know not all of you are walking away from this.

Andrew’s Options (Choose Here)

Fight It: What’s waking back up inside you, shove it back down. Stay in control. If you can resist, you prove that you’re still you. If you succeed, you walk away with your mind intact, maybe stronger than before. But if you fail, you might not stop what happens next.
Let It Take You: Stop fighting. Let what’s inside do what it wants. It might know something you don’t. You don’t have to be afraid. Let go, and you might gain knowledge or power to help you understand. Maybe it’s a gift. But if Jill or Boon sees you as a threat, they won’t wait for an explanation.
Run, Get out: You don’t have time to understand. If you stay, the storm will swallow you whole. Leaving might cost you the trust of Cowin and Boon, but staying means certain doom.

Jill’s Options (Choose Here)

Hold the Line: Keep fighting and using the island’s power, no matter the cost. You’ll overpower Jordanna and win, showing others your true strength. But the more power you use, the harder it is to stop. What if the island decides to take something back?
Let Go: Surrender your power. Trust that you can survive without it. You don’t need to fight like this; winning isn’t just about power. If Jordanna or the others don’t intervene, you’ve made yourself an easy target.
Focus on Protecting the Others: The island gave you power—maybe you can give something in return. It might reward you with something stronger to help them, something you can use to end this whole thing. Or you may only lose yourself in the process.

Cowin’s Options (Choose Here)

Resist: You won’t be controlled by the island or Jordanna. Stay yourself and fight against what tries to take hold of you. Winning proves your strength, but the battle is weakening you. If you don’t fight hard, it might break you first.
Give In: Let it take you. Stop fighting. The struggle ends. If you let go, maybe it’s survival. But if Jill or Boon sees you changing, they might not wait to see what you become.
Escape: Get as far away as possible before it’s too late. You live; that’s all that matters. But Andrew, Boon, and Jill might see you as a coward if they survive.

Jordanna’s Options (Choose Here)

Finish It: Kill the threat. Complete your purpose. The battle will end, and she dies. You prove your strength. The island rewards you, but if you fail, you become her biggest enemy.
Hesitate: Something feels wrong. You could walk away now. Maybe this isn’t the right fight. But if you stop, you become vulnerable; Andrew or Cowin might strike first.
Abandon the Fight: Forget them. Leave them behind. The island has bigger plans for you. You don’t need this fight. You don’t need them. Pay Lauren forward.

Boon’s Options (Choose Here)

Save Andrew & Cowin: They’re being pulled into something worse. If you do nothing, they won’t come back. You stop whatever is happening to them and prove you still have something left to fight for. But it takes everything you have, and if you’re not strong enough, you might get pulled under with them.
Save Yourself: You can’t help them; you can barely help yourself. Get out while you can. You survive. Don’t risk yourself for people who might be lost. If Andrew or Cowin survive, they might not forgive you for leaving.
Let Go: Stop fighting. Sink into the sand. The truth might lie beneath. If you go, you may not return. You’ve been struggling since the start, and it’s led you nowhere.

Part 7: Where You Really Are

(Michelle)

You walk with certainty, but not with understanding.

The jungle is still alive here, and so are you. The path ahead feels known, even though you’ve never walked it before. It’s not just instinct—it’s something deeper, something threading beneath your feet. The roots of the Bloodwood Tree stretch through the earth like veins, pulling you forward. You do not know where you’re going, but you suspect.

And then you feel it.

Another battle.

You sensed the first one hours ago, though you never saw it. Now, another storm rises, even stronger, somewhere near the shore. The air vibrates with its violence. The island is at war. But you don’t know who’s fighting. You don’t know what side they’re on.

You only know you’re on the right one.

The jungle shifts as you push forward. The trees grow thinner. The air grows colder. The green is fading, and something else is taking its place. Veins of blue climb the trunks, crawling like parasites, suffocating the life from them.

You reach out. You don’t mean to, but you do.

Your palm presses against one of the infected trees. You feel… both. The fading life, fragile and exhausted. The growing corruption, hungry, persistent. You let your power flow, the warmth of the Bloodwood Tree rushing through your skin.

The blue retreats.

It pulls back like something alive, shrinking into the dirt. The tree breathes again, just for a moment.

But you feel it—the cost.

A small, sharp loss. Your power is not endless. The Bloodwood Tree gave you something, but it did not make you invincible.

You step back. The tree survives, but only one. The others remain untouched, their sickness too deep, too far gone. And soon, there are no trees left at all.

You step into a clearing that should not exist.

It is enormous. A scar carved into the land, where the jungle should be, but isn’t. The crater pulses bright blue, its glow unnatural even in the morning sun. The fungal veins writhe beneath your feet, sensing you, shifting as if alive.

No sound. No animals. No wind.

You have reached the wound.

The place from your visions.

You stand at the edge, staring down into the impossible chasm. The air feels electric, like something is waiting. Watching.

And then, like a television flickering on in another room, you feel it before you hear it.

Ah, Michelle.

The voice is not like the island’s. It does not whisper through trees, does not hum beneath the roots, does not echo through water.

It is sharp. Clear.

It is speaking directly to you.

You are a clever one. You got here faster than most. Faster than they ever do.

The voice shifts—warm, cruel, amused, disappointed. Never settling.

But of course you did. I’ve been watching you. I’ve been watching all of you.

Your breath catches.

It’s lying.

No—it’s telling the truth.

You don’t know.

The crater pulses—and suddenly, you see.

The storm screaming across the island, tearing apart the sky. The waves rising too high, rushing too fast, swallowing Sara R and Emily whole.

The ship dragged beneath the water, the bodies of Sara M and Lauren inside left to drown.

Kate, standing alone, her breath sharp, her mind fraying, the island pushing her further and further until she wasn’t Kate anymore.

The island did this.

Not the voice.

You blame me, the voice hums, almost amused. But I am the only thing stopping it from happening again.

You step back.

You have been told a story, Michelle. A simple one. That there is a sickness here, and you are meant to stop it. That there is something wrong with this place, something unnatural, something that needs to be undone.

And yet… what have you seen?

The storm ripping through the trees, tearing apart minds and bodies alike.

The waves choosing their victims, dragging them under.

The jungle twisting, consuming, pushing people to the edge.

Tell me… The voice is softer now, almost curious. Do you really believe this place was ever safe?

The fungal veins at your feet shift slightly. You don’t know if it’s in response to him, or to you.

It wasn’t always like this. But the island doesn’t care about that. It only cares about one thing.

Silence. The air is thick, expectant.

It only cares about itself.

Your pulse is too loud in your ears.

The tree doesn’t tell you what it is. It only tells you what you need to hear. And you… The voice is closer, though it has not moved. You are one of its favourites. I can tell.

Something shifts in its tone—curiosity, amusement. A test.

But you are different.

A pause. Then, a slow, delighted laugh.

Most of them don’t get this far. They listen to the wrong things. They turn away. You? You keep moving forward. That’s why I like you.

The crater pulses.

You want to stop this? You want to understand?

The world is waiting.

Step into the crater… and I’ll tell you where you really are.

Michelle’s Options (Choose Here)

Burn Away the Corruption: Strike at the fungal veins, sever his grip on the island. If his power is weakened, maybe the others will have a chance.
Destroy Him: You don’t need to listen. You don’t need to understand. The Bloodwood Tree gave you strength—use it. End this now.
Steal His Secrets: Call upon the Bloodwood Tree, but not to fight. To deceive. If you can disrupt him, catch him off guard, maybe you can take something valuable before he realizes.
Let Him In: No more resisting. No more fighting. Just listen. Let him show you what he sees, what he knows. Let him tell you where you really are.

Part 8: No Time To Breathe

(Mike)

You chose to wake up.

Not because you understand what’s happening. Not because you’ve unraveled the mystery of this place, or grasped the meaning behind the visions burning through your mind. No—you chose because you want control back.

You can’t keep floating through this. Can’t keep letting the whispers push and pull you. You are not a piece on someone else’s board.

So you push back.

At first, it’s like swimming against a riptide, the current of not-waking pulling at you, refusing to let go. The world around you is not quite real—or maybe too real. Shapes flicker in the dark.

A staircase. At its base, a gruesome altar of black stone. Three figures stand before it—two women, one man. You should know them. You do know them. But their faces are blurred, smeared like paint dripping in the rain.

The voices slither in:

They are lost. They will all be lost.

You push harder.

A beach. Wind howls. Lightning cracks. Two women wield the storm itself, while three men scatter for cover. Sand twists into claws, the sky rips apart.

They think they are strong.

A flash—the waterfall. Blackened sleek creatures stalk forward, hungry. But one stands apart—a pale figure, light-skinned, with tattered clothes barely hanging onto his frame.

He was not meant to be here. None of them were.

The whispers overlap, distort, rise in pitch. You grit your teeth. You will wake up.

A clearing, tense with violence. Three men stand—fear, anger, regret warping the air between them, a moment away from something irreversible.

A woman at the crater’s edge, staring into the abyss.

The universe hanging in the balance.

The whispers scream.

You are not ready.

You will never understand.

It is all a lie.

There is no waking up.

You could be free.

The weight of the voices crushes you, pulls you under. But you refuse. You refuse. You dig your heels into the nothingness, clench your fists against the void, and push—

Sunlight.

Warmth.

Silence.

You open your eyes.

For a moment, the world is… still.

The twisted branch structure looms above, sunlight filtering through the gaps. The warmth touches your skin—not oppressive, but perfect. Your body hums with an energy you shouldn’t have after what you just endured.

Your head doesn’t hurt.

Your vision is clear.

The voices are gone.

You sit up slowly, heart still hammering in your chest. The walls of the structure… they’re just walls now. The words that once twisted through the branches, calling you to sleep—gone.

You almost feel like you could lie back down.

For the first time in what feels like forever, there is no pressure. No pull.

Deep down, you know you’ve been released from something.

You don’t know what. You don’t know if you’re safe. You don’t even know if that peace was won or stolen.

And then—the first boom.

You snap to attention, body tensing before your mind catches up. The air shudders around you. A distant, deep, earthshaking sound.

You rise to your feet and step outside.

Cold.

The warmth vanishes the second you cross the threshold. The air bites at your skin, crisp and unsettling. The difference is immediate—like stepping out of a sauna into the dead of winter.

Your pulse quickens. The island isn’t still.

Another boom. Closer. Different direction.

And then—voices.

Raised voices to the north. Not distant, not dreamlike—real.

Your mind sharpens. One thing is certain: you are not alone yet.

And the island?

It isn’t quiet after all.

Mike’s Options (Choose Here)

Follow the Voices: Head north toward the raised voices. They are close, real, and human. Answers—or danger—await.
Face the Thunder: Move south, toward the louder boom. If something is shaking the island itself, it might be worth seeing before it’s too late.
Hunt the Echoes: Go west, following the quieter, distant booms. If something is happening further away, you may have time to prepare—or to witness unnoticed.
Embrace the Silence: Walk east, toward the comparative quiet. The island is never truly silent, but for now, it whispers rather than roars. Maybe that’s where you’ll find clarity.

Part 9: A Test

(Chelsea & Peter)

Chelsea
You drift.

Not as a body. Not as something solid or real. You are thought, you are choice. A mind floating in the warmth of the gold cloud, where the light is endless and everything you were before feels distant. Lighter.

You chose this.

Not the cold pull of the blue. Not the easy embrace of knowledge that was never meant for you. You chose to fight. You chose to survive.

And yet, the regret lingers.

The staircase. The moment your fingers brushed against the shifting blue veins. How it slid into your mind, curled around your thoughts. You told yourself you were resisting—but were you? You let it in. You listened.

And when the time came, when the engine roared beneath you and Peter’s life was in your hands—you pulled him in. Was it really your choice? Maybe not. But you wouldn’t be here if you had made the right one earlier.

You want to hold onto that regret. You deserve it.

But the light is dissolving it. Softly, relentlessly, like waves erasing footprints from the shore. It wants to take it away.

You let it.

And for a moment, there is peace. You are safe here. Weightless. Floating in the golden glow, the warmth pouring into you like the opposite of infection—cleansing, healing. The color wraps around you, an endless nebula of light and life.

This is what you wanted. This is what you—

Something is wrong.

A ripple moves through the cloud, like a shift in the current. The warmth wavers. The glow flickers.

And then you feel it.

Something inside you that does not belong. A stain, a trace of the cold, creeping tendrils that once coiled through your thoughts. The blue is still there.

The island knows.

The warmth turns searing, piercing. Not cruel, but uncompromising. It does not beg. It does not explain.

It tests.

The light coalesces before you, solidifying into a figure.

It is not you. But it could be.

A hollowed-out shape, darkened skin webbed with shifting blue veins. Its eyes glow cold. Its breath is shallow. It stands in the space before you, silent, waiting.

And then it collapses.

Falling, broken, its body curling in on itself. Its breath ragged, limbs trembling, veins crawling deeper into its skin. Dying.

No voice explains what this is. No whisper tells you what to do. But you understand.

It is suffering. The island’s suffering.

This is what the corruption does—it takes. It hollows. It withers. And the island, for all its warmth, cannot heal on its own.

The test is not endurance. The test is not suffering.

The test is simple.

The figure on the ground reaches for you.

A fragile hand, shaking, infected. The blue is spreading deeper, threading through the skin, warping it from the inside out.

It will consume them.

Unless you stop it.

The warmth surges in your chest, ready to be used. You don’t know how. You don’t know if it will work.

The island does not explain. It does not guide you.

It only waits.

The glow is fading.

What do you do?

Chelsea’s Options (Choose Here)

Walk Away: This is not your fight. The island is not your responsibility. Whatever this thing is, whatever the test wants from you—you don’t have to play along. Leave it behind.
Help It: You don’t know how, don’t know if it will work. But if the island can’t heal on its own, maybe you can do something. Maybe you can try to help this thing.
Stomp it Out: The blue corruption is spreading, twisting it from the inside out. If you destroy it now, you stop it from becoming something worse. You stop the suffering before it can spread.

Peter
You drift.

Not as a body. Not as something solid or real. You are thought, you are choice. A mind suspended in the stillness of the blue cloud, where the air is thin and everything you were before feels distant. Colder.

You chose this.

Not the warmth of the gold. Not the path of struggle, of resistance. You chose understanding. You chose purpose.

And yet, the regret lingers.

The island has been calling you for so long. It whispered through the wind, through the shifting tides, through the hollowed-out remains of those who came before. You spent so much time trying to decipher it, to grasp the shape of something beyond human comprehension. You wanted to know.

But knowledge is not given. It is taken.

You thought you could fight it. You thought if you just held on tight enough, if you just kept searching, kept resisting—maybe you could make your own path. But the island always wins.

And when the engine roared beneath you, when Chelsea’s hand gripped yours in desperation—she killed you.

It wasn’t your surrender. But it was an understanding. You were never in control. You never had a choice.

The island took you.

And now, finally, you are ready to be its instrument.

The cold is absolute. The blue cloud does not embrace you. It swallows you whole.

It is not like the gold. It does not pulse with life, does not move like a thing that breathes. The gold seemed alive. The blue is stillness. Vast, silent, endless.

There is no warmth here. No comfort.

Only knowledge.

It unspools before you, a slow, creeping flood of visions. The island’s past. Its present. Its endless, twisting futures. You see the cycles of death and renewal, the way the land itself reshapes, reclaims. You understand now.

The island does not need you to survive.

It needs you to act.

And then, a ripple moves through the cloud. Like a disturbance in deep water.

The silence wavers. The stillness fractures.

And then you feel it.

Something watching.

Something waiting.

A test.

The light before you does not glow. It flickers weakly, like the last embers of a fire struggling against an ocean tide.

And then, in the cold, something moves.

A creature—collapsed, pathetic, dying.

You do not know what it once was. It does not belong to anything you recognize, but you know it is part of the island. You see it in the way it struggles, in the way its limbs twitch and shudder, failing to hold its weight. It is wrapped in something dark and clinging—veins of thick, golden rot, strangling it from the inside.

It is suffering. The island’s suffering.

It has been infected by something that does not belong. It is weak. It is dying.

The cold whispers inside you, through you. Not words—direction. Understanding.

The island does not tolerate weakness.

The test is simple.

It does not reach for you.

It does not beg.

It simply waits.

And you know, in the hollow spaces between thoughts, in the creeping chill of this place, that the island is watching.

But it does not guide you.

It only watches.

The cold is deepening.

What do you do?

Peter’s Options (Choose Here)

Leave It: This is not your fight. The island is watching, but it does not demand. Weakness is not yours to carry. Walk away, and let it fade.
Help It: The rot is suffocating it, strangling it from the inside out. If you act now, you might be able to stop it. But you don’t know what will happen if you try, but you need to help it.
Destroy It: The island does not tolerate weakness. End this before the rot spreads, before it takes something else. Prove you are stronger.

	jeanssyrai on Chapter 12: The Quiet Between…
	Anonymous on Chapter 9: Domination
	inquisitivelypoetry8… on Chapter 6: Surrender Comes…
	survivorhamilton on Chapter 2: Into the Unkno…
	Anonymous on Chapter 2: Into the Unkno…

Chapter 10: You Don’t Belong Here

Chapter 10: You Don’t Belong Here

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Part 7: Where You Really Are

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