Chapter One
The night had swallowed the jungle whole. Silence hung in the air, thick and oppressive, like the weight of the past seven years. General Kurz crouched behind a bush, his breath slow and controlled, the faint rustling of leaves barely audible in the dense darkness. His eyes, narrowed with cold fury, scanned the shadows for movement.
Seven years. Seven years spent in a hell of his own making.
He could still feel the sting of betrayal as if it had happened only moments ago. Mowglana —the woman who had destroyed him—had once again thwarted his plans. The jungle’s gold had been his obsession, his destiny. And yet, every time, it was Mowglana who stood in his way.
That damned jungle girl. The one who wore the skin of a leopard as her only armor, her wild spirit as untamed as the jungle she ruled. Her every movement was an insult to his military precision, every victory a mockery of his authority. But it was not just her cunning or her strength that tormented him. No. It was her feet.
Those feet.
He could still remember the last time he had faced her, seven years ago. The battle had been vicious, a clash of wills and weapons, but it had been Mowglana’s feet that had sealed his fate. With an almost feline grace, she had struck him with a spinning kick, her bare foot connecting with his jaw, sending him to the ground in an explosion of pain. Then, while he was still dazed and helpless, she had used her boomerang—an extension of herself—to bring him low once more. It had been over in moments.
And just like that, the General had been reduced to a prisoner.
Her feet, so perfectly sculpted, so deceptively delicate, were the very things he despised. They were a symbol of everything he could never control.
It wasn’t just about her beauty—though that, too, gnawed at him. It was the way she moved through the jungle, her feet gliding over rocks and roots with an ease that betrayed the depth of her connection to this unforgiving land. Those feet were not just for running; they were weapons, a vital part of her combat style. She used them to leap, to kick with deadly accuracy, to escape the snares and traps that would have claimed any lesser opponent. In his mind, those feet were the barrier to his dominance.
He had spent seven years in a cage, staring at the walls, planning, plotting, his every thought consumed by one singular need—revenge. The military trial had been swift, his betrayal undeniable. They had left him to rot in that wretched prison, his mind a furnace of rage. The day he was released, he had one goal: to hunt Mowglana down and crush her beneath his heel.
And now, the moment had come.
He gritted his teeth, the cool jungle air swirling around him, and pushed forward, his movements silent, predator-like. The map he had studied for weeks had led him here, to the heart of her territory. There was no place left for her to run. No tricks, no escapes. This time, it would be different.
His eyes narrowed as a figure emerged from the darkness. Mowglana. The jungle girl. Her silhouette was unmistakable, draped in the skin of a leopard, her long hair cascading like dark waves down her back. But it was her feet that captured his attention first. Bare, poised, as if she had never known anything but the wild terrain beneath her.
Kurz’s grip tightened around the knife in his hand. He could see it now, the truth of his hatred: it wasn’t just that she had defeated him. It wasn’t the gold, or the battles, or the endless nights he had spent plotting her downfall. It was the fact that she embodied freedom, and those feet were the very symbol of that freedom. They had taken everything from him.
But tonight, it would end.
He lunged forward, but in the instant he thought he had her cornered, Mowglana vanished into the shadows, her feet silent, as if she had never been there at all.
A curse escaped his lips, but his resolve only deepened. The jungle was her domain, yes. But tonight, he would claim it as his own. And when he finally caught her, when he saw her eyes wide with terror and confusion, he would make sure those feet—those cursed feet—would be the last thing she ever used to escape.
Chapter Two
The jungle was alive, its sounds swirling in the air—chirps, rustling leaves, the distant growl of a predator. Mowglana’s senses were sharp, heightened by years of surviving within this endless green labyrinth. Her bare feet, callused and strong, gripped the forest floor as she moved, silent as the moonlight above.
Something felt off. The air was too still, the birds too quiet. There was a presence—a subtle shift in the winds, the faintest disturbance beneath her feet. She stopped, one foot hovering above the ground, poised to move in an instant.
He’s here.
Her instincts screamed at her. She knew, in the deepest part of her, that General Kurtz had returned. She could feel the weight of his hatred, the way the jungle itself seemed to shift, almost as if it were holding its breath. He had never been far, not truly. Not since the moment she had left him broken and humiliated years ago.
Her feet shifted, testing the ground below her. The earth was soft but sturdy, a path she had traversed countless times. She moved forward, a shadow among shadows, slipping between the trees.
Then she saw it.
A thick, sturdy vine, hanging low across her path. It swayed gently in the wind, as if inviting her to take it. Her eyes narrowed. Something wasn’t right.
She had walked this trail before. But the vine—this vine—was different.
Was it new? No. Had he been here?
Without thinking, Mowglana reached out, her toes curling as her bare foot planted itself firmly on the ground. She grasped the vine with both hands, swinging her body slightly as she prepared to leap. Her feet had never failed her in moments like these, and she knew the vine would bear her weight. But the moment she pulled on it, the unexpected happened.
The vine snapped.
Her heart raced as her body plunged downward. For a brief moment, time seemed to stretch, and her senses screamed for her to react. She twisted in midair, her bare feet desperately searching for anything to grasp. But the jungle floor came up too fast.
She hit the ground hard, her knees and hands scraping against the rough earth. Pain shot through her, but she was already rolling, moving, recovering with the precision only the jungle could teach. Her feet were already finding their place, pushing her to her feet in one fluid motion.
But the damage was done. She had fallen. And she could feel it—the shadow that had followed her, creeping closer, waiting for the perfect moment.
“Did you really think you’d escape me again?” A voice cut through the silence, cold and triumphant.
General Kurtz stepped out from the darkness, his figure framed by the moonlight. His lips curled into a cruel grin, and the cold gleam of a knife flashed in his hand. He was exactly as she remembered: tall, imposing, his once-pristine uniform now ragged and worn, but still radiating the same power he had when they last faced each other.
He moved closer, his steps deliberate. “You look… surprised, Mowglana,” he sneered. “Did you really think the jungle would protect you forever? That you’d always be one step ahead?”
Mowglana’s body tensed, but she kept her feet steady, feeling the pulse of the earth beneath her. Her bare feet—so strong, so attuned to the land—could feel his every movement, his every shift. The jungle had always been her ally, but now, it felt as if it were holding its breath, uncertain of what would come next.
She stared at him, defiant, even as her mind raced. His hatred… It’s the same. The vine… She had been too careless. The trap he had set was simple but effective, and now it had caught her. The feeling of his eyes on her feet, though, sent a shiver of anger through her. He hated them. He always had.
Her feet, so vital, so deadly, had always been a source of power for her. They had allowed her to survive, to fight, to escape. And now he wanted to break that.
“You’ll never control this jungle, Kurtz,” she said, her voice low but steady. “Not with your knives, your tricks, or your hate.”
He chuckled darkly, the sound like gravel scraping against stone. “Control? No. But I will control you.”
His eyes flickered down to her feet, and Mowglana knew what he was thinking. He had always despised how her feet moved so effortlessly through the jungle, how they allowed her to evade his every grasp. Her feet, so beautiful, so deadly, were a constant reminder of everything he had failed to dominate.
Kurtz raised his knife, pointing it directly at her, his grin widening. “You’ve never been able to escape my reach. Not this time.”
Her heart pounded, but Mowglana did not flinch. Her feet were ready, her body already shifting into the stance she needed. She wouldn’t fall for his tricks again.
“I don’t need to escape you,” she said, eyes flashing with defiance. “I need to end you.”
And with that, she prepared for the fight, her feet grounded in the jungle’s embrace, ready to move faster, more precisely, than he could ever anticipate.
Chapter Three
The jungle seemed to hold its breath as the two adversaries squared off. The moonlight filtered through the canopy, casting long shadows across the damp earth. General Kurtz stood tall, his eyes fixed on Mowglana, the gleaming knife in his hand catching the light.
Mowglana, her body taut, her feet grounded firmly in the dirt, her every muscle ready to spring, was unyielding. The blood pulsed in her veins, a rhythmic reminder of everything she had fought for, everything Kurtz had tried to take from her.
He hated her, and she hated him.
His betrayal had burned her, and the memory of their last encounter—her victory, his defeat—was something she carried like a scar. But now, here in the depths of the jungle, in the heart of the very place where she belonged, the time for revenge had come.
"Let’s see if you can still run, Mowglana," Kurtz sneered, his voice dripping with malice.
With a sudden lunge, Kurtz charged at her, his knife raised, the blade gleaming in the dim light. Mowglana reacted instantly, her feet shifting in perfect synchronization. She dodged to the side, the soles of her feet skimming the jungle floor, her body moving with the fluidity of water.
"Nnghh!" she grunted as she darted away, her legs propelling her with astonishing speed.
Kurtz’s knife swiped through the air, just missing her by inches. She could feel the sharp wind of his strike as she twisted, her bare feet digging into the dirt for leverage. He was fast, but not fast enough. He never was.
Frustration flickered across his face as he quickly regained his footing. He stepped forward, his posture rigid with fury, his gaze never leaving her. He had one thing on his mind now: immobilize her.
With a quick motion, he reached into his belt and pulled out a coil of rope, his fingers moving with the precision of a man used to trapping his prey. Without a word, he threw the ropes toward her, the coils spinning through the air.
But Mowglana was faster.
Her feet hit the ground, propelling her backward in a perfect arc. The ropes barely missed her as she flipped in midair, her body light and agile, her feet never stopping their fluid dance with the jungle floor. She landed in a crouch, her feet splayed wide, her toes gripping the earth, eyes sharp, watching him, waiting.
She could hear the growl of frustration in Kurtz's voice, the way his breath came out in ragged gasps. His patience was thinning, and she could see it in the wild flick of his eyes. He was losing control.
“GAH!” he shouted, pulling another coil of rope from his belt and throwing it again with desperate speed.
This time, he aimed higher, trying to catch her by the legs.
But Mowglana was already gone.
Her feet flew into action, her body twisting as she leaped toward the nearest tree. She landed in a fluid roll, her feet pressing firmly into the trunk as she pushed off with one powerful motion, launching herself out of his reach. She moved like a shadow, barely making a sound, her every action precise, controlled.
Kurtz’s frustration grew with each failed attempt. His hands trembled, his movements becoming erratic, the ropes spilling uselessly onto the ground. He bared his teeth, the knife still clenched in his fist.
"You can't run forever, Mowglana!" he snarled. "I'll catch you eventually. You will fall."
But Mowglana didn’t run.
She waited.
Her eyes narrowed as she watched him. His every move was predictable, every misstep feeding her fury. He was relentless, but she knew he could never match her speed, her grace.
Her feet were her weapon. They always had been.
With a roar, Kurtz charged again, the knife gleaming in the moonlight. This time, Mowglana didn’t dodge. Instead, she stepped forward, her feet planted firmly, eyes locked onto his. As he lunged toward her, she leaped—her body twisting mid-air—and brought both feet down with a thunderous strike, the soles of her feet connecting directly with his face.
"Wham!" The impact echoed through the jungle.
Kurtz staggered back, his hands flying to his face as the force of the blow sent him reeling. His knife dropped from his hand, clattering against the jungle floor. Blood trickled from his nose, his eyes wide with shock.
But Mowglana wasn’t finished.
In a fluid motion, she pivoted on her heel, her feet skimming the ground as she closed the distance between them. Before Kurtz could recover, she was on him again. Her foot shot out in a quick, merciless strike to his stomach, sending him crashing to the ground.
"GAH!" he gasped, the air driven from his lungs.
Mowglana didn’t give him a moment to recover. She stood over him, her feet planted firmly on the jungle floor, her body taut with the thrill of the fight. Kurtz lay there, gasping for breath, his eyes wild with fury.
"This is your end, Kurtz," she said, her voice cold, her gaze unwavering.
Kurtz gritted his teeth, his hand reaching for the knife he had dropped. But Mowglana was faster. She kicked it away, her bare foot striking the hilt and sending it skidding into the underbrush.
“You’ll never have control over this jungle,” she spat, her feet coming down with purpose. "Not while I’m here."
Kurtz’s eyes flashed with rage, but the fight had left him. His arms, his legs, everything about him seemed to slow in the face of her relentless precision. He was finished.
But Mowglana knew better than to trust that it was truly over. The jungle was her home, and she was always ready to move, to fight, to survive. Her feet, though, remained still for now, as if to savor the moment.
Her feet—her strength, her life—had once again brought her victory.
Chapter Four
The air was thick with tension as Mowglana stood poised over Kurtz, her feet planted firmly in the dirt, ready to move at a moment’s notice. Her chest heaved with exertion, her breath steady but quick. She had him now. The jungle, her ally, seemed to hum with the promise of victory. Kurtz lay on the ground beneath her, struggling to regain his breath, his movements sluggish and erratic. His defeat seemed inevitable.
She had fought for this moment. His betrayal had carved scars into her spirit, and she wasn’t about to let him escape again. She could almost taste the satisfaction, the triumph of finally bringing him down.
But then, with a sharp, desperate twist of his body, Kurtz moved.
With a sudden surge of strength, Kurtz’s legs shot out, catching Mowglana off guard. She staggered backward, her balance momentarily lost. Before she could react, Kurtz grabbed her with surprising force, pulling her down on top of him.
“Gah!” Mowglana gasped as the wind was knocked from her lungs, her body crashing into his. She tried to scramble, but his grip was strong, his body weight pressing down on her with an almost suffocating force. His knee dug into her side, and his hands gripped her wrists with shocking power, pinning them above her head.
Mowglana fought back fiercely, her bare feet pushing against the ground as she tried to twist and break free. Her toes curled in frustration, digging into the dirt beneath them as she struggled with everything she had. “No!” she hissed, her muscles straining with the effort.
But Kurtz was relentless. He twisted her arms back with a grim determination, and with his free hand, he quickly pulled out a coil of rope. Mowglana’s mind raced, her body refusing to give up, but she could feel the ropes tightening around her wrists, pulling them together with brutal efficiency.
“Gah!” she cried out, the ropes biting into her skin as he tied the knot with practiced ease. Her feet thrashed beneath him, her legs kicking wildly in an attempt to free herself, but the more she struggled, the tighter the ropes became.
Kurtz’s eyes glinted with a dark satisfaction as he finally completed the knot. “I knew you couldn’t win,” he sneered, a cruel smile spreading across his face as he looked down at her. “You’ll never escape me, Mowglana.”
Her chest rose and fell with quick, frantic breaths, the anger and humiliation boiling inside her. She wasn’t going to let him win. Her feet, her strong, deadly feet, had carried her this far. They had saved her time and again. They would get her out of this.
But Kurtz’s weight was like a crushing stone, pinning her down, making it almost impossible to move. He shifted slightly, pressing his body harder against hers to maintain his hold.
“GAH!” Mowglana grunted through clenched teeth, every muscle in her body aching with the effort to break free. Her feet, slick with the sweat of battle, slid against the dirt as she tried to find leverage.
She was fighting against the ropes, against Kurtz’s strength, but her body was beginning to tire. Every movement felt slower, more strained. The ropes cut into her wrists, her mind clouded with the sensation of defeat creeping in.
“Give up,” Kurtz said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You were never meant to win.”
Her breath was ragged now, her feet kicking in vain against the dirt. Not like this, she thought, a new fire igniting within her. She had survived this long for a reason. She wasn’t going to let him break her.
With a final, desperate effort, Mowglana twisted her body beneath him. Her legs, though trapped, moved with a fluidity born of years of training. Her feet planted firmly against the ground, and in one last powerful motion, she kicked out with all her remaining strength.
The force of her feet connecting with his midsection sent Kurtz sprawling off her, his grip loosening just en
ough for Mowglana to shift her wrists and create a slight gap in the ropes. She didn’t stop. Her feet scrambled against the dirt, her body twisting in a desperate bid for freedom.
But even as she began to free herself, she could feel Kurtz’s rage growing. He was not done yet.
Chapter Five: The Final Game
The jungle had quieted once more, as if holding its breath. Mowglana’s wrists were bound tightly to the thick trunk of a tree, her body slightly bent forward, forced into an uncomfortable position. She could feel the coarse bark digging into her skin, the ropes biting into her wrists with every subtle movement. Her feet barely touched the ground—only her toes, sore and bruised from the hours of running, made contact with the earth. Even that was a struggle. The weight of her body made every shift a torment, the pain from her feet enough to make her want to scream, but she gritted her teeth and stayed silent.
The sound of boots crunching on the forest floor came from behind her. She could feel his presence before she saw him—the cold, methodical steps of General Kurtz.
He circled her slowly, savoring every moment, as if relishing her discomfort. His voice cut through the stillness, low and mocking.
"Do you know what it’s like, Mowglana?" he began, his words deliberate, meant to echo in her mind as much as her ears. "Do you know what it’s like to be trapped in a cage, left to rot for seven years?" His footsteps were measured, tapping lightly on the ground as he walked around her.
She refused to look at him, her chin tilted stubbornly, though her breath was ragged, her body tense. The ropes around her wrists pulled tighter as she shifted her weight, but the pain from her feet was more excruciating.
“I had nothing, Mowglana,” Kurtz continued, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “They locked me away, took everything from me. But I wasn’t weak like you. I didn’t beg for mercy. I… escaped.” He stopped in front of her, just out of reach, his eyes glinting as he took in the sight of her helplessness.
Mowglana’s throat tightened with anger, but she didn’t speak. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“Oh yes,” he said, as if reading her mind, “you think you’re invincible, don’t you? The jungle’s darling, always one step ahead. But you’re not. Not anymore.”
He reached down and grabbed her foot with one hand, lifting it off the ground. Mowglana flinched but couldn’t stop him. His grip was too strong, and her foot, still sore from their earlier struggles, felt as though it might give way entirely.
“You were right about one thing, though,” Kurtz went on, a twisted smile curling at the edges of his lips. “The jungle doesn’t belong to me. But you—you—belong to me now.”
With that, he ground his boot down onto her bare toes. Mowglana’s body jerked in pain, her breath catching in her chest. The sharp pressure was enough to make her dizzy, and she cried out despite herself.
Kurtz leaned down, his face inches from hers, eyes dark with malice. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time, Mowglana. I’m going to make sure you understand that you can’t escape me. Not anymore.”
With slow, deliberate steps, he moved around her again, his boots scraping against the leaves. He was enjoying it. The power. The control. Watching her struggle to stay composed as the pain from her bound wrists and crushed feet gnawed at her resolve.
Her breaths were shallow, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of begging. He didn’t understand. She would never break.
But Kurtz wasn’t done. He stood still, staring at her, as if waiting for the right moment. Then, with a cruel smirk, he lifted his boot and pressed it into the arch of her foot again, grinding it slowly, feeling her toes curl beneath the weight.
“You’re stronger than I expected, Mowglana,” he murmured, his voice almost soft. “But that’s the thing about strength, isn’t it? It doesn’t matter how strong you are if you’re trapped.”
His boot pressed harder. She could feel her foot, the bones protesting, the sharp sting of his heel against her battered skin.
“I’m going to enjoy watching you break. Your body, your spirit… I’ll crush them both,” he whispered, leaning in even closer now, his breath hot against her ear.
Mowglana gritted her teeth, refusing to let a single sound escape. She wouldn’t give him that.
The General’s boot lifted from her foot, but Mowglana couldn’t relax. She knew better.
Kurtz walked behind her now, a predatory silence hanging in the air, until she felt his presence shift again—closer. His boot hovered near her other foot, the threat of more pressure looming.
He didn’t need to speak now. His actions were enough. His boots, his cruel, steady pace, were a constant reminder of her weakness—of her helplessness in this moment.
But Mowglana’s spirit, though battered, was far from broken. Each time his boot pressed against her sore feet, she willed herself to stay strong. She would endure this. She had survived worse. She would never give him the satisfaction of seeing her submit.
Her eyes remained fixed ahead, her body trembling with pain, but her mind was far from yielding.
Kurtz watched her for a long while, perhaps waiting for that flicker of despair that would signal victory. But it never came.
He cursed under his breath, his impatience flaring. "You think you're untouchable. But everyone breaks, Mowglana. Everyone. I’ll make you see that."
His boot came down on her feet once more, this time more forcefully, more deliberately.
But Mowglana’s gaze remained cold, unyielding. She knew this was just the beginning of a far greater battle—one that would continue until the jungle, and she, had reclaimed their true freedom.
Kurtz might have had her bound and vulnerable now, but he would never control her. Not forever.
Not while she still had her feet—and her will—left to fight.
Chapter Six: The Turning Tide
The jungle around them was suffocatingly silent, the stillness broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the low, steady breaths of the two combatants. General Kurtz continued to circle Mowglana, his boots scraping against the earth with a slow, deliberate rhythm, each step a reminder of the power he wielded in this moment. Mowglana’s bare feet, bloodied and bruised, barely touched the ground. The tips of her toes were all that kept her from collapsing entirely, and the pain in her feet was unbearable.
She could feel the pressure of the ropes biting into her wrists, the sharp edges of the twine cutting deeper into her skin with every movement. Her back ached, her muscles trembling with the effort of holding herself upright in such a precarious position. But her mind was focused. Her gaze never left Kurtz. Not once.
He stopped in front of her now, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "You were always so strong, Mowglana," he said, his voice low and mocking. "But look at you now. Trapped. Helpless." His booted foot pressed down onto the toes of her injured foot, grinding it into the earth. The pain was excruciating, and Mowglana couldn’t suppress the groan that escaped her lips.
“Nghhh... you bastard,” she hissed through clenched teeth, her eyes flashing with fury. But she wasn’t broken. She refused to be.
Kurtz chuckled darkly, savoring the moment. "Those feet of yours have always been your strength. But now they’re nothing but a weakness. You can't escape. You can't run." He paused, his grin widening as he leaned in closer, watching her struggle. "And now, I'm going to make sure you never move again."
He reached down, his hand slowly moving toward the hilt of his dagger. Mowglana's heart raced, but she didn’t flinch. She knew what he intended. The knife would be the end of her... unless she acted first.
A small, defiant smile curled on her lips as she began to focus her attention on her feet. Every muscle in her body screamed for relief, but she blocked out the pain, centering all her focus on one thing: the dagger at Kurtz’s belt. Her foot, trembling but steady, slowly began to move, inching upward toward the blade.
Her toes curled, brushing against the cold metal of the dagger’s hilt. Almost there... she thought, her foot barely able to grip the handle. With every passing second, the sweat on her palms and feet made it harder to hold onto the knife, but she was relentless.
She shifted her weight slightly, her other foot providing the support she needed. The dagger was now in the grasp of her toes, just a few inches from her reach. Her body trembled from the effort of staying balanced, but she didn’t dare look away. Her eyes remained locked on Kurtz, his mocking smile still plastered across his face.
With a quick, fluid motion, Mowglana’s foot curled around the dagger, pulling it from his belt. She held it with the tips of her toes, the sharp hilt cutting against her foot, but she barely felt it. She had one chance. One moment.
In one swift motion, Mowglana’s foot moved upward, and the dagger was pressed firmly against Kurtz’s throat. The blade was cool against his skin, and for a moment, Kurtz froze, his eyes widening in shock.
"Don't move," she rasped, her voice hoarse but full of strength. Her body swayed slightly, fighting for balance, but the dagger never wavered.
Kurtz's lips curled into a sneer, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected her to turn the tables.
"You think you can do this?" he sneered, his voice dripping with venom. "You think your feet can save you now?"
Mowglana’s toes tightened around the hilt of the dagger, her foot trembling with the effort of holding it steady. "I told you," she said, her voice growing stronger with every passing second. "My feet never give up. And neither will I."
But even as she said the words, the sweat on her skin made it harder to keep the dagger steady. Her grip—her foot’s grip—was slipping.
"GAH!" she groaned in frustration, trying to steady herself. The effort was starting to take its toll, and the sweat dripping from her foot made the dagger tremble dangerously.
Kurtz saw the moment of weakness and, with a twisted grin, made his move.
But Mowglana wasn’t done yet.
Her feet might be slipping, but her resolve was stronger than ever.
Chapter Seven: The Huntress' Resolve
The dagger trembled in Mowglana’s grasp, the sweat from her skin making it harder to hold steady. Her foot clenched desperately around the hilt, her toes straining to keep their grip. But she could feel it slipping—slipping—
And then it was gone.
The blade tumbled from her grasp, flipping in the air before landing with a dull thud in the dirt below.
For a heartbeat, everything was still.
Then, Kurtz moved.
A cruel smile spread across his face as his hand shot forward, gripping her chin roughly and forcing her to meet his eyes. "Well, well," he murmured, his voice thick with amusement. "It seems your little trick didn't quite work out, did it?"
Mowglana’s breath was ragged, her chest rising and falling with exhaustion, but her eyes remained defiant. She knew what was coming.
Kurtz stepped closer, his presence looming over her as he reached down and plucked the dagger from the ground. He twirled it between his fingers, inspecting it casually before slipping it back into his belt. Then, slowly, he turned his gaze back to her.
"You should’ve just told me what I wanted to know from the start," he said, his tone almost conversational. "It would’ve saved you so much pain."
Mowglana clenched her jaw, refusing to speak.
Kurtz sighed, shaking his head. "Stubborn as ever." His boot lifted, pressing against her bare foot again, grinding it into the dirt. The pain shot through her body, but she didn’t make a sound.
Instead, she smirked. "If you think this is enough to break me," she rasped, "then you clearly haven’t learned a damn thing."
Kurtz chuckled, shaking his head. "Always the warrior." He crouched down slightly, bringing his face level with hers. "But even warriors have their limits."
His fingers reached out, trailing along the edge of her leopard-skin costume, the gesture slow and deliberate. His touch was light, almost absentminded, but Mowglana knew better—he was testing her, watching for any reaction, any weakness.
She felt his breath against her skin, the weight of his gaze as he studied her like a predator savoring its prey.
And that was when she struck.
With a sudden, feral movement, she lunged forward, sinking her teeth into his ear.
Kurtz let out a sharp snarl of pain, jerking back in surprise. In that single, fleeting second of distraction, Mowglana acted.
Ignoring the screaming protests of her muscles, she lifted her legs, twisting her body just enough to bring her aching feet up to the ropes binding her wrists.
Her toes worked frantically, feeling for the knot. It was slick with sweat, tightened from her struggles, but she didn't stop. Her breath came in short, strained gasps as she focused everything on this one task.
Kurtz was already recovering, his hand snapping toward her, but—
The knot gave way.
The ropes slackened.
Mowglana was free.
And now, Kurtz was the one in danger.
Chapter Eight: The Jungle's Call
Mowglana landed lightly on the ground, her wrists aching but free. A thrill ran through her veins—she had won this battle, but the war was far from over.
Kurtz staggered back, one hand clutching his bleeding ear. His breath was ragged, his chest rising and falling with a mixture of fury and disbelief.
This was impossible.
He had her. Bound, weakened, completely at his mercy. Yet, once again, she had turned the tide. Again, she had humiliated him.
His face twisted with rage. "You little—" he snarled, swiping at the blood trickling from his ear. "How dare you?"
Mowglana smirked, despite the sharp throbbing in her feet. "What’s the matter, General?" she taunted, stepping back. "Didn’t expect your prey to bite back?"
Pain flared with every movement. The moment her soles brushed the earth, white-hot agony shot through her legs. Nnnnghhh... The sound nearly escaped her lips, but she clenched her teeth, forcing herself to mask the suffering.
She couldn’t run. Not like this. Every step was a battle, every shift of weight a new torment.
Kurtz saw it.
And he relished it.
His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. His pale eyes glowed with a perverse satisfaction as he watched her struggle.
"You think you’ve won something here?" he sneered, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. "Look at you."
Mowglana tensed.
"You can barely stand," he murmured, his voice softer now, laced with something dark. "Every little step hurts, doesn’t it?"
Her toes curled instinctively. She willed herself not to react, but she knew—he knew.
Kurtz chuckled, his boots grinding against the dirt as he took another step toward her. "You’re like a wounded animal, Mowglana. Dangerous, sure... but broken."
Mowglana lifted her chin. "Funny," she breathed. "I was just thinking the same thing about you."
Kurtz's smirk faltered. For all his cruelty, his strength, she had struck where it hurt.
"Keep talking," he growled, his fingers twitching toward his belt.
Mowglana exhaled through the pain, her mind racing. She needed time.
She needed the jungle.
Her gaze flickered toward the trees, just for a moment. The presence was there. Watching. Waiting.
She reached out—not with her hands, but with something deeper.
Come to me.
But the leopard wouldn’t come immediately.
She had to stall.
"You escaped your cage," she said, forcing herself to sound casual, "but you’re still a prisoner, aren’t you?"
Kurtz frowned.
"Still chasing ghosts," she continued, her voice steady despite the fire in her feet. "Still searching for something you’ll never have."
She smirked, despite herself. "And you call me broken?"
Kurtz’s nostrils flared.
Good. Let him focus on her. Let him forget the jungle.
Another step back. Another pulse of pain. Nnnnghhh...
Kurtz's eyes flickered with something almost... amused. He likes this.
He liked watching her struggle.
But then—
A sound. Faint. Rustling leaves.
Kurtz didn't notice.
Not yet.
Mowglana held his gaze, fighting to keep herself upright. Just a little longer.
Then—
A flicker of shadow behind him.
Kurtz stiffened.
Something was there.
Slowly, he turned his head.
Golden eyes gleamed from the darkness.
Watching.
Waiting.
The hunter had arrived.
Chapter Nine: The Jungle’s Wrath
Mowglana barely kept her balance as she staggered backward, each step a fresh wave of agony. The pain from her torn feet was unbearable, but she had no choice. She had to keep moving.
Kurtz stood just a few paces away, watching her struggle with a dark grin. He wasn’t chasing her—he didn’t need to.
“Look at you,” he sneered. “The so-called Queen of the Jungle. Can’t even walk.”
Mowglana forced herself to straighten, swallowing another groan of pain. “I don’t need to walk to beat you, Kurtz.”
His expression twisted with anger. “You think this is over? You think I’ll let you slip through my fingers again?” He took a step toward her.
Mowglana clenched her jaw. She needed more time. Where are you...?
She had felt the presence of the leopard lurking nearby. She had called for its aid through their unspoken connection. But had it heard her in time?
Kurtz’s eyes narrowed. He was done waiting.
He lunged.
And the jungle answered.
A blur of gold and black shot from the underbrush, a low snarl ripping through the air. The leopard crashed into Kurtz with full force, claws sinking into his shoulder.
Kurtz roared in pain as the beast’s fangs snapped inches from his throat. He twisted, struggling to throw it off, but the leopard was relentless.
This was her chance.
Mowglana turned away, forcing her legs to move despite the searing agony. Her body trembled, her breath came in ragged gasps, but she kept going.
Step.
"Nnnnghhh..."
Another step.
Every nerve in her feet screamed. She could feel the open wounds grinding against the dirt. It made her furious—furious at Kurtz, furious at herself.
How could I let him do this to me?
Behind her, Kurtz was still locked in battle. His strength and training kept him from being overwhelmed, but the leopard was just as fierce. They clashed, a whirlwind of claws, teeth, and raw violence.
But Kurtz was no ordinary man.
He managed to grab the leopard by the scruff, using his brute strength to slam it against a tree. The impact sent the beast reeling, dazed for just a second—long enough for Kurtz to pull a knife from his belt.
Mowglana turned her head just in time to see the blade flash.
Her heart clenched. No!
But the leopard, sensing the danger, twisted at the last moment. The knife missed its mark. With a final snarl, the beast leaped away and vanished into the jungle.
Kurtz stumbled forward, bloodied and seething. His chest rose and fell in ragged breaths as he watched his prey escape.
His hands clenched into fists. His eyes burned with rage.
And then he turned, his gaze locking onto the last place Mowglana had been.
Too late.
She was gone.
The realization hit him like a blade to the gut.
A roar of unfiltered fury ripped from his throat.
"MOWGLANA!" His voice thundered through the trees. "I SWEAR ON EVERY DROP OF BLOOD IN MY VEINS—NEXT TIME, YOU WON’T ESCAPE ON YOUR FEET. YOU’LL CRAWL!"
The jungle swallowed his words, but they still reached her.
Far ahead, Mowglana felt the rage behind them like a physical blow.
Her body tensed.
Her foot caught against a root.
"Gah!"
She crashed to her knees, sharp pain lancing through her battered feet. Her hands clenched the dirt beneath her as she gritted her teeth.
Her breath was shaky. But inside, she burned with rage.
Not at Kurtz.
At herself.
At her own weakness.
Her feet—her strongest weapon, her pride—were now her greatest burden. Every step she took was another reminder of what he had done to her.
Mowglana forced herself up, glaring into the darkness ahead.
She wasn’t finished.
Kurtz thought he had broken her.
He was wrong.
And one day, she would prove it.
Chapter Ten: Sanctuary in the Jungle
Mowglana moved through the dense jungle, her body aching, her feet screaming with each step. Every inch of her being told her to stop, to collapse, but she pushed on. She had to put as much distance between herself and Kurtz as possible.
"Nnnnghhh..." She bit her lip, forcing herself forward.
The jungle, once her ally, now felt like an endless maze of pain. Each root, each rock beneath her battered soles was another cruel reminder of her weakened state.
Then, through the haze of exhaustion, she heard something.
Footsteps.
Mowglana tensed. Was it him? Had Kurtz already caught up?
Her vision blurred. Her knees buckled.
Then, a familiar voice.
“Mowglana!”
A strong pair of arms caught her just before she hit the ground.
Otumbo.
The warrior of the Wakamba tribe looked down at her with deep concern. His dark eyes, usually fierce, were filled with worry.
“You are hurt.” His voice was steady, but urgent.
Mowglana tried to speak, but all that came out was a ragged breath.
Otumbo didn’t hesitate. He lifted her with ease, cradling her against his broad chest.
“You are safe now,” he murmured as he carried her through the jungle.
Mowglana barely had the strength to respond. She rested her head against him, letting exhaustion take over.
The warmth of a fire. The scent of healing herbs. The safety of a hut.
Mowglana’s eyes fluttered open. She was lying on a woven mat inside Otumbo’s hut, the dim glow of a lantern casting soft shadows on the walls.
Otumbo knelt beside her, studying her injuries with a solemn expression. “What happened to you?”
Mowglana swallowed, her throat dry. “Kurtz.”
Otumbo’s jaw tightened. “He did this?”
She gave a slow nod. “He... almost had me.”
Otumbo exhaled sharply, anger flashing in his eyes. He set aside the bowl of medicinal paste and shook his head. “That man must truly hate you, Mowglana. To have done this to you.”
Mowglana felt her fists clench. Hate? No. Kurtz’s obsession with her was something deeper, more twisted. He didn’t just want to destroy her—he wanted to break her, to prove that she could be beaten.
She pushed herself upright, her muscles trembling from the effort. “Then he should have finished the job.”
Otumbo turned to her, surprised.
“I’m not done,” she growled. “I’m ready to fight him.”
She swung her legs over the mat, determined to stand, but the moment her feet touched the ground—
"Ghhhaaa...!"
White-hot pain shot through her body, nearly making her collapse.
Otumbo caught her shoulders, pushing her back down. “You are not ready,” he said firmly. “You need to rest.”
“I don’t have time to rest!” she snapped. “Kurtz is still out there—”
“And if you go after him like this, he’ll finish what he started,” Otumbo interrupted. His grip was strong, steady. “You’re no good to anyone if you can’t even stand, Mowglana.”
She gritted her teeth. She hated this. Hated the weakness in her body, the throbbing agony in her feet. Hated that Kurtz had done this to her.
Otumbo sighed and reached for the medicinal paste again. “Let me help you,” he said, his voice softer now.
She exhaled sharply but didn’t argue.
Otumbo dipped his fingers into the thick, cool paste and gently spread it over the torn flesh of her soles. The contact burned at first, but then a cooling sensation dulled the pain slightly.
"Nnnnghhh..." Mowglana gasped involuntarily, a sharp stab of pain lancing through her. The thought crossed her mind almost immediately: If the General had heard that, he would have enjoyed it... the bastard.
She clenched her jaw, forcing the words back down.
Otumbo worked carefully, binding her feet with strips of soft cloth, his movements precise.
As he wrapped the last bandage, he looked at her again. “Rest now. When the time comes, you will fight.”
Mowglana stared at the ceiling, frustration boiling inside her. But he was right. If she wanted to take down Kurtz, she had to be strong again.
For now, she had to endure.
Chapter Eleven: The Rage of Kurtz
Kurtz stood motionless in the heart of the jungle, his chest heaving with fury. His eyes blazed like embers, burning with an intensity that could incinerate the very air around him. Mowglana had done it again. She had slipped from his grasp.
He slammed his fist into the trunk of a nearby tree, causing a shower of bark to splinter and fall to the ground. His breath was ragged, teeth grinding, hands trembling with the force of his rage. How had she done it? How had she managed to escape—again?
*She was bound. To an tree. Her feet—her weakness, and still she managed to elude me.
He had watched, helpless, as she twisted, contorted, and used those same beautiful, infuriating feet to free herself. He had wanted to hear her beg, to hear her scream from the pain of her injuries. Instead, all he had gotten was a fleeting glimpse of her cunning, her strength—that dangerous fire in her eyes.
Her feet...
The thought made his stomach twist with frustration. He hated those perfect, defiant feet. Hated them for how they seemed to mock him with their elegance and power. They should have been her downfall—she should have been his. Yet, time and time again, her feet defied him. Those very same feet that had once been his obsession, that he had longed to break, now seemed to slip away like water through his fingers.
Damn her.
With a deep, shuddering breath, he turned and made his way back toward his hiding place. The dense foliage closed around him, the jungle’s oppressive silence pressing in on his thoughts.
His secret lair was hidden in a small, nondescript cabin nestled deep within the trees. He had set up the place as a refuge—safe from prying eyes, shielded from the noise of the world. And it was here, alone, that he could focus, where he could plot.
The wooden hatch creaked as he lifted the trapdoor and descended into the dark, cool underground chamber. It was a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of the jungle above. The only light came from a single lantern hanging in the corner, casting long shadows against the stone walls.
Kurtz stood in the center of the room, fists clenched at his sides. He could feel the anger still bubbling within him, the sting of his defeat hanging in the air.
She’s always one step ahead.
He began to pace, the sound of his boots echoing off the cold stone. His mind raced, working through every move, every encounter with Mowglana. How had she done it? How had she escaped from the tree, with her hands bound and her feet in agony?
Her feet…
He froze. His mind snapped to the one thought that consumed him—her connection to the jungle, to the creatures within it. The leopards, the monkeys... it was always something. Always her ability to command the wilds to aid her. That was the source of her power, the thing that kept him from capturing her.
But this time... this time would be different.
A cruel smile curled at the corners of his lips. He could feel the seed of an idea taking root, growing in the depths of his mind.
She thinks she’s clever, that she’s outwitted me. But she doesn’t understand. She doesn't know what I'm capable of. She doesn’t know the trap I’ll set for her next.
His mind raced as he began to plan. He would have to be patient. He would have to take his time. But when he finally caught her...
When I finally catch you, Mowglana... there will be no escape. No jungle to hide in. No feet to carry you away.
He strode to a nearby table and began scribbling his plans, his fingers moving with a manic energy. There would be no more mistakes. He wouldn’t underestimate her again. He would use her weaknesses, her connection to the jungle, against her.
Mowglana had given him enough to go on. He knew her now—her pride, her need for control, her belief that she was invincible. He would exploit every single flaw.
And when I’m done, she will beg for mercy.
He smiled darkly, eyes gleaming. The game was far from over. It had only just begun.