Pythor picked his was across the mountains. The sun had risen hours ago, and its rays beat relentlessly against him.

'Stop.'

He did, right on the peak. He was panting, unused to this heat and exertion from his months underground beneath the canopy of the forest.

'There. Hiroshi's Labyrinth. Make it through, and I will help you get your revenge.'

But that's impossible! No one has ever made it through the Labyrinth with their sanity intact!

'Make it through, and you'll get everything you ever wanted.'

Pythor's desires warred with his instincts. The strange voice's offers tempted him greatly, but the danger of the infamous jungle countered it.

'What's wrong, Pythor? Are you scared? I guess you're weaker than I thought.'

That made Pythor snap. He was not weak! He was an Anacondrai! The fiercest, strongest, most feared Serpentine tribe! No one called him weak and got away with it!

'That's the spirit.'

He hissed. When he finally met who this voice belonged to, they were going to see how 'weak' he was. His resolve set, he started down the mountain, straight into Hiroshi's Labyrinth.