Ding.
[Multiversal System Report]
Exterminated Species: 10,762 Surrendered Species: 500 Current Human Population: 5,812,443,912 (75% remaining)
Ethan's eyes snapped open at the sound, his body stiff from sleeping against the rough wall of his shelter. The glowing script hovered in front of him, impossible to ignore. His breath caught as he reread it.
Over ten thousand species gone. Five hundred had bent the knee. And humanity? Nearly two billion erased in just two days. Families, cities, entire nations—snuffed out as though they had never existed.
He forced his jaw tight and closed the notification. The numbers were a weight he couldn't carry. If he let them in, they'd crush him before hunger or the beasts ever had the chance.
The silence pressed in until he pulled up the global chat. The stream of messages surged across his vision.
[IronFist]: "The weak are already falling. Only the strong will last long enough to matter. If you don't build strength now, you'll be forgotten tomorrow."
[FaithfulServant]: "This is judgment. Can't you all see? The gods are cleansing the unworthy and raising the chosen. If you resist, you will be erased. Kneel, and maybe you will be spared."
[SkyRunner]: "Is anyone else in the open plains? There's nothing here but endless grass and herds of beasts that look like elk. If anyone's nearby, I want to form a group. Numbers are the only way we'll survive."
[AshenHeart]: "I spawned in a desert. No water, no shade, nothing but burning sand. If anyone can trade water, I'll give anything I have left."
[StillBreathing]: "I can't take this much longer. I haven't slept since the first day. The things I hear at night—they're hunting us. I don't even know if I'll live to see the morning."
The chat scrolled endlessly—dozens of voices calling out into the dark, searching for hope or strength. Ethan's eyes lingered on IronFist's message the longest. Harsh. Brutal. But true.
He dismissed the chat with a grunt. Words weren't worth anything out here. Action was.
His stomach twisted with hunger, his throat raw with thirst. The meat in his inventory wouldn't last without cooking, and without heat, night would be worse.
He crouched low beside his shelter and laid out a circle of stones. A memory of the past surged through him. The way to build tinder, the rhythm of friction, the structure of a hearth. He gathered dry leaves, shredded bark, and the thinnest twigs he could find. His hands worked quickly, driven by need.
The first spark came after long minutes of grinding. The ember glowed weakly before he fed it with breath, coaxing it into life. Flames licked upward, and heat washed over him.
For the first time since arriving, the clearing felt less like a grave.
The underbrush tore open with a violent crash.
Ethan froze, the half-cooked meat still in his hand as the raptor burst into the clearing—its head low, yellow eyes burning with fury. It was larger than he had expected, nearly two meters tall by his guess, its sides scarred with deep slashes as if it had torn its way through another fight to reach him. Blood dripped from its jaws, each step a predator's certainty.
Ethan's throat locked. His body reacted before his mind—he dropped the food and scrambled backward, scooting through the dirt, heart jackhammering against his ribs. His palms stung with grit as he clawed at the ground, desperate to put distance between himself and the beast.
The raptor screeched, lunging. Its talons slashed across the ground where he'd been seconds before, spraying dirt into the air. He hit the half-finished spiked wall hard, the crude wooden stakes jabbing into his back. Trapped. No room to run.
Panic clawed at his chest—but then instinct seized him. His hand shot out, grabbing the spear propped against the barrier. He forced himself upright just as the raptor swung its head toward him, jaws snapping shut with a bone-crunching clap.
The spear darted forward. The point scraped across the beast's snout, leaving only a shallow cut. The raptor bellowed, snapping the shaft aside with terrifying strength. Ethan staggered, barely keeping hold, his arms trembling from the impact.
It lunged again, and this time Ethan didn't retreat. He twisted, angling his body behind the row of stakes. The raptor's momentum carried it forward—and the angled wood bit into its chest. Not deep, but enough to slow. Enough to make it hiss and thrash.
Ethan jabbed. Once. Twice. The spear struck scales, scraping uselessly. On the third thrust, the point punched into soft flesh beneath the forearm. The raptor screamed, jerking back, blood splattering across Ethan's face.
It circled, snapping at the gaps, its tail lashing so violently that two stakes snapped in half. Ethan's chest heaved, his grip slipping from sweat. His arms screamed with each thrust, every movement slower than the last.
The raptor struck again—its head shooting through the broken gap, jaws wide. Ethan barely twisted aside. Its teeth clamped down where his shoulder had been, closing around one of the spikes instead. Wood splintered, sharp edges digging into its mouth. The beast recoiled, thrashing violently, opening a brief, desperate window.
Ethan lunged forward with a roar of his own. He drove the spearhead into its ribs, close to where the wounds already marred its hide. The beast bucked, nearly wrenching him off his feet. His arms shook, his body straining as the spear bent dangerously under the pressure.
The raptor twisted, its claws raking his side, tearing through the cloth and grazing his skin. White-hot pain shot through him, and his legs buckled—but he refused to let go. With a desperate cry, he planted one foot on a buried stake for leverage and shoved harder.
The spear sank deeper. The raptor shrieked, blood spraying across Ethan's arms as it thrashed. It dragged him forward, slamming him against the spikes, and the air ripped from his lungs. His vision darkened at the edges, his body seconds from giving out.
And then the raptor's strength failed. Its thrashing slowed, legs trembling as it tried to wrench free. Ethan twisted the spear, teeth bared in a snarl he didn't recognize as his own. With one last shove, the point pierced through vital flesh.
The raptor gave a final, guttural screech before its weight collapsed to the ground. The spear jolted in his grip as the beast toppled forward, its massive body thudding against the dirt and the jagged row of spikes.
Silence.
Ethan stood over the corpse, chest heaving, sweat and blood mixing on his skin. His arms trembled from the weight of the spear still clutched in his hand, but he didn't have the strength to let it go. The stench of blood filled the clearing. The stench of iron and smoke filled his lungs.
Then his knees buckled, and he collapsed backward onto the dirt, gasping for air. The rough ground scraped his skin, but he hardly noticed. For a long moment, all he could do was stare at the sky above the jagged outline of his half-finished walls, heart hammering against bruised ribs, lungs dragging in ragged breaths.
"Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck—" The curses spilled out as his vision blurred. He pressed a shaking hand against his side, felt the wet warmth seeping through his fingers. "I should be dead. I should be—" His throat tightened. No. Stop. I can't afford that. Not now.
The system chimed, shattering the spiral.
[Scan Complete.]
[Species: Raptor]
[Origin: Earth-972]
Height: 1.9 meters
Weight: 162 kilograms
Attributes: Highly aggressive, carnivorous. Pack-based predator. Specimen sustained prior injuries before engagement.]
[Civilization Points Gained: +0.0657]
Another notification slid into view.
[Spear Fighting Skill Leveled Up: 0 → 1]
[Effect: Technique improves slightly. Penetration power marginally increased.]
Ethan let out a shaky, bitter laugh. It caught in his throat and turned into a cough that tore at his ribs. "About damn time," he muttered hoarsely, spitting to clear the copper taste in his mouth. "One skill level, a fucking decimal point in civilization score, and I almost died for it."
He sat up slowly, gritting his teeth against the sting in his side. The raptor's body loomed a few meters away, its jaws slack, blood dripping into the dirt. His eyes locked on the carcass, and for the first time since the fight began, the adrenaline faded enough to let fear creep back in. If that was one, how many more are out there?
His hand slipped from his wound, slick with blood. The sight made his stomach clench. He didn't have time to sit here and bleed out. Not when night was still coming. Not when he needed to finish his defenses. Not when he needed to live.
"Cloth," he muttered, fumbling to pull up the trade menu. "I need something—anything—to tie this off."
The translucent menu blinked into view, the empty trade slots waiting. He forced himself to focus, to ignore the pounding of his heart and the wet sting spreading down his ribs. His gaze flicked over his inventory. Two spears left. He hesitated only a second before pushing one forward into the trade slot.
[Trade Offer Initiated:]
1 Spear → 1 Piece of Cloth (Shirt, bandage, anything usable)
The offer hung there, glowing faintly. Ethan clenched his jaw, muttering under his breath. "Come on… come on. Someone out there has to—"
A sharp chime interrupted his desperation.
[Trade Successful.]
[Inventory Updated]
Spears (2 → 1)
Water (2 Gallons)
Wet Clay (1 Bundle)
Cloth (1)
Total Units: (4/10)
Relief nearly buckled him all over again. He pulled the scrap of cloth out instantly—it was nothing more than a torn shirt, frayed at the edges and stiff with dirt, but it might as well have been spun gold. Without hesitation, he pressed it hard against his wound, sucking in a sharp breath as the sting flared white-hot.
"Shit—" he hissed through his teeth, wrapping the fabric around his torso as tightly as he could. His fingers trembled, fumbling the knot, but it held. Crude, uneven, but it slowed the bleeding. That was all that mattered.
His muscles screamed with every movement, but he forced himself back to the carcass. The raptor's body was heavy, nearly as tall as him, blood still dripping into the dirt. For a moment, he doubted it would even fit—but the thought of leaving it here, wasting all that meat and hide, made his chest tighten.
He placed a trembling hand against the carcass, willing the system to take it.
The body shimmered, then dissolved in motes of pale light, drawn into the inventory menu.
[Inventory Updated]
Spears (1)
Water (2 Gallons)
Wet Clay (1 Bundle)
Cloth (1)
Raptor Carcass (New)
Ethan sat heavily on the ground, his body shaking from exhaustion. The ache in his arms and the stinging burn of his cuts made even breathing feel like a chore. For a long moment, he just lay there, staring at the half-finished wall of spikes jutting out like broken teeth. Somehow, he was still alive. Somehow, he'd killed a raptor.
"…I can't waste this," he muttered hoarsely, dragging himself toward the small clay basin he'd left to dry the day before.
The basin sat near the shelter's edge, the surface dull and hardened. He tapped it with the butt of his knife, listening carefully. The clay gave off a crisp, brittle sound, instead of the soft, damp thud it had produced yesterday. Hardened. Usable. Relief loosened his chest a little.
He clicked on the icon holding the water and, carefully poured it, watching the liquid pool inside the basin. No cracks. No leaks. The clay held. A grin broke across his dirt-streaked face despite the pain. "It worked."
Now he had a proper container—something that could hold him over when moving water became riskier. He leaned back and pulled out the portion of rabicoon meat. The smell made his stomach growl, even though the taste of blood still coated his tongue. He chewed slowly, pacing himself, giving his body something to work with while he sat in the waning light.
But there was no luxury of rest. Not fully. The wall had gaps, and the fight had left one section splintered where the raptor slammed against it. He pushed himself back up, biting down a curse as pain flared through his side.
Exhaustion pressed down, but he couldn't rest. He dragged himself to the wall, repairing the stakes the beast had shattered. Each motion was slow, methodical, careful not to tear open his wound again. When the breaks were patched, he gathered a few more branches, sharpening them into stakes—but he left them unplaced. His body needed rest before another battle. Tomorrow he'd finish the wall. If he tore his wound open, the night would finish what the raptor couldn't.
The suns dipped lower, shadows thickening. By the time he stepped back, another section of spikes stood upright, sealing more of the perimeter. It wasn't perfect. But it was progress.
His chest rose and fell heavily as he sank against the shelter wall, staring at the rough circle of wood and dirt he'd forced into shape. He would survive the night. He had to.
The forest dimmed as the last traces of light vanished between the trees. Ethan's eyes drooped, his body screaming for rest, but the system's cold notification cut through the silence.
[Alert: Nightfall has begun. Predatory activity will increase.]
A shiver crawled down his spine. The memory of the raptor's snarls echoed in his head, the way its eyes had locked onto him, as if he were nothing more than prey. He pulled the half-finished wall closer in his mind, reassuring himself that it would hold—for now.
But restlessness gnawed at him. If more came, he couldn't afford to be caught unprepared. He opened the Tech Tree, his gaze flicking over the glowing lattice. One icon pulsed faintly:
[Technology Unlock Available: Carcass Skinning]
[Cost: 1 Tech Point]
[Remaining: 2 Tech Points]
The decision was obvious. He reached out, selecting it.
[Technology Unlocked: Carcass Skinning]
[Effect: You may now properly skin animal carcasses. Gain methods for preserving and utilizing hides, sinew, and bone.]
A weight settled into his mind—not heavy, but purposeful. Images of pulling hides free, of scraping fat from sinew, of cutting along joints with precision. Knowledge he hadn't earned, but now belonged to him.
His hand drifted toward the icon for the raptor carcass in his inventory. Tomorrow, he thought, forcing his hand back. Not tonight. He had already bled enough for one day.
Wrapping his arms around himself, Ethan slumped against the clay basin as the fire's embers faded to a glow. His thoughts flickered briefly to the broader world—the exterminated species, the collapsing human population, the chaos in the global chat. But exhaustion was stronger than fear.
He closed his eyes as the forest grew darker, the wall of spikes standing like sentinels in the night.
Tomorrow, he would skin the beast. Tomorrow, he would make this place stronger. If the world wanted to end, it would have to wait until then.
As Ethan started to fall into a painful slumber, what he didn't know was that his fire had betrayed his whereabouts during his fight with the raptor. To the east, two figures blending in the shadows turned their gaze towards the smoke and proceeded forwards while to the south a bedragled survivor caked in mud, weary in stature heads towards the smoke in pursuit of a flicker of hope.