Ding.
[Multiversal System Report]
• Exterminated Species: 13,087
• Surrendered Species: 611
• Current Human Population: 5,612,883,742 (72% remaining)
Ethan stirred awake as the glowing script hovered above him. His back ached from the packed dirt floor, his muscles stiff from the restless night. He rubbed his eyes, squinting against the pale light of dawn creeping past the rough barricade he'd pieced together.
Another report. Another grim tally. Three days ago, there had been nearly eight billion. Now over two billion gone—and more vanishing every night. He clenched his jaw and dismissed the notification before it could drag him down. The dead were beyond his reach. Survival didn't leave room for mourning.
But silence was worse than numbers. He needed to hear something—anything—that reminded him humanity was still clinging on. With a flick of thought, he pulled up the global chat.
[IronFist]: "The weak are already falling. Only the strong will last long enough to matter. Build strength, or you'll just be bones by tomorrow."
[HolyGuide]: "Open your eyes! This is the judgment of the gods. They cleanse the filth and raise the worthy. Kneel, and you might yet be spared."
[GrayFox]: "Spare us the sermon, priest. I'm still alive, and your gods don't get credit for that."
[Wanderlust]: "If the gods wanted us to survive, why drop us in hellholes with monsters? Shut it and go pray in a corner."
[LaughingCinder]: "Kneel? To what, exactly? Your gods didn't stop the raptor that tried to bite my ass off yesterday."
Ethan huffed under his breath. The chat was the same mix of bravado and desperation, but at least it was noise. At least it reminded him he wasn't the last one alive. His gaze dropped as two messages caught his attention.
[RedDawn]: "Son of a bitch—nearly got gutted this morning. Some junked-up boar-looking freak came barreling out of the brush. Thing had a massive horn jutting straight out of its forehead like a damn spear, and mandibles clicking at its jaw like it wanted to chew me sideways. Sounded like a regular boar though—snorting, squealing, stomping around. Ugly bastard charged so fast I thought it had me. Lucky for me it couldn't turn worth shit and cracked its skull into a tree. Knocked itself out cold. Meat's mine now. Looking for weapons or tools—don't care what kind."
Glasswing: "Picked up some herbs after slipping down a ravine. Got cut up, thought I was screwed. But I remembered my grandfather showing me how to crush and bind them. Tried it—sting fades, wounds don't fester. Got a small bundle left. Trading for food."
Ethan's pulse quickened. Meat. Herbs. Two things he needed more than anything. His hand hovered for only a moment before he typed into the channel.
[FieldWalker]: "RedDawn, what kind of meat is it? That thing sounds corrupted. You sure it's edible?"
[RedDawn]: "Relax, FieldWalker. I cut into it myself. Looks like pork, smells like pork, even tastes like pork. If it's poison, then it's a slow one, because I'm still standing after scarfing half a strip."
[FieldWalker]: "Fine. I'll trade you one of my spare spears for a portion."
Another chime.
[Trade Successful.]
[Inventory Updated]
• Spears (1 → 0)
• Raptor Carcass (1)
• Boar Meat (1 Portion)
Ethan exhaled slowly, then turned his attention to Glasswing.
[FieldWalker]: "Glasswing. How sure are you these herbs work? And how'd you figure it out?"
Glasswing: "As I said in chat—my grandfather taught me. He knew plants, always took me out gathering. I recognized the leaves right away. When I fell and tore up my leg, I chewed them, spat out the mash, and packed it in. Hurt like fire at first, but the pain eased and the cut didn't swell. Still alive, aren't I?"
[FieldWalker]: "Good enough. I've got food. One portion of boar meat for your herbs."
Another chime.
[Trade Successful.]
[Inventory Updated]
• Raptor Carcass (1)
• Herbs (1 Bundle)
Ethan quickly pulled the bundle free from his inventory. The sharp, earthy scent filled the air instantly. The leaves were fibrous, dull green, rougher than anything he'd handled before.
He sat down near the embers of his fire, tore the leaves, and chewed them into a bitter mash that clung to his tongue like ash. He nearly gagged, but forced it down, pressing the pulpy mass against the gash in his side.
The sting came first, sharp enough to make him flinch. Then it dulled, easing into a cool throb. He tore a strip from the cloth he'd wrapped himself in and tied it off over the wound, binding it tight. His fingers trembled, but the knot held. Crude, but secure.
Leaning back, he spat the bitter remnants into the dirt. The taste lingered, foul and earthy, but the ache in his ribs didn't bite quite as hard as before. Maybe it was working. Maybe not. The system stayed silent.
As he caught his breath, the chat scrolled again—other survivors weighing in.
[StoneHand]: "Wait—RedDawn, you actually ate that thing? With the mandibles? You're insane."
[RedDawn]: "Better insane than starving."
Glasswing: "He's not wrong. Food is food, even if it looks wrong. Just cook it through."
[IronFist]: "Only fools complain about monsters looking ugly. You either kill and eat, or you die."
[Wanderlust]: "I'll pass. If my meat starts clicking mandibles at me, I'm done."
Ethan snorted, closing the chat. For once, he wasn't just an observer. He had food in his hand and herbs on his wound because of it.
For now, that was enough.
Ethan didn't linger after the chat. The herbs dulled the sharpest edge of the pain, but his side was still a constant reminder that he couldn't waste time. He pushed himself upright and stepped over to the small pile of stakes he had carved the day before.
Most were crude, uneven lengths of sharpened wood, but they would do the job. One by one, he drove them into the ground, reinforcing the ring of defenses around his shelter. Each stake sank with effort, his muscles straining, his breath harsh. When he was finished, a jagged circle of wood stood around him like a forest of splintered teeth.
He left one gap wide enough for himself to squeeze through—tight, awkward, but deliberate. The last thing he needed was to trap himself inside his own defenses.
When the wall was done, Ethan crouched near the firepit and scanned the ground for branches sturdy enough to shape. He had given up a spear during the trade, which left his supply short. That wasn't acceptable. Without spears, he had no fallback against predators and no resources to barter with.
He gathered a small bundle of straight limbs and began working them down one by one. His knife shaved the wood into long, even shafts, each tip sharpened to a lethal point and fire-hardened until the surface gleamed a deep, dark brown.
By the time he was done, four new spears rested against the wall—two set aside for future trades, two to keep for himself. He picked up the trade pair, willed them into storage, and the system acknowledged the action with a faint script across his vision.
[Inventory Updated: Spears x0 → Spears x4]
[Inventory]
• Spears (4)
• Raptor Carcass (Stored)
His small reserve felt whole again, and his shoulders loosened with the faintest flicker of relief.
But spears alone wouldn't be enough. If he was going to survive, he needed something sturdier, something with weight behind it.
Ethan selected a heavy, flat-edged stone he had found while digging the trench. He tested its heft in his palm, then searched the clearing for a strong branch. After trimming it down, he lashed the stone to the wood with strands of sinew and plant fiber. The binding was crude, uneven, but when he lifted it, the tool felt solid in his hands.
[Technology Unlocked: Stone Tool – Axe]
[Tech Points: 3 → 4]
The system's cold script faded. No flood of knowledge followed, only the blunt satisfaction of his own labor. Still, when he ran his thumb across the edge, Ethan felt something stir. Primitive as it was, the axe was more than a weapon—it was a step toward shaping the world instead of just surviving it.
Ethan turned to the raptor carcass that weighed heavy in his inventory—both in size and in memory. The fight had nearly killed him, but the beast was too valuable to waste. Ethan pulled it out into the clearing, the limp body slamming into the dirt with a wet thud.
Its scales gleamed dully in the morning light, streaked with dried blood. The claws still looked sharp enough to gut him, even in death. Ethan gritted his teeth, gripping the newly-made axe instead of the knife.
"Let's make this easier…" he muttered.
He set the blade against the joint of the hind leg, raising the axe high. The first strike cut deep into sinew, sending a wet snap through the clearing. The second blow severed through cartilage and bone. With a grunt, he wrenched the limb free, dragging it aside. The other leg came next, the process no faster—each swing left his arms trembling, the resistance of bone and muscle forcing him to steady himself between strikes.
At last, both legs lay separate from the body. The raptor's torso—still massive, still heavy—he shoved back into his inventory before the smell and bulk overwhelmed him.
[Inventory Updated]
• Spears (4)
• Raptor Carcass (Partial)
• Raptor Legs (2)
The air stank of iron, thick and nauseating. Ethan crouched beside one of the detached legs, drawing his knife now. The system's knowledge of skinning lingered at the edge of his mind, but it didn't grant skill to his hands. His cuts were clumsy, too shallow at first, then too deep. He muttered curses under his breath, fighting against the slippery resistance of muscle.
The hide peeled away slowly, sticky with blood, until the scaled skin of the legs came free. He set it aside, focusing next on the sinew.
With effort, he exposed the long pale cords of tendon, carefully sawing them free. They resisted stubbornly, and more than once his knife slipped, leaving shallow slices across his fingers. But persistence won out.
The bones came after—dense and heavy. He cracked them free from the remaining meat, grunting with the strain. Useful later. Everything had to be.
[Skill Leveled Up: Butchering Lv. 0 → 1]
[Effect: Slightly greater precision when cutting. Wasted material reduced.]
[Inventory Updated]
• Spears (4)
• Raptor Carcass (Partial)
• Raptor Hide (1)
• Raptor Tendons (1 Bundle)
• Raptor Bones (2)
Ethan wiped his bloody hands on the dirt, chest heaving. The work was rough and exhausting, but the results mattered. He had hide, tendons, and bones—enough to begin shaping a bow.
He stared at the bundle of sinew, jaw tightening. "If I can make it work… maybe I'll stand a chance from a distance," he muttered.
But with the thought came another. Firing from the ground was suicide with predators stalking through the brush. He needed height. A tower.
And that meant cutting logs.
Ethan sat cross-legged near the firepit, laying the raptor tendons across his lap. The pale cords glistened, still sticky with blood despite his best attempts to scrape them clean. He remembered flashes of the knowledge the system had pressed into him when he unlocked Carcass Skinning—stretch the sinew, dry it, twist it tight.
It wasn't a proper bowstring yet, but he could make it work.
He dug through his pile of branches until he found one long and flexible, the kind he would have dismissed earlier for a spear. He bent it slowly, testing the give. The wood creaked, fibers straining but not snapping. That was enough.
With clumsy determination, he shaved down the ends with his knife, carving notches for the string. His hands trembled from fatigue, but he forced himself to steady each cut. By the time he tied the tendon in place—twisting it again and again until it held taut—the branch had taken on the faint curve of a bow.
It wasn't elegant. It wasn't smooth. But when he drew the string back, it flexed. The tension sang in his fingertips, and for the first time, he felt something like control over the distance between himself and whatever hunted out there.
A sharp ping flickered across his vision.
[Technology Unlocked: Primitive Bow]
[+1 Technology Point]
Ethan let out a ragged breath and wiped the sweat from his brow. A bow meant nothing without arrows.
He scavenged through his remaining wood pile, selecting shafts as straight as he could find. Each one he shaved smooth, muttering under his breath as he cut grooves for the tendon string to grip. For points, he chipped down shards of stone—awkward, jagged things, bound to the shafts with thin strips carved from the raptor hide.
By the time he had four arrows laid across his knees, his hands were raw and nicked with shallow cuts. He tested one, pulling the string back halfway before letting it ease forward. The bow creaked under the strain but held. His chest rose and fell with a mixture of exhaustion and grim satisfaction.
A weapon for distance. A way to strike before teeth and claws closed the gap.
But it wouldn't be enough on its own. If he wanted this bow to matter, he needed a vantage point. Somewhere to see first, to fire first.
His eyes turned toward the stack of logs he'd spotted earlier, fallen heavy near the edge of the clearing. A plan began to take shape. The logs could become pillars. A raised floor. A watchpoint above his wall.
Ethan pushed himself to his feet, every muscle aching. He leaned on the crude bow for balance and let out a hoarse breath.
"Alright," he muttered, jaw tight. "Let's build something they can't break through."
Ethan rose stiffly, eyes on the cluster of fallen trees he had spotted near the clearing the day before. The axe felt solid in his hands as he made his way over, the haft rough against his palms. Each swing bit into dead wood, splintering it until the trunks broke down into manageable lengths.
The work was brutal. Every strike rattled his sore muscles, every push and drag through the underbrush tested the limits of his strength. But one by one, he hauled the heavy logs back toward his shelter, sweat streaking down his dirt-smeared face. Soon, a small pile formed near the gap in his unfinished wall.
He stared at the entrance, at the narrow opening he had deliberately left. That's where the tower would go. A sentry post above the only way in or out. Anyone—or anything—coming through would have to pass beneath it, right into his line of fire.
The axe bit again, this time carving pits into the soil. Ethan wedged the first four logs upright, driving rocks and packed dirt around their bases until the crude pillars held steady. Then he split the smaller logs into planks, hacking and prying until rough boards gave way. One by one, he dragged them up and laid them across the beams, forming a shaky but serviceable floor.
By the time the last plank was in place, his arms trembled with exhaustion. He climbed carefully, testing the platform before settling onto it. The forest stretched before him in a wash of darkening green. His sharpened stakes bristled outward, the clay basin rested against the wall, and the bow lay ready across his lap. Primitive, rough—but it was his.
He almost closed his eyes when the system spoke, cutting through the heavy silence:
[Structure Identified: Primitive Defensive Outpost]
[Designation: Level 0 Safe Zone Established]
Ethan froze, heart hammering.
Safe zone.
For the first time since he had fallen into this nightmare, the world itself recognized what he had carved out of its hostility.