The Crawler breastplate clicked reassuringly as I moved, its chitin plates shifting like a second skin. For the first time since being dumped in this nightmare, I didn't feel like prey. The upgraded club's weight was different too—not heavier, but deadlier, the Mite carapace edges catching the light like black diamonds.
"I feel great," I announced to the empty forest, rolling my shoulders. The armor didn't restrict my movement like I'd feared. "I feel powerful."
The stat boost thrummed through me, a constant hum of potential. My muscles remembered yesterday's stone-shattering strike, the way the club had moved through solid rock like it was wet paper. If numbers could do this, what was my ceiling?
The [Weapon Master] prompt appeared without warning, golden text burning brighter than previous notifications. When I focused, the world transformed—ghostly lines arced through the air, each terminating in a glowing bullseye. Arrows pulsed along their lengths, suggesting trajectories.
"What the hell...?"
I swung instinctively, following the nearest line.
[INCORRECT]
Proper footing required
Golden footprints materialized on the mossy ground. I stepped onto them, feeling absurd, and swung again.
[INCORRECT]
Insufficient power
Hip rotation required
The third attempt changed everything.
My body moved without conscious thought—back foot pivoting, hips snapping forward, the club whipping through its arc with a sound like tearing canvas. The impact sent vibrations up my arms, not painful but *right*, like a key turning in a long-rusted lock.
[TRAINING INITIATED: WEAPON MASTERY 0.7%]
"Hot damn." I grinned, shaking out my arms. The simulation highlighted every mistake—leaning too far forward, over-rotating, telegraphing my swings. By the third hour, my shirt was soaked through, but the percentage had climbed to 3.1%.
The berry bushes' thinning branches snapped me back to reality. My stomach growled—those purple snacks wouldn't last forever. I needed real meat. Real protein.
As if reading my mind, the system pulsed:
[NEW QUEST: HUNTING GROUND]
Locate sustainable game sources
Reward: Skinner's Knife
The mental image of a proper fillet knife sent a shiver down my spine. No more hacking at carcasses with sharp rocks. No more wasting precious meat.
I hefted my club, feeling the new balance in its weighted head. The forest stretched before me, its crimson leaves trembling in the breeze.
Predators didn't wait for permission.
They hunted.
The forest hummed with its usual chorus of wrongness as I trekked through the underbrush—the chirps a half-tone too sharp, the rustling leaves moving just slightly out of sync with the wind. My new armor clicked softly with each step, the Crawler chitin plates still smelling faintly of ammonia despite days of wear.
"Menu."
The display shimmered before me:
[FELIX SHAW]
STR: 40 (+33% from crafted weapon)
AGI: 41
CON: 46
LCK: 13
The numbers glared back, impressive yet meaningless without context. Like having a sports car with no roads. "Guess I'll have to make my own test track," I muttered, hefting my upgraded club. The Ebon Mite fragments along its head gleamed wickedly in the dappled light.
A foul odor hit my nostrils—musky and sour. There, nestled between gnarled roots: animal scat, still glistening with moisture. I crouched, my armor creaking, and poked it with my club. The mass was studded with undigested bone fragments and... were those scales? My stomach turned, but I made myself study it. The thing that left this was big. Hungry.
And recently here.
The clearing ahead seemed peaceful at first glance. Sunlight pooled in the mossy hollows, illuminating a cluster of deer-like creatures grazing on thorned vines. Except—
Their fur was the color of rust, their antlers spiraled like corkscrews. The largest lifted its head, vines dangling from a muzzle lined with needle-teeth. Our eyes met—its pupils were vertical slits, like a cat's.
I took one step.
The creature screamed—a sound that belonged in no natural forest—and the herd bolted in perfect unison. I gave chase, my armor clattering like a sack of silverware, but they vanished into the undergrowth as if they'd never been there at all.
"Damn it!"
The trampled foliage told a story: cloven hoofprints that looked disturbingly like hands, half-chewed plants oozing milky sap. I pocketed one of the intact orange berries. Maybe the guide would—
[NEW QUEST]
Kill 1 Forest Prowler & 1 Mud Lurker
Reward: Trapper's Guide
I stared at the notification. The timing was too perfect. The rewards too... convenient. First a crafting guide when I needed tools, now hunting help when I couldn't track dinner?
A cold prickle crawled up my spine. The trees seemed to lean closer, their branches knitting together like interlaced fingers. Above, the crimson leaves rustled without wind.
The system wasn't just helping me survive.
It was curating my progress.
And that realization scared me more than any fanged deer.