The forest was alive with sound when dawn came, a living tapestry of whispers, rustling leaves, and distant howls. A pale veil of mist clung to the ground, curling around roots and stones as if the world itself wanted to keep its secrets hidden.
Ethan trailed after Lyra, trying not to look like a man who had no idea what he was doing. His clothes were still torn from his fall the night before, his weapon nothing more than a cracked blade scavenged from the corpse of the Shadow fang wolf. The weapon felt awkward in his grip, like a borrowed tool rather than an extension of his body.
Lyra walked ahead, graceful as the morning mist itself. Her silver hair shimmered faintly in the early light, her cloak moving as though the breeze bent itself to her will. If she noticed his clumsy footing or the way he kept glancing at the shadows, she didn't comment. She was focused, her spirit-born aura sharp as a blade.
"We hunt together," she said finally, her voice low but carrying a quiet strength. "But do not mistake this for safety. Out here, mistakes kill."
Ethan swallowed and nodded, though his heart was thundering like a drum. "Got it. Stay alive. That's the plan."
Her eyes flicked back to him, cold but not cruel. "If you treat this as a plan, you'll be dead before the sun sets. Survival is not clever words. It is instinct. Remember that."
He bit back the urge to fire back something sarcastic. Instead, he tightened his grip on his sword and forced himself to focus.
The broken system's screen hovered faintly at the edge of his vision, shimmering like cracked glass. Every time he blinked, fragments of it glitched, flickering symbols dancing in the corner of his eye. It hadn't stopped since the fight with the wolf. Sometimes it whispered with static, sometimes it froze completely. But it was there, offering him the thing Lyra could never fully understand: stolen power.
"First prey," Lyra said softly, halting so abruptly he nearly bumped into her. She tilted her head toward the undergrowth.
Ethan squinted. At first, he saw nothing but shifting leaves. Then the brush parted, and he saw them—creatures the size of large dogs, their bodies sleek and reptilian, with scaled hides that glistened in the damp light. Their jaws dripped with saliva, and their eyes burned yellow.
"Forest lizards," Lyra whispered. "Not strong alone, but dangerous in a pack. There are three. You take one. I'll handle the others."
His chest tightened. "One? You make it sound like a grocery list."
"Kill it or it kills you. That is the list."
And then she was gone, moving like silver lightning into the brush.
The lizards hissed, startled, and one broke away—straight toward Ethan.
His body reacted before his mind caught up. The beast lunged, jaws wide, and he swung his cracked blade. Steel met scale with a jarring clang, the sword nearly slipping from his grip. Pain shot up his arm. The lizard snarled and snapped again, teeth grazing his thigh.
Panic surged. He stumbled back, nearly tripping over a root. His thoughts screamed at him—too fast, too strong, you can't do this—but the flicker of the system appeared, overlaying the chaos.
Target: Forest Lizard.
Skill available: Acid Spit.
Steal? Y/N.
"Yes!" he barked, without thinking.
The now-familiar cold rush flooded his veins. His chest tightened as though liquid fire filled his lungs. The lizard recoiled suddenly, confused, as if sensing its own strength being siphoned away.
Ethan's body moved with instinct he didn't know he had. His throat burned, and then a spray of sizzling liquid shot from his mouth. It struck the lizard's flank, searing into its scales with a hiss of smoke.
The creature writhed, shrieking, and Ethan seized the chance. He raised his sword and drove it down with all the desperate strength he had left. The blade pierced just beneath the jaw, and with a wet, sickening crunch, the lizard went still.
For a long, trembling moment, Ethan couldn't breathe. His chest heaved, his sword hand shook. The acrid stench of burning scale hung in the air, making his stomach twist.
The screen pulsed again.
Enemy defeated. Experience gained.
Level up: Level 1 → Level 2.
It was faint, broken, the letters flickering as though they might vanish any second. But the meaning was clear. His body thrummed with a rush of strength, a faint but undeniable shift. He wasn't the same weak man who had stumbled through the forest yesterday.
His first level. His first kill.
A shout snapped his focus back. Lyra moved across the clearing with lethal precision, her spirit-infused blade cutting arcs of silver light through the air. The two lizards she faced stood no chance. One fell with its throat slit, the other dissolved into mist beneath her strike, its body unraveling as though it had never been real flesh at all.
When it was over, she stood still for a heartbeat, then wiped her blade clean against the grass. Her breathing was steady, her expression unreadable.
Ethan realized he was staring.
She turned her gaze on him. "You lived."
He managed a shaky laugh. "Barely. But yeah, I… I leveled up." He grinned, the exhilaration breaking through his fear. "It actually worked. I feel… stronger."
Her expression didn't change. "Do not let that feeling fool you. Strength gained too quickly is a trap. It tempts you to believe you are untouchable."
He bristled, but before he could retort, she added, "Your aura is louder now. I warned you. The system inside you is not natural. Its hunger will draw attention."
Her words chilled him more than the fight had. "Hunger?"
"Power always hungers. The difference is whether it eats the world… or eats you."
They set out again, but Ethan carried her words like a weight. The thrill of his victory burned bright, but beneath it coiled unease. He hadn't just killed the lizard with his blade. He had stolen its own essence, turned its strength into his weapon. And though it had saved him, a part of him recoiled at the memory of that acid spilling from his mouth.
As the mist thinned and the day grew warmer, they hunted again. More lizards. A flock of strange, horned birds that dove like arrows. Together they carved a path through the wild, Lyra a dancer of death, Ethan stumbling but learning. His blade grew steadier in his hands. His stolen skills—acid spit, shadow step—gave him an edge that surprised even him.
Each victory brought the same pulse of the screen, the same thrill of leveling. By midday, he had climbed to level three. His body felt sharper, quicker, more alive than ever before. He was almost drunk on it.
But the near-deaths never stopped. The birds' talons tore his shoulder before he managed to strike one down. A lizard's tail nearly crushed his ribs. Every fight was a gamble, his survival dangling by a thread. The line between triumph and death blurred until he couldn't tell whether the pounding in his chest came from exhilaration or terror.
By the time the sun dipped lower, painting the forest in shades of gold, Ethan collapsed against a fallen log, sweat and blood streaking his face. He laughed breathlessly, staring up at the shafts of light cutting through the trees.
"I can't believe I'm still alive."
Lyra crouched nearby, her blade resting across her knees. She studied him with that same detached gaze, but there was a flicker of something softer in her eyes now.
"You fight like someone who knows death well," she said quietly. "That will keep you alive longer than any system."
He met her eyes, surprised by the weight of her words. For a moment, the forest fell silent around them, and he felt something unspoken pass between them—acknowledgment, maybe even the first thread of trust.
Then the system flickered again. A crackle of static rippled through his vision, and for a heartbeat the screen shattered, fragments of broken text raining across his sight.
ERROR: Undefined function.
Skill corruption detected.
The message vanished as quickly as it appeared, but it left him cold.
Lyra saw the way his expression faltered. She didn't ask, but she didn't need to. Her gaze lingered, sharp as the moonlight, as though she could see straight through him.
The thrill of the hunt was still there, but for the first time Ethan wondered if the power he carried was less a blessing… and more a curse that would one day devour him whole.