Chapter 3 – The Ash Wastes
The darkness didn't feel like sleep. It felt like drowning—dragged into a depth where no air, no light, and no end existed.
James floated in that void for what could've been seconds, or hours. A whisper, faint as a breath against his ear, tugged at him from somewhere beyond.
You shouldn't be here.
He jolted awake.
Ash stuck to his lips, choking his mouth with bitterness. He coughed, rolling onto his side, spitting out gray grit. His chest burned with every ragged inhale, ribs screaming from the wolf's crushing weight.
For a long moment, he lay motionless, trying to remember how to breathe. The world around him was dead quiet again. The corpses of the wolves sprawled nearby, their twisted forms still leaking black ichor that steamed against the cold ground.
He should've felt triumphant. Instead, all he felt was empty.
The System flickered, jagged lines of blue text buzzing in his vision:
[System Warning: User HP Critical]
[Current HP: 7/45]
[System Stability: 14% ↓]
[Error: Reward Allocation Failed]
James closed his eyes, dragging his bloody hand over his face. He didn't even bother to curse this time. The System had promised him survival. All it gave him was pain.
Forcing himself upright, he searched through the rubble. His satchel was miraculously still intact, though his waterskin was nearly empty. His makeshift bandage was soaked through, sticky against his arm.
"Seven HP," he muttered, voice dry. "One more scratch and I'm done."
The thought clawed at him, but worse was the line that had appeared in his mind before he blacked out.
Hunters are coming.
James' gut twisted. He didn't even know who—or what—they were, but the certainty of that warning left no room for doubt. If wolves nearly killed him, whatever "Hunters" were would tear him apart.
He gritted his teeth and pushed himself to his feet. His legs wobbled beneath him, but he forced them to move. He couldn't stay here, not surrounded by corpses that might draw worse things.
He stumbled into the wasteland.
The Ash Wastes stretched endlessly.
Gray earth cracked like shattered glass beneath his boots. Towers leaned in the distance, broken spines of some forgotten civilization. The air was thick with powdery dust, burning his lungs.
Time didn't move here. The sky remained a dull slate, neither day nor night, only endless twilight.
His stomach twisted with hunger. He dug into his satchel and pulled out the last scrap of bread. It crumbled in his fingers, dry as bone. He chewed slowly, forcing himself to swallow. The bread stuck in his throat until he washed it down with the last mouthful of water.
The waterskin flopped empty. He stared at it, then shoved it back into the satchel with a curse.
He didn't know how long he walked. His body screamed for rest, every wound aching. His head spun. More than once, he thought he saw shapes in the distance—figures moving among the ruins—but whenever he blinked, they vanished into dust.
The System flickered again, startling him.
[New Quest: Nourish Yourself]
Objective: Eat the ash for sustenance.
Reward: +10 HP
Failure: -10 HP
James stopped dead. "What?"
The text didn't vanish. It pulsed, insistent, a timer ticking down beneath it:
Time Limit: 05:00
His lips parted in disbelief. "You want me to eat dirt?"
The ash crunched beneath his boots. He crouched, scooping up a handful. The gray powder sifted through his fingers, gritty, lifeless. The very thought of putting it in his mouth made bile rise in his throat.
"No," he growled. "Not happening."
But the timer kept counting down.
04:12.
His pulse quickened. His HP was already low—if he failed, he'd be down to negative three. That was death. Game over.
He clenched his fists. "You're bluffing."
03:29.
The timer burned into his eyes, impossible to ignore. Sweat rolled down his temple despite the cold. His body swayed with exhaustion. His stomach screamed.
He knelt again, staring at the handful of ash. Maybe… maybe it was the only way. If the System gave him even a few points of HP, it might save his life.
But then he remembered the last quest—the one that had promised "XP for protection" only to steal his health instead. The System was broken. Corrupted. It lied.
He dropped the ash and forced himself back to his feet. "No. Screw you. If I die, I'm not dying with a mouthful of dirt."
01:02.
The countdown shrank, each number hammering against his chest.
00:10.
James shut his eyes, bracing for the inevitable.
00:00.
The penalty hit like fire in his skull. He screamed, clutching his head as white-hot agony seared through his mind.
But it wasn't just pain. Images burst behind his eyes. Flashes of lives not his own.
A man in iron armor, blade broken, standing against a tide of monsters before flames devoured him whole.
A woman kneeling in blood, whispering through cracked lips, "It's not real. None of it is real."
A child clutching a jagged sword, running into darkness as shadows tore her apart.
James staggered, gasping. The visions vanished as suddenly as they came, leaving him trembling in the dust.
The System chimed:
[Penalty Applied: -10 HP]
[User HP: -3/45]
Override Detected. Critical death averted.
Memory Fragment Unlocked.
James collapsed onto his hands and knees, coughing violently. His vision swam with static, yet something lingered—instinct, knowledge, muscle memory that wasn't his. His grip on the dagger at his belt felt steadier, like he'd wielded it for years.
He spat blood and ash onto the ground, teeth bared in a ragged grin. "Guess you screwed up again."
Somewhere on the horizon, faint against the gray haze, wooden shapes rose above the cracked earth. Roofs. Chimneys. Smoke.
A village.
Hope sparked in his chest. He wiped blood from his mouth, sheathed the dagger, and forced his broken body forward.
The whisper returned, quieter now, almost mournful.
You were never meant to exist… yet here you are.
James ignored it. For the first time since awakening in this nightmare, he had a direction. A chance.
And nothing—not a broken system, not whispers of doom—would stop him from reaching it.
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