[Old Tusk Castle Ruins, White Lion Goblin Tribe]
The air in the ravine was thick. It smelled of mud and old smoke.
Even at midday, the canopy choked the light. The goblin camp laid in deep shadow, a place of sharp edges and short lives. They used the ruins of an old human castle, the Old Tusk Castle as they called it, as the base of the camp.
Krig was young and thin. He perched on a broken wall, clutching his spear.
This was the border. Beyond these smooth, wrong stones, the deep woods waited. They hummed with clicks and low huffs. Patrol here was a punishment. Krig had earned it. He was clumsy, his ribs showing under green skin.
His stomach growled. Fear was a constant taste in his mouth. He scanned the grey ruins, his large crimson eyes seeing much. A skitter. A rustle. Nothing new.
Then, a gleam.
A soft light, like a wet stone, came from the base of the great dead-metal tree. The Shamans whispered of curses on old-one things. But the light pulled. It was not a food-gleam or a danger-gleam. It was a different-gleam.
He slid from the wall. He crept. The thing was a disc, flat and cool. He touched it.
Pain. Silent and sharp. It flooded his skull. He fell, his mind screaming into the dirt. Then, nothing.
A sound. Not in his ears, but behind his eyes.
[Beep! Host biomass located. Binding.]
[Beep! System check: incomplete. Core protocols: intact.]
[Beep! Directive: Preserve host unit. Initiate basic scan.]
Krig gasped. He was on the cold ground. The disc was gone. His palm felt strange, cold.
'A spirit? A curse?', he wondered
But the voice did not stop. For some reason, he could understand it. It was as if there was someone else in his head, warning him.
[Beep! Environmental scan complete. Threat markers detected: 12. Nutrient sources: low probability]
[Beep! Host vital signs: elevated stress markers. Recommend stillness.]
The words were not words. They were facts, pressed into his thoughts. Cold. Empty. Like a sharp rock was talking.
He held his head, waiting for magic to twist him. Nothing happened.
Just the cold, empty facts.
He stood, shaky.
The thing, the Chip, was a tool. A broken tool in his head. It saw threats. It saw his fear. Shame warmed his face. Even a tool saw he was weak.
A new fact came.
[Beep! Motion detected at a distance of 50 paces, from north-northeast direction. Analysis in progress...]
[Beep! Type: Dire Wolf. Attributes: Strength - 1.2 | Agility - 1.5 | Vitality - 1.0. Skills: Bite, Stealth]
Krig froze.
Wolf? Wolves did not come to the stone places. They liked the soft woods, where they could stalk their prey and strike them by surprise. The Old Tusk Castle was certainly not in its best conditions, but even wolves would have to think twice before heading there.
His ears strained, hearing only leaves.
[Beep! Motion update: 40 paces. Closing. Speed: low. Pattern: predatory approach.]
The cold fact cut through his fear. It was real. Something was there. He raised his spear, turning to the north-northeast. He saw only shadows and stone.
[Beep! 30 paces. Visual confirmation probable. Host elevation: disadvantageous.]
He scrambled backwards, putting the low wall at his back. His breath whistled. Then he saw it. A grey shape, low to the ground, slipping from a dark doorway. A dire wolf, lean and hungry. Its yellow eyes found him. It did not growl. It paced, side to side, judging the distance.
The Chip was quiet. Just a tool. It gave the facts. The wolf was the fact.
The wolf charged. It was a fast blur of grey and snarl.
[Beep! Kinetic threat imminent. Evasion: improbable. Intercept vector: calculated.]
The fact flashed. Krig did not think.
He acted.
He dropped into a crouch, not turning to run. He jammed the blunt end of his spear into the mud behind him, against the wall. He angled the point, not at the wolf's chest, but at its open mouth.
The wolf leapt. Its jaws opened wide to crush his throat.
Krig shoved the spear forward.
There was a hard impact. A wet crunch. A shriek that was not a wolf sound. The spear shaft tore from his hands. The wolf thrashed on the ground, the spear-point buried deep through its bottom jaw and into its skull. Its legs kicked at the air. Then it was still.
Silence returned, ringing.
Krig trembled. He stared at the dead thing. He had done that. The Chip… the tool…
[Beep! Host threat: neutralized. Biomass source acquired. Analysis in progress...]
[Beep! Suggested route of action: eat the flesh of the wolf and extract its bones for social proof and utility]
Krig walked to the wolf. He put a foot on its head and pulled his spear free. The metal tip was red. He looked at his hands. They were steady.
The tool was not a spirit. It was a friend. It was a sharp-rock-in-the-mind. It gave facts. The wolf was a fact. The killing thrust was a fact.
He was still Krig. But he had a new tool. He dragged the heavy wolf towards the wall. Meat. Hide. Status.
He looked at the dark woods, then at the dead wolf. A cold, hard understanding settled in him. The world was full of teeth.