The transit wasn't empty.
What had felt like a brief moment of attention in the Oasis was actually much worse. The shattering wasn't like glass breaking. It was existence itself coming apart at the seams—reality unzipping along dimensions Klein's human mind had never been equipped to perceive.
His consciousness detonated.
One instant, he was Kahiramura Klein, coherent and defined. The next, he was scattered across impossible geometries like blood spatter on a cosmic scale. He existed everywhere and nowhere simultaneously—stretched across infinite space while compressed to a singular point. The fundamental hum of reality itself screamed through him, and underneath it, something else.
Hunger.
The Void Hunters' presence saturated the space between worlds. Their attention followed him through the transit like searchlights through fog, except the fog was the fabric of existence and the searchlights were pure negation. He felt their interest—not curiosity, not even malice, but the simple, absolute hunger of things that existed to unmake. They had noticed him. The balanced soul. The impossible thing.
They had tasted his essence. Memorized his pattern.
Then something else intervened.
Klein felt it—a presence that was neither light nor dark, but the space between. The Godfather's touch was surgical, invasive. Not masking. Alteration. Klein's spiritual signature twisted, fundamental elements scrambled like a cipher being rewritten mid-transmission. What the Void Hunters had memorized no longer matched what they sensed—close enough to tantalize, different enough to confuse.
The creatures circled, frustrated. Their hunger turned to uncertainty. The prey refused to resolve into recognizable patterns.
After a long moment, they dispersed into the void.
But Klein felt the Godfather's presence linger, carrying a weight of grim certainty:
Temporary reprieve. Not salvation. They have tasted your essence. In places where reality grows thin, they will recognize you despite any scrambling. The alteration buys time. Use it wisely.
Then the presence withdrew, and Klein was alone in the howling dark.
The fragmentation stopped abruptly.
Klein's consciousness snapped back together—not smoothly, but like bones being reset with too much pressure. He was aware of himself again. Singular. Coherent.
Alive, in whatever way that word applied to the dead.
He materialized in a space of perfect gray. The walls flickered, unstable, reality bleeding at the edges where the Void Hunters had been circling.
[CONDITION MET: Spatial Integrity = Critical]
[PROTOCOL OVERRIDE: Emergency Broadcast initiating…]
[STATUS: Soul Kahlpamura Klein intercepted from standard transit queue]
[NOTE: Standard transit compromised. Emergency configuration required.]
[Emotional Dampening Field: Online]
[NEUTRAL SYSTEM: Transportation in progress. Soul integrity at 94%. Emergency configuration required.]
The Dampening engaged fully for the first time since his death.
It wasn't a wall. It was an adaptive barrier—living architecture that responded to emotional pressure. The terror was still there, the overwhelming wrongness of being dead and reborn and scattered across dimensions, but the architecture adapted, absorbed the impact. Compressed it. Turned down the volume from deafening to manageable.
Klein could think around the fear instead of drowning in it.
He focused on the notification. Emergency configuration. Choices that mattered.
[NEUTRAL SYSTEM: Bio-spiritual vessel required. Subject will receive body approximating human biological function. Permanent death possible in new existence—complete and irreversible soul termination.]
Permanent death. The words sat in his mind like lead. Not death where he'd wake up somewhere else. Not another chance. If he died here, he'd be erased. Completely. Forever.
The thought should have terrified him. The Dampening caught it before it could, but he felt the weight underneath—a cold certainty that made every decision suddenly matter in a way they never had before. In Manila, death had been escape. Here, death was ending.
Cariel dissolved. Permanently. She doesn't get to come back.
If I die here, neither do I.
[NEUTRAL SYSTEM: Body configuration—OPTION 1: Restore original template with baseline health optimization. OPTION 2: Customize. WARNING: Option 2 time-intensive. Spatial integrity at 87%. Selection required.]
The walls shuddered. Klein didn't hesitate.
Option 1.
[NEUTRAL SYSTEM: Acknowledged. Initializing physical restoration.]
The sensation hit like lightning made solid.
His body materialized in a single jarring instant—bones and muscle and skin snapping into existence with the finality of a door slamming shut. Klein gasped, suddenly physical, weight and gravity and sensation crashing over him all at once.
He looked down at himself. Same hands—slim fingers, the build of someone who'd spent years at a desk rather than a gym. 5'8", the mix of his Japanese mother and Filipino father visible in his features even now. The chronic exhaustion from six years of poverty was gone. The vitamin deficiencies, the poor sleep quality, the accumulated damage from surviving on 25,000 pesos a month—all of it erased. His body felt healthy. Functional.
Not superhuman. Just no longer actively failing.
Klein flexed his fingers. They were steady. Strong enough. But they'd never held a weapon. Never trained for combat. Never learned wilderness survival.
I'm still just a call center worker. Just one who isn't starving anymore.
[NEUTRAL SYSTEM: Spatial integrity at 71%. Racial configuration required. Races compatible with Neutral status: Human. Metamorphor.]
[NOTE: Standard racial templates (Elf, Dwarf, Orc, others) unavailable due to emergency transit circumstances and Neutral classification. Divine/Demonic alignments unlock expanded options. Current selection limited to baseline-compatible forms.]
Two options appeared:
HUMAN
Baseline: Balanced physical/mental capabilities
Growth: Linear progression, established ceiling
Advantages: Familiar biology, stable development
Disadvantages: Fixed potential
METAMORPHOR
Baseline: Minimal inherent traits, "blank slate" biology
Growth: Exponential potential through trait observation and acquisition
Survival Rate (48-hour): 17% | (7-day): 8%
Advantages: Unlimited trait acquisition, no theoretical ceiling
Disadvantages: Extended vulnerability period, high initial mortality
The space cracked. An actual fissure appeared in the gray wall.
[NEUTRAL SYSTEM: Spatial integrity at 58%. Selection required NOW.]
Klein's hand hovered over METAMORPHOR. The wall cracked wider. Something began pushing through—
His mind flashed to Cariel. Dissolving so he could escape. Choosing permanent death so he could have this choice.
Metamorphor.
[NEUTRAL SYSTEM: Metamorphor selected. Confirm: YES/NO]
YES.
[NEUTRAL SYSTEM: Confirmed. Initializing transformation...]
[NEUTRAL PROTOCOL: Advanced subroutines activating. EVALUATOR initialized—tactical analysis system. WARNING: Default configuration. Limited accuracy until upgraded. BALANCE METER initialized—equilibrium monitoring required for Metamorphor stability.]
[BALANCE METER: 50.0% Divine / 50.0% Demonic - PERFECT EQUILIBRIUM]
Klein felt information trying to flood his consciousness, but he pushed it aside. Later. Survive first.
The transformation hit like conceptual reconstruction. Klein felt his bio-spiritual vessel restructure on a fundamental level—not changing shape, but changing potential. His existence becoming malleable. Undefined.
The Liminal Space shattered completely.
[TRANSFORMATION COMPLETE]
[NEUTRAL SYSTEM: Emergency protocol—designated spawn coordinates: Tertius, Island of Wildlands, Eastern Lowlands sector. Brace for materialization—]
The gray exploded into color.
Klein materialized three feet above ground and fell.
The impact drove air from lungs he was still getting used to. Pain bloomed across his shoulder and hip—real pain, sharp and immediate. He rolled onto his side, gasping. Dirt ground into his skin. The air was thick, humid, oppressively warm like Manila at its worst but with an alien quality that made his skin crawl.
Alone.
He was utterly, completely alone.
Klein pushed himself up slowly. The sky above was blue—almost. Like someone had adjusted the saturation just enough to trigger wrongness in his perception. The sun hung at an angle that felt incorrect, casting shadows in shades that shouldn't exist.
Dense trees surrounded him—massive trunks with bark that shifted between gray and dark purple, leaves in shades of deep emerald shot through with veins of bioluminescent blue. Through gaps in the canopy, he could see mountains to the north, their peaks sharp and crystalline.
Klein looked down at himself. Naked. Unarmed. No equipment. No supplies.
Nine kilometers to civilization. Through alien forest. This is going to hurt.
He started walking northwest, using the mountains as his landmark.
Within five minutes, problems became apparent.
His feet—healthy but soft, never conditioned for barefoot wilderness travel—found every sharp rock, every thorny vine. He stepped on something that felt like broken glass. Blood welled up, warm and slick.
Klein hissed through his teeth. The pain hit the Dampening barrier, got compressed down to manageable levels, but it was still there. A constant throb with each step.
The forest floor was deceptively treacherous. What looked like soft moss covered jagged stones. Vines caught his ankles. The undergrowth scraped his legs, leaving thin lines of red across his shins.
Klein kept moving. The Dampening made it possible—the filter held firm against each spike of panic before it could fragment his focus. But it didn't make him competent. He still tripped over roots he didn't see. Still walked into low-hanging branches that left scratches across his shoulders.
Mom's voice surfaced, unbidden: "Panic is expensive. Think first, move second."
The grief tried to follow—her face, her faith in him, the money he'd never send—but the compression tightened under the pressure, held it back. Not gone. Just... managed. A weight pressing against soundproof glass, visible but muted.
Klein forced himself to slow down. To actually look where he was stepping instead of just crashing forward. His pace was unsustainable. He knew it. But the math was simple: nine kilometers, maybe four hours of daylight, unknown threats. He could rest when he reached the settlement. Or he'd die out here. The Dampening kept the panic from making him stupid, but it couldn't change the tactical reality. He had to move fast.
After what felt like an eternity of stumbling through hostile undergrowth, Klein found the bones.
They lay half-buried in leaf litter, scattered like something had died here and been torn apart. The skull was wrong—elongated, with eye sockets spaced too far apart. Humanoid proportions but fundamentally other.
Near the bones: a broken sword.
Klein stopped, studying it. The blade was snapped halfway down its length, the metal oxidized and pitted with age. Rust had eaten deep into the iron, leaving the surface rough and corroded. The handle was cracked wood, weathered by years of exposure.
Someone died here long ago. Even armed, they couldn't survive this place.
The realization settled cold in his gut.
Neither can I without help.
Klein knelt, grabbed the broken sword anyway. The weight was wrong—too light for its size, the balance off due to the break. The rust flaked under his grip, rough against his palms.
I've never held a sword. This one barely counts. But it's better than nothing.
Klein stood, broken sword gripped awkwardly, and continued northwest.
The weapon made his arm ache within minutes. He kept switching hands, trying different grips, never finding one that felt right. But he held onto it anyway.
The forest pressed in around him, alive with sounds Klein couldn't identify. Distant calls that might have been birds or might have been something worse. The rustle of undergrowth that could be wind or could be predators.
Klein's throat was parched, his lips cracking. Sweat poured down his face despite the shade, and his head was starting to pound.
Then he heard it—the sound of running water.
Klein changed direction, pushing through dense ferns toward the sound. The stream cut through the forest like a scar, water running clear over dark stones that glittered with mineral deposits.
Klein approached cautiously, then knelt and drank. The water was cold, tasted metallic but clean. He drank until his stomach hurt, then splashed water on his face and the worst of his cuts.
The cool water felt like salvation. Klein stayed by the stream for fifteen minutes, letting his body recover. His feet throbbed. His shoulders ached. Every muscle screamed exhaustion.
But he couldn't stay. The sun was lower now, shadows lengthening. Still kilometers to go.
Klein stood reluctantly and pushed forward, following the stream northwest. At least he had water now.
The forest grew denser. Darker. Klein chose paths based on guesswork, and more often than not, they led to dead ends forcing him to backtrack.
Then Klein heard it.
Low, rhythmic breathing. Close.
Klein froze.
The panic hit like a physical blow—his heart rate spiking, his vision narrowing, every instinct screaming RUN. But the emotional architecture held firm, the barrier flexed under the assault. The terror was still there but compressed, turned down just enough to think instead of flee blindly.
Klein turned slowly. There—movement through the trees. Something large, low to the ground, its hide shifting colors to match the forest around it.
Active camouflage.
Then he saw the eyes. Four of them, set in a skull too wide and flat.
Klein didn't run. He backed away slowly, broken sword held out in what probably looked pathetic but was all he had.
The creature moved with him. Patient. Intelligent.
Then Klein heard breathing from his left.
Pack hunters.
[NEUTRAL SYSTEM: EVALUATOR ANALYSIS - Threat detected. Multiple hostiles. Minimum 3 detected. Combat assessment: Subject has zero combat training. Survival probability if engaged: <3%. Recommendation: Immediate retreat toward open terrain. Stream is 40 meters west.]
The information appeared as pure knowledge in his mind, cold and analytical. Klein didn't question it—just followed the recommendation and kept backing toward the stream.
The creatures moved with him, circling. More of them appearing from the undergrowth, their camouflage flickering as they moved.
Klein's analytical mind ran calculations even as fear pounded against the Dampening barrier. Distance to open ground. His exhaustion level. The predators' speed advantage. The broken sword in his hand that meant nothing against creatures built to kill.
His foot hit something—a root—and he stumbled.
The nearest creature lunged.
Klein threw himself sideways. The creature's jaws snapped closed inches from his throat—he felt the air displacement, felt heat from its breath, saw teeth designed for tearing. The stench of rot and meat washed over him.
He hit the ground hard, shoulder slamming into stone. The broken sword came up—not skillfully, just desperate survival instinct.
The jagged edge caught the creature across its face.
The cut was shallow but the broken blade tore through hide and muscle. The creature screamed—a sound like metal tearing—and recoiled.
Klein scrambled to his feet. The pack was closing in, the wounded one's scream triggering aggression in the others. Seven of them now, all visible, their hides shifting from forest-pattern to threat-display colors—reds and oranges pulsing across their bodies.
Klein ran toward the stream—not blindly, but with desperate purpose. The Evaluator's recommendation burned in his mind: Stream is 40 meters west. He followed it, crashing through undergrowth with all the grace of a panicked tourist. Tripped over roots. Bounced off trees. The Dampening kept his DIRECTION strategic even if his MOVEMENT was a disaster—fear managed enough to think, but not enough to make him competent.
The creatures chased immediately.
Behind him: sounds of pursuit. Coordinated. Efficient. Closing distance.
Klein burst from the treeline onto the stream bank and spun, broken sword raised.
Seven creatures emerged from the forest. Their hides shifted from forest-pattern to stream-bank pattern in real-time. Four eyes per skull, all locked on Klein.
[NEUTRAL SYSTEM: EVALUATOR ANALYSIS - Survival probability: <1%. No viable evasion routes. Estimated survival time: 15-30 seconds after coordinated attack.]
Klein's grip tightened on the broken sword. The architecture adapted, kept the terror compressed just enough to think.
Fifteen seconds. That's all I get.
The lead creature crouched, muscles coiling—
An arrow punched through its skull.
The creature collapsed mid-lunge. The remaining six spun, searching for the threat.
"DOWN!"
The voice came from the forest—male, accent unfamiliar but the meaning arrived in Klein's mind perfectly clear. Only the musical quality of the voice remained, marking the speaker's native tongue as something other than English or Tagalog.
Klein dropped.
Six more arrows cut through the space where he'd been standing. Three creatures fell immediately. The remaining three bolted back into the forest, camouflage rendering them invisible within seconds.
Klein stayed down, breathing hard. His entire body was shaking—adrenaline crash hitting, pain coming back online now that the immediate threat was gone. His shoulder throbbed where he'd hit the ground. His feet were bleeding steadily. Every muscle felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry.
Footsteps approached—light, measured, moving with a grace Klein could never achieve.
"You can stand. They won't come back after losing half their pack."
Klein looked up.
An Elf stood ten meters away, bow raised, another arrow nocked but not drawn. Pointed ears—actual pointed ears, not prosthetics or costume pieces but real—sharp features that looked carved rather than grown, eyes that caught light like a cat's reflecting gold in the fading sun.
And above his head, floating like a crown: a Hail of molten gold, pulsing with gentle warmth.
Elves. Actual elves.
The wonder tried to surface—the sheer impossibility of it, the childhood fantasy made real, the wrongness and rightness of it all—and the Dampening caught it. Not erased. Managed. The feeling was still there, pressed behind the glass, but Klein could function around it. File it away for later processing when he wasn't bleeding and exhausted in an alien forest.
The Elf studied Klein with equal intensity, his eyes lingering on the space above Klein's head. Where a Hail should be.
Where there was nothing.
Synel moved among the corpses efficiently, extracting small crystalline fragments from their bodies with practiced precision. The crystals caught the light, pulsing with faint inner luminescence. "Mana crystals," he explained, tucking them into a belt pouch. "Payment for the rescue."
He approached Klein, and his expression shifted—clinical assessment replacing combat focus. "You're naked." It was statement, not question.
"Spawned that way. No equipment, no clothes, nothing."
Synel pulled a rough cloth from his pack—large enough to wrap around Klein's waist and hips. "Here. Wrap this around yourself. The guards won't let you through the gates otherwise, no-Hail or not. We have standards."
Klein took it gratefully, fashioning it into crude covering. The cloth was coarse, scratchy against his skin, but it was something. A barrier between him and complete exposure.
"Thank you."
Synel nodded, bow still ready but not threatening. "No Hail," he said slowly, voice carrying that musical quality even through obvious suspicion. "Recent spawn, given your condition. But no Hail means you're either glitched, Neutral, or something worse." His bow lowered fractionally. "Which is it?"
Klein's mind raced. The Dampening kept his voice steady despite exhaustion:
"Recent spawn. The System said something about emergency protocols during transport. I materialized in the forest—" how long ago? an hour? two? "—not long ago. No Hail, no explanation, no equipment." He gestured at his bleeding, exhausted state. "This is my first day."
The Elf's eyes widened slightly. "And you're still alive? You're either incredibly lucky or more capable than you look."
He lowered his bow fully, though Klein noticed he didn't unstring it.
"Name's Synel Torethian. Scout for Thornhaven trading post." He nodded northwest. "I was on extended patrol—we send scouts out to ten kilometers to track predator movements before they reach our perimeter. I heard the pack converge. Seven Stalkers moving together means something big triggered them. Came running and found you at the stream." His eyes studied Klein with renewed interest. "We don't get many Neutral souls out here. Or any, really. You're the first I've seen. And there's a finder's fee for bringing in new spawns, especially unusual ones."
Klein felt himself being evaluated. Not as a threat. As a curiosity. Maybe a paycheck.
"How much are those worth?" Klein asked, watching Synel pocket the crystals. Information was survival.
"Five silver per crystal in Thornhaven. Ten if you sell to continental traders." Synel's eyes glinted. "Seven Stalkers, fourteen crystals. Seventy silver. Not bad for ten minutes' work—though most of that was your bait job."
Klein filed the information away. Stalkers equal money. Ward maintenance costs crystals. If I survive verification, I need equipment and income. Hunting might be an option if I can acquire combat traits. Big if.
Synel reached into his pack and pulled out a wrapped bundle. Dried meat, dark and tough-looking.
"Eat. You look like you're about to collapse."
Klein caught the bundle. His exhausted brain could barely process the implications—was this kindness or investment?—but his body didn't care. He needed calories.
Klein ate. The meat was gamey, tough, borderline rancid. He forced it down anyway.
"Thank you," Klein said.
Synel nodded. "You're heading to Thornhaven?"
"The System said it's the nearest settlement."
"It is. Still about seven kilometers from here." Synel paused, studying Klein's injuries. "Can you walk that far?"
Klein tested his legs. Everything hurt. "I can walk."
"Good." Synel started northwest. "Stay close, stay quiet. There's worse than Stalkers in these woods."
Klein fell into step behind the Elf, and immediately understood the gap between them.
Synel moved like water through the forest—each step placed with precision, his body flowing through terrain that had brutalized Klein. He tested the ground before committing his weight. Ducked under branches Klein would have walked into. Read the forest like Klein read a computer screen.
I'm stumbling like a drunk tourist. He moves like he was born here.
Klein's body screamed for rest, but he forced himself to watch, to learn. Survival meant paying attention even when it hurt. How Synel placed his feet. How he anticipated obstacles. The subtle shifts in his posture that spoke of constant awareness.
As they walked, Synel began pointing out details Klein would have missed.
"See those claw marks?" He gestured at a tree trunk scored with deep gouges, each one as long as Klein's forearm. "Rendered Bear. Territorial markers. Move quiet, don't touch its marks, and we'll be fine."
Klein studied the marks despite his exhaustion, trying to memorize the pattern. Five parallel gouges, spaced wide. Higher than Klein could reach even jumping.
"Those berries—" Synel pointed at a bush with dark purple fruit that looked almost appetizing. "—look edible but they're not. Safe ones grow in clusters of five. Poisonous ones grow in threes. Remember that. The poisonous ones will shut down your kidneys in about six hours."
Klein filed the information away, forcing his tired mind to focus. Watching how Synel moved through the forest. How he anticipated obstacles before reaching them. How his eyes constantly scanned, processing information Klein couldn't even perceive.
They walked in silence for a while, Klein's pace slowing as exhaustion accumulated. What should have been a two-hour walk was stretching toward four. Synel kept glancing back, visibly frustrated but adjusting his stride to match Klein's limping, bleeding shamble.
"How far are the continental kingdoms from here?" Klein asked, partly for information and partly to distract from his screaming feet.
"Asu is about forty kilometers west across the strait. Aru is sixty kilometers east. Both have established city-states now—twenty years since the first wave arrived."
Klein's exhaustion made processing difficult. "First wave?"
"The testing phase. Twenty years ago, God and the Demon God sent a few thousand souls to these worlds—a pilot program to see if we could survive here. Most of us died in the first year. The ones who lived built the foundations of what became the kingdoms. Eight months ago, the second wave started. That's when the real exodus began. Thousands every day now, instead of hundreds every year. That's why Thornhaven exists—the continental kingdoms can't absorb the numbers anymore."
Klein processed this through his exhaustion. Twenty years of pilot testing. Eight months of mass evacuation. And I'm arriving right in the middle of the flood.
"What about Wildlands?"
"Frontier territory. The first wave avoided it entirely—too dangerous, too unknown. Even now, most second-wave souls spawn on the continents where there's at least some support structure. The ones who end up here..." Synel shrugged. "System errors, bad luck, or deliberate placement for unusual cases. You tell me which one you are."
Unusual case. The Neutral Protocol activated for me. I'm not supposed to exist.
"Thornhaven is the first—maybe the only—permanent settlement on the island. We established it to handle the overflow—mixed Hails, outcasts, anyone the kingdoms won't take. The continental kingdoms enforce strict ideological purity now. Divine Kingdom controls most of Asu's western coast. Demonic Kingdom controls Aru's eastern territories—split between the regions they call Lythoria to the north and Zylarin to the south. Pure Divine rule in Asu, pure Demonic in Aru. Cross-contamination isn't tolerated."
His tone was matter-of-fact. "That's why we exist. Small population, mixed Hails forced to cooperate because the alternative is dying alone. External threats don't care about Divine or Demonic philosophy. Out here, you work together or you don't survive."
They passed evidence of other predators—scat that Synel identified as Harrow Wolf, bones scattered from old kills that looked disturbingly humanoid.
"Stay out of the deep forest," Synel said. "Stalkers are common but manageable if you're armed and careful. Rendered Bears will kill you if you're alone. Harrow Wolves hunt in packs of twenty and they're smart enough to use tactics. And that's not even mentioning what comes out of the dungeon to the north."
"Dungeon?" Klein asked.
"God's primordial testing ground. Middle of the northern region, between the continents. Spawns monsters continuously—some of them spill into the outskirts around it. The continental settlements send expeditions to farm it for resources, but it's brutal. More souls die there than anywhere else."
Klein's feet were bleeding consistently now, leaving dark prints on the undergrowth. He felt the pain hitting the Dampening barrier with each step—the barrier flexed again, compressing it down—but it was accumulating underneath. A pressure building that the barrier could only hold back for so long.
Cariel's face tried to surface—her smile as she dissolved, proud and pained simultaneously. The barrier caught it before the grief could tear him apart, but the weight remained underneath. Permanent sacrifice. She'd burned herself out—an ancient being choosing oblivion so a stranger could live. Debt unpayable. The Dampening compressed the emotion but couldn't erase the magnitude of what she'd done. It sat in his chest like lead, waiting. Move forward. It was all he could do to honor her choice.
As twilight began to fall, painting the alien sky in shades of orange and violet that hurt to look at, Synel stopped.
"We're close. Thornhaven's perimeter is just ahead. Stay behind me, don't make sudden movements, and don't pull that sword unless you want an arrow in your chest. The guards are... jumpy about unknowns."
Klein nodded, too exhausted for words.
They emerged from the forest into cleared ground. Twilight was fading fast, but the settlement's lights were visible ahead—warm firelight spilling from windows, torches along the walls.
Twenty-five structures, crude timber construction with thatched roofs, surrounded by a fence of sharpened logs. Every fifty meters: posts carved with glowing symbols pulsing with rhythmic light that made Klein's eyes water if he looked directly at them.
"Ward posts," Synel explained. "Keep dungeon spawn and most megafauna away. Cost a fortune in mana crystals to maintain—we hunt Stalkers and other creatures for the crystals they drop. It's the only way we can afford the wards."
Klein stepped closer to one of the posts, studying the symbols. Synel didn't stop him, seeming curious about his reaction.
The ward light pulsed with rhythmic intensity, and Klein felt something else—a thinness in the air near it, like reality was stretched too tight. A wrongness that made his skin crawl.
"You feel that?" Synel's voice carried surprise. "The spatial distortion around ward magic? Most souls can't sense it unless they have mage talent or... unusual configurations."
Klein met his eyes. "It feels wrong. Like the air is too thin."
"It is," Synel confirmed. "Ward magic bends reality to create barriers. Most souls are too dense to perceive it. You're either very sensitive or..." He studied Klein's absent Hail with new consideration. "...something else entirely."
The Godfather's warning surfaced: "In places where reality grows thin..."
Were these wards such places? Klein didn't know enough yet. The Godfather had mentioned thin reality. Synel just confirmed wards bent space. Were dungeons the same? He filed the concern away—dangerous assumption without more data.
The gates opened as they approached. Guards with weapons watched Klein with expressions ranging from curiosity to open hostility. Their Hails flared when they saw Klein's empty crown—visual warnings, light pulsing brighter like alarm signals.
Synel led Klein through the gate into Thornhaven proper.
The settlement was barely organized—buildings clustered without clear planning, dirt paths between them, the smell of cooking fires and unwashed bodies and animal waste. People moved between buildings with purpose. Klein saw multiple races: humans, elves, dwarves, and something with furred features and digitigrade legs that looked like it belonged in a nature documentary about prehistoric predators.
And above every head: Hails. Gold and crimson, divine and demonic, warm light and hungry fire.
Except Klein.
People noticed immediately. Conversations stopped. Eyes tracked him. Hails flared warnings—the golden ones dimming like candles in wind, the crimson ones pulsing brighter like coals being blown on.
Klein kept his eyes forward, following Synel. His broken sword hung at his side, forgotten. He was too exhausted to care about their reactions.
They reached a larger building near the settlement center. A sign hung above the door: THORNHAVEN TRADE & REST.
Synel pushed the door open. Warmth washed over Klein—actual heat from actual fires, the first warmth he'd felt since materializing in this world. The interior was combination tavern and trading post. Maybe eight people clustered at tables. One corner: a dwarf arguing about prices with a human merchant. Another corner: three adventurers studying a map, their mixed Hails—two gold, one crimson—suggesting an unusual partnership.
Every head turned when Klein entered.
The Hails reacted first—flaring bright, pulsing warnings like Klein was walking disease. Some people actually stood, hands going to weapons.
"Synel." The voice was deep, authoritative. A human man stood from a corner table—late forties, face carved with scars that spoke of violence survived, armor well-maintained despite visible wear. Military bearing in every movement. Above his head: a golden Hail, brighter than most, pulsing with controlled power.
"Captain Aldric," Synel replied. "Found this one in the forest about two hours out, fighting off a Stalker pack with a broken sword. He's a recent spawn. Very recent. And he has no Hail."
Aldric approached slowly. His eyes were cold, assessing, the look of someone who'd seen too much to take anything at face value. He stopped three meters away, studied Klein from head to toe. His Hail pulsed, and Klein felt something scan across him—not physical, but a sensation of being examined on levels he couldn't perceive.
The Hail flared bright red. Warning.
"No Hail means glitch, Neutral, or hostile entity," Aldric said flatly. "In my previous life, I served thirty years as a guard captain. I didn't survive that long by assuming the best about strangers. I've heard stories from continental survivors about dungeon spawns that mimic humans—creatures that wear human appearance until they're close enough to strike. I haven't seen them here yet—but experience taught me to verify everything."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "Synel mentioned you sensed the ward distortions. That's unusual for a new spawn. Most souls are spiritually dense—can't perceive magical infrastructure unless they have training. You felt it immediately."
Klein met his gaze steadily. "I felt something wrong near the posts. Like the air was stretched too thin. Synel confirmed it was spatial distortion from the ward magic."
"Interesting." Aldric's expression didn't change. "Sensitivity to magical phenomena. Could be natural talent. Could be something else masking itself."
He gestured, and two guards moved to flank Klein.
"So here's what's going to happen. You're going into a holding cell until I can verify what you are. If you're a spawn who got glitched—we'll sort it. If you're something else—" His hand went to his sword. "—we'll sort that too."
Klein felt the Dampening working to compress his frustration, but he let some of it show. Let the anger leak through—controlled but present. Human.
"I just walked seven kilometers barefoot through a forest full of things trying to kill me. I fought off monsters with a broken sword. I'm bleeding, exhausted, and the first thing civilization offers me is a cage."
He paused, meeting Aldric's eyes. Let the man see the exhaustion, the pain, the barely-contained frustration of someone who'd survived hell and found no relief at the end.
"But I understand. You're doing what protects your people. I'd do the same." His voice was steady, reasonable despite the anger underneath. "So I'll cooperate. Just—food, water, something to wear, and maybe something for these cuts. I'd rather not die of infection before you finish verifying I'm not a demon."
The room went silent. Aldric stared at him for a long moment. Something flickered in his expression—surprise, maybe respect.
"Take him to holding. Give him what he asked for. Standard protocol—no visitors except me and Synel." He looked at Synel. "Report in my office. One hour."
The guards escorted Klein through the back of the building, down stairs into a basement. Three cells—iron bars, stone walls, a bucket in the corner.
They confiscated his broken sword before locking the cell—Klein watched it clatter onto a table outside the bars, still stained with Stalker blood. His palms were raw and rust-stained, blisters forming where he'd gripped too hard. The corroded metal had eaten into his hands over hours of desperate gripping, leaving them torn and aching.
Klein sat on the floor—there was no bed—and finally let himself feel the exhaustion.
He needed to understand what he'd become. The System had mentioned things during the transformation, but he'd pushed them aside in the chaos of survival.
Klein focused inward. Show me.
[CONDITION MET: User Initiated Status Check]
[PROTOCOL OVERRIDE: Diagnostic Report initiating…]
[STATUS: Soul Kahlpamura Klein - Stable. Physical/Mental Integrity Suboptimal.]
[Emotional Dampening Field: Active - 89% Efficiency]
Information bloomed in his consciousness:
[NEUTRAL SYSTEM: STATUS CHECK]
[METAMORPHOR BASE ALLOCATION: 10 PP]
[NOTE: Metamorphor race receives starting allocation due to high early-game mortality risk. Survival rates (48-hour: 17% | 7-day: 8%) necessitate initial resource compensation.]
[ACHIEVEMENTS EARNED:]
[NEUTRAL SYSTEM: ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED - First Six Hours (Metamorphor): +5 PP]
[NEUTRAL SYSTEM: ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED - Reached Civilization (Injured): +3 PP]
[NEUTRAL SYSTEM: ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED - Combat Survival (Untrained): +2 PP]
Note: Partial credit awarded due to external intervention (Synel's rescue).
[TOTAL PP: 20]
Klein stared at the notifications. Twenty points. Ten from being Metamorphor—a balancing mechanic for the brutal survival rates. Ten more from achievements. The System had been tracking his progress from the moment he materialized.
His mother's face surfaced unbidden. The doctors say we need to start treatment soon. She'd be waiting for money that would never come. Waiting for calls he couldn't make. The barrier compressed the grief, but the arithmetic was cold and simple: He was dead. She would die. Nothing he did here would change that.
I'm sorry, Mom. I tried until the end.
The Dampening held the emotion at manageable levels, but the debt sat in his chest like a stone. Unpayable. Permanent. Six years of poverty and exhaustion, all to save her. And in the end, he'd failed. She would mourn him. Blame herself for the burden she'd been. Die thinking he'd abandoned her when the truth was he'd bled himself dry trying to keep her alive.
Survive first. Grieve later. It's all I can do now.
He forced his attention back to the System interface.
PHYSICAL STATE
Integrity: 60% - Multiple lacerations, impact trauma, severe foot damage
NOTE: Baseline optimization preventing shock/infection progression
Stamina: 48% - Critical depletion, immediate rest required
NOTE: Optimization maintaining core functions despite extreme exertion
MENTAL STATE
Dampening Efficiency: 89% (degradation from extended stress, recovers with rest)
RACE: METAMORPHOR
Classification: Adaptive Entity
Current Traits: None acquired
Trait Library: 0/∞ traits stored
BALANCE METER
Current: 50.0% Divine / 50.0% Demonic
Status: Perfect Equilibrium
Note: Only significant moral choices affect balance. Minor actions insufficient to shift equilibrium.
EVALUATOR STATUS
Version: Default (Limited accuracy, requires upgrade)
Function: Tactical analysis, probability assessment (passive, no cost)
Warning: Current version prone to error. Upgrade recommended.
POTENTIAL POINTS: 20 PP
The information was overwhelming. Klein's exhausted mind struggled to process it all. He focused on the Potential Points. What are these for?
A new interface tried to open:
[NEUTRAL SYSTEM: POTENTIAL POINTS SHOP]
[ACCESS RESTRICTED: Mental integrity below operational threshold]
[Estimated recovery time: 6-8 hours]
[Shop access will unlock after sufficient rest]
Klein had glimpsed it earlier, before the lockout. Even through exhaustion, his analytical mind was already cataloging what he'd seen: System Upgrades. Trait Acceleration. Attribute Enhancement. Special Abilities. Four categories. Multiple options per category. Costs in PP.
Twenty points. Not enough for expensive purchases, but maybe enough for something basic. He'd explore properly once the shop unlocked. For now: rest, recover, survive Aldric's verification.
Priorities. Always priorities.
[NEUTRAL SYSTEM: Trait Observation Progress detected. Generating report...]
TRAIT OBSERVATION PROGRESS
OBSERVATION MECHANICS:
Progress generated through: Direct interaction, prolonged exposure, active study
Acquisition threshold: 100% observation + comprehension
Progress rate scales with: Exposure intensity (primary factor), interaction duration, conscious focus, threat level
NOTE: Combat interactions and survival pressure significantly accelerate trait observation. Passive observation generates baseline progress.
CURRENT PROGRESS:
Elf Scout (3%) - Passive observation of movement techniques
Stalker (8%) - Combat interaction + biological study
Forest Ecosystem (4%) - Environmental immersion
NOTE: Conscious study and repeated exposure accelerate progress. Traits remain dormant until acquired.
Klein stared at the information. So combat accelerates everything. Thirty seconds of fighting Stalkers taught me more than hours of watching Synel. Threat pressure equals faster learning. Makes sense—survival focuses the mind.
Once I hit 100%, I can acquire the trait. Become part elf? Part Stalker? The implications...
The implications were massive, but his brain was shutting down. He'd process it tomorrow. After he survived Aldric's verification. After he had energy to think clearly.
A guard returned—moving with practiced efficiency that suggested this was standard protocol for new detainees. Water, dried rations, and additional rough clothing—pants and a better tunic to replace Synel's makeshift wrap.
Klein drank first, the water clearing some of the fog from his mind. His torn palms stung as he gripped the cup, rust and blisters making every movement ache. Then ate—the rations were hard bread and more dried meat, tasteless but functional. Then dressed properly.
Then he lay down on the stone floor, using his arm as a pillow.
The Dampening made it easier—his emotional architecture held firm against the uncertainty, the fear, the weight of impossible decisions. But it couldn't catch everything.
Mom's face surfaced again. The way she'd looked when he'd told her he got the Manila job. Pride in her eyes. Faith that her son would make it work.
I lied to you. Not intentionally, but the result is the same.
The grief surged against the Dampening. The architecture adapted, strained, held it back. But Klein felt it there—a pressure building, waiting for the moment the barrier failed.
I'm sorry. I tried.
He forced his mind toward sleep, toward recovery.
Survive first. Everything else comes after survival.
Sleep came slowly, achieved through exhaustion rather than peace. His body's baseline health optimization meant that despite the stone floor and ongoing injury processing, he would recover. Not fully. Not comfortably. But enough.
And in a cell in a frontier settlement on an alien world, Kahiramura Klein—Metamorphor, balanced soul, impossible thing—began his first night in a new existence.