The cave's damp chill still clung to my clothes as I stepped into the morning light. I'd slept fitfully, my dreams haunted by golden eyes and the scent of burning metal. Now sunlight filtered through the crimson canopy in jagged shafts, painting the forest floor in blood-red patterns. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and decaying leaves, a stark contrast to the sterile void I'd been in before.
Before I could even yawn, the system assaulted me:
[NEW QUEST: PEST CONTROL] Eliminate nearby threats:
20 Ebon Mites20 Crimson Crawlers20 Shadow Creepers20 Bloodleaf Sprites Reward: Beginner's Guide to Crafting +15 XP
I blinked at the notification. "Could've at least let me piss first," I muttered, rolling stiffness from my neck. The stone floor had left new knots in my shoulders to join yesterday's collection of aches. My muscles protested as I stretched, the lingering fatigue from the previous day's ordeal weighing heavily on me.
Breakfast was the same as dinner—another handful of those tart purple berries and a long pull from the water skin. The routine was becoming familiar in a way that unsettled me. How many days had it been? Two? Three? Time blurred here, marked only by hunger and exhaustion. The berries' sweetness was a fleeting comfort, their juice staining my fingers a deep purple.
The crafting guide reward glowed enticingly. My fingers traced the club's rough grooves—each dent and splinter a reminder of how badly I needed real tools. The thought of crafting something more substantial than a makeshift club was a beacon of hope in this strange, hostile world.
Outside, the forest buzzed with morning activity. Strange chirps and clicks echoed through the trees, underscored by a new sound—a skittering, like dry leaves scraping across stone. The forest seemed alive, its inhabitants stirring with the dawn.
I froze mid-step.
The bushes to my left trembled.
A creature the size of a dinner plate erupted from the foliage—a grotesque fusion of beetle and crab, its glossy black carapace shimmering with unnatural rainbows. Six segmented legs carried it in jerky circles while needle-thin antennae twitched toward me. Its movements were unnervingly precise, each step calculated.
It reared up, revealing a pale underbelly pulsing with vein-like patterns.
My club was in my hands before I'd fully processed the movement.
"Ebon Mite, huh?" I whispered. The name came unbidden, as if the forest itself had whispered it to me. The mite hissed, mouthparts flexing, its antennae twitching in a rhythm that seemed almost sentient.
Somewhere deeper in the trees, something answered—a distant, echoing skitter that sent a chill down my spine.
The first swing was pure frustration. My club whistled through empty air as the mite skittered aside with unsettling grace, its six needle-tipped legs moving in perfect synchronization. Dirt sprayed where my weapon struck the ground, the impact vibrating up my arms.
"Hold still, damn it!"
I adjusted my grip, the club's rough bark biting into my palms. Morning dew still clung to the forest floor, making the earth slippery under my worn sneakers. The mite circled me with unnatural patience, its glossy black carapace reflecting fractured sunlight like spilled oil.
Second swing. Another miss.
The creature darted in faster than I could react. A searing line of pain flared across my left calf as one of its bladed legs found flesh. I hissed through clenched teeth, hopping back. The cut wasn't deep, but it burned like I'd been sliced with a heated wire. Blood welled up in perfect beads along the thin red line.
In this world of rust-colored leaves and unnatural creatures, infection was a death sentence. The thought sent a cold trickle down my spine despite the morning heat.
"Okay, you little bastard," I muttered, wiping sweat from my brow with a trembling hand. "New plan."
I planted my feet wide, letting my injured leg hover just within the mite's striking range. The creature paused, its antennae twitching rhythmically. For a terrifying moment, I wondered if it could somehow smell my blood.
Then it struck.
I yanked my leg back at the last possible instant. The mite's momentum carried it forward, its spindly legs scrambling for purchase on the damp earth. Its vulnerable underbelly—pale and pulsing with faint blue veins—faced upward for one perfect moment.
The club came down like a falling tree branch.
The crunch of chitin echoed through the clearing. Black ichor sprayed across my shoes, smoking slightly where it touched. The mite's legs spasmed wildly before curling inward in death.
[Ebon Mites Killed: 1/20]
I sank to one knee, breathing hard. The adrenaline crash left my hands shaking. Purple berry stains still marked my fingers from breakfast, now joined by streaks of dirt and flecks of something dark and iridescent.
"One down," I said to the empty forest, my voice hoarse. The cut on my leg throbbed in time with my heartbeat, a persistent reminder of how close I'd come to worse.
Somewhere in the distance, the stream continued its endless murmur, oblivious.
The forest seemed to hold its breath as I stood over the fallen mite, my club still dripping with ichor. The system's notification flickered at the edge of my vision, a constant reminder of the task ahead. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart.
"Alright, let's get this over with," I muttered, scanning the underbrush for any signs of movement. The forest was alive with sounds—chirps, clicks, and the occasional rustle—but nothing that indicated immediate danger.
I moved cautiously, each step deliberate and measured. The ground was uneven, roots and rocks jutting out at odd angles. My injured leg throbbed with every movement, but I pushed through the pain. Survival was the only option.
The next mite appeared almost out of nowhere, its glossy carapace catching the light as it scuttled toward me. I swung the club with all my strength, the impact sending a jolt up my arms. The creature crumpled, its legs twitching in a final, futile attempt to escape.
[Ebon Mites Killed: 2/20]
I didn't have time to celebrate. The skittering sound grew louder, more insistent. I turned to see a swarm of mites emerging from the underbrush, their antennae twitching in unison. My grip tightened on the club, my muscles tensing for the fight.
The first few swings were wild, desperate. I managed to take down two more mites before the swarm closed in. Their needle-like legs scratched at my skin, their hisses filling the air. I swung the club in a wide arc, trying to keep them at bay.
[Ebon Mites Killed: 4/20]
The fight was brutal, each swing of the club a battle for survival. My breath came in ragged gasps, sweat dripping down my face. The forest seemed to blur around me, the sounds of the mites' hisses and the impact of the club merging into a cacophony of chaos.
By the time the last mite fell, I was exhausted. My arms felt like lead, my injured leg barely able to support my weight. I sank to the ground, breathing hard. The system's notification flickered again, a reminder of the progress I'd made.
[Ebon Mites Killed: 20/20]
I looked around, the forest still buzzing with activity. The next part of the quest awaited, but for now, I needed to rest. I leaned against a tree, the rough bark pressing into my back. The forest seemed to hold its breath once more, as if acknowledging the temporary peace.
The last Bloodleaf Sprite dissolved into crimson mist under my club's final swing. Three days—or was it four?—of relentless hunting finally over. I wiped ichor from my brow, watching the system update:
[PEST CONTROL COMPLETE]
✓ Ebon Mites (20/20) - Their shattered carapaces still littered the forest floor
✓ Crimson Crawlers (20/20) - My arms bore the chemical burns to prove it
✓ Shadow Creepers (20/20) - The memory of their whispering movements lingered
✓ Bloodleaf Sprites (20/20) - Their thorny cores now just debris
The *Beginner's Guide to Crafting* materialized mid-air, hitting the ground with a thud that startled a nearby bird into flight. Leather-bound and smelling faintly of oak smoke, it looked alien against the rotting leaves.
At the stream, my reflection told a story I didn't want to read—sunken cheeks, a beard coming in patchy, eyes that had aged years in a week. The icy water burned as it cleaned my newest cuts. None were deep, but the collection of scratches and burns made me look like I'd lost a fight with a weed whacker.
[NEW QUEST: CRAFT WEAPON]
Reward: +33% to all stats
"Now we're talking." My voice sounded rough even to myself.
The level-up notification still glowed faintly in my periphery. "Menu."
[FELIX SHAW - LEVEL 2]
STR: 30
AGI: 31
CON: 35
LCK: 10
I flexed my hands. The numbers claimed I could probably bench press a motorcycle now, but my arms still trembled from exhaustion. Proof would have to wait.
The cave welcomed me with its familiar damp embrace. My newest "furniture"—a moss-covered log I'd dragged inside yesterday—groaned as I settled onto it. The crafting guide fell open to a page titled *Forest Forged Armaments*, its parchment rough under my fingers.
Diagrams showed clubs wrapped in Ebon Mite carapace ("+Piercing Damage"), Crawler venom glands ("+Toxicity"), and—interestingly—Sprite thorns braided into the handle ("+Attack Speed"). Every recipe demanded parts from the very creatures I'd just slaughtered.
"Guess you weren't just pests after all," I muttered, flipping to the armor section.
Crude sketches depicted chest plates woven from hardened Crawler hides and greaves lined with Mite chitin. The descriptions promised protection, but the models looked like something a caveman would wear. Still, after days of fighting in a sweat-soaked t-shirt, even primitive armor sounded like a luxury.
I traced a finger over a particularly brutal-looking design—a spiked pauldron fashioned from Sprite thorns and... was that *my own blood* as binding agent?
The cave seemed to grow colder. Outside, the forest whispered.
The guide's pages crackled as I flipped between designs, my fingers leaving smudges on the parchment. The Ebon Mite Club schematic showed a wicked upgrade—carapace fragments layered along the striking edge like blackened teeth, promising to pierce through tougher hides. Exactly what I needed after struggling against those armored Crawlers.
I hesitated at the Brutal Thorn Armor. The jagged sprite-spikes jutting from the pauldrons looked vicious (+3 intimidation, the guide noted), but the trade-off was terrible mobility (-2 agility). Not worth it when every fight was a scramble for survival.
My finger landed on the Crimson Crawler Armor instead. The design was simpler—overlapping plates of boiled chitin with a flexible underlayer—but that +1.5 defense bonus could mean the difference between a scratch and a gut wound.
"Alright, shopping list time."
I scavenged the forest like a man possessed:
- Ebon Mite Carapaces: Collected from glittering shards where I'd crushed them, edges sharp enough to draw blood as I bundled them in broad leaves
- Crawler Chitin: Harvested from corpses before they fully dissolved into acidic puddles, my hands protected by makeshift moss mittens
- Sprite Thorns: Plucked carefully from their withered cores, each one still oozing a faintly luminescent sap that burned my fingertips
The stream became my workstation. I laid out materials on flat stones, the guide propped against a root. Morning light glinted off the Mite fragments as I began wrapping them to the club's business end with fibrous vines. The process was messier than the illustrations suggested—ichor-sticky and punctuated by muttered curses when shards slipped.
[CRAFTING IN PROGRESS: EBON MITE CLUB - 65% COMPLETE]
A notification flickered as I worked. The vines needed tightening, the carapace alignment wasn't perfect—but when I test-swing it, the difference was immediate. The weighted tip tore through a fallen log like it was wet cardboard.
"Now that's an upgrade."
The armor came together slower. Boiling Crawler plates in my waterskin over a feeble fire softened them enough to shape. The smell of cooking chitin—like burnt hair and ammonia—made my eyes water. By dusk, I'd fashioned a crude breastplate and one greave before running out of usable pieces.
[CRIMSON CRAWLER ARMOR - PARTIALLY COMPLETED]
Upper body defense +1.5
I flexed in the makeshift armor. The plates clicked like insect wings with each movement, but they held. A far cry from proper gear, but after days of fighting in a t-shirt, the difference was night and day.
The system pulsed approvingly:
[QUEST COMPLETE: CRAFT WEAPON]
All stats +33%
My muscles buzzed with the influx of power as I hefted the new club. The forest watched silently, its crimson leaves trembling in the evening breeze. Somewhere out there, something new was waiting.
And now, for the first time, I was ready.