The juvenile Boapede seemed to flex on me, dancing in a waving motion, and clacking its pincers tauntingly, as if asking, See this muscles? Its speed seemed to double. Now it moved like lightning, its python-like body coiling, its hand-like feet scrabbling silently across the packed earth. My swings became desperate windmills, and the monster, no longer confined, retracted its head and upper body with impossible speed, using its thousand feet to pull back, only to dart forward again immediately, striking before I could recover.
I ducked under a sweeping headbutt, and its massive skull slammed into the rickety table I'd found the map on, reducing it to kindling. A rapid coil-and-strike followed, and as I barely rolled away, its pincers tore a gaping hole through the flimsy wall of the shack, sending dust and rotten wood flying. It smashed through an old, makeshift cupboard, scattering broken pottery and splintered shelves.
I was losing hope. My vision blurred.
I dodged another lunge, but its head swept wide, and the sharp edge of one of its pincers clipped my side. A searing pain flared as I was thrown off balance, slamming into the rough wooden wall of the shack. My back hit hard, sending a shockwave up my spine. The Boapede, sensing its advantage, surged forward, its body already coiling to strike again. I was cornered. No escape.
It attacked while I was still stumbling, trying to find my footing, the world spinning around me. This was it. A last hurrah. In a desperate, blind thrust, I aimed my rusty knife at the blur of its head, shutting my eyes, bracing for the inevitable snap of its pincers. I heard a sickening POP instead, followed by a wet splash, and a high-pitched, agonized squeal.
My eyes snapped open. The Boapede was flailing, its massive head thrashing violently, slamming into the shack's rickety walls and splintering beams as if in unbearable agony. Then I saw it - two of its eight eyes were gone, replaced by pulpy, oozing craters. My blade had found its mark. It recoiled, sliding precariously on the thick, purple, gooey blood that now coated the ground, before turning and retreating with an incredible, desperate speed. I heard the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of its many feet fading into the distance, a frantic march away from the light, away from me.
I stood there, trembling, the clang of my knife hitting the ground echoing in the sudden silence. My heart hammered, a frantic drum against my ribs, heavy with adrenaline and the residue of pure terror. I fell down to my knees in helplessness. Tears pricked at my eyes.
Then, a new prompt shimmered into existence before me:
Basic Sword Handling Learned
I stared at it, numb. "Pfff," I muttered dismissively. "You call that basic? More of a swing in random sword fighting." A flash of memory crossed my mind. Samurais. TV shows. Wait. If I practice using the sword, would it increase the level of the skill, or do I need to defeat more opponents? The thought flickered, academic even in my shock. I didn't know the answer. But one thing was clear. I didn't want to die. I needed to learn to fight. To survive.
My hoodie was torn down the middle, ragged and tattered, stained with sticky, purplish-black goo. My pants were no better, ripped and grimy from the run, the fall, the fight. I was covered in dust and creature fluids. Ugh. I needed a shower. And new clothes. I scanned the shack, my eyes landing on an old, ragged linen shirt crumpled under a broken furniture piece. It was probably twice my size, but it was clean. Ish.
The door was wide open now, and dusk was settling in, painting the sky in ominous reds and purples. The Boapede might come back. I needed to move. Quickly. I collected my wallet, my almost-dead phone, my keys, and, of course, my spoon. Survival first. Comfort later.
"Wait, my flashlight!" I muttered, my eyes falling on the faint yellow glow emanating from the corner. I picked up the rock from the remains of the table, now in pieces, and then covered it with some cloth because I didn't want it to keep on glowing in my pockets.
I strapped up and stepped through the shattered doorway, instantly engulfed by the Isekai sun - a golden blaze that painted the world in impossible colors. Towering walls of the labyrinth loomed around me, their ancient stone veined with glowing moss. My Heightened Awareness pinged immediately, tagging movement everywhere: a flock of parrot-monkeys screeching in the canopy, rabboars rooting in the underbrush, something massive shifting in the distant tree line. I tightened my grip on the kitchen knife, feeling the adrenaline still buzzing through my veins. "Alright," I muttered, squinting at the impossible landscape before me. "Let's go."