[TUTORIAL ENCOUNTER: 2/10]
Module: Team Coordination — Basic
Scenario: Scouting Pair Neutralization
Recommended Participants: 2 × Level 2 Classed Users
Estimated Difficulty: LOW
Reminder: Success is best achieved through clear verbal communication, coordinated flanking maneuvers, and mutual trust. 😊
Failure to demonstrate teamwork may impact your long-term progression score.
The prompt wanted communication and flank coverage. Great idea. One problem: hard to run team drills when your roster is just me and a corpse. Unless we're counting rigor mortis as a formation bonus...
Talking about my teammate, my kill hadn't vanished in a puff of pixels or smoke like an enemy in a video game. No clean white flash, no shiny loot chest, no System janitor to mop up the gore. It was all still here, blood drying in dark crusts on my knuckles, and the goblin's body sprawled on the stone floor. The creature lay half-folded around the rock I'd used to cave in its skull. One of its arms was twisted under its torso at an ugly, wrong angle. One eye dangled from its socket by a thin strand of nerve. The smell rising off the body proved this wasn't some scripted tutorial fight, it was real. A stench of piss, bile, and cracked bone clung to the back of my throat, undercut by a nauseating sweet rot from whatever foul trick that little monster had been carrying on it.
Something stirred inside me again, coiling under my ribs and behind my eyes, the familiar thrum of rage. Only this time it wasn't drowning me. It wasn't blind noise. It was sharper now, meaner, a blade drawn cold and clean. A lick of cold blue edged the red haze of my anger, like teeth hiding inside the heat.
My knuckles were split, skin raw and nails jammed with gore. The fight replayed itself in my head, hazy around the edges. Not the killing blow, that moment burned crystal clear. It was everything between that blurred: my fists moving without orders, the eerie silence in my mind. No chaos. No red static. Just… hunger.
I'd felt this kind of rage before, but back then I always had a leash on me, a ref to call the bell, a caseworker to yell "stop." Here? Nobody. No whistle. No leash. No one to say "enough."
That should've scared me. It didn't. It felt right, like breathing after holding it in too long.
They came then: two goblins, jogging out from the shadows on the far side of the pit. Full of piss and fire, until they saw the mess I'd made. They skidded to a halt as their eyes took in the crumpled corpse at my feet. My work.
Two of them this time. Scrawny, waxy-skinned little beasts with rib bones pressing against sickly green flesh and guts that sagged like half-rotten fruit. One clutched a crude spear, its metal tip surprisingly clean for something so filthy. The other gripped a hatchet that actually looked well-made, almost out of place in its gnarled hand. I wanted that hatchet in my hand, not theirs.
They hesitated, just for a second. Their gazes flicked from me to the dead goblin on the floor, then back again. Like dogs scenting smoke. Like they'd just realized the fire was already lit.
I rolled my shoulders and shifted my weight, loosening up my legs.
They didn't rush me. Not yet. One crept left, the other inched right, slow, circling, testing.
Smart little bastards. Smarter than I wanted.
My rage flared again, but steady this time. It didn't drown me; it honed me. My skin felt too thin to contain the heat building beneath it, and for once I didn't bother trying to hold it back.
Let them see it. Let them feel it.
I wasn't fast, I wasn't armed, and I sure as hell wasn't fresh, just bleeding and tired. Clever tactics weren't going to win this. But the closer they got, the fewer places they'd have to run. Close meant fists. Close meant ME.
The spear goblin jabbed first, a sudden lunge at my gut. I swung my arm down and knocked the thrust aside with my forearm. The metal tip sliced a hot line across my skin, sharp pain, wet heat, but the flash of agony didn't pull me under. I tasted blood in my mouth and grinned wider. Pain was mine.
The hatchet-wielder snarled and chopped at me from the other side, a wild swing aimed high. I stepped in and met it chest-to-chest. My shoulder drove into its scrawny frame with a meaty crunch, bending its ribs like green wood. The hatchet's blade skittered along my shoulder, carving a shallow cut. Nothing I couldn't handle. The goblin wheezed, shocked, its red eyes bulging.
Another shriek, and the spear came stabbing in again. I twisted aside, caught the wooden shaft in both hands, and yanked hard. The spear goblin stumbled forward with a startled squeal. I brought my knee up like a hammer, driving it into the goblin's gut. Something gave way inside the creature with a wet crunch, and blood sprayed from its lips as the air burst out of its lungs. I followed with a sharp elbow to the back of its neck, hard and final.
"Knees are controlled strikes," my old coach used to say. "Drive them, don't smash. Control the impact."
Yeah, well, control's for sparring. I drove that knee harder...
A piercing scream warned me of the hatchet goblin's return. It barreled toward me, swinging its blade in a wide, desperate arc. I met it head-on, slamming into the goblin with my shoulder again before its swing could connect. I heard a rib snap under the force of the impact, a wet, cracking collapse.
A raw, wordless roar tore out of my throat. Not a cry of pain or fear, but a declaration. There were no words in it, just pure, unchained ferocity finally given voice after being caged for so damn long.
The spear goblin was down, coughing blood and trying to crawl away. The hatchet goblin reeled from my hit, arms shaking as it struggled to raise its weapon again.
And me? I stood between them, breathing hard, grinning through the blood. Something had flipped inside my head. I wasn't prey anymore.
The spear goblin wasn't dead yet, it dragged itself through the dirt, wheezing, one arm limp at its side. The hatchet one let out a furious hiss and hurled itself at me one more time, axe lifted high for a killing blow.
I saw it coming. Not in any cinematic slow-motion way. Just crystal-clear instinct.
The hatchet came down toward my skull. I ducked low, heat roaring in my ears, and then surged upward. My hand lashed out and clamped around the goblin's bony wrist as the hatchet whooshed past my ribs, close enough to tickle skin.
"Find the rhythm," my old MMA coach's voice whispered in my head. "Don't fight it. Ride it."
Back then, he was talking about staying calm during sparring, pulling punches, playing it safe for the crowd.
Now? No mats. No bell. No crowd.
I drove my fist into the goblin's stomach. Something tore inside it and the creature let out a wet, guttural oof as all the air rushed from its lungs. I didn't finish it off immediately. Not yet. I yanked the goblin closer by its trapped wrist, wanting to get a good, long look. I wanted to watch the light in its eyes when it realized just how completely fuckedit was.
The goblin's eyes bulged in pain and fear. That feral confidence it had when it entered the pit was gone, replaced by naked, animal panic.
I wasn't supposed to enjoy this. Wasn't supposed to need it. But damn it, I did. Every warm rivulet of blood running down my arm just made it sweeter.
With a desperate snarl, the goblin made one last attempt, snapping its teeth and flailing the hatchet in a frantic swing. I didn't even bother to dodge. I stepped forward, straight into its attack, feeding it my left forearm. The hatchet bit into me, carving a burning gash along my arm, but I gritted my teeth and plowed through the pain. I'd given it that one for free, bait for its final mistake. Now I set the hook.
My right fist crashed into its ribcage with a single brutal punch. I felt bones splinter under my knuckles, the force of it jarring up to my shoulder. The goblin made a hideous choking sound and sagged. I bared my bloody teeth in a grin.
This wasn't training. This wasn't survival. This was ME.
Something fundamental had shifted. Maybe it happened when I'd let myself grin at that cutesy tutorial prompt. Maybe it was when I let the blade cut me and found I didn't care. Either way, I saw the change reflected in my enemies.
The spear goblin crouched a few yards away, clutching its side like it was trying to hold itself together. It had recovered its spear, but its hands trembled as it aimed the point at me. Its beady eyes darted around, searching for an escape. The hatchet goblin wasn't snarling anymore either. It stumbled backward on unsteady feet, the hatchet quivering in its remaining good hand every time I so much as twitched.
They weren't predators any longer, not really. But they weren't quite prey yet, either. Just two terrified creatures trying to contain something they couldn't understand… the same way people had always tried to contain me.
Even monsters get the memo...
Fine. Time to give them something to remember.
I moved first, a single step toward them, shattering the stalemate.
The spear goblin reacted on instinct, thrusting low in panic. The spearpoint punched into my thigh, a hot bolt of pain lancing up my leg. I grunted as fire spread through the muscle, but I didn't stop. I grabbed the spear's shaft jutting from my leg and tore it free with a splintering wrench. Then I flung the spear aside like a piece of trash.
The goblin that had held it shrieked and leapt at me empty-handed, clawed fingers scrabbling for my face. I met it with a hard left hook to the jaw, sharp and ugly. Its teeth shattered against my knuckles. Before it could even fall, I followed with an elbow driving down onto the back of its skull. The goblin crumpled to the ground. I went down with it, seized a fistful of its greasy hair, and slammed its head against the stone floor. Once, twice, again and again, until it finally went still.
No victory fanfare. No cheers. Nothing but my own ragged breathing and a dark red pool spreading across the floor.
One left.
The last goblin let out a broken whine. It jittered sideways, hatchet held out in a shaking grip. Then it darted forward in a burst of insane courage. The hatchet's edge sliced across my side, opening a hot, wet gash along my ribs.
I hissed at the pain and caught its arm on the backswing. With a snarl, I wrenched the goblin's wrist hard. The joint gave with a dry pop. It howled and dropped the hatchet, then flailed its claws at my throat in a last frenzy. I drove into it with everything I had left. The impact knocked us both to the ground.
We hit the stone floor, but I came out on top. The goblin thrashed beneath me, scratching and spitting. My fingers closed around the fallen hatchet and I snatched it up, its weight settling into my grip. The weapon felt right in my hand, heavy, brutal, mine.
The creature lay splayed under me, chest heaving, its one good arm pushing weakly at my shoulder. It tried to suck in a breath to scream.
I didn't let it.
First blow, a sharp crack as the hatchet's blade struck its skull.
Second, a wet crunch of bone splitting open.
Third, overkill. I just wanted to see its head burst.
I staggered to my feet. My thigh burned, my side was slick with blood, and my knuckles throbbed. But I was still standing.
The hatchet hung from my clenched fist, dripping, not polished and gleaming like the sword I'd seen on a Classed player earlier, but it was mine. Not given. Not earned. Taken.
The fire in my veins began to ebb, like air leaking out of a tire. Not all at once, just a hiss here, a tremble there, leaving me feeling hollowed-out and raw around the edges.
What filled that hollow wasn't weakness. It was space, room to breathe and think again. My arms felt leaden. Each breath raked through my chest like gravel. And my stomach cramped up, suddenly starving, like I hadn't eaten in days.
The rage hadn't magically healed me; my wounds still seeped and my leg still throbbed where I'd been stabbed. But it had kept me going. It kept the world from fading out, kept air pumping through my lungs, kept my feet under me long enough to survive. A shitty patch job, sure, but still better than the healthcare system ever gave me.
I rolled my aching shoulders until they cracked, then flexed my bloodied fingers. Hot blood trickled down my thigh and soaked into my torn pants, but I was alive. I was here.
And here's the thing, I'd expected horror at what I'd done. I figured I'd blink and suddenly realize I'd gone too far, that I'd lost myself in bloodlust. I thought I'd wake up from a blackout, covered in gore and terrified of what I'd become.
But it wasn't like that at all. There was no blackout. No blind frenzy I couldn't remember. I'd been present for every brutal second.
In a world that had always told me to sit down, keep quiet, clip my claws, I'd finally been allowed to unleash everything. And it felt fucking good.
I lifted my eyes to the row of black observation windows high above the pit. They stared back at me, cold and heavy. Fine. Let them watch. Let them whisper about what they'd just seen.
I wasn't their freak on parole anymore. I wasn't a mistake in their system.
[Tutorial Encounter 2 Complete. Teamwork Grade: F]
Of course. Fail the teamwork test when there was never a team...
Corporate logic at its finest.
No matter. Let's see what they throw at me next. Whatever it is, it better not be gentle.
I was starting to like it rough...
I spat a gob of blood onto the floor and grinned through crimson-stained teeth. Bring on the next one.
As if on cue, a new message blinked to life.