The euphoria of the kill didn't last long. As the golden rush of the Level Up faded, the reality of the Valley crashed back down on Evan.
With [Feral Senses (Minor)] active, the Valley was no longer just silent and dusty. It was a cacophony of sensory rot. He could smell the ammonia of old urine on the rocks, the copper tang of dried blood layers deep in the soil, and the faint, sweet scent of decay drifting from the deeper crevices.
He gagged, covering his nose with a ragged sleeve.
"Great," he muttered, his voice sounding too loud in his own ears. "Now I can smell exactly how screwed I am."
[ SATISFACTION IS A POISON, HOST. ]
The voice didn't come from the blue screen. It resonated directly in his auditory nerve—a sound like grinding stones and wet silk. It was ancient, amused, and utterly cold.
Evan froze. He spun around, scanning the empty canyon. "Who's there?"
[ I AM THE ENGINE. I AM THE HUNGER. ]
[ YOU CELEBRATE KILLING RATS. IT IS... DISAPPOINTING. ]
Evan narrowed his eyes. "You're the System."
[ I AM THE APOCALYPSE. ]
[ LISTEN CLOSELY, LITTLE VESSEL. THE EMPIRE DID NOT EXILE YOU TO DIE. THEY EXILED YOU TO BE FORGOTTEN. IF YOU WISH TO RETURN, YOU CANNOT JUST BE STRONG. YOU MUST BE A NIGHTMARE. ]
"I don't need a pep talk from a hallucination," Evan snapped, though his hands trembled slightly. "I need water. And a way out."
[ WATER IS WEST. PAST THE CRAG. ]
[ BUT YOU ARE NOT ALONE. ]
Evan's new ears twitched.
At first, he thought it was the wind. But the wind didn't have a rhythm. Crunch. Crunch. Clink.
Footsteps. Heavy boots on gravel. The clinking of metal chains.
Evan threw himself flat against the base of a large boulder, his heart hammering. He held his breath, willing his body to blend into the grey dust.
Voices drifted down the canyon. Rough, gravelly voices.
"I'm telling you, I heard a howl. A death yelp," a man grumbled. "Probably just the wolves eating each other," a second voice replied. High-pitched, wheezing. "Why do we have to check? It's the Death Zone. Nothing survives the drop."
"Lord Varrick paid extra for confirmation," the first man said. "He wants the boy's head. Said something about 'loose ends'."
Evan's blood turned to ice.
Varrick.
His uncle wasn't content with exile. He had hired Bone Pickers—illegal scavengers who raided the valley for artifacts and stripped corpses—to ensure the job was done.
Evan peeked around the edge of the boulder.
There were two of them. The leader was a brute, wearing mismatched armor made from scrap metal and leather. He carried a jagged mace. The second was scrawny, holding a crossbow, eyes darting nervously at the shadows.
[ ENEMY ANALYSIS ]
Target A (The Brute): Level 4 Warrior. Strength: 18. Danger: HIGH.
Target B (The Runt): Level 2 Scout. Agility: 12. Danger: MODERATE.
Evan looked at his own stats. Strength: 7.
If he fought them, he would die. The math was simple.
[ SYSTEM ADVICE: FLEE. ][ OR... ]
The text cursor blinked, pulsing with a dark red glow.
[ USE THEIR IMAGINATION AGAINST THEM. ]
[ FEAR IS A WEAPON. ]
Evan looked at the corpse of the Rot-Wolf near his feet. He looked at the shadows stretching long and dark as the sun began to set.
He couldn't beat them in a duel. But this was the Valley of Lost Bones. Legends said ghosts walked here. Legends said monsters were born here.
A cold, vicious plan formed in Evan's mind. He remembered the text: Negative emotions: Fear, Rage, Regret.
"System," Evan whispered, barely moving his lips. "How much does it cost to use Predator's Grip again?"
[ 10 FEAR POINTS. YOU HAVE 5 REMAINING. ]
"Then I need to make a deposit."
Evan quietly reached down and dipped his fingers into the bloody mess of the wolf's shattered skull. He smeared the dark, viscous blood over his face, masking his human features. He tore the sleeve of his shirt, wrapping the bloody fabric around a heavy, sharp rock.
He didn't move away from the scavengers. He moved parallel to them, climbing silently into the jagged rocks above the path.
The Brute stopped walking. He kicked a pile of bones. "Where is the little trash? If he fell, he should be splattered right here."
The Runt shivered. "Let's just say we found him. Who's gonna know? This place gives me the creeps, Boss."
Evan was directly above them now, hidden in a cleft of rock, looking down. He picked up a small pebble and threw it, not at them, but deeper into the canyon, behind a cluster of hollow stalagmites.
Clatter.
The Runt jumped, aiming his crossbow at the noise. "What was that?"
"Wind," the Brute grunted, but he tightened his grip on the mace.
Evan took a deep breath. He needed them terrified. He needed them to believe he wasn't a boy, but something else.
He channeled the [Feral Senses] to alter his vocal cords, pitching his voice low, scraping it against the back of his throat until it sounded like tearing metal.
"Varrick..."
The sound echoed off the canyon walls, distorted and impossible to pinpoint.
The Runt spun around wildly. "Who said that? Who's there?!"
"Show yourself!" The Brute roared, swinging his mace at the empty air. "I'll smash your skull in!"
Evan moved to a new position, silent as a ghost. He remembered the hatred he felt. He projected it.
"He paid you... with blood..."
[ FEAR DETECTED. ]
[ +5 POINTS. ]
[ +5 POINTS. ]
It was working. The Runt was shaking. "Boss, that's not the kid. That's a wraith. We gotta go."
"Shut up!" The Brute yelled, but his eyes were wide. "There's no such thing as ghosts!"
Evan grinned behind his mask of blood. He had 15 points now. Enough for the skill. But he didn't just want to kill them. He needed to farm them.
He loosened a larger rock with his foot, waiting for the perfect moment to drop it.
"System," Evan thought. "Let's rewrite the rules of the hunt."