Survival (1)
I can confidently say I was a completely ordinary guy. Born into an ordinary family like anyone else, made ordinary friends, did my ordinary military service, and loved games in an ordinary way. The only real difference was that I was a total veteran of one particular game, utterly obsessed with it.
I'd play it solo, sinking deep into it unless I was gaming with friends. Soul World—that was the name of the game I loved. At first glance, it seemed like your run-of-the-mill title, but dig deeper and it had incredible depth. Your choices shaped the future, the character builds and synergies were brilliant. Sure, the story got darker and more bleak as it progressed—practically soul-crushing by the end—but the logic held up, earning it rave reviews.
But all that got overshadowed by one massive flaw: the godawful controls and combat. Nothing worked right, inputs dropped constantly. I'd nearly smashed my keyboard more than once. So despite the stellar story, everything else sucked, making it a game for diehards only. And I was one of those— a vet among vets, immersed in the characters and plot, clearing it multiple times, combat be damned.
But in reality? Veteran status meant jack shit. One hit from that damned squirrel—aka Porori—and I felt like I was dying.
'One day, I'll skin you alive.'
I pressed my throbbing solar plexus, grimacing. The stench of that rat bastard's shit and piss assaulted my nose.
Its official name was Ratatosk. But fans called it Porori. Famous for tea-bagging and every other shitty move imaginable. Normally, academy newbies head into the nearby forest for training. Push deeper, and you hit this place. Step in, and boom—Porori ambushes you, one-shotting most players. The crap controls make dodging impossible. Even if you luck out and win, it plays dead then attacks again. Porori was every frustration crammed into one mob.
'Anyway...'
Leaning against a tree, I scanned my surroundings. It had been daytime before I blacked out; now it was dark. This forest wasn't just home to Porori—dangerous beasts and monsters lurked everywhere. Translation: unless I got out, my death odds were 99%.
No thanks.
"Ugh..."
I barely hauled my aching body upright. Breathing hurt like hell after that gut punch. Surviving a vital hit from Porori was a miracle. In-game, one shot usually meant game over. Rare survivors? Meaningless.
'Lucky that rare case hit now.'
I gathered nearby fallen leaves and rubbed them on my face. Only way to scrub off the shit-piss stink. Worried about bugs? Tough shit—whatever's in there stays.
What a shitty life.
Crunch—crunch—
This half-forest, half-jungle sank into dusk fast. At least it stayed warm year-round. First priority: shelter.
'Porori around means no other big threats nearby.'
The wild was survival of the fittest. That squirrel ruled this zone. It spared losers due to its nature—but marked them with shit as a warning: my turf, stay out. I'd been warned; next trespass, no mercy.
'I'm the one hard done by here.'
Woke up in my apartment, opened my eyes here. Tears welled from the injustice. But the mark would keep most monsters away—beasts had keen noses.
"Grrrrr...!"
Speak of the devil. A growling wolf approached. Skinny as hell, ribs poking out—starved for days, probably exiled from its pack or lost a fight.
'Why's a starving wolf here...'
This forest ignored levels—lowbies from starter zones wandered in. In-game, easy prey. But its issue: hyper-aggression. It hunted the weak relentlessly, auto-attacking lower-level players.
If game mechanics held, it saw me as easy pickings.
'How'd it know?'
Porori's stink wasn't enough? Wild animal's instinct, I guess. I swallowed hard, backing up. Fresh off blackout, no weapons, no wilderness skills. Bear Grylls would've turned it into protein.
"Graaah!"
No time to think—the wolf lunged like a bullet. Panicking, I raised my arm. Bad call. It clamped onto my left arm.
Crunch!
"Gaaah!!"
Its fangs crunched like they’d shatter bone, piercing flesh. Unbearable agony ripped a scream from me. Vision blacked out, then snapped back—full blackout pain.
I gritted my teeth, glaring. "Grrrr!!"
It glared back, refusing to let go. If it couldn't kill me, it'd die—but so would I unless I acted. Fear had gripped me; now instinct took over. Pure survival drive.
Snap! Snap!
"Agh! Ack!"
It thrashed for my throat. I blocked with my left arm—pain mounting. Sacrificing it, my right hand groped the ground. Grabbed a decent branch.
First, detach this thing.
I jabbed the sharp end into its eye.
Squish!
Grotesque feel shot up my arm. Instinct shoved it aside. Survive first.
"Yelp! Yelp! Yeeelp!"
Eye punctured, it leaped back screeching. Blood pouring from my arm, I watched it roll on the ground. Out for a while.
"Ugh..."
My mangled left arm: five+ holes, gushing. Porori left no visible marks, but this? Plus rabies risk, tetanus definite. 99% death odds hit 100%.
Fury surged; I stood, teeth clenched. 'No... not yet...'
I could live. Game vet—knew everything here. Bleed stops, infection plants, herb remedies. All in my head. Couldn't croak here without knowing why I was dropped in.
"Yeeelp! Yelp!"
Still thrashing, I stomped its head hard.
Splat!
"Yelp!"
It snapped; quick pullback saved my foot. Kill before it recovered. Eye-stick perfect.
Grip!
I pinned it under my weight. Big bastard bucked wildly.
"Hnnng!"
Squish!
Mangled hands shoved the stick deeper. It screamed, I pushed harder.
Crack!
Stick snapped—wood's limit. Planned for it. Pinned to grab the nearby sharp rock.
Splat! Thud! Thud!
Then—
Crunch! Crunch! Splurch! Snap!
Skull caved, brains mush. It shuddered, tongue lolled—dead.
I hammered a few more times, panting raggedly, staring. Killed it. The thing that wanted me dead.
Lived far from killing, but danger flipped instinct on.
"Hah... hah..."
Sweat poured, heart hammered. Stumbled back, ass-planted. Jolt agonized my arm like shock.
Strength and Agility slightly increased!
Status window? Ignored. Fresh off near-death, who cared? Mind blank. Killed something—felt nothing. Instinct suppressed nausea; adrenaline numbed like a sedative.
Wild Instinct
In the wild, it's not the strong who survive—it's the survivors who grow strong.
All senses sharpen to the extreme, growing stronger the longer you endure.
Wild Instinct? Never seen it. Blankly stared. Traits had ranks, upgradable. This? All question marks. First time for me.
What the hell?
No feel from acquiring it. Brain rejecting the unreal. Throb! Arm pain yanked me back. Frowned at the ache. Adrenaline gone, pain crashed in.
'Treat first...'
Ignored wolf corpse. Bleeding critical. Knew hemostatic plants. Deep forest had plenty.
'I'll survive... and make it...'
Find whoever dumped this shit on me, smash their face. If a god? Cuss them out.
Faith stat decreased.
Fuck off. Pissing me off more when I'm already raging.