Bobby's eyes fluttered open, immediately assaulted by a wave of pain that seemed to radiate from every inch of his body. The world swam in and out of focus as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings. He was lying on something soft - a makeshift bed, he realised. The familiar smell of stale beer and wood polish tickled his nostrils. The Conquering Hero.

He tried to move, but his body protested. A groan escaped his parched lips, sounding foreign to his own ears.

"Oh! You're awake!" Mic's voice, high-pitched with relief, came from somewhere nearby. The gnome's face swam into view, worry etched deep in his features. "I was thinking… well, never mind that now."

Memories flooded back - the battle, the flames, Mutated Mike's monstrous form. Bobby's throat constricted. "Water," he croaked.

"Right, right! Of course!" Mic scrambled away, returning moments later with a glass. He helped Bobby take a few sips, the cool liquid providing blessed relief.

As his vision cleared, Bobby took stock of his condition. Bandages covered much of his visible skin, and the sharp sting of burns made itself known with each breath. But worse than the physical pain was the bone-deep exhaustion that seemed to permeate his very being. His mana felt drained, leaving him feeling hollow and weak.

How long have I been out? And how did he get me back to the pub?

Bobby licked his dry lips, wincing at the effort it took to speak. "What... happened?"

Mic's eyes widened. "Oh! Well, um, you were incredible! I mean, truly spectacular. You killed Mike with some, uh, rather impressive fire manipulation. It was like watching a master at work!"

Bobby furrowed his brow, struggling to recall the details through the haze of pain and exhaustion.

Mic continued, his words tumbling out in a rush of excitement. "The way you controlled those flames... it was unlike anything I've ever seen! You created this fiery prison around Mike, and then - oh, it was brilliant - you focused all that heat on his collar until it just..."

The gnome paused, tilting his head. "Say, um, how come you never mentioned you were so good at fire manipulation before? I mean, that kind of skill... it's not something you just pick up overnight, is it?"

Bobby's mind raced, trying to make sense of Mic's words. He hadn't known he was capable of such feats. The memory of the battle was a blur of adrenaline and desperation.

"I... I didn't know," Bobby admitted, his voice hoarse. "It just... happened. Like instinct, I guess. I saw the flames, and I could feel them, control them. But I've only just unlocked that skill, though."

Mic gaped at Bobby. "What do you mean? What, um, level is your fire manipulation?."

Bobby closed his eyes, concentrating. With a thought, he accessed his battle log.

"It was just level 1, but it seems it's moved to level 3 now."

Bobby's eyes narrowed as he focused on the battle log, the ethereal interface flickering into view. He scanned the information, his brow furrowing.

Combat Log:

Mutated Mike defeated: +360 EXP

Total EXP gained: 360 EXP

Fire Manipulation increased by 2

Levelled up to level 6

1 Skill Point Gained

Status Screen

Name

Robert "Bobby" Jones

Race

Human

Age

29

Level

6

Class

Undefined

Title

None

Exp

1876/2326

Skill points left

3

Effects

Lucky Seven - open for more details.

Poisoned - Total Health Reduced

A toxic poison is corroding your health. Total health is steadily declining. Antidotes or healing skills are needed to counteract the poison.

Burned - Your body is burned from fire. Total health reduced.

Mana sickness - mana is painful to use, be careful not to burnout. Mana regen extremely slow.

Health

120/150

Health Regen

Slow

Stamina

125/125

Stamina Regen

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Moderate

Mana

1/25

Mana Regen

Extremely Slow

Attributes

Strength

8

Perception

5

Constitution

7

Intelligence

6

Agility

8

Willpower

9

Charisma

4

Luck

6*

"Huh, that's odd. I got 360 experience points for taking down Mutated Mike. Seems high for a level 15 enemy. But its levelled me up again."

As he delved deeper into his status screen, a sudden, searing pain lanced through his skull. Bobby gasped, clutching his head as the world spun around him.

"Argh! My head..." he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut against the agony.

Mic leaned forward, concern etched across his face. "Oh dear, oh dear. What's wrong? Are you alright?"

Bobby forced his eyes open, wincing. "Massive migraine. Hit me out of nowhere when I was checking my stats."

The gnome's expression shifted from worry to understanding. "Ah, I see. Um, well, you see, it seems you've used fire manipulation at a level far beyond your current ability. It's quite impressive, really! But also, um, extremely dangerous."

Mic wrung his hands. "While it'll boost your skill and experience with manipulation, it could lead to burnout. Your mana regeneration will be affected, and if you try to use any mana-based skills in this state, well... you might feel quite sick."

Bobby blinked, trying to process this information through the throbbing in his head. "Great," he muttered. "So I've overclocked my brain or something?"

"That's... not a bad analogy, actually!" Mic nodded enthusiastically. "Just remember, pushing yourself too hard could have serious consequences. You'll need to be careful until you've fully recovered."

"Mic, how did you get me back here, with all my stuff as well?" Bobby asked as he spied his equipment piled up in one corner.

"Um, well. I, err… kind of made a sled and pulled you back." Mic said.

"You pulled me back? On your own?"

"No, don't be silly. I had help."

Bobby looked around in concern for a second, expecting to see another stranger, but the room was empty. "What do you mean you had help?"

"I, uh, borrowed the power core from your fire axe," Mic explained, his fingers twitching. "Used it to jury-rig a plasma motor onto one of those abandoned conveyances outside. Made a sort of makeshift sled to haul you back here. Bit touch-and-go, but we managed."

"A car?"

"Err, um. Maybe?" Mic offered, looking confused.

"Ok, ok. Don't worry about it. You got me here, so that’s what counts."

Bobby winced as Mic tossed two metallic objects onto the nearby table with a loud clank. The gnome's eyes widened, and he apologised.

"Oh! Sorry, sorry! I didn't think... Are you alright?"

Bobby nodded, his gaze fixed on the collars. They looked innocuous enough - simple metal bands with strange, pulsing circuitry. Yet he knew the horrific power they held, having witnessed firsthand the monstrous transformations they induced.

"So," Bobby rasped, his throat still dry despite the water. "What's the plan now?"

Mic's expression turned serious, a stark contrast to his usual nervous energy. "Well, um, these collars... They're the key, you see. To rescuing my daughter."

Bobby remembered their earlier conversation, the desperation in Mic's voice when he'd spoken of his daughter. He'd agreed to help, driven by a sense of duty, following his moral compass no matter what.

"Right," Bobby said, struggling to sit up straighter. "You mentioned better equipment. How do these help with that?"

Mic's eyes lit up. "Oh! Well, you see, these aren't just any old collars. They're advanced tech, possibly even artifacts from before... well, before everything changed. If we can find the right buyer, or better yet, someone who can reverse-engineer them, we could trade them for some serious firepower."

"Alright," he said, his voice growing stronger. "So we find a buyer, get some better gear, and then go after your daughter. Sounds simple enough."

Mic chuckled. "Well, um, simple might not be the word I'd use. But with your skills and my technical know-how, I think we stand a chance, once we get to my ship, that is."

Bobby's head throbbed as he processed Mic's words. He blinked, wondering if the pain had caused him to hallucinate.

"Your... ship?" he croaked, eyebrows shooting up despite the ache it caused. "You have a bloody spaceship?"

Mic fidgeted with his multi-tool, avoiding Bobby's incredulous stare. "Well, um, yes. It's not exactly in tip-top shape, mind you."

Bobby's mind raced. If Mic had a ship this whole time, why the hell hadn't he used it to rescue his daughter? He voiced this thought, his words tinged with frustration.

"Oh! Well, you see..." Mic started, his voice rising an octave. "It's not a combat vessel. More of a, um, research craft, really. And after my rather... eventful arrival on Earth, it's in a bit of a state."

Bobby's eyes narrowed. "How bad are we talking?"

Mic winced. "Bad enough that I can't risk further damage. The landing was, well, let's say 'bumpy' to put it mildly. Life support's barely functioning. The engines are more scrap than ship, and don't even get me started on the navigation systems."

"Right," Bobby sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "So we've got a busted spaceship. Fantastic."

"It's not all bad!" Mic chirped, his optimism seemingly unquenchable. "The communication equipment is still mostly intact. And with the right parts, I might be able to jury-rig some repairs. Enough to get us to get a message out."

Bobby knew there would be more to it than met the eye. But they had the collars, and with Mic's contacts, they could use that to get access to some better equipment and rescue Mic's daughter.

"Alright," he said, grimacing as he shifted on the makeshift bed. "Where's this ship of yours, then?"

Mic's eyes lit up. "Oh! It's not far. Can you walk?"

As they set out, Bobby's initial agony had dulled to a persistent ache, but each step still tested his resolve. He leaned on Mic more than he'd like to admit, the gnome's surprising strength a silent comfort. They made their way through the ruined streets, past the charred remains of their battle with Mike.

The devastation extended far beyond their fight. Abandoned vehicles littered the roads, their rusted shells serving as silent testimonies to the world that was.

Bobby furrowed his brow, a question that had been nagging at him bubbling to the surface. "Mic, there's something that has been confusing me. It's only been like, three weeks since the system took over. But why does everything look like it's weathered anywhere between ten and a hundred years?"

Mic shrugged, his small shoulders rising and falling dramatically. "I can't explain why that happens, but it's the system. It, um, messes with things, especially when rushed."

"What do you mean rushed?" Bobby's pace slowed, his attention on the gnome.

Mic's eyes widened in surprise. "Well, um. Don't you know?"

Bobby shook his head, frustration clear in his voice. "No, I don't. I don't know anything. Not really, anyway."

"Oh, right, right." Mic fidgeted with his multi-tool, a nervous habit. "Well, I don't know why. Like, why would I? I'm a lowly clan gnome, but all I know is this wasn't a scheduled expansion. You guys, um, well, you humans. You did something, and the council intervened. It's a bit all unstable at the moment. But that's the best bit."

Bobby stopped in his tracks, turning to look at his small friend. "Huh? Why is that the best bit?"

Mic's eyes lit up with excitement. "Um, how would you say it? Opportunity. Better system rewards. A chance at a better life."

Confusion clouded Bobby's features. "I don't understand."

"Sorry." Mic's shoulders slumped, his earlier enthusiasm deflating. "I'm not the best at explaining things, just doing. But my daughter. She makes everything make sense. She will tell you."

"Oh, ok," Bobby said, his mind reeling with more questions than answers. The conversation lapsed into silence as they continued their journey, the weight of unspoken mysteries hanging between them.

As they walked, Bobby noticed strange, shimmering distortions in the air - remnants of the cataclysm that had transformed their world. "Ok, so what are those?" he asked, pointing at one such anomaly.

Mic followed his gaze and shuddered. "Rifts," he explained. "Tears in the fabric of reality. Best to stay clear of them if you can. Never know what might come through."

They skirted around a large rift, its edges crackling with otherworldly energy. In the distance, a haunting howl echoed through the empty streets, a reminder that they weren't alone in this broken world.

Finally, they reached the outskirts of town. As they approached a dilapidated warehouse, Mic's excitement grew palpable. "We're here!" he announced, fumbling with a hidden latch. The warehouse door groaned open, revealing Mic's spaceship.Bobby's jaw dropped as he took in the vessel before him. "Wow, you weren't lying about the state it's in."

The ship was smaller than he'd imagined, around the size of a large lorry. Its sleek lines were marred by scorch marks and dents, the once-gleaming surface now a patchwork of repairs and exposed circuitry.

Mic's chest puffed out with pride. "This is her. The Starling's Gearshift, I named her myself."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "She's... compact."

Mic's face fell. "Now, don't you go insulting my girl!" He patted the ship's hull affectionately. "She may be small, but she's got heart. Could fit four of us in a pinch, though it'd be cozy."

As Bobby circled the vessel, he noticed the extent of the damage. Panels hung loose, wires sparked ominously, and what looked like the engine compartment was a mess of twisted metal.

"She's seen better days," Bobby muttered.

Mic bristled. "Oi! Show some respect. The Gearshift’s been through hell and back. Saved my life more times than I can count." His voice softened. "Sure, she needs work. But once we get her fixed up, she'll fly true as ever."

Bobby watched as Mic lovingly traced a finger along a jagged gash in the hull. The gnome's eyes shone with a mixture of pride and determination.

"You really love this ship, don't you?" Bobby asked.

Mic nodded vigorously. "She's not just a ship, Bobby. She's home. My workshop. My ticket to the stars." He paused, his voice catching. "And maybe... maybe our best shot at finding my Sprocket."

Bobby felt a pang of sympathy. Despite the ship's battered appearance, he could see why it meant so much to Mic. In this broken world, having something to believe in, to fight for, was precious.

"Alright then," Bobby said, clapping Mic on the shoulder. "Where do we start?"