“Alright, William,” Evander declared, striding toward the front of the Apothecary with the gravitas of a general. “Now that the brawny simpleton has departed we need to get down to business”

William’s ghostly form flickered with irritation. “Now hold your horses there, hamster. I may not be as green as that young pup Blackwood, but that don’t mean I’ll coma a-runnin’ every time you holler. I ain’t no pack mule.”

Evander froze, his tiny paw hovering near the door. Slowly, he turned, his cloak billowing as if orchestrated by an unseen symphony. “Now listen here, GHOST.” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “Do you grasp the magnitude of your presence here? The Root’s design is flawless, yet you—a ghost—defy its natural order. Your resurrection is an aberration, a blight upon cosmic law. Only those who’ve devoted centuries to necromantic mastery should wield such power. Yet here you stand—a peasant plucked from oblivion by an AI’s whim. The fact that you’re here means Bev has a purpose for you— as she does with me.”

He raised his tiny paw, cutting off William’s retort. “Citizens do not usually start appearing in Kingdoms until the second or even third Convergence, yet here we are—two anomalies in a graveyard of fools. You will serve our ascent, spector. I won’t waste this opportunity by ignoring our benevolent god’s wishes.”

[Thank you, Evander]

“Of course Bev” Evander said with a bow, his tiny pointed hat tipping precariously. “Your praise humbles me, oh benevolent architect.”

William stood dumbfounded. “Ain’t a lick o’ this in the Tutorial.” So reluctantly, he materialized and followed Evander out into the graveyard. “Reckon this’ll end with me hauntin’ a hamster.”

Evander turned to face him “There are a few things that need to get done before we are able to start growing our little Kingdom here. First things first— your [Character] menu. I require data, not dawdling.”

[Name] William Wight

[Race] Spectral Human (Basic)

[Class] The Assistant

[Level] 1

[Strength] 1

[Dexterity] 4

[Endurance] 2

[Intelligence] 5

[Charisma] 5

[Luck] 3

[Skills] -

“Gods, you already have a class,”Evander muttered, rubbing his tiny forehead. “This is all out of order. Still, your attribute spread isn’t terrible for [The Assistant] path. You're going to need to get your Intelligence at least to 10 if we are going to apply the [Fog] when Blackwood unlocks a [Defensive Structure].”

“Fifteen? Why in tarnation do ghosts need smarts? Ain’t my brain six feet under?” William asked

“Ah a good question… finally,” Evander said, nodding approvingly. “Fifteen Intelligence is the minimum requirement to pass through the [Fog] without scrambling your marbles. Undead are resistant to Psychic damage, so you may be good already, but it's better to be safe than sorry in my opinion. We will be able to increase the requirements to pass through as our Citizens increase their levels, and eventually, we’ll hand out [Tokens] to let allies pass.”

William paused, his spectral brow furrowing. “Ain’t I gonna get smarter if I increase my Intelligence? Or is somethin’ else gonna happen? Seems like every Peasant would just dump all their points into Intelligence if that were the case.”

“Another good question,” Evander said, his beady eyes gleaming. “No, you will not get smarter. The Old Gods tried that in some early integrations, and found that it was far too dangerous. Intelligence governs your mana pool, allowing you to cast spells, and before you ask. Strength does augment your overall strength, letting you carry more and hit things harder. Dexterity boosts your speed and reflexes. Endurance makes you tougher and heals you faster. I've seen some Citizens heal from life threatening wounds in the matter of seconds. Though if you get your brain destroyed or a whole limb cut off, no amount of Endurance will fix that.”

They continued their walk around the graveyard as Evander continued. “That brings us to Charisma. Charisma is crucial for classes like ours—and Buck will also need to invest in it too. It affects how Citizens interact with every sentient creature the Root created when your world was integrated.” He paused, eyeing William’s ragged duster. “Even you might charm some barnyard sow, given effort.”

William hesitated. “This ‘Citizen’ title—means I’m one o’ them Root-made critters?”

Evander paused, his tiny face scrunching in thought. “No. You’re a curiosity—A Player trapped in death’s veil. But don’t get too comfortable, should you perish again, you’ll awaken in some wretched backwater realm, doomed to grind anew. A tragedy, really”

William’s ghostly form flickered. “Is that what happened to you, little fella? You die so much you turned into a furry lil’fella?”

They’d made it back to the Apothecary by now, and Evander paused at the door.“My transmogrification was voluntary, you provincial simpleton. Now—” He gestured to a broom leaning against a wall. “We have a bit of a time crunch here, I suspect that our friend Blackwood will return a changed man. You may have noticed on our little walkabout around the graveyard but we have both gained a skill”

William pulled up his [Character] menu and saw it.

[Congratulations! Your Floating has increased to level 1]

[Floating] (Basic - Cultivation)

Level 1

To touch the ground is to court death. Well…I guess you’re already courting death being dead and all. I’m not even sure what skills to give you. I didn’t really get a lot of training on spectral cultivation. So…here is Floating! A skill that makes sense for a ghost. Start leveling ghost boy.

“Floating? Floating is a skill now?” William muttered.

“Strange.” Evander muttered. “I received the [Walking] skill. Regardless, with a [Skill] as simple as [Walking] showing up after the creation of a Kingdom, we’re in for one hell of a ride. You need to get out there and start exploring. [The Assistant] class tends to have more skills related to the upkeep of a Kingdom.”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

William hesitated. “Wait—you didn’t say anything about Luck. What does that do?”

Evander’s eyes lit up.“Ah, you are correct. Luck is the quintessence of chaos. A bit nebulous. You can’t allocate points into it, so most Citizens ignore it. But that would be a mistake. The Old Gods did not ascend because they ignored a part of the game.” Evander laughed to himself “Luck has been seen to do some amazing things. A higher level of Events, and more fortuitous encounters. It sometimes bends reality to the worthy—blades miss, treasures manifest, empires crumble on a whim.”

William watched as a look of wonder crossed Evanders face. Luck seemed to be the ultimate trump card. While increases in your Strength and Dexterity would make you a competent warrior, if your opponents had a high enough Luck there was a chance they could defeat you out of just dumb…well Luck.

William chuckled. “So a fella with enough Luck could outdraw the devil hisself?”

“Precisely,” Evander purred. “However the whole system gets much more confusing after you begin Ascending and your Attributes split. Now, enough chit-chat. Now sweep, dead man. You need to level up fast. Our ‘Ruler’ will return, and I'll not have him find us slacking. It might not matter too much now, but the weak don’t survive within the Cracked Kingdoms”

With a shrill cackle, Evander pointed to a broom in the corner of the Apothecary.

—-

[49:14:58]

Buck wouldn’t call himself an ecologist—or whatever the hell you called someone who studied animals—but he knew damn well coyotes weren’t supposed to look like this. Three creatures emerged from the trees, their forms warped into something out of a fever dream. The Root hadn’t just leveled them up—it had taken a hammer to nature’s design and smashed it into something grotesque.

Each of three coyotes sported different and unique mutations, clearly signifying different evolutions of the same twisted spawn. The smallest was some twisted mockery of youth. It’s head lolled sideways on a too-thin neck, four milky eyes blinking out of sync. Patchy tan fur stretched over its bloated body, split by jagged, weeping scars that glistened like fresh burns. Its front legs jutted backward, the paws dragging as it skittered forward, jaws unhinging with a wet click.

A prompt from Bev flickered

[Coyote Pup]

- Level 5 -

“The Pup—nature’s first draft. Abandoned, hungry, and very, very angry.”

Use [Identify] to learn more

Buck blinked. “[Identify]? Bev, I don’t have any idea what that is!”

But the missing spell or ability wasn’t his biggest concern. This creature was Level 5. Wasn’t the intro area of a video game supposed to be easy? Bev must have buffed them to increase their level. Did that mean he had to worry about them having abilities as well? Oh gods, could these abominations cast spells?

He didn’t get a chance to think as the three coyotes started to spread apart, encircling him within the little grove. Giving him a better look at the other two coyotes.

The middle one was a walking anatomy lesson gone wrong. Its spine curved like a question mark, ribs punching through mangle fur. Six eyes—two on its muzzle, four spread along its haunches—tracked Buck with predatory precisions. This one's legs were mismatched: one thick and muscular, the other spindly and twitching, leaving a lopsided gait. Streaks of scar tissue radiated from its chest, as if its body had tried—and failed—to split apart.

[Coyote]

-Level 8-

“The Adolescent—growth spurt gone wrong. Do not approach without snacks…or holy water”

Use [Identify] to learn more

The [Coyote Pup] lunged forward with a gurgling shriek. Buck sidestepped, but its backward-jointed legs pivoted unnaturally, its teeth sinking into his calf. Pain shot through him as the beast yanked hard, attempting to topple him. Thankfully, Buck was starting to get used to the pain. Not enjoying it if you're listening, Bev! He was able to keep his mind clear and with a swing, he slammed his right fist into the coyote’s skull, feeling bone crumple.

The creature yelped, no not a yelp, a giggle, a wet, childlike sound that made his stomach churn. It skittered back, blood oozing from its cracked skull, but it didn't retreat. Instead, it circled him, its milky eyes blinking erratically.

The bite mark on his leg began leaking blood, but the teeth only caused shallow wounds. Looking at his attacker he spotted the patchy fur grow darker as blood began to spread from a wound on the creature's head, but it didn’t retreat. Instead, the pack tightened their circle, their movements silent, their eyes locked on him. Giving him a good look at the final coyote.

“Godsdammit.” Buck’s breath caught.

The adult was a towering monstrosity, nearly two meters tall, its grotesque body balanced on legs like knotted tree roots—too long, too thin, ending in scythe-like claws. Its torso slumped forward, a distended rib cage grazing the ground, while a second pair of vestigial forelegs dangled uselessly. Its face was a nightmare collage: three eyes stacked vertically, a jaw split into twin rows of serrated teeth, and a crown of bone fused to its skull. The fur was barely there, replaced by cracked. Leather skin stretched taut over swelling muscle. Its breath coming in ragged, wet gasps.

[Adult Coyote]

-Level 12-

“The Patriarch—evolution’s middle finger. Do not make direct eye contact. Or breath. Or exist”

Use [Identify] to learn more

This was going to be the end of him. His leg throbbed, blood seeping through his jorts. He tested his weight on it and knew he couldn’t outrun them. His only option was to fight—and if he waited, they’d overwhelm him.

He had to go on the offensive.

Activating [Step Forward], Buck flashed forward two meters, finding himself face to face with the [Coyote]. With a yell, he unleashed [Punch], his fingers snapping closed as he sent a right jab forward. His hand didn’t stop, it flew straight through the beast’s skull like a cannonball. Blood and brain matter sprayed as the monstrosity crumpled.

Buck’s arm snapped back into a guard position, and for a split second, the blue honeycomb shield of [Guard} flickered into existence before vanishing.

He stared at his blood-soaked fist, panic rising. He tried to activate [Punch] again, but his body rebelled. Exhaustion hit him like a sledgehammer, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Mana. Evander said something about mana.” But his Intelligence was 0—he shouldn’t even have mana. It had to be the Root Source. The energy inside him was finite, and it was refilling way too slowly.

Then the adult moved.

Its stilt-legs carried it forward in jerky, spider-like strides, bone crown scraping the trees Buck tried to dodge, but one clawed limb lashed out, carving a gash across his chest. He swung wildly, but the [Adult Coyote] leaned back, its torso bending at impossible angles to avoid the blow.

“Bev, what the hell is this?!” Buck spat, blood dripping into his eyes.

But Bev didn’t answer.

In a blur of teeth and claws, the pup and the adolescent attacked in unison. Buck was buried under a writhing mass of fur and fangs. He felt himself being torn apart. Unlike the previous wounds, these cuts were deep. Pain exploded across his body as their teeth sank into his flesh, their claws raking his chest and back. Blood poured from him like a crimson waterfall, his vision blurring.

This wasn’t like the cave. This wasn’t controlled, predictable pain. This was chaos—a maelstrom of agony that left him gasping, unable to think, unable to fight back. There was a rhythm to it, but Buck couldn’t find it.

For what felt like the thousandth time in four days, Buck felt death closing in.

Then, the [Coyote Pup] latched onto his left hand, its jaws crushing bone. Buck screamed, the sound raw and guttural. The pain was excruciating, but he felt it. It ignited something deep within him.

No.

Heat surged through his gut, a primal fury rising. After everything he’d been through—after crawling through hell, after being reborn, after becoming a Ruler—was he really going to die to a pack of mangy mutts?

“NO!” Buck roared, surging forward. He wrapped his arms around the nearest coyote, ignoring the teeth sinking into his shoulder. With a sickening crack, he snapped the beast’s spine like a twig.

A rush of energy flooded him, as Root’s pool refilled slightly. “Why hadn’t that happened before? He wondered briefly. “Was it because I killed it with an ability?”

He didn’t have time to think. The [Adult Coyote] lunged. It’s claws tearing into his thigh. Buck fell to his knees, staring up at the beast. Its yellow eyes burning with hunger, a primal, insatiable need to devour him.

Buck’s vision narrowed. He pushed off his good leg, crashing into the beast with his shoulder. They hit the ground in a tangle of limbs, and Buck unleashed a flurry of blows. There was no strategy, no thought—just a raw, primal will to survive.

The coyote kept coming, its attacks relentless. Buck became a whirlwind of fists and fury, his body a canvas of blood and wounds. Even when he was thrown to the ground, his head nearly bouncing off a rock, he merely used the opportunity to grab the stone, adding it to his repertoire of weapons.

He was no longer Buck Blackwood, Ruler of some backwater Kingdom. He was death incarnate—the destroyer of coyotes.