A harvest moon sheds light over a peculiar forest filled with the whitewashed bones of slain treasure hunters. Only the occasional howl of a Feral Worg breaks the sound of a creek rushing over lichen infested rocks. The trees are ancient beasts covered in rough patches of bark, they seem to be bred from the blood of the monsters that inhabit this place. Leaves fall from withered branches, coating a miry forest floor littered with broken twigs and scattered pebbles. An isolated Vampire Snail slides through the cursed wood, leaving a toxic trail of red slime.

Surely DreadForest is no place for a lone traveler. But that is what I am.

One lone traveler.

Walking on an ill-trodden path that weaves past dour willows and brushes up against thorny rose bushes, I glance at my OverWatch. The display shows 156/265 Health Points and 224/265 Magic Points. A run in with a level 168 Feral Worg has me wounded, but I’m close. I can’t turn back. I won’t turn back.

I inadvertently step in a patch of slime, sinking up to my shin in green slop. Frustrated that I would fall into such an obvious trap, I rip my foot out of the patch and wipe the slime off on a nearby fern, leaving a thin coat of green goop on the forest foliage.

My [Leather Cowl of ShadowGlimpse] enables a slight night vision, so everything looks light gray. The enchantment is not powerful enough to see clearly, but it gives me some idea about where I’m going.

I grip the oak handle of my [Iron Scimitar] tightly as the bitter night wind bites into my naked fingers, enveloping my hands in a blunt numbing sensation. Despite my comatose fingers, I’m unwilling to sheathe my sword. A monster could come at any second.

And Dread Forest is packed with tough monsters.

I suddenly whiff a horrid stench. My heart thuds against my ribcage in a quick flurry.

Before I can run, I hear a massive roar and a scaly head smashes me in the stomach, the impact of the blow causing my scimitar to slide out of my hand and flop harmlessly on the ground.

I fly backward until my skull smashes against a thick tree trunk. For a moment, I’m dizzy and off-guard, but I stumble to my feet and I raise my fists like a boxer.

Before me is a giant mustard-yellow dragon: A level 312 [Sludge Dragon].

Great.

The dragon spews toxic slime in my direction. I feign to the right, but slip in a splotch of mud, sliding on my back. I somersault to my feet and form a tight fist.

“Wind: TornadoFist!” A gust of wind howls over my hand, coating my knuckles in a torrent of air. The sweet rushing sensation of wind magic tingles my fingers. I’m about to kick some dragon ass.

The dragon roars right back at me, putrid smell invading my already burning nostrils. My courage wavers for a moment at the thunderous sound.

Stolen novel; please report.

But then the buzzing sensation of endorphins creeps into my veins and I wildly charge at the [Sludge Dragon] like a lost berserker. The beast swipes at me with grimy claws, but I swerve right. The jagged claws zoom past my face in what seems like slow motion.

With a vicious punch, I slam the Sludge Dragon in the wing with a howling [Tornado Fist]. The dragon is sent spiraling into the woods, shredding trees into splinters and disappearing in a maelstrom of wind and darkness. I rush forward and pick up my fallen [Iron Scimitar].

Fearless, I charge forward--but I’m met by a splash of toxic sludge. The sludge slips between the cracks of my armor, burning my skin. My whole body searing in pain, I flinch.

A spiked dragon tail clobbers my chest. I hear my ribs crack and I’m crushed into the swampy ground. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.

Moderate Internal bleeding, reports my Overwatch in a female robot voice. Losing two hit points every five minutes until healed.

Crumpled in pain, I see the dragon peer down at me, his eyes burning with rage. For a moment, the dragon’s eyes flash with a glimpse of remorse, before morphing into a whirlpool of malice.

Desperate, I point my palm towards the beast and yell, “Wind: Surge!”

A fierce gust of wind engulfs the dragon, throwing him backward. His wings catch the air, sending him into a ludicrous backflip, his oversized dragon frame tumbling through the midnight air in an almost mesmerizing sight.

I seize the moment to sheathe my [Iron Scimitar] and run the hell away.

My feet are splashing in pools of mucky water. Gradually, my toes start to loose feeling as the water penetrates my boots. Eventually, I can’t feel my feet at all. Shit.

My OverWatch alerts me: Stamina at 45 percent.

As my Stamina drains, my breaths grow more and more labored. I pause to spit out a mouthful of blood-stained saliva. A feral roar thunders behind me--but I keep running. Dragon acid sears my tender nostrils, making each heavy breath a trip into the shallow realms of pain.

Stamina at 25 percent.

I run straight through a creek, wading up to my kneecaps. The creek is wide and the water is surprisingly turbulent--I’m slowing way down. I take a moment to glance behind me and I catch the dragon awkwardly loping towards me, his massive claws creating rifts in the forest ground. Darn, he’s close.

My palms point towards the water, arms bent at roughly a 45-degree angle. Time for some flight magic. “Wind: Jets!”

Two streams of wind pour of out of each hand, propelling me out of the stream. I enter an uneasy flight, sustained by a torrent of air emanating from both of my palms.

Below me, trees stream by in the semi-darkness. I see the dragon shrink until he is nothing more than a mustard-colored spec in the distance.

Before I can think, my spell expires and I’m sent tumbling towards the earth. Air screaming in my ears, I say, “Wind: Jets”! But nothing.

Not enough magic points. My OverWatch reports.

Dammit.

I hit something--hard. Branches tear through my armor and I slide off coarse bark before falling into a patch of viscous mud with a sickening splat.

Landing skill increased to level 112.

Well, shit. I suppose I just got experience in the [Landing] skill from surviving a fall. I suppose that’s one positive of this otherwise totally failed mission.

With an audible groan, I carefully sit up and glance at my OverWatch as the light from the unusually bright moon streams through the surrounding forest. 12/265 magic points. I’m down to 24 hit points.

I start to limp back towards Ashen Twillenger. I need to get to a healer to fix this internal bleeding--fast.