Reid's face was frozen in a look of terror. His points - HIS POINTS, that he'd earned through literal blood and sweat, were sitting in Control. All of his short-lived plans of an easy, Intelligence and Constitution supported journey slipped away from him and faded. His anger grew as he re-read the status screen.

His free points for skills and stats weren't just gone. They didn't read zero. Each one just said 'error'. Reid fumed.

"Shackle! SHACKLE! Two Thirteen! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!"

Reid was panting between shouts. He kept on, heaving. If shackle wasn't answering, it meant the thing was asleep again. And if it was asleep, recovering, it had expended energy. That meant it had done something to him. Reid felt his sense of self-determination had been completely violated. The shackle had crippled his choices, seared his brain, and left him alone in the woods to rest off its hard work of screwing him over.

It didn't make sense. The thing had just been telling him control was a junk stat, and now all of his 15 free points had been shoved into it. If it was so terrible, why had the shackle expended so much energy to force him into increasing it?

But... what if that hadn't been its intention? Reid thought back to his feeling of touching the upgrade points, and their available paths. What if the shackle had forcibly tried to move his points, and the resulting head pain had been its work backfiring? Or, maybe it had tried to close off the path to control, only to have everything slam shut instead. Or, did it try to steal his points somehow?

Eventually, Reid's anger faded, and he was left, expended, with disbelief and sorrow.

"What the hell happened?" He cried out to the trees in a soft, pained voice. "What did you do?"

Succumbing to exhaustion, Reid slumped over and fell asleep.

#

Reid startled awake, a tight ache in his stomach reminding him that he still hadn't eaten since the planet's awakening. The night under the trees was pitch-dark here, the only light visible was from a small clearing far off to his left. He looked away from it, hoping that focusing elsewhere would force his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Over a minute passed with almost no change.

A shiver ran up his spine when a howl sounded out. It came from the same direction as the clearing, and it was answered by two more- thankfully further away.

He shifted himself onto his feet, clammy hands pulling his knife and readying it in one hand. He hated the idea of fighting in the dark, but maybe he didn't have to. Reid turned to the closest tree and peered up. There were a few branches that might support his weight.

A scent of blood wafted to him and he breathed in deep. It wasn't overwhelming, like his time after the coyote fight, but more what he remembered it smelled like after his father had dressed a deer. He could picture the man's compound bow hanging in the garage, over a freezer full of venison...

His stomach complained, and an idea took root. Reid needed to eat, so why not hunt the hunters?

Best case, he could steal whatever deer or other prey they'd hunted.

Worst case, coyotes were still made of meat.

#

The clearing glowed blue in the light of the moon. A chorus of snarls and snapping teeth filled the air, as thick as the scent of the beast's pooling blood. On the ground, a deer lay dead. But it was far from normal. As large as an adult moose, the deer sported antlers that twisted into a series of wickedly sharp points. Half a coyote carcass was still embedded there, as if a grim, final reminder that it had once been a very lethal creature.

Now, it was surrounded by eight coyotes, each hungrily tearing into the carcass and gulping down what meat they ripped away. Blood glistened eerily in the moonlight, flashing off the carcass, and running in streams down the coyote's jaws.

The coyotes also seemed... bigger than the ones he had fought yesterday. Their snarls were deeper, and by the way muscles bulged as they pulled the deer part, they were stronger as well. The biggest of the eight was half a foot taller than the rest. It chewed on the deer's torso, and Reid winced when he heard a bone snap under its jaws.

Reid watched the scene for another minute before he, undeterred, started slinking forward as quietly as he could manage.

Two steps in, the closest coyote had stopped eating and was looking up, ears alert.

Ten steps in, and eight coyotes in the clearing were looking straight at him.

Alright, so... shit at stealth. Reid thought. Too bad he didn't have any dexterity upgrades to help him out there.

Reid abandoned his attempt at stealth and charged down the slight decline towards the coyotes and their meal. The big one stayed within a foot of the carcass, the others made up a rough semicircle farther forward. Directly where Reid was rushing.

He didn't slow down.

Reid picked a target, the second coyote from his left, and sprinted directly at it, only lunging forward when he was eight feet away. His increased strength carried him through the air and onto the beast. It recoiled, pulling its head back even as it snapped jaws at Reid's incoming hand. It was too slow. Reid nearly beheaded the coyote as his knife and arm plunged into and through it.

He was on the next before the rest could properly react, this time only stabbing it in the head in a quick jab. His knife had bits of brain left on it as he pulled it away and lunged towards the next creature. In seconds, four of the beasts were out of the fight. Another two had gotten glancing blows that kept them on the ground. One growled at him, even as it tried to stand on a stump of a front leg. Reid lifted a foot and kicked it into a nearby tree. The other one would bleed out soon enough.

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He focused on the final two. The big one was still standing, tensed, near the carcass. The other was trying to slowly circle him, and Reid realized what was going on. The little one was bait.

When Reid turned his back to engage it, the big one would finally move, and attack his unprotected back. If Reid had fallen for it, it would've been a simple and effective strategy.

But he didn't. And it wasn't.

With a yell, Reid leapt at the coyote trying to distract him and grabbed its back, lifting it into the air and wheeling around just in time to watch the final coyote's jaws sink deep into its packmate's abdomen. Bone crunched as its mouth clamped shut, and before Reid could properly react, the beast had spat out its mouthfull of coyote meat and lunged at his leg. Pain bloomed as he felt its teeth sink in deep, before it started to pull. Reid faltered, then curled down at the coyote. Knife down, his hand flashed forward and connected.

He buried the knife into the coyote down to its hilt. And there it stopped.

Reid was so surprised at not obliterating the beast, its next pull yanked him into his back. It started dragging him along the ground, each pull tearing a bit more of Reid's leg. He screamed in pain, and lashed out with his free foot. It connected, heel bashing into the coyote's skull three times before the thing finally let him go.

It attacked again before Reid could stand, ripping through his one remaining shirt sleeve and sinking teeth deep into his bicep. Reid furiously slashed at it with his free hand.

The moments seemed to drag on in slow motion. The coyote was shaking its head, trying to tear him apart and shaking him up past the shoulder. The wound burned as it was opened wider and wider. The coyote was so close, he could see an orange ring around its pupil, separating the inky black orb from a yellow iris. One of its ears was bisected, a barely-healed wound that made the tip flap forward as it attempted to pull his arm off. It's breath was hot, and it smelled disgusting.

His knife sunk into its snout, its neck, and its head, over and over. But it kept a firm grip on him, even as it bled from more and more holes.

This wasn't right. Reid was supposed to be powerful. Anger swelled in his gut, roiling and begging for an outlet.

He obliged it, roaring as he plunged a powerful blow into the side of the coyote's head. Then another. And another. Red crept into the sides of his vision, his muscles seemed to strain against themselves as power built and exploded out with each strike. His heart beat furiously in his chest, and rage swept over his consciousness like waves. He could feel himself be overwhelmed by it, slowly sinking underneath the tide even as his power grew.

It all felt so... comfortable.

Reid had never been one to let his anger steer him. Sure, he'd had his bad days. When he was a kid, he got into his fair share of fights, mostly over dumb arguments - but all kids did that. In middle school, he'd gotten into a nasty fight on the bus after a boy sitting behind him had 'pranked' Reid by pulling the strings of his hoodie back. It was self defense because Reid was being choked, the school and the boy's parents had agreed. He'd apologized to Reid with a lisp brought on from missing teeth. In high school, he'd shoved an upper classman into the lockers so hard that it dented not just the door, but the frame. Each memory floated past him as the waves continued to crest overhead.

They all felt... good. Each was justice. Each was right. A single moment of righteous anger in an otherwise relaxed and calm life. It was okay to have these moments, he knew. It was the way the world should work, where strength and power exerted themselves over everything around them. Power... should rule. Power needed to be freed, to run loose and bend the world to the right outcomes.

Another memory flashed by him. He was pummeling the drunk driver at the trial for his parent's death. Blood was flying through the air as Reid's fists rose and fell into the man's face. A tooth was embedded into his knuckle, and the man's nose was shifted sideways. The memory seemed clearer than it had ever been before. Reid could feel his own joy at rage let loose - and setting the world right. A smile was on his lips as his fists continued to fall. He wanted to hurt this man. He willed himself to punch down harder, ignore his own pain as he attempted to cave and snap every intact part of the drunkard.

Even as arms and hands pulled at him, Reid folded a leg under the downed man's back to keep himself there, and continued raining down his blows. As he was peeled backward toward the man's feet, Reid used his left arm to pull on the man's right, bringing his face back within range so he could continue to land strikes. The man was bleeding from an ear now, and Reid's smile had widened to show his teeth. Blood spatter was all over him. He could taste it, smell it. Feel it as droplets flew into his face. He was in his element, and everything was right.

Until Sara's wails reached him, piercing through the bubble of rage.

He became aware of his surroundings. The judge was behind their chair. The bailiff and his father in law were desparately trying to pull him away from the fight. Bits of blood were on the faces of those close to the fight, and his mother in law was staring at him with wide, scared eyes.

Further away, Susan had the same shock and horror on her face as she hugged Sara tightly. His daughter was sobbing intensely, eyes clamped shut.

He looked down at his hands as he let himself be dragged away from the limp, broken body on the floor. His hands were a mess, torn and bloody themselves, and he had scratches down both forearms from where Joel - right, his name was Joel - had tried to stop him.

This was all wrong. Reid had lost himself to the rage, had been swallowed up by it to the point where nothing else existed but him and his target.

He'd made his daughter cry. Terrified his wife. Why didn't he remember any of that until just now?

Reid centered himself, and with a force of will, lifted himself up above the raging tides.

Emerging out, the feeling of warmth completely left him. In its place, he felt a hollow ache. Reid looked down on the churning waters. He forced himself to bore into them, into what they were. He couldn't see their source, but he could see them breaking and shifting as they drew closer, like they were crashing against rocks unseen underneath. And he could feel, like a deep truth, that he could control this place.

Reid felt out the area, and started to change things. He pulled the rocks together, shuffling them into a rough wall. Where the waves hit them now, they dissipated slightly. The churn was just a bit more organized, and Reid could sense the edge of something fundamental there. He grasped onto it, and gasped in surprise.

It was like he was holding a piece of his ethereal self, and that self was made of lightning. The heat and power were thick and dense against his fingertips.

His perspective shifted. He was still holding the lightning, but saw through his own eyes again. The coyote was bloodied, but not dead, and it had attempted to bring its jaws around Reid's throat. His left arm was inside its jaws up to his forearm, his right arm was a bloody, pulpy mess.

He willed the lightning into his left hand, and his entire arm burned with the effort. But the burning brought with it a surge of power. He twisted his arm, flesh separating against the coyote's teeth as he angled his fingers up, and pushed. With a might far greater than his own, they burrowed into the roof of its mouth and held the coyote in place, even as it tried to retreat. Flesh squelched and blood flowed freely as he made his grim progress.

Then, he felt it. Soft and unprotected. His fingers pushed out, up, and into it as the coyote bucked ferociously. It scratched at his face with its front claws and kicked hard into the dirt with its hind legs, a desperate struggle for freedom. Reid squeezed, and pulled back hard.

The coyote fell completely limp as he pulled its brainstem out through its mouth. A happy tone and notification popped up and disappeared.

Panting, arm on fire, and the rest of him sore, Reid separated himself from the creature and its gore, and slumped down on a patch of moss. His mind raced at what had just happened. The memory of Sara crying was still there, like a splinter in every thought. He'd been consumed by rage, again, and lost himself.

But - a part of his mind whispered - he'd also done something new. He'd pulled himself out.