Fuck, if professional athletes caught wind of what leveling could do to your body, level 1 would be the new EPO.

That's a running joke.

I'm firmly in the boat of "nearly everyone at the peak of fitness is doping," but god damn, not a single world-class athlete could've kept up with the three of us as we tore up that mountain. Not even on flat ground. I can confidently say every single one of us was running at upwards of 30 miles per hour - take that, Usain Bolt.

Unfortunately, a level 1 me was still significantly slower than a level gazillion giant moose. It was rapidly closing the gap as we all charged up the rocky mountainside. Somehow, fucking Archie was still faster than me. I quickly realized that was a blessing in disguise as he made a beeline for a vaguely familiar looking boulder. Yeah, I definitely would not have found that again. Sorry, Luca.

It felt like the entire mountain was trembling in fear. Or at maybe just trembling. I could feel the rhythmic snorts catching my entire backside like a hot air cannon - I had no idea how close the titanic monstrosity had to be to feel it like that. I sure as hell wasn't turning to check.

I dove headfirst into the hidey hole, following an - only barely - faster Nigel and Archie, and my question was immediately answered. The moose was very close.

By some small miracle it did not step in our hole, nor on the bit of "roof" we had covering our hole, as it rampaged overhead. Instead, it made like the Titanic and fucking crashed. Unlike the Titanic however, this beast may have actually been indestructible. With nothing going for it but sheer momentum and rage, it blasted a dozen feet into the stone wall - and the whole cliff face cracked as the monster just backed out if its hole - not mollified in the slightest.

The ensuing shower of - very large - debris did, in fact, land in and on our hidey hole. Remembering my earthquake drills from elementary school, I huddled next to the only wall that was not dirt. This put me directly under the opening to our not-a-cave, so anything that could fit through that hole landed directly on me. But at least I wasn't turned into paste when an enormous slice of cliff-wall crushed our hastily-build hideout. Instead, it formed something akin to a lean-to with our own resident guardian boulder.

With my tiny window to the chaos outside finally slammed shut, I lowered my arms and saw Archie and Nigel next to me. They must've also received world-class earthquake survival training as youths.

"Greg?" a voice croaked from behind me.

"Oh shit!" I yelled, somehow forgetting I left Luca down here too. I had another brief "oh shit" moment as I remembered I left him against a different wall. A smooshed wall...

Luckily, it seems at some point he woke up and was now sitting against the boulder behind me. Not smooshed. No harm no foul, right?

"Luca! You're awake!" I yelled over the sound of continued mayhem above.

"Am I? What the FUCK is happening?" he yelled back, a note of panic entering his voice.

Before I could respond, Nigel decided to be helpful.

"Good morning Luca, hope you're doing well," he started in a rushed manner that reminded me of those disclaimers at the end of every drug commercial on TV. Not quite that fast, but close.

"Our planet is being invaded by aliens and our one chance to find out why just had to turn himself into a bloody miner. Oh, and if you make it through today you'll forever live in what is essentially a video game. Despite the video game context making the most sense to your ridiculous human brain, the world continues to be nothing like a video game. Death is very permanent and time remains quite linear. No saves, respawns, or restarts allowed. You will receive a class and a level and become faster and stronger than likely any human that has ever lived - even if you pick some useless class like "writer". Your starting class or classes will be available based on what you do between now and reaching level 1, so try to be useful. Any questions?"

At some point in the rapid-fire monologue the commotion overhead had finally died down.

In the eerie silence I gaped at the enormous dust-covered fox. I had some fucking questions.

Luca broke. He tried to respond, but it just came out as chokes and hiccups before ultimately dissolving into wet panicky sobs. Nigel wasn't having it.

"Oh, go back to sleep you big baby." He muttered.

And Luca immediately slumped over.

Before I could protest, Nigel cut me off. Apparently he didn't need to read my mind for this one.

"He's still level 0. It's just some harmless mind magic. And yes, he's just sleeping - I didn't kill your friend."

I could see Luca's chest rising and falling, so I took his word for it. But I had oh so many more questions.

"Aliens?!" I shouted. "And what the hell did you do to my Class? I picked Beast Hunter just like you said, and you went and cast some fucking spell to make me a miner?! How does that help any of us?" I remembered the smug smile pulled taught over those beast teeth. I was seeing red now.

"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now." I said, reflexively reaching up to grab the pickaxe from my back. Wait, what? The red faded.

I had definitely ditched the huge tool in the mad dash up the mountain. How was it here, on my back? And how was I grabbing it as comfortably as if I had been raised with a pick on my back?

Nigel noticed the quick change of emotions and reverted to his pompous self.

"You won't kill me because you can't kill me. Probably." He said, showing the slightest hint of uncertainty.

"And you need me to explain what's happening. I'm likely the world's foremost and possibly only expert on the assimilation.” The self-satisfied predatory smile was back now.

“For example, I see your confusion about your weapon. Allow me to enlighten you. Starter gear is bound to you. It can’t be lost, sold, or stolen. You’ll notice you also have a bag at your waist. That likely contains the rest of your starter gear, and is also bound to you. A would-be thief would have to kill you before gaining access to the contents of your bag… usually.” I didn’t appreciate the twinkle in his eye as he finished that thought.

I looked down and confirmed I did, in fact, have a light brown leather bag at my waist. Not tied to a belt or affixed in any visible way, literally just… at my waist. Or more precisely, attached to my left hip. With my right hand, I returned the pick to my back where it stuck, affixed with the same invisible force as my bag, as my left hand detached the dusty leather sack from my hip. Without even pulling it open, I instantly knew its contents. I froze as the list entered my mind.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

QUICK ACCESS SLOTS:

* Minor healing potion (x 3)

* Leather Armor Set (x 1)

* Boom Box [minor] (x 6)

* Shiner Box (x 1)

* Empty

* Empty

COINS:

* Silver (x 10)

* Copper (x 50)

ROOMS:

* Starter Forge

* Unassigned

I knew instinctively how to withdraw and deposit items with a thought. What I didn’t know was what the hell “ROOMS” meant. Like, I have extra room in the bag dedicated to a forge? And I would need to assign the rest of the room in the bag to something else? That didn’t sound quite right.

Surely, my resident know-it-all would have an answer.

“What are ‘rooms’?” I asked, preparing for the inevitable Nigelian monologue.

Instead, Archibald finally decided he’d had enough of sitting quietly in the cramped stony space.

"It's a room! Wi' wah's an' a roof where ye stash things an' dae stuff! "Ye chuffed noo?" the tiny brawler boomed angrily.

"Noo, unless yer fancy gizmo can spring us frae this wee cludgie, let's buckle doon an' focus on the matter at haund!"

Unsure how to respond and again not totally confident in my mental translations, I looked to Nigel for help. Being the perceptive asshole he is, he picked up on my confusion and did deliver the Nigelian monologue I was growing so unfortunately accustomed to.

“Ah yes, I think it’s safe to assume you haven’t yet figured out the translation feature. Dear Archibald here would have not a single friend in the world if his unfortunate speech impediment couldn’t be overcome. Luckily - “ now it was Nigel’s turn to be interrupted, as Archibald, standing to his full garden-trowel height and briefly pawing around in the darkness, yanked two full handfuls of white hair from Nigel’s underbelly. To be clear, he didn’t pull Nigel’s hair. He quite literally ripped it clean out of the soft flesh of the fox’s belly.

Nigel, understandably, shrieked and jumped into the air. Unfortunately for him, there wasn’t much air to jump into and he - quite forcefully - launched headfirst into the slanted stone ceiling before crumpling back to the ground with a high-pitched squeak.

After a few seconds and through tears of pain, he gasped “Close your eyes, think ‘translate’.”

Not feeling bad for him in the slightest, I did just that. The window appeared immediately.

AUTO-TRANSLATE: OFF

I toggled it to “ON” with a thought and opened my eyes.

“Oh, quit crying. That serves you right, you long-haired long-winded pecker-gobbling bastard.” Archie said - in fucking English. I was ready to cry myself. The mental gymnastics of trying and failing to follow along whenever he spoke were over. The Scottish accent and abundance of insults were still there, but it was no longer a full dialect, complete with words that he was definitely making up as he went.

“Holy shit!” I exclaimed. “You’re speaking English now!”

Turning vaguely in my direction towards what was actually a chunk of shattered stone, Archie growled “I’ve always been speaking English you daft cunt. Your thick skull must be full of shit, ‘cause it’s clogging your ears.”

I wasn’t totally sure that even made sense, but I wasn’t about to argue.

“Why are you talking to that rock?” I asked instead.

“You’re trying to tell me you can see down here? Now the shit’s coming out your mouth too.” the squirrel said, turning slightly closer to my actual face.

“It’s probably a Miner skill.” said Nigel flatley, his voice lacking its usual condescension. He was still lying on the ground, fully abandoning his typically over-dignified posturing.

“It would make sense for a miner to be able to see in the dark, rather than constantly carrying torches and lighting.”

He stopped there, seeming to have lost his desire to impress us with his deep wells of knowledge.

Still not feeling an ounce of sympathy for the conniving fox, I had some questions that needed answers.

“Speaking of, Nigel,” I started, trying to keep my voice level. “Why am I a miner?”

“I don’t fucking know, kid” the deflated fox said with a sigh.

“I spent the entire bloody morning getting everything perfect. I sent Archie to you before you could heal, put you in a safe spot where you couldn’t break anything, queued up the path for you to find, and you did everything perfectly. I don’t know where I went wrong. You stealing Archibald’s kill was a bit of a surprise, but I even adjusted for that. I just don’t know what happened.”

“What do you mean you don’t know what happened?!” I exploded.

“You TOLD me to pick Beast Hunter! And I did! And I saw your face after I made the class selection. You were expecting my panic. You knew something would be off. What the fuck did you do?” The rage was coming back now. I was acutely aware of the weight and position of the pick on my back, fingers twitching to grab it again.

“Yes, I was. I needed you to pick Pathfinder. Admittedly, I could’ve made a better sales pitch for it, but I couldn’t have you thinking I was pushing you towards it and have you change your mind in suspicion. I needed to be sure. Ideally, Pathfinder would’ve been your only choice, but when you skewered that poor bird I assumed you unlocked a fighting class - which you confirmed. Then, by bringing that antler-waving brute into the picture, I virtually guaranteed you would choose the fighting class - removing all uncertainty from the equation. You pick Beast Hunter, I give you a bit of a mental nudge, your selection slips. Pathfinder. A foolproof plan. There must’ve been some sort of interference or -”

What he said finally clicked.

“You sent that moose at us? Are you insane? We all almost died. You included! And I had 4 Class options! Why would you assume that if you randomly “nudged” my choice, it would just end up with the one you wanted? And why do you need the Pathfinder class? Why wouldn’t you pick it yourself?” I was incredulous at the ridiculousness of it all. For someone who acted so smart, Nigel was sounding incredibly stupid right now.

“You… Four..?” The formerly defeated fox finally lifted his head from the dirt floor, eyes widening.

“Yes, FOUR!” I shouted back.

“If you didn’t always assume you already know everything, I could’ve told you that. In fact, I literally tried to tell you. So much for mind reading, huh?”

“Then… one of your options was a mining Class! And, it's safe to assume that was the next option after Beast Hunter?” He was rising to his feet now, his question clearly rhetorical and not meriting a response.

The excitement in his voice for some reason cooled my boiling emotions. I finally noticed the pick held in a two-handed grip before me. What was I doing? Was I about to start hacking away at the annoying beast in front of me? Sure, he’s a world-class asshole, but even that doesn’t merit cold-blooded execution.

My confused musings were cut short, along with Nigel’s exciting muttering, as the sound of grinding stones found its way to our burial site.

“You fucking loud-mouth whiners went and brought the beastie right to us.” Archie growled, looking up towards the sound and taking a step back.

“The moose?” I asked. “No way it can dig down to us with just hooves and antlers… right?” As I said it, I realized that might not be right at all.

“That big-headed bruiser is just a beast on this mountain. The beast is… something else entirely.” The stoic squirrel finished with something akin to reverence.

His lack of any description of “the” beast led to 2 second mental montage of every terrifying monster from every movie I could remember.

“Start digging, kid.” Nigel whispered tensely, his usual love for words totally forgotten.

I looked at the pick in my hands, finally realizing it was both weapon and tool. The head of the huge device was separated by the shaft, a typical pick on one half - though much larger and sturdier than any pick I’d seen before - and on the other half an enormous battleaxe. Well, battleaxe was being quite generous. It was really just a brutish looking triangle ending in a dull blade.

After taking the moment to quickly assess the weapon of my class, I gave it a quick spin, bringing the pick end to bear.

And then I went to war with the rocks.