[Current Objective: Reach Meryll]

Scott and I made the questionable decision to camp at the edge of the forest, despite the fact that we could’ve bulldozed our way through it—and probably the next three cities—without breaking a sweat. With Scott’s power level, stopping felt unnecessary, even ridiculous. But I had ulterior motives. Scott wasn’t just a walking encyclopedia; he was more like a walking, talking library with a penchant for spewing endless trivia. And I, being either curious or just desperate for a distraction, wanted to milk every last scrap of knowledge from him.

As he tore through his burger with alarming speed, Scott started rambling about how he’d gathered his near-omniscient wisdom from "extraplanar virtual domains"—which, to me, sounded like "places I don’t feel like explaining." He mentioned that Apocalypta, the world we found ourselves in, was based on another planet called Earth, except it was stripped down, shuffled around, and rebuilt. Seven continents, each with its own biomes.

We were in Numerica, he explained, before launching into a monologue about how Apocalypta’s history mirrored Earth’s—wars, civilizations, meteor strikes. I tried to keep up, but Scott’s detailed account of Earth’s history was about as engaging as watching paint dry on an alien planet.

“Right, bro,” Scott said, stuffing another mouthful of burger, his words barely intelligible. “You got your plains and city biomes—good for building, boring as hell. Forests like this one are solid for herbs, poisons, and giant bugs. Then you’ve got jungles, like forests on steroids, but Numerica doesn’t have those. Swamps, though? Loads of ‘em. Basically, forests that got really into water.”

He continued, not missing a beat. “Deserts? Useless. Heatstroke will get you before anything interesting does. But sometimes there’s cool tech in ruins. Tundra? Cold deserts, equally terrible.”

He paused only long enough to take another massive bite. “Mountains? Decent for metal, maybe an abandoned facility or two. And the ocean? Unless you wanna be a pirate, it’s just a whole lot of wet.”

We briefly entertained the idea of becoming treasure-hunting pirates, but after realizing the odds were worse than winning a galactic lottery, I decided to steer the conversation toward something useful—Apocalypta’s hidden mechanics. Every game had some deeply buried system that no one fully understood, and I was determined to learn it.

Scott didn’t disappoint. “Skills like crafting, melee, firearms? Mostly tied to abilities and perks,” he said, between what had to be his fifth or sixth burger. “But there’s a bunch of passive stuff that gets better the more you use it.”

“Minor improvements,” he added with a shrug. “You’re not gonna turn into a giga-chad from punching trees, but after a few weeks, you might punch a hole into one.The perk system was a tangled mess of chaos, stitched together by someone with a sadistic love for complexity. There were passive perks—like "Yellow Belly" and "Heartless"—that lurked in the shadows, waiting for the worst possible moment to make their grand entrance, usually right when everything was about to go sideways. Then there were active perks—the kind you had to manually trigger, and when they kicked in, it was like swinging a sledgehammer at a fragile vase. Sure, they packed a punch, but their timing was about less than reliable.

I had pieced together that perks could be earned in all the usual ways—leveling up, completing quests, or stumbling across some hidden challenge that only unlocked after you'd accidentally clicked the wrong tree branch. Having recently been lectured by Rolland about the dangers of trusting strangers, I wisely decided to keep my own perks under wraps. Some things you just don’t share—especially when one of those perks involves being able to run away from a fight without any consequences. Instead, I casually mentioned my baseline stats, which led Scott to recommend I track down a guy named Jackpot Jones if I ever made it to Five-Star City.

Jackpot Jones—because things in this world were so cleverly named —offered a quest reward called “Lucky Son of a Gun.” Scott promised that the perk would turn me into some kind of gunslinging prodigy, which, given my unusually high luck stat, sounded like exactly the sort of skill I'd need if I ever wanted to shoot my way out of an awkward conversation.

In exchange for his encyclopedic knowledge, I regaled Scott with the gripping tale of my journey so far—well, maybe "gripping" is a stretch. It was less of a hero’s journey and more like a crash course in how not to play the game. But to Scott’s credit, he didn't look bored. By the time we wrapped up our chat, the sky had shifted from pitch black to that deep, weary shade of blue that suggested even the universe was tired of my story. Golden light began creeping over the horizon, signaling the start of a new day—or, for us, the perfect excuse to crash for a few hours and snag that coveted “well-rested” buff.

Breakfast was as unremarkable as you'd expect for two guys about to march into a forest that practically screamed doom. In hindsight, I should’ve asked Scott for one of those god-tier weapons he undoubtedly had stashed in his inventory. But no, I was feeling overly confident with my personal walking cheat code by my side.

The moment we stepped into the forest, the terrain turned hostile in the special way that only forests can—twisted branches lashed at us, and thorny shrubs clawed at our legs. Scott, always the optimist, assured me that dragging a suitcase through the underbrush would do wonders for my "gains." Gains, in Scott-speak, meant strength-based passive skills that could be scaled through use.

If I’d been hoping for a slow grind through waves of enemies to level up, I was in for a rude awakening. Scott’s towering level was enough to send the local wildlife scurrying, turning what I’d anticipated as an exciting expedition into a mundane nature hike.

"The game’s built that way," Scott said, as if he hadn’t just crushed all my hopes of combat-related experience. "Once you hit end-game, it’s more about knowing what you want and where to find it. No point in getting harassed by low-level mobs when you’re hunting serious loot."

So, we walked. And I, in my infinite wisdom, dove headfirst into the noble art of resource gathering. My inventory filled up fast—sticks, berries, and assorted junk that would’ve thrilled a medieval botanist, but for me, it was just clutter. Every hour, I had to clear space for something marginally more useful. Eventually, I started focusing on rare plants—the kind that would inevitably be used in cooking recipes like "Pan-Seared Disappointment" and "Stew of Eternal Mediocrity."

By nightfall on day one, things took a turn. The trees around us began to change—what had been the familiar brown of bark shifted to a darker, more ominous hue. The leaves blackened, shot through with veins of purple that glimmered like long-forgotten bugs catching the last rays of light from a dying sun.

It started slowly, but then I noticed something unsettling—our foraging opportunities were drying up. The resources, once plentiful, were disappearing. The landscape was morphing into something far more dangerous, and I had the creeping suspicion that the real adventure was just kicking off.

"Scott, does this seem normal to you?" I asked, trying to sound curious rather than full-on panicked. "Because these trees… well, they look like they’ve come down with a case of terminal tree disease."

I expected Scott to laugh it off, maybe throw in a joke about overly dramatic game areas with ominous aesthetics. Instead, he stared at the trees, far too serious for my comfort. This was not the kind of reassuring silence I was looking for.

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"No, Jonas," he said after what felt like an eternity of nerve-racking quiet. "This is very not normal."

That was when everything escalated from "mildly unsettling" to "oh great, we’re all going to die." The first horror crashed out of the treeline like a malfunctioning marionette, limbs flailing as though it had just learned the concept of movement but hadn’t quite mastered it. Yet, despite its awkward appearance, it moved with a terrifying speed that made me instinctively take a step back.

It was tall—humanoid in shape, but definitely not human. Its wolf-like body, glowing with an eerie purple light, was covered in jagged claws that looked more like oversized kitchen knives than anything natural. And its face—well, face might be too generous a term. A grotesque split jaw hung open like a broken hinge, revealing rows of needle-like teeth curving inward, as if designed by someone who’d never seen a wolf but heard a terrifying description of one. Atop its head, a crown of jagged, glowing crystals pulsed with the same unnerving energy that twisted through its mangled form.

That’s when I knew—foraging time was over. The real nightmare had just begun.

My brain, ever the traitor, chose that moment to go offline. All I could process was a flood of nausea, terror, and the overwhelming question of what in the unholy hell is this thing and why is it here? I stood frozen, too busy dissecting the creature’s twisted anatomy to remember the critical survival skill of staying alive.

Thankfully, Scott had no such lapse in judgment. The almighty crack of his hand-cannon shattered the moment, cutting through the paralysis. The monster’s head evaporated in a burst of gunfire, leaving nothing behind but the echo of the shot and a vacuum where its face used to be. Its body twitched for a beat before the glowing purple tendrils—a serpentine force even more unnerving than the creature itself—wrapped around the remains, dragging them into the earth as if the horror had never existed at all.

Scott turned toward me, and in that single glance, we both understood: this was as bad as it looked. Maybe worse.

"Corrupted Wulfenmensch," he said, voice thick with the weariness of someone who's seen too much and survived too long. "Didn’t think we’d find a viral node here. Jonas, more of these things are coming. Stick close, and for the love of everything, don’t let them touch you. Trust me, that would be super bad right now."

"Stick close." Easy enough to say, but Scott was already moving, darting into the thick underbrush like a shadow with legs. His speed was ridiculous, and the sinking realization hit me that, if things went sideways, I’d be very alone, very quickly. He blurred into the dark, vanishing as if he’d decided to audition for a spy movie at precisely the wrong moment.

My heart pounded, a rapid thrum in the quiet woods as I scrambled to keep up, the last of the daylight fading fast. Each step was a battle—my suitcase, built to house a doomsday device and allegedly bombproof, bounced off roots and tangled brush, dragging me back like a stubborn child refusing to cooperate. Regena had assured me the case was indestructible, but every snag made me wince. It felt like one wrong hit could set the thing off and turn the entire forest into a smoking crater.

Meanwhile, Scott moved with an unburdened grace that only deepened my irritation. He was a blur, slipping through the trees effortlessly, while I lumbered along like a tortoise in a race I hadn’t signed up for.

And then—he was gone. Completely gone. One second he was there, and in the next, all that remained was the thick, creeping darkness, flecked with those eerie purple lights that flickered in the corners of my vision. They seemed to follow me, popping up exactly where I didn’t want them, like unwelcome memories.

A sudden flash and the sharp report of Scott’s hand-cannon split the silence, jerking me toward the sound like a lifeline. I dove into my inventory, scrolling past anything remotely useful until I found the Glowing Cateye berries I’d picked up earlier. My Harvester perk politely informed me they granted limited night vision—because clearly, that information couldn’t have been mentioned before now. I couldn’t help but think they should’ve called them "Nightlight Berries" or something equally obvious, but there was no time for marketing suggestions.

A flashlight was an option, sure, but that would mean giving up my free hand—and I much preferred keeping my pistol ready when the night decided to start throwing horrors my way.

I popped one of the berries into my mouth, and the world shifted in a heartbeat. The shadows that had blanketed the forest peeled away, replaced by deep hues of twilight and cobalt. Trees, branches, even the roots I kept tripping over stood out in sharp, silver relief. It was useful—until the gut punch hit. Literally. A wave of nausea slammed into me like a brick to the stomach, knocking my endurance down by two full points, leaving me with a dismal four. Of course, if I’d bothered to cook the berries into something resembling food, I could’ve avoided this lovely little side effect. But time wasn’t exactly a luxury right now.

Another flash of light caught the corner of my eye, followed by the distant bark of Scott’s gun. He was farther away than I’d thought. Panic nudged me as I pushed through the underbrush, my legs burning with the effort.

“Damn it, Scott,” I thought, frustration bubbling under the fear. “Don’t lose me out here. Don’t leave me alone with these things.”

Anxiety clawed its way up from my chest, wrapping cold fingers around my heart. For a moment, I wondered if low endurance came with a side of creeping panic. Seemed unlikely, but logical thinking had long since abandoned me. Not that it mattered—the fear was about to get a whole lot more real.

A distorted howl ripped through the air, glitchy and broken, like something out of a corrupted audio file. And then, bursting through the bushes in front of me, came the stuff of nightmares—a Corrupted Wulfenmensch. Its body, warped and twisted beyond natural proportions, glowed with that sickening purple light. It lumbered toward me on two legs, its grotesque jaw unhinging like a broken bear trap, ready to devour me in a single, monstrous bite.

I froze. Every part of me screamed to move, but I was rooted to the spot, helpless against the hunger radiating off the creature like furnace heat. My lungs seized. I couldn’t even think, much less act.

Then, gunfire. Three sharp cracks echoed through the trees, and the beast lurched back, snarling in confusion. I blinked, heart hammering, and looked down. Smoke curled lazily from the barrel of my pistol. I had no memory of lifting the gun, let alone firing, but there it was in my trembling hand, like some deeper, survival-driven part of me had decided it wasn’t quite time to die yet.

But despite the damage, the Wulfenmensch kept coming. It staggered forward, close enough now that I could hear the glitchy screech of its corrupted innards, a sound like a machine grinding on the edge of collapse. Logic dictated I should grab my spear, something longer and sharper to keep it at bay, but my brain wasn’t interested in logic. Panic was in full control, bombarding me with the primal urge to run, to get as far away from this thing as possible.

But somewhere, buried beneath all that terror, a tiny voice of reason cut through the noise.

Running would make me prey. Standing my ground was the only shot I had left.

With a surge of adrenaline, I swung the suitcase like a sledgehammer. It wasn’t exactly designed for combat, but hey, it had weight. And when it slammed into the Wulfenmensch’s twisted head, the impact was enough to send the thing sprawling. It hit the dirt with a satisfying thud, stunned for the moment.

I didn’t waste any time. I took aim, fired a shot into the back of its skull. Because of my Heartless perk, the damage maxed out and the monster’s life—or whatever semblance of it was keeping it moving—snuffed out. The terror that had been gripping me moments ago ebbed away, replaced by a strange sense of detachment as I watched the creature’s body dissolve into writhing snakes of violet light. Not worms—snakes. Tiny, hissing serpents that slithered into the ground like they’d never existed in the first place. It was so unnervingly surreal, like a nightmare my brain couldn’t quite make sense of. I had to fight the growing urge to throw up.

“Jonas!” Scott’s voice thundered through the trees as he came barreling into view, his leather jacket flapping behind him like some action movie hero mid-sprint. Except there wasn’t any wind—he was just moving that fast. In one hand, he held his ridiculously oversized hand cannon, and in the other? A sledgehammer crackling with electrical energy. Because, naturally, Scott would have something absurd like that on hand.

Before I could even get a word out, three more Wulfenmensch lunged from the shadows, their glowing claws slashing through the air like rabid dogs closing in on their prey. Scott, however, made quick work of them, his hammer swinging in deadly arcs that sent the monsters crashing to the ground in pieces. He was a blur of motion, efficient and terrifying.

“Bro, you gotta keep up,” he panted, like he was giving me workout advice rather than fighting off nightmarish monsters. Despite his ridiculous level advantage, I could see the exhaustion creeping in. Even Scott wasn’t invincible.

“They’re too strong for me,” I admitted, the bitter taste of defeat coating my words. “We need to get out of here. This… this is too much. I’m not ready.”

Scott paused, his usually carefree expression flickering with concern. I must’ve looked like a wreck, barely holding it together, teetering on the edge of a full-blown breakdown. His gaze softened.

“Yo, relax, my guy. You’re caught in the fear aura these Wulfenmensch give off. It messes with your head. That’s on me—I should’ve warned you. Lucky you didn’t hit the full threshold and get slapped with the Panic condition. That would’ve sucked. Here, take this.”

A trade screen popped up, and Scott passed me a Cool Bandanna of Insight. It looked like a plain, unremarkable piece of cloth, but the five-point intelligence boost? Priceless. I muttered a weak thanks and equipped it, bringing my intelligence up to ten. Instantly, the crushing fear evaporated, like someone had flipped a switch. The world around me snapped into focus, everything suddenly clearer, sharper.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” Scott said grimly, his eyes scanning the dark forest. “The worst is yet to come.”