The world dissolved into a dizzying swirl of colors and shapes, the burnt rubber stench from the character creation screen clinging to Pag’s senses like a physical presence. He stumbled, his virtual legs slow to respond, and found himself sprawled on the unforgiving ground, the sharp prickle of thorns digging into his palms.

He pushed himself up, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs, and found himself surrounded. Angry faces, weathered and scarred, glared down at him. Their roughspun clothing, stained with dirt and sweat, marked them as laborers, farmers—people who knew the unforgiving realities of the world firsthand. In their hands, they clutched an assortment of makeshift weapons—crude clubs, rusted blades, and sharpened farming implements that glinted menacingly in the fading light.

Panic seized him, his breath catching in his throat. This wasn’t the grand, welcoming vista he'd expected. Where were the bustling towns, the friendly NPCs offering quests, the gentle nudges guiding him into the game world?

"What… what is this?" His voice, a strained whisper, was lost in the cacophony of muttered threats and the rustle of weapons being hefted.

A figure pushed through the crowd, his bearing radiating an air of authority that silenced the angry mob with a single glance. He was tall and powerfully built, his features a blend of human and draconian, with scales shimmering like polished jade beneath his roughspun tunic. A pair of curved horns, etched with intricate patterns, framed a face that was stern, weathered, and surprisingly expressive.

"Traveler," the figure boomed, his voice a deep, resonant rumble that seemed to vibrate in Pag's chest. "Judgment has been passed for the destruction you have wrought."

Judgment? Destruction? Pag stared back, his mind reeling, his initial panic giving way to confusion. He'd just been in the character creation screen! What destruction could he possibly have caused?

As if reading his thoughts, the figure gestured toward the edge of the clearing. Pag turned, his gaze following the figure's outstretched hand, and gasped. Where moments before there had been only dense forest, a path of scorched earth now cut through the landscape. Trees were reduced to smoldering stumps, their branches blackened and bare. The air hung heavy with the acrid scent of smoke, the silence broken only by the crackle of dying embers.

His stomach lurched, a wave of nausea washing over him. He vaguely recalled the sensation of heat coursing through his veins, of flames dancing at his fingertips. Could that… could that have been him?

He opened his mouth to speak, explain, and plead ignorance, but the words died in his throat as the figure fixed him with a piercing gaze.

"The spirits of this land do not differentiate between intent and outcome, traveler." The figure’s voice was low, almost regretful. "You wielded power recklessly, and the consequences are yours to bear."

He turned, addressing the crowd with a slight nod. "He is to face the wilds, to know the weight of his actions. Ten deaths he will face, at the hands of beast or man. Only then will he be absolved."

Terror, cold and sharp, pierced through Pag’s confusion. Ten deaths? But… this was just a game! Wasn't it?

The crowd parted, a path opening before him, leading deeper into the shadowed forest. Fear warred with a growing sense of injustice. He hadn’t even started the game, hadn't had a chance to learn the rules, and already he was being condemned.

A low growl, guttural and menacing, rose from the edge of the trees. Pag spun around, his heart pounding. A pair of glowing eyes, malevolent and hungry, stared back at him from the undergrowth.

"Go," the figure commanded, his voice brooking no argument. “Face the consequences of your actions, and pray you survive to learn from them.”

The crowd surged forward, their shouts echoing through the trees as Pag stumbled back, his gaze darting between the approaching mob and the predator lurking in the shadows.

He was trapped, alone, with nothing but his wits and the remnants of a power he barely understood.

Adrenaline surged through Pag's veins, overriding his initial shock and propelling him forward. He didn't waste time trying to reason with the mob, didn’t even look back to see if they were actually pursuing him. The guttural growl from the shadows was all the motivation he needed.

He bolted, his feet pounding against the packed earth, branches whipping at his face. The shadowed forest seemed to close in around him, the fading light filtering through the canopy in a dizzying kaleidoscope of light and shadow. The air, thick with the scent of pine needles and damp earth, was suddenly heavy with the metallic tang of fear.

Behind him, he could hear the shouts of the mob, their pursuit relentless. But it was the rasping breath, closer now, that sent chills down his spine.

He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw it—a hulking shape, low to the ground, weaving between the trees with a speed that belied its size. It was reptilian, but unlike the figure who’d condemned him. This creature was all muscle and teeth, its scales a mottled camouflage against the forest floor. A low growl rumbled in its chest, the sound primal, hungry.

A flash of information, pulled from the depths of his gaming knowledge and the partial bestiary he had found for the game online, flickered through his mind. Soohanan Mauler - Apex predator, highly territorial, known to hunt in packs. He'd skimmed the information during character creation, intrigued by the creature's description. Now, he wished he'd paid closer attention.

Panic threatened to consume him, but he shoved it down, focusing on putting as much distance between himself and the predator as possible. He couldn't outrun it, not in this terrain. He needed a plan, and fast.

Pag’s avatar slumped against a moss-covered boulder, the damp chill of the virtual forest seeping through his clothes. He ran a hand across his face, gritting his teeth as another notification blinked into existence.

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

He angrily swiped it away. He didn’t care about his appearance. All he cared about was escaping the relentless pursuit of the Soohanan Maulers. What had started as a simple complaint about the helmet’s lack of exterior cameras had somehow spiraled into this – hunted through a dense, unforgiving forest by creatures he barely understood. He'd just wanted to create his character, experience the game, find mark, not become some kind of virtual fugitive.

Panic gnawed at him. He had no weapons, no armor, just the flimsy robe they’d given him at the start. And now, thanks to his plummeting Hygieian Meter, he probably looked like something out of a nightmare.

The memory of the character creation screen, the noxious purple smoke, and the wave of exhaustion that had followed, flashed through his mind. What had gone wrong? Had he done something to trigger this? Or was it just another example of the game's needlessly complicated mechanics?

He pushed himself to his feet, his virtual muscles protesting. He couldn’t stay here, couldn’t let them catch him. He had to find somewhere safe, somewhere to regroup, to figure out what the hell was going on.

A growl echoed from the shadows, close now, too close. Adrenaline jolted him forward. He scrambled through the undergrowth, ignoring the thorns that tore at his clothes and skin, his eyes scanning the dense foliage for any sign of an escape.

There! A narrow fissure in the rock face, nearly hidden by a curtain of vines. It wasn't much, but it might be enough. He stumbled towards it, hope flickering like a fragile flame.

He reached a wide fissure torn into the ground, his chest heaving, his lungs burning. He pressed himself against the cool rock, peering into the darkness. He could hear them now, their heavy footsteps pounding the earth, their guttural growls echoing through the trees.

Desperation clawed at him. He had to do something, anything, to buy himself some time. He focused on the raw, chaotic energy that coursed through him, the energy that had brought him to this desperate situation. It was a power he didn’t understand, a power that felt both alien and terrifyingly familiar.

He thrust his hands towards the opening of the fissure, channeling the energy, letting it flow through him like a raging torrent. He didn’t even know what he was doing, just reacting, driven by the primal urge to survive.

A wave of heat slammed into him, nearly knocking him off his feet. A blinding light filled his vision, and the air itself seemed to crackle and pop. The sound of roaring flames filled his ears, drowning out everything else.

Then, silence.

He stumbled back from the fissure, his vision blurring, his legs threatening to buckle beneath him. He leaned heavily against the rock face, his heart pounding in his chest.

The air was thick with smoke and the acrid stench of burnt flesh. A notification, stark and white against the fading light, flickered into existence before him.

Experience gained: 400

Title unlocked: Enemy of Soohan

New Quest Alert!>

He stared at the notifications, a strange mixture of exhaustion, fear, and something else...something darker...surging through him. He didn’t care about experience points or titles or quests. He just wanted out of this insane situation. He just wanted to go back to the beginning, to start over, to play the game without this relentless chaos.

But as he stared at the smoldering remains of the Soohanan Mauler, a chilling thought pierced his exhaustion.

He had no idea how to go back.

He hesitated, his curiosity battling with his urge to dismiss the notification and focus on his immediate predicament. He had encountered the term "Hygieian Meter" before, during his initial character setup. It was listed on his character sheet alongside more familiar stats like Strength, Dexterity, and Intelligence. He had skimmed the brief description provided, but its meaning had remained somewhat unclear. Now, however, with the meter flashing warnings and his avatar undergoing unexplained changes, he felt a surge of urgency to understand its mechanics. He tapped the option "Yes," and a new window opened, revealing a more detailed explanation of the Hygieian Meter.

As Pag read through the description, understanding dawned. The Hygieian Meter wasn’t just some arbitrary stat; it was a reflection of his avatar's mental and emotional state, intertwined with the mechanics of the game world. And his recent actions – the fear, the panic, the sense of helplessness – had clearly taken their toll. No wonder his character felt so off.

He glanced down at his hands, expecting to see some outward sign of the meter's decline. His fingers trembled slightly, but otherwise, they seemed unchanged. He flexed his hand, feeling the familiar weight of his gauntlets. He had acquired them from a sympathetic blacksmith after his initial, ill-fated encounter with the Maulers. Perhaps the changes were more subtle, affecting his demeanor or the way he interacted with NPCs rather than his physical appearance.

He closed the Hygieian Meter window and took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. He couldn't afford to succumb to panic. He had to find Mark, and he had to survive. And that meant understanding and managing this new, and somewhat unsettling, aspect of the game.

His hands… his hands were throbbing, the skin red and blistered. The pain was a dull ache, radiating up his arms, into his shoulders. But it was the other sensation that worried him—a strange emptiness, a hollow ache that seemed to emanate from deep within his chest, as if he’d poured not just magic, but a part of himself, into that fiery blast.

Another notification, this one tinged with a sickly yellow, caught his eye.

Status effect applied: Exhaustion

Status effect applied: Hunger>

He closed his eyes, willing the notifications away. He needed to get out of here. Now.

Pushing himself away from the rock face, he staggered towards the opening of the fissure. As he emerged into the dim light of the forest, he saw it—the carcass of the Soohanan, lying broken and smoldering on the forest floor.

He averted his gaze, unable to stomach the sight. It wasn't a game. Not anymore. It was real. The creature’s pain, its death… He’d felt it, the moment his magic had ripped through it.

Figurative Miles away, in the sterile, brightly lit confines of A.R. Gaming, Frank nearly choked on his coffee as a red alert flashed across his monitor.

“Holy hell, did you see that?” he exclaimed, spinning in his chair to face Sean, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Sean, hunched over his keyboard, barely glanced up. “Another newbie ate it in the tutorial? Told them we should increase the spawn rate of those healing herbs.”

Frank shook his head, his gaze fixed on the screen. “No, this is different. The newbie… he just roasted a Soohanan Mauler. With pure magic. And not just any magic… that looked a hell of a lot like...” He trailed off, a slow grin spreading across his face. “This just got interesting.”