Jannet awoke to the gentle, weighty tugs of tiny claws scrabbling over his back. The laughter of little Komodo hatchlings filled the air as they clambered across his scales, chirping in delight at their game. Their play was a balm to the chaos and sorrow that had engulfed Newscar, a flicker of hope amid ruin. Despite their innocence, Jannet could feel the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. He would not let them grow up in a broken world.
A familiar ping interrupted his thoughts, and words floated before his eyes.
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Achievement: Whisper of the Divine
Description:
"In a moment that transcends mortality, you have bridged the gap between the earthly and the divine. As the first of your species to speak to a god, you have opened a path to wisdom, reverence, and unimaginable possibilities for your people."
Requirements:
Successfully initiate and complete a dialogue with a god or divine entity.
This could involve deciphering ancient rituals, surviving divine trials, or earning the god’s favor through unique feats of strength, wisdom, or compassion.
Achievement Rewards:
Title Unlocked: Speaker of the Divine
* Grants a +10 boost to Wisdom and Charisma.
* Increases the success rate of religious or spiritual interactions by 20%.
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Jannet blinked, the title settling into his status as naturally as breathing. Something about it felt monumental, but there was no time to dwell. As he stretched, the hatchlings scattered, chirping indignantly before darting back to their mother, Rose, who watched with a gentle but sharp gaze.
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The den's atmosphere had shifted since the battle. Among the ruins of Newscar, some lizards gathered in silence before Spotted Eye’s monument, their eyes lowered in reverence. Jannet felt the stirrings of something deeper—belief, devotion, or perhaps the seeds of a culture he hadn't realized he was planting. The sight gave him pause. What had started as simple survival was growing into something much more profound.
Jannet approached the group, his movements slow and deliberate. Through memetics, he conveyed encouragement and a sense of unity. "They watch over us still," he murmured into their minds, strengthening the sense of connection between the living and the fallen. The lizards nodded, some closing their eyes as though in prayer.
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As the sun rose higher, Jannet gathered Rose and #1. The den was secure for now, but questions loomed. What had happened to the human forces? What of the human nest to the south? These questions needed answers, and the three largest and strongest of Newscar's defenders were the ones to find them.
Jannet gave a series of low hisses, instructing the remaining defenders to maintain order and protect the young. Then, with the trio’s movements as fluid as shadows, they slipped into the jungle.
The jungle was alive with the sounds of life and death. Birds cawed warnings, insects buzzed angrily, and the underbrush whispered with secrets. Jannet's senses were on high alert, his tongue flicking out to taste the air. Every so often, they came across the remnants of the human forces.
Small groups of soldiers, their wounds festering and armor stained with sweat and blood, stumbled aimlessly. Infection and exhaustion had already claimed many, and the rest were easy prey. Jannet, Rose, and #1 dispatched them swiftly, Jannet taking note of the lack of system notifications for these kills. These humans were too weak to be considered threats now—a sobering realization hit Jannet besides a few Knights and Mages yesterday the humans now were seemingly too weak to be considered a fight. This was unfortunate as Jannets thoughts now focused on the ideas of leveling up. He remembered video games from his life on earth, something Jannet regretted letting Walter and Richard dissuade her from in Jannet’s time there. It would have been extremely helpful now to have been, oh what did they call it a gamer?
Each encounter was a grim testament to the battle's toll. A pair of soldiers leaned against a broken tree trunk, their armor rusted with dried blood. One clutched a shattered sword, his trembling hands too weak to hold it steady. His companion's head lolled, unconscious or worse, his chest rising in uneven gasps. Jannet moved swiftly, his claws slicing cleanly through exposed throats before either man could react. Their bodies slumped, lifeless, into the mud.
Further on, a group of three stumbled along a faint trail, their path marked by discarded weapons and makeshift bandages. One soldier, his leg crudely splinted with a snapped spear, hobbled forward, leaning heavily on his comrades. They muttered softly to one another, desperation thick in their voices. Jannet’s approach was silent, and the last thing the man heard was the rustle of leaves before Rose lunged, her claws rending him apart. His companions barely had time to scream before #1 descended, his jaws closing around one soldier’s neck with a sickening crunch.
The encounters grew increasingly macabre. Some soldiers were too weak even to stand, lying prone in shallow puddles or beneath the scant cover of trees. One man, feverish and delusional, reached out a hand as Jannet approached, his cracked lips forming inaudible words. The Sovereign hesitated for only a moment before dispatching him with a swift bite. There was no cruelty in the act—just cold, calculated efficiency.
The deeper they moved into the jungle, the more scattered and broken the remnants became. One group had made a feeble attempt to set up a defensive position, stacking their shields in a crude barricade. Their exhaustion was evident in their sagging postures and the unsteady way they held their weapons. Rose circled wide, her movements drawing their attention, while Jannet struck from the other side. The fight was brief, over before it began, their cries muffled by the dense canopy.
Jannet’s mind churned as he moved from one skirmish to the next. The lack of resistance from these humans, while practical, gnawed at him. The system’s silence was damning. These men weren’t a challenge, not anymore. His Sovereign instincts urged him to grow stronger, to level up, but the prey before him offered nothing of value. The Knights and Mages from the battle—those had been worth something. These were scraps.
Each kill was efficient, precise, and detached. Jannet watched as Rose and #1 carried out their roles with a grim determination that mirrored his own. They moved as a unit, their coordination honed through countless hunts and battles. But as the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the jungle floor, Jannet couldn’t shake the nagging thought that this wasn’t enough.
Their path to the human nest was marked by the aftermath of their slaughter. Broken bodies lay strewn in their wake, their blood seeping into the jungle floor. Carrion birds circled overhead, their cries adding to the eerie stillness. Jannet flicked his tongue, tasting the air heavy with death and decay. This was survival, raw and brutal, but it wasn’t growth.
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By the time they reached the outskirts of the human nest, the trio was slick with sweat and blood, their muscles aching from the unrelenting march, night had fallen, cloaking the jungle in shadow. The once-bustling settlement was a smoldering ruin. Fires crackled in the remains of wooden structures, their glow casting eerie shadows across the stone walls that had once encircled the town.
Jannet and his companions surveyed the devastation from a concealed vantage point. The massive crocodile’s handiwork was unmistakable. Trees had been uprooted, buildings crushed, and the air reeked of death. Yet, the walls remained largely intact—a valuable asset.
The nest was nearly deserted. The few humans Jannet could see were either scavenging for supplies or too wounded to flee. The destruction was complete.
Jannet felt the pull of his Sovereign instincts stronger than ever. Newscar was no longer just a den; it was an idea, a movement. The human nest presented an opportunity. Its location, nestled against a cliff with defensible walls, was perfect for their expansion. The thought of basking on the sunlit stones while hatchlings played in safety filled Jannet with resolve.
His thoughts churned. Was this the reptile god’s doing? Did it send the crocodile as aid, or was this simply survival of the fittest? The timing was too coincidental. The egg's cryptic words echoed in his mind, leaving him both awed and uncertain.
"Newscar will rise here," Jannet declared to Rose and #1 through a series of low hisses and memetic pulses. They responded with affirmations, their eyes glinting with shared purpose.
The trek back to Newscar was filled with tension and hope. They moved with urgency, cleaning up human stragglers and retracing their steps carefully. When they returned to the den, Jannet immediately called a gathering.
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Standing tall amid the ruins, his obsidian scales glinting in the moonlight, Jannet conveyed his vision. Through vivid memetics, he showed them the human nest transformed—a safe haven for their kind, with sunlit cliffs, vast hunting grounds, and secure walls.
The lizards and goblins listened intently, their eyes shining with determination. They were battered and bruised, but the Sovereign’s vision ignited something within them.
With Rose and #1 at his side, Jannet gave the final directive. "We move at dawn. Newscar will rise anew."
The jungle echoed with hisses and chirps of agreement as the survivors began their preparations. Tools were gathered, plans discussed, and a renewed sense of purpose filled the air.
As the night deepened, Jannet stood alone, staring at Spotted Eye’s monument. He flicked his tongue, tasting the mingled scents of ash and hope. His journey was far from over.
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The plains stretched out before Duke Fayeron and his battered army, a stark contrast to the suffocating chaos of the jungle they had fought their way through. The open expanse should have brought relief, but instead, it amplified the emptiness left in the wake of their devastating losses. The remnants of his once-proud force limped across the grasslands, a disorganized throng of weary men, shattered weapons, and hollow faces.
The duke sat astride his horse, its coat slick with sweat and foam, its steps faltering under the strain. The animal’s weariness mirrored his own. His throat was parched, his head pounded, and his body ached from days of sleepless nights and rationed provisions. Yet the weight that bore down on him most heavily was not physical. It was the crushing guilt of his choices.
When the commanders had first estimated the losses, Fayeron had refused to believe them. But the cold numbers didn’t lie. A third—only a third—of his original force had emerged from the jungle alive. The others were lost to a relentless gauntlet of traps, relentless lizard assaults, disease, or that monstrous crocodile. The battle at the so-called goblin stronghold had been a disaster, but it wasn’t goblins they had fought. Not really.
The duke clenched his jaw, his grip on the reins tightening as he replayed the harrowing images in his mind. The lizards—Komodo dragons, his men had called them—were far more coordinated and lethal than any simple beasts. They had come in waves, each more fearsome than the last, from smaller, darting reptiles to massive, scaled juggernauts. And at the heart of it all was the Sovereign, the helmed creature with its bladed claws and tail, carving through men as though it were a force of nature itself. It wasn’t a mere animal. It was a leader, and its presence had turned the tide against his men.
“I was wrong,” Fayeron muttered under his breath, the admission bitter. He had been so sure he could handle this threat alone. To call on the king for aid would have been a political and financial burden, one the kingdom could ill afford. He had hoped to resolve the matter swiftly, to emerge as a hero. But his hubris had led to this—scores of dead soldiers, a routed army, and a kingdom left vulnerable to an ancient terror from the deep north.
The fleeing remnants of Oldscar had only added to the chaos. The civilians who had escaped the crocodile’s morbid feast brought little in the way of supplies, their panicked tales of the beast chilling even the most hardened of his men. The creature had not merely passed through; it had devoured its way southward, consuming everything in its path. Horses, soldiers, villagers—it spared nothing. The duke’s forces had managed to reunite with these refugees, but the strain of supporting so many on limited rations had only worsened their plight.
Now, two days without food and one without water, the army was a shadow of its former self. The men staggered forward, their faces gaunt, their eyes sunken. Even the duke’s commanders, once so full of confidence, looked defeated. Fayeron had made the decision to distribute the last of the reserves to his men, sharing in their suffering as a leader should. But the gesture felt hollow in the face of their collective misery.
Through the haze of his splitting headache, Fayeron called for riders. His voice was hoarse, but the command was clear. “Send word to the local villages. Beg for aid. We need water, food—anything they can spare.”
The riders saluted weakly and spurred their weary horses forward, disappearing into the distance. The duke watched them go, a flicker of hope warring with the grim reality of their situation. The villages might provide relief, but it wouldn’t be enough to undo the damage. They needed time—time to recover, regroup, and prepare. But time was a luxury they no longer had.
Fayeron’s thoughts turned to the crocodile. How far south had it gone?
The beast had been unstoppable, its massive frame moving with terrifying speed and precision even through the dense jungle. If it reached the heartlands of the kingdom, there would be no stopping it without the intervention of the capital’s most powerful heroes and mages.
“Perhaps they’ll finally listen,” Fayeron muttered bitterly. The kingdom’s adventurers’ guild would need to muster its best—platinum-ranked heroes, battle-hardened warriors, and sorcerers of great renown. The thought brought little comfort. Even with their combined might, the devastation the creature could cause in the interim was unthinkable.
As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting long shadows across the plains, the duke rallied what strength he had left. He turned to his commanders, their faces pale and drawn.
“We march for the ducal palace,” he said, his voice firm despite the tremor in his hands.
Someone must reach the capital, warn the king of what we face. We need to summon the greatest of our kingdom’s champions, or this creature will lay waste to everything in its path.”
The commanders exchanged uneasy glances but nodded in agreement. The duke raised his head, scanning the scattered remnants of his army. They were battered, broken, and demoralized, but they were alive. And as long as they drew breath, they could fight.
“Send the fastest runners ahead,” Fayeron ordered. “We cannot be sure the last made it through the jungle. They’ll carry the message. Tell them... tell them we need heroes. Not just for the kingdom’s sake, but for all of us.”
As the remnants of the army began their slow march toward the palace, the duke’s thoughts remained heavy. He had gambled and lost, and now the stakes were higher than ever. The survival of the kingdom rested on whether or not they could rally before it was too late.
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Jannet stood atop the highest point of the cliff, the golden light of the afternoon sun warming his black scales as he surveyed the transformed town below. Two weeks had passed since the chaotic retreat from Oldscar’s den and the battle that nearly destroyed them. The human nest was no longer a shattered ruin—it was Newscar’s sovereign domain. The flag, now freshly stitched and vibrant, billowed in the wind, a symbol of resilience and growth.
The transition had been swift yet grueling. The remaining humans in the nest were no match for Jannet, Rose, and #1. Dispatching them had been a grim necessity, but their meat provided much-needed sustenance for the weary and wounded survivors. The larger lizards like Jannet, Rose, and #1 required substantial food to maintain their strength, and the human corpses helped ease the strain on their hunting resources.
Jannet's claws tapped against the warm stone of the cliff as he turned his gaze toward the bustling town below. The fires that had once raged through the nest had been extinguished, leaving behind the skeletal remains of buildings and charred debris. Under Jannet’s guidance, the goblins and lizards had set to work clearing the rubble and rebuilding. The goblins, led by Baby Goblin and Randel, proved invaluable with their dexterous hands and knack for construction.
The cliff itself had become a cornerstone of the settlement. Its natural incline made for an excellent sunning bank, and it provided a defensible position that overlooked the surrounding jungle. Jannet often found himself here, basking in the sunlight while his golden eyes scanned the horizon for movement. The jungle was theirs now—or at least this part of it—but vigilance was a necessity.
Jannet had spent much of the past two weeks venturing into the jungle with Rose and #1, seeking out stray lizards to join their ranks. The scars of the winter migration still lingered, and the jungle's population of Komodo dragons was not as abundant as before. Yet, Jannet’s memetics worked wonders. His ability to impress upon other lizards the ideas of family, safety, and strength resonated deeply. Though the recruits came in smaller numbers than during the winter, each new arrival was a welcome sight, their presence a balm for the wounds left by the battle.
The newly expanded walls of the human nest offered a tangible sense of security. The thick, human-crafted barriers had been reinforced by the goblins, who added spikes, barricades, and makeshift traps to deter intruders. Lizards now patrolled the walls in shifts, their sharp eyes scanning for any movement in the jungle. The occasional wandering human who stumbled upon the town was swiftly dealt with, their futile hope for sanctuary dashed by Newscar’s vigilant defenders.
Despite the progress, grief still hung heavy over the settlement. The loss of so many in the battle weighed on everyone. The cairn for the fallen, rebuilt with reverence, had become a place of quiet reflection. Lizards and goblins alike visited it regularly, paying their respects and leaving small tokens—bones, scales, and carvings—to honor the dead. Jannet’s memetics had planted the idea of an afterlife, a connection to those they had lost, and it took root deeply in the hearts of the survivors.
Jannet himself found solace in the steady rhythm of rebuilding. His instincts as a sovereign drove him to plan and organize, ensuring that the settlement was not just repaired but expanded. The humans' remaining structures were repurposed for the needs of lizards and goblins alike, while new spaces were constructed to accommodate their growing population. The sunning bank became a communal space, and the jungle beyond their walls was methodically scouted and mapped.
The sense of purpose helped ease the pain of loss, but Jannet’s thoughts often wandered to the battle and its aftermath. The crocodile’s devastating presence still lingered in his mind, as did the cryptic warnings from the egg god. His dreams had been plagued with flashes of cosmic space, whispers of strength and survival, and the looming shadow of what lay to the north. Jannet knew that the time to grow stronger was now. Newscar would have to be more than a sanctuary—it would have to be a bastion of strength.
“Lizards together strong,” Jannet muttered to himself, his voice low but firm. The phrase had become a mantra, a rallying cry that echoed through the minds of every member of Newscar. They were no longer just survivors. They were builders, defenders, and warriors. And soon, they would be conquerors.
As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the jungle, Jannet descended from the cliff to join the others. Baby Goblin and Randel were huddled over a new project, their hands busy with intricate carvings on a massive slab of stone. Lizards moved purposefully through the town, some hauling debris, others patrolling the perimeter.
Jannet paused by the cairn, his golden eyes lingering on the small tokens left by the others. He lowered his head in a gesture of respect, a silent promise that their sacrifice would not be in vain. The jungle was theirs, and Newscar was rising from the ashes. But this was only the beginning.