Joel led the way, his gaze set on the back storage portable, its rusted walls a familiar marker in the chaotic landscape of the rig. The shadows inside deepened as they stepped through the doorway, the faint scent of scorched metal still lingering. After burying their friends, the group moved with a renewed sense of purpose, driven by the need to press forward, but also by a quiet urge to claim whatever they could from this place.
Inside, the bodies of the lightning otters lay sprawled, their once-terrifying forms twisted and inert. The sharp odour of burnt fur and ozone hung in the air. Joel felt a pang of bitterness; these creatures had been more than beasts—they had been threats that nearly shattered them. He knelt down, his gloved hand brushing against the still form of the first otter, and then the second, searching for the heart cards.
“Talking freaking monsters.” Darren glanced over at Craig, his brow furrowed as he nodded toward the mess. “You know, I still can’t get over it,” he muttered. “The damn thing talked. Have you ever heard of an animal doing that before?”
Craig shook his head, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. “Not once. And I’ve seen some strange things on the water, but nothing like… her.” He paused, eyes still on the corpse. “Didn’t even sound right. Like it was twisting the words.”
Darren shuddered. “Gave me chills. Made it feel like… I don’t know, like she knew us. Knew what she was doing.”
Joel, who’d been standing nearby, stepped forward, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Weird, yeah. But any weirder than a tentacle oil monster?”
Craig huffed a dry laugh. “Fair point, man. Guess we’re living in a world where things don’t have to make sense anymore.”
“Guess we’ll have to get used to it,” Darren muttered, his gaze drifting back to the leaking remains, his shoulders set with a grim determination.
The first card pulsed lightly as he lifted it, a faint tingle dancing up his fingers. It held a faint charge as if some fragment of the otters’ wild energy remained within. He pocketed it, and Craig reached out to take the second card, eyeing it carefully before placing it in his pocket. The weight of the cards settled over them both, each one carrying a whisper of the encounter they’d survived.
“Let’s take them out back,” Joel said, his voice a quiet command that they all obeyed without hesitation.
Together, they dragged the corpses out to the back of the portable, where an empty patch of gavel waited. The air was cold, and a distant thunder rumbled as they laid the bodies down. Craig grabbed a nearby container of industrial solvent—one of the flammable kinds they used for cleaning heavy equipment. He unscrewed the cap and began pouring it over the otters.
The solvent had a sharp, pungent smell that filled the air as soon as Craig poured it over the bodies. It carried an intense chemical odour, like a mix of gasoline and scorched plastic, with a biting, almost metallic undertone that made their noses wrinkle. The scent clung thickly in the air, overpowering everything else, and left a harsh, bitter taste in the back of Joel’s throat, lingering like an unwelcome reminder of the chemicals they used daily on the job.
The thick liquid soaking into their matted fur and pooling beneath their bodies.
Once Craig had emptied the container, he took out a match, struck it, and, with a last glance at his crewmates, tossed it onto the soaked corpses. Flames roared to life instantly, igniting in a bright surge that forced them all to step back, shielding their faces. The fire crackled hungrily, black smoke curling up from the burning flesh and oily residue, twisting in dark ribbons against the dimming sky.
They watched in silence as the flames consumed the otters, the acrid smoke a grim reminder of the night’s battle and the unsettling world they now faced.
Joel stood alone before the smouldering corpse of the Mother Otter, watching as the flames crept across its twisted form, illuminating the darkened gravel patch. The fire hissed and popped, tendrils of oily smoke rising in serpentine swirls. He could feel the intense heat radiating from the blaze, a wave that pricked his skin and sent beads of sweat trickling down his brow despite the chill in the air.
The crackle of burning fur and flesh filled his ears, a harsh and jagged sound that grated against the quiet he’d come to associate with mourning. Yet, here, there was no peace in the silence—only the crackling hunger of fire-consuming flesh. The sickly sweet and bitter smell of charred fur mixed with the metallic tang of lightning lingered in the air, filling his nostrils and settling heavily in his throat. It was nauseating, a scent he knew would follow him long after this moment.
Joel’s gaze stayed fixed on the flames, watching as they licked across the creature’s form, reducing its muscular limbs to ash. In the shifting glow, he saw every sharp tooth, every matted strand of fur, every feature that had once filled him with dread and a raw, primal fear. Now, stripped of its power, the corpse seemed smaller somehow, almost pitiful in the unforgiving light of the flames.
As he stood there, he could taste the salty bitterness of sweat on his lips, mingling with the acrid, smoky air that coated his mouth and tongue. It was a bitter reminder of the night’s horror and the cost of their survival, a flavour he wanted to spit out but couldn’t escape.
And in that moment, as the fire consumed the last of the creature’s remains, he felt something shift inside him—a fierce resolve tempered by grief.
Joel reached into his pocket and pulled out the Mother Otter’s heart card, the surface glinting faintly in the firelight. Joel studied it for a moment, feeling the weight of its power—and the memory of the battle that had claimed it.
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Heart Card Name: Mother of the Storm
Rarity: Rare
Type: Lightning-Based Offense and Control
Cooldown: 45 minutes
Level: One
Back Artwork: The back of the card reflects the stormy, chaotic power of the Mother Otter. Lightning bolts cut through dark, swirling clouds, which are churned by the winds from the crashing waves below. The ocean itself seems electrified, glowing with bursts of blue-white lightning that stretch across the card. At the centre, the silhouette of a powerful otter is visible within the storm’s eye, symbolizing the creature's control over both land and sky. The card’s edges are jagged like fractured glass, reflecting the destructive nature of the storm.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Front Artwork: The front artwork features the massive figure of the Mother Otter, her body crackling with violent, arcing bolts of lightning. Her eyes glow a fierce blue as the electricity courses through her fur, surrounding her in a web of dangerous energy. The water around her churns and sparks, creating an aura of wild power. The Mother Otter stands poised, ready to unleash a devastating strike. The background is filled with storm clouds and jagged lightning, and the air around her appears to shimmer with static. The edges of the card pulse with a faint electric blue glow, hinting at the power stored within.
Effect: The storm's fury surges through you. Unleashes a devastating lightning-based attack, striking multiple enemies or targets with a high-voltage bolt of electricity. The Mother Otter’s fury can also temporarily stun enemies within range, leaving them vulnerable for a brief period. Additionally, the user gains temporary resistance to electric attacks, absorbing a portion of incoming lightning damage. The attack’s power increases based on the user’s proximity to water, drawing from the environment to amplify the storm’s effects.
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With a quiet sigh, he held it out to Darren. “I think this will go well with your other lightning card,” he said. “You’ve already got the spark. Might as well add the storm.”
Darren hesitated, his hand hovering over the card as he glanced at Joel. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” Joel said, his voice steady. “Almost like this system has sets or something.”
Craig let out a short laugh, breaking the tension. “Just like a trading card game,” he said, shaking his head. “Next thing you know, we’ll be opening booster packs.”
Joel smirked faintly, the humour a brief reprieve from the weight of their reality. But as Darren finally took the card, cradling it like a fragile artefact, the moment’s levity gave way to a shared understanding. This wasn’t just a game—it was survival.
Darren raised an eyebrow at Craig, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Trading card game. Like a pocket monster cards? What are you, some kind of nerd?”
Craig shrugged, unbothered by the jab, his expression as calm as ever. “What can I say? My little brother used to collect those things. Always left them lying around the house, so you kind of pick up on it after a while.” He leaned back slightly, his arms crossing as if daring Darren to keep going. “Besides, knowing about that stuff might just make me better at this whole system thing. Maybe you should take notes.”
Darren chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, sure, whatever helps you sleep at night, Craig. Just don’t expect me to start calling you ‘Cardmaster.’”
Craig grinned, clearly enjoying the banter. “Wouldn’t dream of it. But hey, when we’re rolling in rare drops, don’t come crying to me.”
Joel rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at his lips. For a moment, the tension in the air eased, the firelight softening their faces as they let the humour distract them. It was fleeting, but in a world like this, even fleeting moments of levity were worth holding onto.
As the last embers died down, the group turned back to the portable, leaving behind the smouldering remains. Inside, the workbench awaited them—a sturdy, well-used table piled with tools, its surface worn from years of use. Joel placed a hand on the bench, feeling the steady reassurance of something solid, something they could rely on.
“This is ours now,” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.
A soft, metallic chime echoed in the air, its sound almost imperceptible at first. Then, a sudden flash of blue light flickered across the walls, and a voice—smooth and unnervingly neutral—cut through the stillness.
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Local Area Network, System Notification:
[Request to claim Basic Workbench has been accepted.]
[Basic Starting Zone has been approved.]
[Rig Supply Depot has been claimed as a human settlement.]
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There was a brief pause before the next message came through:
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[Designate a leader, or government structure.]
[Immediate action required.]
[Failure to designate a leader or government structure will result in system intervention. Inability to organize will impede settlement growth and development. All citizens must be governed; all territories must be administered.]
[This settlement is now subject to systemic governance. Failure to comply with system protocols will lead to penalties.]
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The words hung in the air, the meaning settling over them like a heavy fog. It was official. The rig was gone but this place was now theirs—not just a base, but a settlement. They had a foothold in this new, strange world.
Joel exhaled slowly, staring at the glowing screen. "A government structure?" he muttered, shaking his head. "What are we supposed to do with that?"
Craig gave a dry chuckle. "Well, guess we have to figure out who's in charge."
Darren didn’t look up from the workbench, his fingers still resting on the worn wood. "Doesn’t matter who leads," he said quietly. "We’re in this together. But we should make it official. Someone’s got to make the calls."
Joel nodded slowly, the weight of the decision settling on him. He looked at his friends, each of them waiting, as if ready to follow his lead. But the truth was, none of them were sure what this all meant. What did it mean to lead a settlement in a world turned upside down?
They still had no answers—only the strange, blinking system ahead, ready to demand more decisions from them.
Craig’s gaze met Joel’s, the weight of his words hanging in the air between them. “I think you should be the leader,” Craig said quietly, his voice carrying more than just the suggestion—it was a quiet plea, a recognition of everything they’d just survived. “We would all be dead if it wasn’t for you.”
Joel paused, his hand still resting on the workbench, fingers brushing the rough surface. He let the words settle in, the gravity of them pressing on him, making him think about everything they’d been through—the monster attacks, the survival, the unbearable losses. Craig was right. Without him, they wouldn’t have made it. He’d done what he had to do. He’d fought, he’d led them through the chaos.
But as soon as Joel closed his eyes, a different image flashed before him—the face of his newborn daughter, her face so clear, so vivid, as though it had been imprinted on his soul. The screen. The memory. Her innocent, wide eyes, the tiny hands reaching out from the safety of home.
His heart twisted in his chest. He couldn’t stay here, couldn’t lead these people in this place. He couldn’t bear the thought of being stuck here, trapped by the system, with that image haunting him every moment. He had to leave. He had to get back to her, to his family. That was the only thing that mattered now.
Joel’s throat tightened, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. He shook his head slowly, his eyes opening to meet Craig’s. “I can’t. I can’t stay here.” His voice was quiet, almost too soft to be heard above the hum of the system. “I have to leave. I need to get back to my family. To her.”
The words were final, the certainty in his heart as raw and undeniable as the fire burning behind him. The idea of being tied to this place, of taking on the mantle of leadership in this strange, cold world—he couldn’t do it. Not when his heart was so firmly anchored to what was waiting for him at home.
And that was when they heard voices coming from outside.
Joel froze, his breath catching as his eyes darted toward the door. Craig and Darren exchanged tense glances, their hands instinctively reaching for whatever makeshift weapons were within arm’s reach. The crackling of the fire out back had masked the noise until now, but there it was—muffled, indistinct words carried on the faint wind.
It wasn’t just one voice; it was several. And they weren’t yelling or panicking. They were talking. Calm, steady, and deliberate.
Joel’s heart thudded in his chest, his mind racing. Survivors? Or something worse?