“Aaaah!” He lashed out against bedsheets, flailing limbs getting tangled in soft cloth.

Victor froze, laying there for a while in utter confusion. What? Where was he? What happened to the crumbling ruins around him? The monsters, his sword. Did he get rescued? Had someone heard the sounds of battle and saved him as he collapsed?

His gaze darted across the room, finding no one there. Yet something felt off, the room was nice, too nice. He flipped the light switch near his bed, the bulbs at his ceiling coming to life. Electricity. No cracks, no mold, no signs that the world had ended.

Then a thought crossed his mind, because it hadn’t.

He scrambled out of bed and looked down at his clock. Maybe it was all a dream, maybe none of that was real.

‘7:43 am, July 1st, 2020’

It was today, he remembered the day, everyone who lived past it did. The 1st of July, the end of the world.

But that didn’t mean anything right? It could still all be a dream, a nightmare. He prayed for the first time in years, please, please let it be a dream.

Then the lights went out, all of them. Even the red glow of his battery-powered alarm clock just clicked off.

The system came from the monster’s world, which meant it played by their rules. No electricity, no technology. A nice even playing ground, except the opponent had been playing in it for far longer.

Downstairs he could hear a crash followed by screams. Then nothing.

A feeling of dread crept over him, from memory the first wave were goblins. Fast, numerous, with an excellent sense of smell.

He needed to get ready, soon they’d catch his scent, then they’d come for him.

“Weapons,” He needed weapons, he looked around his room, across his desk and picked up the sharpest thing on it, a pencil.

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He stared down at it, then put it back down to look for another. Yeah, yeah, the pen is mightier than the sword, but he’d still really like a sword.

The first kill was the most important, after the first kill he could use the system. But when did he get his first kill?

Days later, and more due to luck than skill. In his past life, what did he do at this moment?

Run. He ran. Out the window and down the drainpipe, across the garden into the next, then the next one, then the one after that. He kept running until his legs gave out, sometimes chased, more often just because he had no idea what else he could do.

“No, I have to fight, I have to take this chance,” His mind raced, time was running out, the moment the little shit opened that door he would have to kill it.

-

“Gaark.” One of the goblins was climbing slowly up the stairs, its snout hovering close to each step, sniffing. Its companions were feasting on the other two humans, their sharp little teeth carving through their soft flesh like a knife through clay.

It was the smallest in the pack so it often ate last, which only served in stunting its growth. But it smelled something, another one of the soft fleshed monkeys.

It drooled all over the floor, for once it could eat first, and maybe it could have it all to itself. It reached a wooden barrier, similar to the one they had come through to enter this dwelling.

“Gaaark!” It swung with its axe, the flimsy barrier shattering under its force. Then it lunged forward, directly towards the smell. Straight into, cloth?

It raised its head in confusion, before a 600-page physics textbook literally caused its pea-brained head to implode.

It screamed as it died, alerting its two companions. They grabbed their weapons and clambered up the stairs, finding themselves face to face with one of the soft fleshed monkeys.

“Gaark!” The larger one roared at the monkey, but it didn’t try to run like the other two. Instead, it stood its ground, a smile on its face.

“Choose class, Swordsman.” A sharp glow appeared in its hand and with a snap of the wrist formed into a simple blade.

“Gaark!” The larger one charged, its weapon raised, its mouth open. Then felt a swift kick straight into its stomach launching it back. The second sidestepped its flailing companion and charged as well, finding itself met with not a kick to the gut, but a sword to the face.

The monkey propped its foot on the dead creature’s skull and yanked its weapon back out, staring down at the larger one. The larger one trembled in fear, finding that its weapon was no longer in its hand.

It screamed as the monkey brought the blade down onto its head.