Steering steadily, sitting comfortably, I position my head against the black horn to block all the wind. No need to squint anymore.

The air at this altitude is refreshing, and I finally enjoy the ride.

After a few moments of sitting still, I feel safe enough to even let go of the controls.

I wonder if the old man is watching me through the rifle optics.

Or does he have classic binoculars? I bet he does.

What else can I do here but wait it out? I believe I've memorized the surroundings well and will enhance our maps with valuable information.

I decide to touch the bug, testing the horn surface by scratching it. It has a leather-like texture, and I’m barely able to put a dent in it with my nail.

It quickly self-heals, and the dent flattens.

I lean back and examine the flexible smaller horn. It’s sturdy and solid, yet if I apply enough pressure, it bends.

I start to toy with the thought of salvaging parts from its body. Curiously mumbling while looking around.

The poor thing is still barely alive, its health bar almost empty. From what I’ve observed in other encounters, once it fully dies, the bar should disappear.

I bet a single weak hit could end it for good.

I wonder: Is it steering because its wing covers are still wide open? Or is it still sentient enough to hope for a landing and recovery?

To be honest with myself, I’m afraid to think out loud about my plan to finish it off on the ground—if the fall itself doesn’t do it.

I’m paranoid it can somehow sense my thoughts or read them.

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The horn—unless the old man has a saw or machete, there’s no way of ripping it off. But I can imagine using it as a bat. Heavy and sturdy, almost indestructible.

The armored body—I could craft some basic armor for myself. But this shell is too thick.

I glance at the backplate, noting that the shield’s raw thickness is about three fingers deep.

It looks light while still attached to the bug, but I can’t imagine wearing a cuirass that thick and black. It must feel like a greenhouse inside when the sun shines intensely.

Metal plate it is—my eyes brighten as I recall the knight who killed the cat and got burnt alive for it.

I start to speculate: Who else would want to loot the remains of a knight?

The old man has his bulletproof vest, and so do I. It’s a shame I didn’t use it during the bug fight, but those small bastards targeted my lower half anyway.

Maneuvering in it while being chased by the boss—my jump probably wouldn’t have been powerful enough.

I comfort myself that I did the right thing.

Damn it, Mark. Are you really excusing the fact that you forgot to wear the damn vest? This is insulting to the old man. I sigh.

Who else would want to loot the knight? Mike wants to be fast and avoid getting hit, if he doesn’t change his strategy.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

He’d probably run around naked if it weren’t for me and Harald.

Astrid would never wear adult armor from him.

I will be the owner if everything goes right!

I inhale the strong fresh wind and crack a smile.

So what do we have to choose from: gloves, helmet, boots, sword, and “trousers”?

How stupid am I? Armored pants? I don’t even know what to call them.

But I’d like them. I’d really like to have some knee protection after the whole universe united to destroy my left kneecap, apparently.

Looking at my weathered sneakers, I think I could fit them entirely inside those metal boots.

Since I’ve fallen in love with my hammer, that two-handed sword would suit only Harald.

I imagine the piercing damage would be satisfying and useful on some occasions, but that sword is just too long for me to wield with one hand.

Maybe he will pass me his combat dagger then—I keep dreaming.

Leaning forward, I check the status of my precious weapon. My face twists in disgust again as I try to locate it inside the crevice.

It seems it has traveled into the creature’s head deep inside. The crunch I heard earlier—I assume its auto-chewing reflexes activated. Those mandibles were definitely moving around when it happened.

My only weapon, I sigh.

And enchanted! Damnit!

I must recover it, no matter what! At least the hammerhead.

On the other hand, I still have the glock Harald gave me. Limited ammunition makes me save it for special occasions.

But.. Wasn’t that just a while ago?

I could have shot the thing in its eyes earlier, but I was afraid of swapping weapons while struggling to hold on.

Shooting it now is pointless; it would worsen my situation.

The thing is gliding and descending and as the saying goes: If it works, don’t touch it.

What about my inventory? The moment I think of it, a panel quickly opens, and I check if it’s not clipping or glitching in the air. I observe its behavior while sitting still yet moving at great speed. It holds up fairly well, the bronze window floating steadily in front of my eyes, not giving a damn about the movement. If I were wearing an AR headset, I would have to enable travel mode.

Grabbing some items to reorganize and fidget witht he UI, I notice how much faster the background seems to move now.

We’re already close to the ground.

I can recognize the tree canopies, and the savanna will be underneath me in a few moments.

It’s time to prepare for impact. My stress level rises gradually as this realization hits.

Oof.

Should I jump? I ask myself and continue my inner monologue.

What height would be ideal? Would I even be able to distinguish ten from two meters of altitude?

If my body hits the sand from, let’s say, ten meters, isn’t that like falling out of a window on the third floor?

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The dry savanna with yellow grass swiftly passes beneath me, followed by sand.

Three moving dots catch my eye in my peripheral vision. Mike, Astrid in the lead, and Harald behind them, probably struggling with the heat in his bulletproof vest.

It’s really them.

I feel better, and it lifts my spirits a little. I can’t die here, not in such a stupid way.

I need to focus now; the dunes are here, and so am I, calculating the jump. I think about all the possible bad outcomes.

If I break a limb, the best I can do is shoot myself in the head afterward—no chance of healing that without medication.

At least I’ll be fit again after being reborn. I glance at my arms, covered in stretch marks and bruises.

I really want to find out more about those green berries from the note. I definitely need to return to the snail area.

Analyzing what else could happen, one terrible memory comes to mind: when sand got in my eye that one time.

Closing my eyelids as tightly as possible is a must while I roll in the sand.

Pumping up my muscle mass might protect my bones, or no?

After that thought, I suddenly remember the story I read a few years ago. It was about a skydiver who survived solely because he was unconscious.

Stiff muscles hold the skeleton tight, counteracting the bones’ best trait—flexibility.

Being unconscious made his muscles relax; that’s why his body didn’t break a single bone.

I panic and focus only on my eyelids now.

Keeping them shut tightly, I hug myself and crouch my legs up, getting into the fetal position. trying as hard as I can to relax.

Inhale deeply.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Aargh. I scream at the top of my lungs.

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Chaos and blinking lights through my closed eyelids.

I have no idea what’s up and what’s down. All I know is that I’m rolling in the hot sand, hugging myself in a fetal position.

I feel pain on my back and arms and I can’t distinguish between the hot sand, scratches, or any other wounds.

I can’t even count how many rolls I’ve done so far.

Imagining myself as a huge bag of potatoes dropped in the sand. But I sense that this is the last one.

Finally, the rolling stops.

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Still holding my breath to avoid inhaling dust and sand, my body warns me that I need to breathe.

I’m still not aware if I’m facing down or up. As the pain in my chest expands from lack of oxygen, I force myself to wait a bit longer until my brain and body settle.

Yep. I’m definitely on my side. The bright light shining on my face is the sun, and it’s pretty hot.

I blow the leftover air out of my lungs to get rid of the sand sticking to my mouth.

*Inhale*

Finally, a deep inhale. The air is super hot, and my mouth dries instantly.

“You alright?”