Now that he had a destination, Solomon didn't waste any time. He set out along the bottom of the ravine, heading in the direction of the X marked on the map. There was no elevation indicator, so he could only hope that his target was also on the ravine floor.

Just in case, he kept an eye out for a way back up the slope. He kept his pistol tucked away in its holster, but kept his knife in hand. He would have liked to have a more impressive weapon, but a simple four inch blade was better than nothing.

He also kept an eye out for more of the little furballs. He wasn't too worried. Now that he was on his feet he wouldn't be threatened unless he was confronted with an army of the things. From what he'd seen any army of furballs would devolve into an orgy of cannibalism within minutes. Even so, he didn't want his first inkling of danger to come when one of them started gnawing on his leg.

He didn't think he'd run into any larger monsters, not if he hurried. Sure, the system could have seeded any kind of shambling horror in these woods, but that kind of thing didn't seem like its style.

The whole thing felt like a game. No, Solomon thought, feeling a stab of phantom pain where his left hand used to be. Not a game. The consequences were deadly enough.

There was a certain game-like logic to the situation, though. The system had done something to disable all sorts of advanced technology, and it had introduced alien monsters to earth. In exchange, though, it had given him access to a whole system of menus and attributes and skills.

It had also started out with small monsters, monsters he had been able to kill even with one arm trapped under a rock. And they hadn't come out until after a one hour grace period. The whole thing had the feel of a game, or a test, of gradually increasing difficulty.

He'd already used up a lot of the system's built in safety margin. If he wanted to keep his head above water, he needed to hole up somewhere safe and figure out how everything worked before the system really decided to amp up the difficulty.

He was dragged out of his thoughts by a low, rumbling roar that he could feel in his chest. As the last echo died away, Solomon realized that he had failed to consider two very important questions.

First, how many little furballs had been dropped into the ravine?

Second, what would happen if they went into a cannibalistic orgy and nobody was there to kill the winner at the end?

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Both of these questions flashed across his mind as what he had taken for a small boulder suddenly sprouted a pair of chicken legs and charged in his direction. While the smaller furballs had perhaps reached the middle of his shin, this one was at least waist height. The growth had also left it a little leaner and meaner looking than its smaller cousins, its color a muddy orangish brown instead of traffic cone orange.

Solomon settled into a crouch. He hoped the thing hadn't gotten any smarter when it got bigger.

Just like the smaller furballs, the big guy screamed out a war cry and leaped into the air as soon as it was within range. Solomon stepped to the side to let it go by. He slashed out with his knife for good measure. It didn't cut deeply, but it would make it bleed.

The furball slammed on the brakes and skidded to a halt as soon as it hit the ground. Its scream had a frustrated tinge to it, this time. As Solomon watched, there was a small flash of light on its side where he had cut into it. The small patch of blood on its fur stopped growing as the furball screamed again and scratched at the ground in frustration.

"Of course."

Of course, he wouldn't be the only one with HP. He'd just been thinking about the system's twisted sense of fairness. Of course it wouldn't give him such a huge advantage over the monsters it wanted him to fight.

A fight where both sides could rely on HP to heal could easily turn into a grinding battle of attrition. Well, that, or a contest to do vital damage that made HP healing irrelevant. He wondered if that was why the furballs were so focused on biting chunks out of their enemies.

The big furball did, unfortunately, seem to be a bit smarter than the little guys. It learned from the failure of its reckless charge, and began hopping towards him a little more caution. With each hop it would snap at the air in his direction.

Where the little monsters had mouths half the size of their bodies, the big furball's proportions weren't quite so exaggerated. Even so, the snapping of its teeth looked like a bear trap snapping shut. It looked like it could easily take in his arm almost up to the elbow in one bite. Past the elbow, if it was his left arm.

Solomon backpedaled as it approached. He didn't love his chances in a battle of attrition. The furball had a whole mouthful of teeth that weren't much smaller than his knife. If he ended up trading blow for blow with the monster, he'd be burning through his own HP faster than he'd be stabbing through the monster's.

He needed to do catastrophic damage, more than he could manage with some opportunistic slashes. He had an idea of how to do it, but he didn't like it.

He felt the ground starting to rise under him as he backed up. He'd be up against the wall of the ravine soon. Time to make a decision.

Solomon kicked at the furball. It was still out of reach, and he didn't come close to hitting it. When it moved forward, he stood his ground. He kicked at it again. As he'd expected, the monster had sized up the attack and responded by jumping up and clamping its jaws around his leg.

He'd hoped it would have to chew past his boot. Unfortunately, when the monster bit down it chomped right into his calf muscles. Solomon did his best to ignore the pain. It was hardly the worst he'd felt today.

Focusing, he stomped down with all his weight. The furball was slammed down into the ground and pinned in place. It hardly reacted, content to keep chewing on his leg.

Solomon dropped to one knee and started to stab.