Boosted by his Masochist Stance, Vannin’s spear pierced the Battleswine’s leathery hide at the neck like it was made of paper, and the gray-skinned boar went limp, quietly collapsing into the trampled grasses at his feet. A faint red aura slowly receded from the edges of his vision – a visual indicator that he had just recently suffered a fresh wound.
Vannin frowned in confusion. That was a crit. There shouldn’t have been any blow-back damage from my stance.
He peered down, searching his body for the wound he hadn’t felt. Along his thigh, a strip of his tan britches had torn free, and an angry red gouge oozed blood. One end of the frayed fabric was still attached to the Battleswine’s razor-sharp tusks, having likely torn free at the exact moment he had delivered the killing blow.
And yet, as per usual, Vannin hadn’t felt a thing.
He jerked the tattered cloth off the boar’s tusk and straightened. For as long as he could remember, Vannin had been a player inside the massively multiplayer online world of Teravitum. He ate there, he slept there, and every morning when he woke he found he had once again failed to escape this wholly fictional reality. Somehow, despite having no memory of its existence, he knew there was another world beyond this one, a real world where his actions mattered, where no one he encountered was driven by computer logic and circuit boards, a world where a ragged gash in his leg would cause him to crumple to the ground in agony, instead of wonder why his health had suddenly and unexpectedly deceased.
A world where he could feel something other than endlessly numb.
“You aren’t looking so good,” said D, with the exact same tone and cadence as before. “This looks like a good time for a break, Master.”
He shook his head. Though the daimon’s AI often left him feeling like he was speaking to an intelligent familiar with less than stellar conversation skills, some of its responses quickly reminded him that he was conversing with what was likely just a well-tuned chatbot.
Beggars can’t be choosers, I guess.
“If you keep on like this, you won’t be strong enough to withstand a fatal blow.”
“I know, I know.”
“As it sits, your experience debt almost doubles-”
He interrupted his companion with a raised hand. “Spare me the numbers. I know I’ve fallen behind. I know I won’t gain any more levels, attribute points, skill points, perks, and more until I’ve paid back what I owe and-”
From somewhere beyond the northern treeline, a hungry roar bullied the already quiet clearing into utter silence.
Vannin froze. Uh oh.
“D, how many pigs have we killed today?” He started counting the remaining bodies but stopped almost immediately. There was no use. He couldn’t remember how many he’d already looted, and once a mob was fully looted, it quickly disappeared.
“I wasn’t keeping count, Master.”
Yeah, turns out I wasn’t either.
Trees shook, and wood cracked beneath some unseen weight. A flock of ravens took to the sky, narrowly escaping before their leafy perch collapsed out from under them.
His daimon swooped down to perch on his right shoulder, its glow taking on a distinctly red hue. “Something powerful approaches.”
“Not something. It’s that damned Glorfang.”
His last encounter with the creature had ended his adventure for the day, sending him back to Eternity’s Solace before he could shave off even fifty percent of the monster’s health.
He swiped two fingers down his arm, grimacing at what he saw.
Just 53%. And me with no potions.
“There’s no shame in retreat, Master.”
He shook his head, returning his spear to its place on his back. “That [Swine’s Esse] could be on any one of these corpses. What if it has weird spawn rules and the pig that has it despawns before I can get back to it? Then… what? Spend another few weeks out here hoping it drops? No way!”
D dipped out in front of him. “But Master-”
Vannin ducked beneath the orb, racing over to the nearest fallen Battleswine. He squinted, watching the loot box fade into existence just in time for him to reach the creature’s side. He swiped his hand through the translucent popup, grasping at whatever might be within without looking and quickly shoved it blindly into the sack on his belt.
I’ll check my inventory when I’m not about to be eaten alive.
The next corpse was only a few yards away, and the [Broken Tusk] it carried barely registered in his mind before it vanished into his pack.
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A throaty growl washed over the clearing. He shot a sideways glance at the tree line. I’m way too close. There’s a good chance that when that thing jumps out-
Leaves and branches exploded outward, and a streak of night black fur and hooked claws burst onto the scene. Six spindly legs kicked up a rooster-tail of dirt behind what could only be described as a half-starved panther. Yellow froth framed its hungry snarl, a snarl revealing twin rows of needle-sharp teeth.
With a ferocious roar, it pounced, landing atop the very fallen boar that Vannin had been aiming for himself.
“OH SHI-” With arms windmilling frantically, Vannin leaned back in an attempt to stifle his charge.
Physics, it seemed, had less favorable plans.
His boots skid through the grass, slamming him face-first into the bony hindquarters of the hungry beast. Luckily, the ground broke his fall. Vannin scrambled back on all fours, unfazed, his focused gaze inadvertently summoning up the creature’s information window:
image [https://i.imgur.com/P4ZOSaJ.png]
Emaciated Glorfang
Rare Feline
Health - ??? / ??? (100%)
“Drawn by the moldering corpses of fallen Battleswine, the Glorfang’s mind has been consumed by its own insatiable hunger.”
The creature spun in place, its vicious snarl widening ever further as it sank into a deep crouch.
“Uh, Master?” The daimon crowded up against his ear. “None of your combat skills seem to be usable from the sitting position.”
Vannin scrambled to his feet. Even with the speed increase from Masochist Stance, at this distance, he knew he was as good as lunch.
But the Glorfang didn’t pounce. Instead, a dark energy seeped up from the earth and enveloped the beast, bleeding luminescent smoke into the air around it. Bristling, the night-black panther cocked its head back and roared.
It only took a moment, but that moment was enough to give Vannin a healthy head start.
What was THAT? Some sort of buff? Wind pulled his hair back as he sprinted, his arms pumping in succession with his legs. He didn’t reach for his weapon, knowing full-well he had no chance against the beast in a head-on fight, not in his current state. Besides, he needed both his hands free.
D swooped to his side; its speech seemingly unaffected by Vannin’s frenzied pace. “Quick, Master! Lose the beast in the trees!”
Currently, Vannin was running parallel to the tangled forest. He could make it. He could simply adjust his trajectory and vanish into the underbrush. There was a good chance the Glorfang was leased to the clearing and would disengage once he was far enough away from it, but if it wasn’t, he doubted he could outmaneuver the six-legged beast for long, even with the benefit of cover.
Something in the bushes shifted, and Vannin caught sight of a color that didn’t belong in nature. Was someone else out there with him?
“Look out!”
Screaming internally, Vannin planted his feet and leapt blindly to the side. Four outstretched paws pierced the air where he had just been. The Glorfang, prepared for a mouthful of man-flesh, scrabbled for purchase like a dancing spider on the soft earth. It cried out in frustration as Vannin rolled to his feet and took off in the opposite direction.
Another Battleswine loot box materialized over its owner’s corpse, and Vannin swiped both hands through it as he passed. He awkwardly shoved both items into his pack without looking, then changed direction once again toward the nearest dead pig.
“Not that one!” cried D, catching on to his strategy. “You already looted that one!”
Nodding, Vannin searched the field for his next target. He might only get one more shot at this.
“Khek by my side,” he whispered. He sank deeper into his sprint. He pumped his arms harder, his legs harder. Pushing off his back foot, he vaulted the empty pig and-
Teeth clamped down on his shoulder.
The full weight of the Glorfang bore the two tangled opponents over the Battleswine’s corpse and to the ground. Fetid breath filled his nose. Frothy saliva coated his neck and chest. The cat wrenched on his shoulder, pulling his body through the air in a wide arc before driving his face into the dirt and stepping up to straddle him.
The Glorfang’s middle legs raked into his defenseless back, and red crept toward the center of his vision.
At least this time I don’t have to look at it while it tears me to pieces.
“Relent, foul creature!” The tiny ball of light rammed itself into the hungry Glorfang’s shoulder over and over to no avail. It didn’t even react to the fruitless assault.
He tried to push off the ground, but the beast’s frenzied strength in combination with its weight made escape impossible. Reaching his weapon was out of the question, not that he could mount any sort of offense from this angle, anyway. The Glorfang had him, dead-to-rights, and all he could do now was wait for his health bar to tick zero and spend the rest of his evening back in town preparing to do it all again tomorrow.
Dirt smashed against his cheek as he relaxed his head. He silently wished he could feel whether it was warm or cool or wet or dry, but as usual, the fine particulates digging into his tender cheek barely registered as anything more than colorless pressure.
Light hit his eye, reflecting off something nearby. He lifted his head. It was stronger than the red slowly overtaking his vision. Squinting, he looked up, and to his surprise, Vannin found himself face-to-face with a dead Battleswine. The light had caught on the broken blade of an old, rusty arrowhead. From his position, he glimpsed the creature’s translucent loot box, and there, resting in the first slot, the bottom edge of some indiscernible item.
He realized he might have just enough time left to grab it before he died.
With a quick thought, Masochist Stance deactivated, and while he knew he was now taking marginally less damage, he didn’t feel any different. Just need another second or two. He reached up with his right hand, feeling his way up the dead pig’s crusty hide as the red circle steadily overtook his vision.
“Master, your health!”
He stretched, knowing his target was just beyond his fingertips.
Red washed away what little was left of his sight.
He flexed his hand, and something hard pressed itself against his palm.
Darkness overcame him, and the wild grasses surrounding his prone form vanished along with everything else.