Paul dragged the carcass back toward the pool and the light-producing shelf-fungus that surrounded it.

His initial sense of euphoria after killing the rat faded. Looking at it now, he realized that it was thin and a little mangy, nothing like the horrific apparition that had stalked him through the darkness. He almost felt sorry for it before glancing at its huge, razor-sharp claws that had flayed his skin from his bones.

Nope, not sorry at all. That shit hurt.

After dragging it back to the edge of the pool, Paul considered how he was going to try and break the carcass down. At the moment, it represented a treasure trove of usable materials. He knew that he could use the gut as thread, that he could fashion clothing out of the leather, and that he could make needles, knives or clubs from the bone. Unfortunately, Paul grew up on a developed colony planet in the 24th century, with no clue on how to do any of those things.

His first obstacle was the lack of a cutting tool. He knew that in theory, he should be able to create sharp rock chips by smashing some stones together, which could allow him to begin to clean and dress the carcass. Resolving to start looking for likely rocks to break, when he realized that he was looking at a set of knives right in front of him: the creature's claws.

Taking his trusty rock, Paul bashed at one of the creature's hind paws, which sported wicked, four-inch talons that would have given a Velociraptor a run for their money. Breaking the bones inside the foot, Paul tried to loosen the largest of the claws from the paw, cursing as he sliced his thumb open on its sharp edge.

Even when you're dead, you're still a pain in the ass.

After some strategic bashing with his rock, Paul was finally able to weaken the connective tissue enough to pull the claw free. It was even longer than it looked initially, the base of the nail hidden in the flesh of the paw, giving Paul a five-inch cutting tool.

*Survival has reached level 2*

Paul didn't remember that he was ever awarded [Survival] level one, but like the rest of the strange messages he received, he would deal with them after he figured out how to live through the day. Sure, it seemed like he was functionally immortal, but Paul didn't trust it. What if he had a limited number of lives? What if this was his last one, and then he would be dead forever? Besides, dying was fucking terrible. He shuddered, remembering his four deaths, how helpless, how alone, how terrified he was each time.

No, definitely don't want to go through that again.

Okay, let's try to butcher this thing.

Paul quickly learned that he was better at this than he expected. Was it the [Survival] skill that was helping him? He thought so. Paul had never as much as cleaned a fish before, yet he seemed to know instinctively where to cut, where to run the claw between a joint and when to run it down a bone, where to cut and where to break. The improvised knife proved enormously useful, cutting through the thick hide of the death-rat with relative ease, though Paul's hand ached from holding it for so long. Paul tried to pay attention to each of the movements he was making, to understand why he was cutting and the technique of how he was doing it. It was a strange feeling, knowing that he had never done this before while at the same time feeling like he had done this a hundred times.

Paul also learned that the inside of death-rats smelled like, well, death. He dry heaved twice while removing the guts from the animal, most of them coming out in a wet slop.

What a mess.

On a whim, Paul threw a tiny piece into the pool, only to step back as a horde of finger-length fish roiled the surface as they quickly devoured it.

Well, there's a handy disposal service.

Paul took the creature's liver and tossed it in as well. He knew that eating the liver of a predator animal could be dangerous because of the accumulated toxins.

Wait, how do I know that?

He watched as the water churned again, only to see an enormous shadow move from the bottom of the pool and open a gaping maw that swallowed the liver and fish feeding on it in one go.

Well, I'm glad I didn't try to drink out of the stream.  

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Paul pictured himself accidentally falling in and shivered.

Occasionally he would notice a snake or lizard becoming bold, trying to sneak away a discarded piece of meat or entrail. He threw small pebbles at the snakes when they got close - he wasn't about to find out if they were poisonous by trial and error. The lizards he let get closer, even tossing them tidbits of death-rat. They reminded him of horned lizards from Earth, and they seemed relatively harmless. When they opened their jaws, their teeth appeared jagged, but tiny, better suited to eating bugs than large prey.

Sitting still for so long made his body temperature drop, and the cold air and stone seeped into his skin. Taking a cue from some of the lizards, who seemed to be "sunning" themselves on the warm surfaces of the phosphorescent shelf-fungus, he backed himself up against one, gratified as he felt its warmth on his skin as he worked.

[Survival] ranked up to three sometime during the process of breaking down the rat, and Paul marveled as his movements and cuts of his "knife" seemed to become smoother and more practiced. He didn't know what was happening to him, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

After two hours work, Paul stood and stretched, admiring the results of his work. A pile of meat, some still attached to bone and some not, a pile of useful viscera, and a collection of bones that were mostly free of gore and flesh. He absently tossed a pebble at a snake that was getting too close, and then a thought struck him that made his blood run cold. He was attracting scavengers by butchering the corpse here. What if he was attracting predators as well?

Paul quickly stood up, scanning his surroundings for any hint of red eyes approaching. There were none at the moment, but that didn't mean that there wouldn't be. He looked over all his hard work. His [Survival] skill cataloged for him all the different uses that the parts of the animal could have.

Cursing, Paul dumped most of them in the pool, saving only a few things for himself. The loin of rat, some of the larger bones, the claws, teeth, he wrapped in the hide,  leaving out just a small piece of meat, the jawbone, and a femur. Gathering as much loose dirt from the surrounding grove as he could, he covered the stone where he had butchered the rat.

Great, find a place to sleep, with water, food, light, and warmth, and the first thing you do is spread rat-bait all over it.  Stupid, stupid, stupid. I wonder if there is a skill for [Doing Stupid Shit That Will Get You Killed], 'cause I just gained a rank.

Moving quickly through the mushroom grove to the edges of the cavern, Paul looked for a hidey hole for the most critical pieces of death-rat that he had saved. He remembered where he had cornered the rat before killing it, and headed to the stalagmite where the death-rat had made its burrow. Crawling on his hands and knees into the den, Paul gagged as he dragged himself through a mixture of bones and death-rat feces.

This is goddamn terrible.

Hoping that the smell of the burrow would mask the smell of the meat, skin and bones, he wriggled backward out of the cave, smearing more rat shit over himself. Running back to the pool and stream, Paul stood under the small stream as it flowed down the side of the cavern, using a smooth stone to try and scrape himself as clean as possible. The water was frigid, and by the time Paul finished scrubbing his skin clean, his hands and feet were completely numb. Shivering uncontrollably, Paul hugged one of the shelf fungi, trying to absorb the gentle heat that it gave off. It helped, but he still felt excruciatingly cold. Mimicking the lizards, Paul clambered on top of one of the glowing fungi, spreading his naked body over it. The shelf of the fungus was warmer than the sides, and after a few minutes feeling returned to his extremities..

Okay, gore and feces cleaned off, next up, dinner.

Paul braced himself. He had saved a piece of rat meat to eat, the rest stored in the rat burrow. The problem was, he didn't know if he was hungry enough to eat raw rat at the moment. In a couple of days, sure, it would probably seem like a delicacy, but at the moment, his stomach churned at the thought. It didn't smell good. It didn't look good. Paul was sure it wasn't going to taste good either.

If he didn't eat it now, its smell would attract potential predators, or, if he just tossed it in the pool, he would have to shimmy into the rat burrow again when he was hungry, which he was sure was going to be sooner than he thought. He also knew that if he was weak from hunger, his chances of dying another unpleasant death went up exponentially.

Exhaling like he was about to do a shot, Paul held his nose and took a bite, chewing mechanically and swallowing as quickly as he could, trying not to taste the gamey, musky.... actually not terrible meat. Sure, it wasn't steak tartare, but Paul surprised himself by gagging it all down. For a moment, he hunched expectantly above the pool, wondering if his stomach would reject the alien food he just choked down. After a couple of minutes of the meal remaining in his stomach, Paul nodded to himself.

Okay, so it's staying down so far. Let's hope that I don't get the death-rat shits in a few hours.

Next, Paul cleaned the jawbone and femur that he hadn't stashed by lowering them into pool inch by inch, one end after another, taking care to keep his hands far from the surface. The little fish did their job, thoroughly cleaning the flesh from the bones, though one leaped out of the water and latched onto Paul's hand, taking a bloody chunk with him before disappearing again beneath the surface.

"Goddamnit, does everything here want to eat me?!"

One of the lizards looked at Paul inquisitively.

"No, not you, I know you're not trying to eat me."

Fuck, now I'm talking to lizards. It's been one day Paul, keep your shit together.

Paul rinsed his wound under the stream, then turned to look at his two projects. A femur and a jawbone.

They can wait for tomorrow.

Paul climbed up the shelf fungi, finding the highest one he could that would support his weight, luxuriating in the heat it put out. He didn't know how long passed since he woke this time, but he was drained, both emotionally and physically. While falling asleep when he could be set upon by death-rats at any time warred against his fatigue, in the end, his stomach was full, he was warm for the first time since appearing in the cave, and he had his rock. Paul slept, and did not dream.