The massive slabs of stone here were covered in dimly lit runes. This may be the reason why the air felt charged. Who knows. The rock that graciously doubled as a bed for a while was complex. In fact, I was standing on top of what looked like part of a vast henge. From where I was sitting, it was almost a 1-to-1 replica of another famous henge in England, also made from stone. OK, no need to be cryptic; I was sitting on top of Stonehenge 2: Runic Bugaloo.
I waited patiently, deeply contemplating and absorbing every thought and emotion.
What happened to me was different from your run-of-the-mill experience. Trust me; I have run to said mill plenty of times in my life. Past life? What a mess.
So, I received a system, like in those stories Maeve likes to read, something about slaves and beginnings after endings or some such… What was it that she said?
"William, it's like D&D; you cannot just go around poking every bear just because you have a health bar, sweetie; you have to become pragmatic, embrace repetition, build your base stats, and, more importantly, acquire items and skills that compliment your path because there is always a path to follow that will make you succeed in achieving whatever it is the story needs the MC to achieve" -I remembered Maeve telling me after I suggested that once you get an RPG like system in real life, you can basically do whatever without repercussions.
I already miss Maeve, Dad, Raulin, and everyone else. If I assume that everything I have experienced in the past couple of hours is real, I don't think I will ever see them again. Even if I'm alive right now, this' system proxy' made a mistake with me, and I am expected—no, scratch that—REQUIRED! to die again for some reason the admins did not share, probably above my paygrade.
I remember our little tomboy Joe, Josephine, and how my heart ached for her. She lost her parents when she was six, and I was seven. They visited Brazil to check on extended family and tour the Amazon jungle, but we never heard from them again. After that, she retreated into herself.
I remember how Papa Olaf had to fight the childcare services to avoid having Joe sent to a 'home.' Those two months they took her away were some of the worst in all our lives. The day she came back, delivered by some lady who looked tired and dejected, Joe ran right into Papa's arms. She had a null expression on her beautiful face, her usually radiant blue eyes dimmed with sadness, like a cute little doll without any emotion.
We were all there to receive her with presents, smiles, and well wishes, but she reacted to nothing, preferring to remain with Papa, holding his big old hand.
That was the day we understood the value of family, and when we stopped being 'just' friends and became a very tight nuclear family, all of us, Zoey, Matt, Raulin, Maeve, and myself understood that we would not willingly see any of us go through the same thing Joe was going through.
It took her months to speak again; the doctors told Papa Olaf that she was 'aphasic,' but I talked to her all the time regardless; I took it upon myself to fix her, to make her feel better.
Since she was now living at our house, it was effortless for my endeavors to turn annoying.
One day, she had enough and pushed me away. I tripped and fell down the stairs. Although I wasn't seriously hurt, my little heart was aching like never before. I tried to contain my emotions and show her only a happy face, but I couldn't. She was still at the top of the stairs, looking down at me expressionless. I started sobbing, closed my eyes, and tried to wipe away my tears. Then I heard her little feet running down the stairs. Suddenly, she jumped towards me, her face red and her arms open. She hugged me tightly, crying and repeatedly saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," like a prayer. This opened the floodgates of emotions for both of us.
It took Dad some time to tear us apart; we had become a blob of hugs, tears, and snot by the time he arrived. But since that day, Joe was back, our happy-go-lucky tomboy, and she became our house's joi-de-vivre, our little angel. To say that Papa, Dad, myself, and even Raulin spoiled her rotten would be a gross understatement. But she grew up a fine young woman regardless. She took all that love we showered her with and returned in kind.
Thinking about how she must be feeling right now made me feel like dogshit. She was my little sister and probably the most important person, along with my brother, in my life.
Raulin would be supporting everyone right now, taking matters into his own hands, and stepping up to the task. He was reliable like that, if nothing else, while internally feeling guilty about not being there sooner. Nah, bro!
-IT WASN'T YOUR FAULT!!! -I yelled as loud as I could. Wishing that he could hear me.
With a heavy heart and a fierce conviction, I opened my status screen again.
------------------------------------
Name: William 'Evelyn' Hagen
Human -Level 1
Class: *Redacted* -Level 1
Job: N/A
Grade F
HP: 220/240
Stamina: 160/160
----------------
Strength: 9
Agility: 10
Dexterity: 10
Endurance: 8
Vitality: 8
Intellect: 7
Class XP: 0/100
Race XP: 0/100
Job XP: N\A
------------------------------------
The most annoying thing about the status screen was the middle name bit.
Why in tarnation did it have to display the made-up name? Were the admins making fun of me on top of everything else?
I was starting to feel miffed about the entire shtick.
Anywho, moving on… below my name, the screen showed two denominations, 'Human' and 'Class," both at level 1; I am not going to argue against my race being human because I was, indeed, a human, not like I could choose to change it… right?
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
But what was that about my class? I don't remember picking one, but it showed I had one already!
*Redacted*, baffling, to say the least, wasn't I supposed to at least be able to see my freaking class at my freaking status screen? I concentrated on it, my eyes going dry from exertion. I somehow felt like the letters were trying to change, to show what was behind and the name of my class; I kept at it; if I had a mirror, I could probably see my eyes all red and veiny.
The letters that formed the word *Redacted* moved; they jumbled around as if dispelling themselves, only to stop and settle back on *Redacted*. Closing my eyes, I waited for a while, resting them.
Futile, I tried the same thing a couple more times only to get the same result. Which was Einstein's definition of crazy, wasn't it? I was not bothered; I was already insane in any case or going insane at the very least.
The screen showed me I had no job, go figures, and then it showed me my actual stats, starting with my resource pools: HP and Stamina. There is no mana, so there is no magic in this system. This was good since magic is usually the strongest thing in games and fiction, but I was never a fan of mage stories; sword and shield were my jam.
My HP pool had gone up during the time I have been here sitting on my ass, feeling self-pity and disguising procrastination as being thorough...
Hey, I am self-aware.
This meant that some kind of passive regeneration was going on behind the scenes. My side didn't hurt by now, and it only was a minor discomfort when I moved, barely noticeable.
My stamina was full, which told me absolutely nothing. Was this stamina depleted by going around about my business? Or was it tied to specific actions like skills and whatnot? I guess I would have to start to fuck around and find out.
What I could only describe as my 'Base Stats.'
Strength: 9
Agility: 10
Dexterity: 10
Endurance: 8
Vitality: 8
Intellect: 7
Without a frame of reference, I could not tell if those were good or bad. Were they the base stats of a human? Or were these actually my own? If the system was a 'Base 10' kind of system, where every level would give you stats based on a maximum of 10 per attribute, based on your initial stats, I would be fine, especially on AGI and DEX. Still, sadly, I was barely a dummy by that logic.
If it was not a 'Base 10' system, then those numbers said nothing to me. I could have 9 out of 10 possible starting stats, as I could have 9 out of 20 or even 9 out of 100. Who knew?
The admins knew! They would know, the very polite bastards, respectfully, of course, my dear bastard admins. I wouldn't want to antagonize an already hostile system now, would I?
What I took from all this was that it didn't tell me shit; I was just as information deprived as before seeing it and that I should just start moving in any direction and figure out things as I go while following Maeve's sage words.
Be methodical, deliberate, and careful. That is my new life's philosophy. Yes, sir, I would be a good boy, not take any risks, and happily slime my way forward, absorbing all the information I could.
I was not desperately running for my life.
I was not going through a small ravine that I had fallen into while being chased by what looked like a purple three-eyed bear cub.
I didn't fall from the cozy rock in the Henge full or Runes while trying to get down because it was very slippery due to some moss growing at its sides—none of that, no.
I didn't fall directly on top of said purple bear. It did not get crossed at me, clawing my left leg, leaving an open, bleeding gash on it following my subsequent dead run, my fall into the ravine, and current circumstances, nope, no, sir.
OK, who am I kidding?
I had fallen from the rock/Henge on top of a sleeping bear cub-looking thing. That awoke pissed at me, clawed at my leg, gashing it open, and then chased me away to this ravine I'm currently running through, hoping it will tire from the chase so I can maybe rest for a bit and tend to my wound.
Tough luck, pal! That ain't happening.
The bear was behind me; I could feel it running atop the ravine, following me or my scent, most likely leisurely. Which was not good at all.
More so, since I reached what looked like the end of the ravine, it raised into a cliff, surrounded by the forest, I was boxed in. Since the ravine's walls were too slippery for me to try and climb to the non-deadly-bear side of it.
I took a deep breath and opened my status screen.
------------------------------------
Name: William 'Evelyn' Hagen
Human -Level 1
Class: *Redacted* -Level 1
Job: N/A
Grade F
HP: 182/240
Stamina: 152/160
----------------
Strength: 9
Agility: 10
Dexterity: 10
Endurance: 8
Vitality: 8
Intellect: 7
Class XP: 0/100
Race XP: 0/100
Job XP: N\A
------------------------------------
I had been sprinting at a dead run with an open, bleeding wound for around twenty minutes, and my stamina had only fallen 8 points, which was awesome. Did not feel tired or out of breath at all, which was even better, and I had recovered 2 health points since that damned bear clawed at my leg; my blood was not spilling out any longer, so I guess I improved recovery from injury is a thing now?
On the downside, I had no weapon, armor, or knowledge of my enemy. Guess what those admins said about me dying an early second death was true in the end.
The only thing I had going for myself at this point was my contrarian nature, which made me good at the boxing gym. It was not good enough for the Olympics, but good enough to be above average.
And all those years of doing the opposite of what Joe wanted me to do when it came to my health and well-being had given me some muscle, some reflexes, and the will to not just move aside and drop dead.
So, I would try out-boxing this bear and maybe apply some wrestling and grappling techniques.
I mean, pro-wrestling was the art of entertaining an audience by delivering a rehearsed physical conflict in the ring, with moves specifically designed to not overly hurt your rival, while being bombastic and full of flair; what do you think would happen if a wrestler were to perform those moves with the intent to consciously harm?
I have the mind, training, and fight instincts of a boxer and the body of a wrestler. I might look like a nothing burger next to my 'little' brother, but let's be honest, Raulin looks like 'Attitude Era' Kane on steroids. Everyone looks like a nothing burger next to him!
In the dead end I ran into, there was around 15 by 20 meters of room, enough room for footwork to be useful. So I started jumping up using just my ankles to warm up my calves so they could work like a spring for both shock absorption and power delivery. Leg rotation was the difference between a jab and a knockout-inducing jab.
I shifted my weight onto my right leg, feeling the familiar stance of an orthodox boxer. My left arm jutted out before me while my right hand stayed close to my chin. As I started to bounce lightly on the balls of my feet, my head turned side to side, loosening up my neck and preparing for the fight ahead. My torso swayed subtly, ready to move with agility and power.
As a young boxer, I studied and emulated Iron Mike's infamous peek-a-boo style. But as I imagined myself squaring off against Raulin in a match, I realized this technique's effectiveness for fighters smaller than their opponents, just like most of Mike's opponents were.
Since the cub was about 4 feet tall on all fours, going with an orthodox style and trying to out-box the thing would work better since it was a style that favors controlling the space inside the ring, usually trying to induce your rival to move to your left, so you have the chance to let your left-hand wail on him in a flurry of jabs, mix in some right straights, an out of nowhere left upper, a couple of right hooks, and that's your fight, you win by points or K.O., at least in theory, while not factoring the other dude trying to do the same thing to you.
Having decided on a plan of attack, I waited.