Ding!
[Multiversal System Report — Day Six] • Exterminated Species: 302,441 • Surrendered Species: 684 (589 remaining) • Current Homo sapiens Population: 3,421,006,118
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[RedDawn]: "Since yesterday, 191,877,624 people died."
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[PilgrimFire]: "This is what blasphemers earn. The faithless are banished and the chosen are forsaken when they step away. Follow His Majesty's path, or you will fall." [Silt]: "Fuck off, preacher. Keep your god out of chat."
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[ThornCenser]: "The markers of His Majesty were trampled, and His wrath rose against the unfaithful. Kneel, or share their end." [Glasswing]: "Oh bother, another idiot."
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[GraveDigger]: "Anyone on D-119 found iron yet? Or is it just all copper?" [Siren]: "Warning: Stay out of the southern swamps. The 'Tall-boys' are migrating. They don't make a sound. Just... stay away."
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[Northgate]: "Does anyone know how to burn stone into lime for plaster and mortar? I only have charcoal and clay." [Kite]: "I can teach. I sent a private message." [Northgate]: "Thank you, Kite."
[Sw1tchBl4d3]: "Hey everyone. I found something weird near my base while I was out exploring. It is a crystal-like growth that looks almost alive. It gives off a faint glow and feels slightly warm. It is about the size of a helmet, and I can see thin lines inside it that look like veins." [Glasswing]: "Does it do anything when you touch it, and does it even count as a creature?" [Sw1chBl4d3]: "It stays still when I touch it. The glow pulses every few seconds, and I heard a faint hum once. The System did not flag it, so I do not think it counts as a creature." [TinCup]: "You find something weird, yet I cannot find a damn tentacle girl for the life of me."
He laughed out loud, but the laugh died as he noticed that it was getting dark really quickly. The sudden darkness made the hairs on his arms raise up.
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He turned and looked up.
His breath caught in his throat. The sight was so massive, so impossible, that for one stretched second, his mind simply couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. He was a frozen witness, his brain refusing to process the sheer scale of the vision unfolding above him.
A massive piece of land emerged above the rock wall. Its underside was a ragged, black silhouette that slowly consumed the sky, moving with the glacial, terrifying speed of something too large to exist. Behind it, banks of sickly, luminous cloud followed, pulsating in steady waves.
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Seed-like objects were falling like rain from the clouds, a steady, dense downpour. Impacts thudded through the trees, across the open ground, and above him on the wide top of the rock wall. Some landed far in the forest, and he heard sudden, sharp roars and the snapping of branches—other, larger things were being disturbed by the impacts.
He grabbed the wooden spear in both hands, flicking the bow into his Inventory with a practiced mental command. He scrambled up the little tower. As his foot hit the top, a heavy "thunk" struck the far edge of the platform. The crude structure lurched violently, throwing him off balance. He slammed a hand down on the wood to steady himself, the impact rattling his teeth.
He set the spear on the edge of the wooden platform just as the first shells hatched open. The ones closest to him split with wet cracks. He watched as grotesque, insectile legs unfolded, pale and slick with yellowish fluid. They righted themselves, heads swiveling on thin necks, and then, as one, they shrieked—a high-pitched, skittering chitter that drilled into his ears. They scuttled straight toward him, a living carpet of clicking joints, moving for the gap in the fence.
It wasn't just the clearing.
Further out, more creatures hatched. He saw flashes of movement in the trees—they were arboreal. They darted from the ground, launching themselves from branch to branch with terrifying, acrobatic speed, their chittering calls echoing as they all converged on his position. The forest was suddenly, horribly alive with them.
At the same time, he heard a new sound, one that cut through the chaos and chilled him to the bone. It wasn't in front of him. It wasn't from the trees. It was above. A dry, scraping, hissing sound, like a thousand nails on stone, echoed from the top of the 20-meter rock wall that formed the back of his safe zone.
He risked a glance upward. His stomach dropped.
The clifftop was lined with them. Dozens of small, hunched silhouettes, their pale bodies stark against the dark, swirling clouds. They were looking down at him, a gallery of new horrors, and their chittering had changed to a high-pitched, eager shriek.
The creatures that had landed there weren't looking for a path. They were taking the shortest route.
It wasn't one or two. It was a wave, a living tide of pale bodies pouring over the clifftop. Dozens of them, easily thirty to forty, threw themselves from the edge, a chittering waterfall of bodies aimed straight for his head from twenty meters above.
He instinctively recoiled, ducking his head as the waterfall of bodies plunged down. He couldn't block them; he could only brace himself as they rained down around him.
THUD. THUD-CRACK. SPLAT.
The hard-packed dirt inside his fence erupted in a series of sickening impacts. The vast majority landed badly, their carapaces exploding like overripe fruit, splattering hot, steaming fluid across the ground and the base of his tower. More than a dozen slammed into the spiked wall, impaling themselves with wet, tearing sounds. They kicked, a forest of twitching legs, their chittering calls turning into thin, dying shrieks.
Where they hit, the crude spiked wall shuddered, splintering and collapsing inwards slightly under the concentrated impact, a gap opening in his defenses.
Out of the deluge, only four hit the ground, rolled, and were on their feet in a second, undeterred by the carnage. They were inside his fence. The gap he'd been guarding was irrelevant. The swarm wasn't at his wall; it was in his base.
A rapid-fire series of displays flickered in his vision, a blinding, chaotic stream as the impaled creatures died, the System clinically logging his passive kills.
[Civilization Code: +0.02] [Civilization Code: +0.02] [Civilization Code: +0.02] (...the stream continued, scrolling almost too fast to read...)
Another prompt opened, forced, filling his sight. He barely glanced at the wall of text, his eyes just snagging on the key words.
[Scan Complete] Species: Druvann Origin World: Mora-Keth — Dimension: C-13 Description: Carnivorous living cloud formed by magnetism and allied reactions. It absorbs biological energy until it can generate a magnetic field and pull landmass into a floating island; once matured, it feeds on the electrical properties of the air. During migration it releases seedlings, which after landfall either mature into new Druvann or develop as local plants that produce magnetic crystals typical of Druvann islands. Kill Value: 0.02 Civilization Code
He closed the notification, the cold data warring with the rising panic.
The System's text vanished. The world blurred into a cacophony of skittering shrieks. It wasn't just noise; it was a physical assault on his senses, coming from every direction at once, disorienting and overwhelming. He braced, instinctively gripping his spear, ready for the main charge.
His gaze snapped to the main gap. The horde churned there like a living tide, a frantic, pale mass fighting to force its way through. But then, a new surge of sound – the distinct thud-scrape-chitter of bodies hitting wood and dirt – erupted from the trees behind the main gap. The creatures from the forest were arriving, adding their weight to the already overwhelming pressure on that single point of entry. He could feel the fence vibrating under the combined assault.
He didn't hesitate. With a mental command, he flicked the bow out of his Inventory, the crude wood and string materializing in his shaking hands. He fumbled for an arrow, his fingers clumsy with adrenaline, jabbing it awkwardly at the string until it finally, clumsily, seated. The roar of the horde was deafening, but his focus narrowed. He pulled the string taut, his muscles screaming under the unfamiliar strain, and released.
THWACK!
The arrow flew wild, glancing off a nearby tree trunk with a sharp crack and embedding itself harmlessly. His second shot was a rushed, desperate blur, technique abandoned for sheer survival. The arrow punched through the carapace of the lead hatchling directly in its face.
A wet, gurgling sound erupted from the hole. The creature's legs went rigid, but its nerves pushed it forward. Its own momentum carried it in a dying lunge, still trying to reach him even as it died. It slammed, twitching, against the base of the stakes.
He was already nocking his next arrow. He didn't even look at the first creature. The next hatchling was right behind it, trying to crawl over its still-kicking body. He didn't aim for the face; he aimed for the legs. The arrow struck, and the sound of the front joint breaking was a sickening, wet snap. The creature didn't fall; it folded, its legs tangling, its body collapsing, useless, on top of the first.
He had created a partial, gruesome plug, but he knew it wouldn't hold for very long.
He flicked the bow back into Inventory and gripped his spear again. A new hatchling punched its way free near the gap, shattering its pod with a wet crunch. He lifted the spear high and drove the point down from above, a brutal, vertical stab. The spearhead punched through the shell. The legs kicked against the wood with a sharp clatter. He held the shaft firm, the wood vibrating violently, until the kicking turned to a mere shudder.
He ripped the spear free—the spearhead was hot and slick.
Before he could pull it back completely, two more scrambled over the body. He stabbed down again, and again, a desperate, burning rhythm of up-and-down thrusts, using his height to crush them at the choke point. The seed-fall continued, a steady, percussive rain on the roof of his lean-to and in the dirt.
As he fought, a new, gruesome sound added to the chaos—the crack of shells and wet tearing. The creatures in the back of the horde at the gap, desperate to get in, shoved the front-runners directly onto the sharpened spikes of his collapsed wall. They shrieked, impaled and thrashing, but the ones behind them just used their bodies as a bridge, crawling over their dying kin.
He was holding the main gap, but his focus was too narrow. He heard a new skittering from the woods. The creatures from the trees had finally arrived. They were leaping onto the outside of his fence, their claws scraping at the slats, looking for another way in. He was trying to watch everything at once—the gap, the walls, the trees—and he'd lost track of the other three survivors inside his fence.
He felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his calf. A hatchling had hooked him from below the platform, its claws punching through his pants.
He yelled, abandoning the gap. "Get off!"
He jammed the spear down blindly, trying to hit it. The creature twisted, its serrated, circular maw chewing on the wood, and with a loud CRACK, the wooden shaft snapped, leaving the spearhead embedded in the creature.
He stumbled back, defenseless for a second. He flicked open his Inventory and pulled out a new spear. He wedged the new shaft between his skin and its chitinous maw, prying it loose. He pinned it to the dirt far below and leaned until the plates gave with a grinding crunch.
The metallic tang of his own blood, from the claw wound on his calf, hit the air. The effect was instantaneous.
The chaotic, skittering chitters from every creature changed. The sound unified, rising into a single, high-pitched, frenzied shriek. The hatchlings at the gap redoubled their efforts, piling on top of each other. The ones on the outer wall began to leap recklessly at the tower. And the two remaining survivors inside his fence, which had been hiding, were galvanized. They burst from the shadow of his lean-to and rushed the tower.
He was on the ground, wounded, with two creatures inside the fence charging him and more trying to get in.
He leaped from the tower, landing hard on the packed earth, his fresh spear in hand.
He met the first one with a low, fast spear-thrust, pinning it to the dirt by its face. The second one lunged, and he swung the spear like a heavy bat, smashing its carapace. The impact was too much. The spear shaft splintered in his hands, breaking apart, leaving him holding a jagged stick.
Two more were already squeezing through the main gap, drawn by the smell of his blood, blocking his path to the tower. He was trapped and effectively unarmed.
He flicked open his Inventory again. His hand closed on his last spear, but his eyes also saw his rations. He grabbed the cooked, greasy meat as well.
In one motion, he pulled the new spear and hurled the ration into the far corner of the enclosure, behind the collapsed wall.
The effect was immediate. The two new hatchlings, along with the one he'd batted away, instantly changed direction. Their senses, overwhelmed by the stronger scent of cooked fat, drove them into a frenzy. They scrambled toward the bait, piling on top of it in a chittering, writhing knot of bodies, fighting each other for the food, completely ignoring him.
That was the opening he needed.
He sprinted to the front stakes, ripping his two arrows from the dead hatchlings, shoving them into his quiver. He turned. The others were still distracted, tearing the meat apart.
He ran them through, one after another, a brutal, merciless execution. He drove his last spear into their backs while they feasted. Thrust, pull, thrust, pull.
He scrambled back up the tower, his leg on fire, just as a new wave of hatchlings hit the gap.
He was back on the platform, his heart hammering. He fell into a brutal rhythm, ignoring the pain in his calf, his world narrowing to the kill-zone at the gap. Close bow shots to the face. Heavy, downward spear-thrusts from his high-ground advantage. Bodies piled up quickly. New runners slipped and went down on the slick mess.
The landmass drifted on. The steady rain of "thunks" began to quiet down, the impacts becoming smaller and farther apart as the island moved away. He could still hear sudden, sharp roars from deep in the woods, followed by wet tearing sounds, as the last of the falling seeds found different targets in the distance.
The swarm at his fence had thinned to a few stragglers. He put two down with quick shots. A third hit the slats and chattered on wood; he leaned from the platform's edge and drove his spear down, pushing into soft tissue, held through the final shake, and pulled free.
The clearing was finally quiet.
As the massive landmass drifted on, the unnatural darkness receded, replaced by the harsh, normal daylight. The day was not even halfway over.
He stood on the tower, his last spear gripped tight, his knuckles white. He looked over the carnage. The bodies piled at the gap, the gore splattered on the dirt, the splintered, collapsed wall.
His leg throbbed, a dull, persistent ache from the gash on his calf. It was caked with dirt and his own drying blood. He was exhausted. He was wounded. His wall was breached. His spears were broken.
He climbed down the crude logs of the tower, his legs shaking. As his feet hit the ground, his wounded leg gave out. He collapsed onto his knees in the mud and gore, the spear clattering on the dirt beside him.
He stared at the mess, at the proof of his impossible fight. A sound bubbled up in his chest. It wasn't a sob. It was a dry, ragged laugh. Then another. He laughed at the sheer, overwhelming absurdity of it. He laughed at the monsters, at the floating island, at the System that clinically logged his kills. He laughed at how his life had become this bloody, impossible nightmare. Six days ago, his biggest worry was paying rent.
And in that moment of mad laughter, his eyes brightened.
It wasn't just a laugh of madness or despair. It was a laugh of understanding. The System wasn't a punishment; it was a rulebook. The world wasn't a prison; it was an arena. The monsters weren't a plague; they were obstacles. He saw it all with a sudden, piercing clarity. He wasn't a survivor cowering behind a wall. He was a participant.
He figured out his role.
The gash on his calf was still a searing, hot pain, but with this new, cold clarity, it suddenly felt distant. The pain became a backdrop—just another sensation in a world of madness.
The laughter died, leaving a cold, hard resolve in its place. This world had tried to kill him. It had thrown an army at him, and he was still breathing.
He would not give up. He would not let this place break him. If he stopped, if he gave in to the exhaustion, this world would consume him.
He made up his mind. He wasn't just going to survive. He was going to conquer this world, no matter the cost.
He reached for the spear, his grip tightening on the wood. Jamming the butt of it into the dirt, he used it as a crutch to rise shakily to his feet. He stood tall, ignoring the pain, and looked up. He watched as the island slowly faded into the distance, a dark promise on the horizon.
"That distant promise, a speck of rock high above the dark forest, was a world unto itself. On its sun-baked surface, the sun was a harsh, white glare. The outpost on the Aerie was a deep crevice in the island's rock, walled off by a crude barrier of stacked stone and sharpened timber.
The entire camp of ten survivors was worn down to the bone.
They had just returned from the south quarry. The plant mine was a wreck. The alarm had gone off, but by the time they'd gotten there, the Ghelvori had already torn the place apart. The crude protective fences were trampled and smashed, and all their harvesting gear was destroyed.
Now, back in the relative safety of the crevice, Dr. Aris sat apart from the group, her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking.
Mace, the group's Leader, stood over her, his face a grim mask. "It's all gone?"
She looked up, her face stained with tears and dirt. "Everything. The crystals... they're all in the fissures. Lost." Her voice cracked, shifting from grief to a bizarre, weary indignation. "They... they chewed on the scraping tools! Do you know how long it took me to sharpen those stones? This is... this is just unscientific!"
Mace's jaw tightened. He looked at his defeated scientist, then at the rest of his exhausted group. The 'Doc' group's trade was due. Their entire supply of ore was gone.
All... except hers.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, turning away from her to look at the meager supplies stacked by their sleeping-cave. He stopped, his posture rigid. The trade. The water.
He turned back slowly. "Aris."
She looked up, sensing the shift in his tone.
"The cache," he said. "The one in your sleeping-hide."
She froze, her grief instantly turning to new anger as she scrambled to her feet. "What? No!"
"The mine is gone," Mace said, his voice low and rough, cutting off any argument before it could start. "That trade order is our only source of purified water. Hale's canteen is empty. Mine is, too. We have maybe one day's supply left for ten people. The 'Doc' group won't give us charity, and the water on this rock is poison. We have to fill that quota, Aris. Now."
He turned and started walking toward the sleeping-cave.
"You can't!" she cried, grabbing his arm. "Mace, that's my research! The magnetic ore, the Ghelvori corpses... I'm just starting to understand them! Those 'samples' are all I have left!"
"We're all..."
"My 'research' is what's keeping us alive!" she retorted. "My rudimentary alarms at least warned us! The anatomy I've been mapping, the reason we can even handle the ore? That was my work! And you're stopping me from learning more!"
Mace stared at her for a long, hard second. "Fine. You can keep what's in your small satchel. But the rest belongs to the group. We fill the trade, or we die. That's the only rule."
Dr. Aris stepped back as if struck, her face pale with bitter defeat. As Mace turned away, she muttered under her breath, her voice shaking with venom, "That damned old bastard keeps stealing my research both here and on earth."
Mace ignored her, or didn't hear. He turned to the next crisis. "Talia."
The scout, who had been quietly watching the exchange, met his gaze.
"Bad news," Talia said, her voice low. "The Veyrhess. I saw one of them on the last run. She's pregnant."
"Pregnant?" Mace scrubbed a hand over his face. "That's... complicated. It makes them more dangerous."
"Or more desperate," Talia countered. "They're still neutral, still just building their wall. From what I've seen, they're on par with us—they're wearing clothes, they're organized."
"But we can't talk to them," Mace said, dismissing it.
"Maybe we can," Talia said. "The System... there's a counter. For their language. Every time I get close and try to... gesture, or just listen, the number goes up. It's at 96%."
Mace and Aris both looked at her. "What does that mean?" Aris asked.
"I don't know," Talia admitted. "It's guesswork. But my hope is that when it hits 100%, the System will translate."
Mace considered this. A parley was a risk. "Get it to 100%," he ordered. "But be careful. The Ghelvori are still out there. Don't go alone. Take Hale."
Mace turned to the rest of the group. "The mine is gone. That means we're on our own for food. We'll have to rely on snares..."
Hale, who had remained at his lookout post, suddenly yelled, "Gods!"
The group froze, looking at him.
Hale was standing at the edge of the crevice, pointing—not at the island, but out, across the vast sea of trees on the world far below.
"Look."
They gathered at the precipice with him and looked down.
In the far distance of the world below, a massive mountain was spewing a thick, slow-moving magma that glowed a brilliant, unnatural blue. The light pulsed, illuminating the entire region. And in the sky down there, riding the thermal drafts, were creatures. They were huge, scaled, and winged—dragon-like beasts that swooped and dove through the blue-lit smoke, seemingly unbothered by the heat or the magma.