The cavern was thick with the twin stenches of fear and opportunity.
Klik sat upon the garbage-throne, a grotesque parody of a king. He was in agony. The [Crude Cauterization] debuff was a living thing, a constant, deep, burning that pulled at his entire torso with every breath. His new stats—16 Stamina, 14 Strength, 16 Agility—were a cruel joke, hamstrung by the -3 debuff that left him feeling sluggish, weak, and vulnerable.
He was a Lvl 12 king, wounded and crippled, and he was presiding over a kingdom of thirty-two idiots.
But they were his idiots.
And the fire, his fire, crackled in the center of the cavern, a beacon of light and warmth in a world that had never known either.
The effect was profound.
The terror that had paralyzed his new subjects was receding, replaced by a new, more powerful force: curiosity. And hunger.
The goblin he had thrown the [Cooked Roach Meat] to—a scrawny, Lvl 2 specimen with one ear half-chewed off—was his first convert. The goblin, having devoured the "Cave-Crackle," was now staring at the fire with a look of religious, slack-jawed awe.
The others saw it. They saw him eat. They smelled the food.
It was a more effective sermon than any roar.
Klik, his 27 Intelligence a cold, sharp razor in his pain-fogged mind, knew this was the moment. He was the only one who could make fire. He was the only one who could make food-that-didn't-kill-you.
This was not a kingdom of strength, like Gruk's. This would be a kingdom of dependence.
"You," he rasped, his acid-tinged voice clicking.
The one-eared goblin jumped, then pointed at himself, terrified.
"Grik?" the goblin whimpered, offering a name.
Klik's 27 INT processed it. Klik... Grik. Close enough. Easy to remember.
"Grik," Klik affirmed, pointing. "You. Work."
He pointed at the headless Grave-Hound. "MEAT."
He pointed at the [E-Rank Chitin-Shiv] in his own hand, then at the pile of [Junk] shivs and bone-shards from Gruk's hoard. "CUT."
Grik stared, his 3-INT mind struggling to connect the concepts.
Klik sighed. This was going to be exhausting.
"You cannot teach a monkey to read by simply giving him a book," his human mind supplied. "You have to point at the letters."
He stood, his scab-armor pulling, his whole body screaming in protest. He grabbed his new [Nail-Studded Club] as a crutch and hobbled off the throne.
The entire tribe flnched back, a wave of green, skeletal terror.
"NO!" Klik hissed. "STAY!"
He limped to Grik. He grabbed the goblin's bony wrist. Grik fainted, his eyes rolling back.
Klik cursed, a string of Cameroonian-French invective that was utterly lost on his subjects. He slapped the goblin. "WAKE UP!"
Grik awoke with a terrified gasp.
Klik dragged him to the hoard, shoved a [Sharpened Bone Shard (Poor)] into his hand, and then dragged him to the headless, reeking corpse of the Grave-Hound.
"CUT!" Klik roared, and to demonstrate, he plunged his own E-Rank shiv into the Hound's leathery hide. It was tough.
Grik, shaking so hard he could barely hold the shard, mimicked the motion. He stabbed the corpse. The F-Rank shard scraped uselessly against the E-Rank hide.
Grik looked at Klik, his eyes wide with failure.
Useless.
Klik's 27 INT re-calibrated. They cannot butcher an E-Rank. They are F-Rank. They need... practice.
He grabbed Grik again and dragged him, whimpering, to Gruk's corpse.
"THIS!" Klik snarled, plunging his shiv into the dead brute's F-Rank flesh. It was soft. It tore easily.
Grik's 3-INT mind finally made the connection. This-meat... easy. That-meat... hard.
He began to saw, clumsily, at his former-king's arm.
Klik turned to the other thirty-one goblins, who were watching this... tutoring... with rapt attention.
He pointed at the hoard of [Junk] blades. He pointed at Grik. He pointed at Gruk's corpse.
"WORK! EAT!" he roared.
The command was simple. The logic was primal.
If we cut... we get to eat?
One, then two, then a dozen goblins scrambled forward. They grabbed the junk-blades. They fell upon Gruk's corpse in a frenzy of disorganized, chaotic, appallingly inefficient butchery.
They were hacking, tearing, ripping. They were getting covered in gore. They were shoving raw, F-Rank, cannibal-meat into their mouths, their 3-INT minds forgetting the "fire" step entirely.
"NO!" Klik roared, and his voice was thunder.
He hobbled into their midst, using his club-crutch to smack the raw-meat-eaters.
WHACK!
"GAAAAH!"
WHACK!
"STOP!"
He pointed, with a furious, shaking, bloody finger, at the fire.
"FIRE!" he hissed, the acid sizzling in his throat. "BURN! THEN EAT!"
Grik, his one-eared "lieutenant," had been watching. He was the smart one. He had a piece of Gruk's leg. He crept, fearfully, to the fire, impaled the meat on a stick, and held it in the flames, just as Klik had done with the roach.
It smoked. It sizzled. He ate it.
A new sound. A moan of pure, ecstatic pleasure.
That was it. The lesson stuck.
The rest of the tribe got it.
The Age of Raw Cannibalism was over. The Age of Barbecued Cannibalism had begun.
Klik watched them, a grim, pained, disgusted expression on his face. He was a King. He was a Teacher. He was a Chef.
And he was very, very tired.
He had to eat. His 16 Stamina was at 30%, drained by the [Bleeding] and the pain.
He left the tribe to their grisly, cannibalistic feast. He limped to the other corpse. The valuable one.
The Grave-Hound.
He had to know.
[Acid-Resistant (Minor)]. What did that mean?
He took a piece of the tough, leathery, grey hide that his tribe's F-Rank tools couldn't even cut. He held it over the fire. It shriveled, but it didn't burn. It just... smoked, smelling of rot and sulfur.
He ate it.
The texture was rubber. It was like chewing on a tire. It was, by far, the worst thing he had ever consumed.
But the System... the System was delighted.
[You have consumed [Grave-Hound Hide (Poor)]!]
[Your body is adapting to a new, high-density protein source...]
[Your [Toxin Resistance (Lvl 1)] skill has gained proficiency!]
[Your [Monster Evolution] parameters are being updated!]
He checked the log, his heart hammering despite the agony in his chest.
[Evolutionary Path Log (1st Stage)]
Progress to 2nd Evolution: 52.5% / 100%
Current Evolutionary Profile (Influences):
[Insectoid Essence (Chitin/Acid)]: 70% (Slightly reduced)
[Hydrocarbon Essence (Volatile)]: 10%
[Fungal Essence (Purifying)]: 5%
[Goblinoid Essence (Cannibalism)]: 2.5%
[Toxin Essence (Tainted)]: 2.5%
[Canine-Carrion Essence (Resistant)]: 10% (NEW!)
Source: [Grave-Hound Hide]
Potential Paths: [Acid-Resistant], [Marrow-Cracker], [Scent-Hunter]
He grinned, a bloody, painful grimace. Yes.
His evolution was diversifying. He was 80% bug-bomb, but now he had a 10% stake in resistance. He was countering his own counters. His 27 INT loved the synergy.
He was so lost in his status-screen, so focused on his own progression, that he missed the other notification. The one that wasn't about him.
It had chimed for Grik. And for the dozen other goblins who were now, for the first time in their lives, full.
[Subject [Grik] has consumed [Cooked Goblin Meat]!]
[Subject [Grik] has reached a [Satiation] state!]
[Subject [Grik] has consumed F-Rank (Peak) genetic material!]
[Subject [Grik (Lvl 2)] has gained 5 EXP!]
[Subject [Grik] is... [Adapting]... [Evolving]...]
Klik, oblivious, limped back to his alcove. He left them. He left his thirty-two, full-bellied, newly-cannibalized subjects to sleep around the warm, magical, glorious fire.
He was a wounded animal. He needed his den.
He collapsed into his Workshop, the darkness of the crawlspace a welcome relief.
His debuff was active. [Crude Cauterization]. 47 hours remaining.
His Agility was 13. His Strength was 11.
He was weak. He was vulnerable.
And his kingdom was now a beacon. The smell of two massive, butchered corpses and a cooking-fire would be a dinner-bell for everything else in this cave. The Grave-Hound wasn't the only thing that had been competing with Gruk.
He had just, in essence, killed the bouncer and opened the doors to the buffet.
"A leader who cannot see beyond his own nose," his 27 INT supplied, "will lead his people off a cliff."
He could see. He saw the new, massive problem.
He couldn't fight. His 13 AGI was a death sentence against another 16-AGI predator.
So, he would think.
He would craft.
He would prepare.
He was a [Field Scavenger]. It was time to level his damn class.
He sat, cross-legged, in the blue light of his [Glow-Cap Shrooms]. He ignored the searing, pulling pain in his chest.
He pulled his hoard towards him. The real hoard. Not the food, but the junk. Gruk's pile of trash.
[Tough Goblin-Hide (Junk)]. [Rusted Iron Shard (Poor)]. [Goblin Bone Shard (Junk)].
His new skill. [Trap Crafting (Lesser)].
"Mana," he rasped, his 13-point-pool feeling full.
[Activating Skill: [Trap Crafting (Lesser)]!]
[Cost: 2 Mana.]
He took the [Tough Goblin-Hide]. His [Lvl 2 Improvise] skill guided his hands. He tore it into strips. He braided it. He tied a loop.
[You have created a [Snare (Junk)] x 1!]
[Your Class [Field Scavenger (Lvl 3)] has gained 10% EXP!]
He grinned. Oh, this was it.
He did it again. 2 Mana. Another [Snare (Junk)].
[...Class EXP Gained: 10%!]
He did it again.
[...Class EXP Gained: 10%!]
He ran out of Mana. He waited. His 13-point pool refilled in about 20 minutes.
He did it again.
It was boring. It was tedious. It was painful—his chest burned with the effort.
It was glorious.
[...Class EXP Gained: 10%!]
[...Class EXP Gained: 10%!]
He switched skills. He took the [Rusted Iron Shards] and the [Bone Shards].
[Activating Skill: [Trap Crafting (Lesser)]!]
[You have created [Caltrops (Junk)] x 5!]
[Your Class [Field Scavenger (Lvl 3)] has gained 100% proficiency!]
[CLASS LEVELED UP!]
[Class Level 3 -> Class Level 4]
[Intelligence +1, Perception +1]
[You have learned a new Class Skill!]
His head swam. The pain in his chest dulled for a second, overwhelmed by the rush of new, cold, perfect clarity.
His stats...
Intelligence: 28.
Perception: 23.
He was... a god. A wounded, scabby, 3-foot-tall god of trash.
And the new skill...
[New Class Skill Acquired!]
[Refine Material (Lesser) - Lvl 1 (Active)]:Your [Analysis] and [Improvise] skills have reached a new threshold. You can now process [Junk] and [Poor] materials to extract their [Common] base-components. (e.g., [Rusted Iron Shard (Poor)] -> [Iron Fragments (Common)]; [Tough Goblin-Hide (Junk)] -> [Cured Leather Scraps (Common)]). Cost: 1 Mana per item.
This...
This was it.
This was everything.
He had been stuck with [Junk]. He had been stuck with [Poor] gear.
Now... he could make his own materials.
His eyes snapped to the real treasure. The [Warped E-Rank Chitin Plate (Poor)].
He had failed to [Improvise] with it. But could he [Refine] it?
He put his hand on the warped, fire-blackened, E-Rank piece of shell.
[Activating Skill: [Refine Material (Lesser)]!]
[Cost: 1 Mana.]
[Analyzing... Target is E-Rank! Skill Level is Lvl 1!]
[...Check Failed!]
[Your skill is not high enough to refine E-Rank materials.]
He sneered. Of course. It wouldn't be that easy.
But...
He looked at the [Rusted Iron Shard (Poor)].
'Refine Material.'
[Cost: 1 Mana. Success!]
The rust flaked away. The metal twisted, reformed. He was left with...
[You have obtained [Iron Fragments (Common)] x 2!]
He looked at the [Tough Goblin-Hide (Junk)].
'Refine Material.'
[Cost: 1 Mana. Success!]
The hair, the grime, the rot... vanished. He was left with...
[You have obtained [Cured Leather Scraps (Common)] x 1!]
He now had iron. He had leather.
He was no longer a goblin. He was a blacksmith.
He spent the next six hours in a crafting-fugue.
His routine:
Burn his 13 Mana [Refining] all of Gruk's junk-hoard.
Wait 20 minutes for Mana to regen.
Burn his 13 Mana [Trap Crafting] with the new, [Common]-grade materials.
[You have created a [Tripwire (Common)]!]
[You have created a [Snare (Common)]!]
[You have created [Iron Caltrops (Common)]!]
His [Field Scavenger] class skyrocketed.
[Class Level 4 -> 20%... 40%... 60%... 80%... 100%!]
[CLASS LEVELED UP!]
[Class Level 4 -> Class Level 5]
[Intelligence +1, Perception +1]
[You have learned a new Class Skill!]
[Junk-Tinker (Passive) - Lvl 1]:Your [Improvise] skill is enhanced. You can now create simple, 2-part mechanical devices. (e.g., [Basic-Pulley], [Hinge-Trigger], [Pressure-Plate (Junk)]). Your [Trap Crafting] skill is now 10% more effective.
His stats again.
Intelligence: 29.
Perception: 24.
He was a Lvl 12... with a Lvl 5 Class. He was specializing.
He was so lost in the joy of his craft, so high on the sheer, intellectual power he was wielding, that he didn't register the change in the cavern's atmosphere.
His 24 Perception told him. But his 29 Intelligence dismissed it.
The smell of the main cavern was... changing.
The thick, heavy odor of blood and barbecue... was fading.
It was being overwritten by a new smell.
A clean smell. A chemical smell.
Ozone. And Sulfur.
His [Crude Cauterization] debuff was at 40 Hours remaining. He was still crippled.
His 24 Perception snapped into focus.
He heard it.
He had been so focused on the clicking of his own crafting, that he hadn't heard the new sound.
It was not a skitter.
It was not a snuffle.
It was a slither.
A wet, heavy, dragging sound. A sound like wet cement being poured down the tunnel.
Shh-PLOP... shhh-PLOP... shhh-PLOP...
It was coming from the main tunnel. The one the Grave-Hound had used.
His 29 INT screamed at him.
The Grave-Hound. It was Lvl 10. It was F-Rank (Peak). It was competition.
"When the cat is not around, the mouse will dance on the table."
He had killed the cat.
And now... the other "mice"... were coming to the feast.
This was not a "mouse." This was heavy.
He grabbed his [E-Rank Chitin-Shiv]. He grabbed his new, Common-grade [Iron Caltrops].
He hobbled, his 13 Agility feeling suicidally slow, to the fissure.
He peered down.
His fire was smoldering embers. His tribe was a pile of snoring, food-drunk lumps near the throne.
And from the main tunnel... something was emerging.
It was glistening.
It was pale white.
It was massive.
A slug, the size of a hippo, was pouring itself into his throne-room. Its skin was a pale, veiny, translucent white. Its back was covered in pulsating, glowing-yellow pustules, each the size of his head.
It had no eyes. Just two, long, quivering antennae, tasting the air, tasting the smell of the blood and the cooked meat.
It was eating the Grave-Hound's blood-trail.
It was following the scent... directly... to the buffet.
His 29 INT, backed by his Lvl 5 Class, slammed it with an [Appraisal].
[System: Mana Cost: 1. Target acquired. Current Mana: 12/14]
(Note: New INT/Class Lvl has upgraded [Appraisal (Lesser)] to [Appraisal (Common) LAmba 1])
[Scanning... Bypassing E-Rank resistance...]
[Appraisal (Common) (Lvl 1) - Full Scan Complete!]
Race: Sulfuric Gastropod
Level: 13
Rank: E-Rank (Lower)
Title: [Cavern-Cleanser]
State: Scavenging
Attributes:
STR: 18
AGI: 2
STA: 25
INT: 2
PER: 16 (Chemo-Receptive)
MANA: 15
Abilities:
[Sulfuric Slime-Trail (E)]:Leaves a trail of potent F-Rank Acid. Inflicts [Acid (Minor)] to all who touch it.
[Caustic-Spit (E)]:Can project its internal acid up to 5 meters. (Cost: 3 Mana)
[Pustule-Detonation (E)]:Can violently rupture one of its [Sulfur-Pustules] as a defensive measure. 3-meter-radius explosion. Inflicts [Acid (Moderate)] and [Toxin (Minor)].
[Acid-Proof Body (Passive)]:Is completely immune to all F-Rank and E-Rank acids. (Including its own).
[Blubbery-Hide (Passive)]:Its soft, thick, non-Newtonian body is highly resistant to [Piercing] and [Slashing] damage. It is, however, highly vulnerable to [Bludgeoning] and [Heat] damage.
Klik stared at the data-sheet, his 29 Intelligence reeling.
AGI: 2.It was slow!
STR: 18. STA: 25.It was atank!
[Acid-Proof Body (Passive)].
His [Acid Spit]. His catalyzed acid-vials. Useless. Again!
The universe was officiallyfcking* with him. It was actively countering his entire build.
But...
His 29 INT, his glorious, beautiful, 29 INT, saw the last line.
...highly vulnerable to [Bludgeoning] and [Heat] damage.
He looked at Gruk's [Nail-Studded Club] resting on the throne.
He looked at the embers of his fire.
He looked at his newly crafted [Tar-Pots].
He looked at his sleeping, useless, 3-INT army.
The slug, its 2 Agility making its advance a slow, inevitable ooze, plopped fully into the cavern. It was ten feet long.
It tasted the air. It ignored the sleeping goblins.
It was moving... directly... for the freshest, biggest meal.
The Grave-Hound's corpse.
Klik grinned. A terrible, pained, scabby grin.
This wasn't a fight.
This was an extermination.
"GRIK!" he roared, his acid-voice echoing. "WAKE UP! IT'S TIME TO COOK!"
His debuff was active. His chest was burning.
His first war as King... was about to begin.