The crawlspace was a claustrophobic, reeking hell.
What had been a rat's-path for a single, Lvl 11 goblin became a traffic jam for a Lvl 15 King and his thirty-one terrified, useless subjects.
Klik was at the front. He had to be. He was the only one who knew the way, and his presence was the only thing preventing his new-found "tribe" from dissolving into a pile of screaming, green-skinned hysteria.
He hobbled, his 14 Agility a cruel mockery of the 19 it should have been.
The [E-Rank Acid-Burns] debuff was a living torment. His new, raw-pink skin, which had hardened into a tight, inflexible, calloused hide, felt like it was two sizes too small. Every movement was a struggle. Every breath pulled at the tight, un-giving flesh of his chest.
And the itching.
It was a constant, maddening, sizzling itch, a biological scream from every nerve-ending he possessed. His 32 Intelligence, a glorious, transcendent engine of pure reason, was trapped inside a body that felt like it had been dipped in acid and rolled in fire-ants. It was infuriating.
He gripped his [Nail-Studded Club] not as a weapon, but as a crutch, his 12-Strength arm shaking with the effort. In his other arm, he cradled the [Volcanic Gastropod Core]. It was the size of his head, glowing a hot, angry yellow, and its warmth was the only thing that soothed the raw, acidic-itch of his skin. He was a crippled, pink, skinless God-King, holding a bomb-scepter, leading an army of idiots.
"King-God!" Grik's whimpering voice came from behind him. "Dark! Dark!"
"Shut up," Klik rasped, the sound a calcifiedhiss. "And push them."
"Yes, King-God!" Grik yelped. "Bruk! Push! Fire-God commands! Push!"
The sounds from behind him were a miserable, pathetic cacophony of scrambling, whimpering, and shoving. It was the single most incompetent exodus in the history of monster-kind.
It took an hour. An hour of agonizing, itching, hobbling progress.
Finally, he emerged.
He fell out of the crawlspace and into the vast, open darkness of the Roach Queen's Lair.
The air was different. It was still. It smelled of ash, charred chitin, and the faint, chemical tang of the [Tar-Cap Fungus] he had used.
It was a tomb.
It was perfect.
The tribe poured out behind him, a wave of green-skinned, whimpering misery. They saw the vast, new, empty blackness, and their 3-INT minds panicked. They huddled, a single, quivering mass, at the base of the tunnel, staring at Klik with wide, terrified, yellow eyes.
"You cannot build a house in the middle of a flood," his 32 INT supplied. He had to stop the flood of their panic.
He needed fire.
He limped to the center of the vast, cavern-floor. He ignored the crunch-crunch-crunch of the thousands of charred-roach-husks under his feet.
He set his [Nail-Studded Club] down. He set his bomb-core down.
He knelt, his raw, pink-grey skin cracking at the joints, searing him with new pain.
He ignored it.
He took out his [Chert Rock] and his [Iron Pyrite].
KLIK. KLIK. KLIK-SKRAK!
A spark. An ember.
He didn't use his [Dessicated Rag]. He grabbed a handful of the charred, oily, roach-husks from the floor.
He blew.
FWOOSH!
The oil and carbon in the husks ignited, a greasy, greenish-orange flame leapt into the air.
His tribe gasped.
He, Klik, their God, had brought the light and the heat with him. He had commanded it from nothing.
This new, scary, dark place… was now home.
The awe in their eyes was so thick, he could almost smell it.
He limped back to the wall, his back to the new, greasy bonfire, and slid to the floor.
He was exhausted. His 19 Stamina was hemorrhaging just from the pain and the effort of existing.
His debuff was crippling.
[E-Rank Acid-Burns]: -5 STR, -5 AGI. (Duration: Permanent).
He could not hunt. He could not fight. He could notlead... not like this.
He looked at his tribe.
They were starving. The cannibal-feast of Gruk was hours ago. Their Lvl 1-3 metabolisms were burning hot. They were already hungry.
And this new cavern, his prize... was foodless. He had incinerated the entire food-chain.
He was a King of a Starving Nation.
He had to feed them.
He had to uplift them.
The User's directive was clear. They had to reach 2nd Evolution.
He looked at his subjects. Grik (Lvl 2). Bruk (Lvl 3). The rest... Lvl 1s and 2s.
They were pathetic. They were wet clay.
"If you want to dry the clay," his 32 INT rasped, "you must put it in the fire."
He was the fire.
He pushed himself up, his body screaming. He hobbled back into the crawlspace that led to his old Workshop.
He had food. His food.
He returned minutes later, hauling a leathery, grey, half-dissolved piece of hide.
It was the remains of the [Grave-Hound's Corpse]. He had scavenged it before the slug arrived.
It was E-Rank. It was disgusting.
He limped to the fire. He limped to his two "lieutenants," who were cowering in his absence.
"GRIK!"
"KING-GOD!" Grik prostrated.
"BRUK!"
"GAAH!" Bruk flnched.
"EAT!"
Klik threw the horrible, leathery, E-Rank hide at their feet.
They stared at it. It smelled like a grave.
"EAT!" Klik roared, his acid-hiss making the air sizzle. "KING'S-HAND EATS! GUARD EATS!"
They knew that tone.
Grik, visiblyshaking, picked up the hide. He tore a piece off with his teeth. He gagged. The texture... it was rubber. It was acid.
He chewed. He swallowed.
Bruk, seeing Grik survive, tore off a massive piece and shoved it in his mouth.
And the System... the Systemrewarded them.
[Subject [Grik] has consumed [Grave-Hound Hide (Poor)]!]
[Subject [Grik] is absorbing [Canine-Carrion Essence (Resistant)]!]
[Subject [Grik] has gained 15 EXP!]
[EXP Threshold Reached! YOU HAVE LEVELED UP!]
[Subject [Grik] (Lvl 2) -> (Lvl 3)!]
[Subject [Bruk] has consumed [Grave-Hound Hide (Poor)]!]
[Subject [Bruk] is absorbing [Canine-Carrion Essence (Resistant)]!]
[Subject [Bruk] has gained 15 EXP!]
[EXP Threshold Reached! YOU HAVE LEVELED UP!]
[Subject [Bruk] (Lvl 3) -> (Lvl 4)!]
A wave of warmth and power washed over the two goblins.
They gasped.
They felt it. They felt... stronger. Their 3-INT minds exploded with a revelation.
King-God's... food... is... MAGIC!
They attacked the rest of the hide, devouring it with a new, feverishloyalty.
Klik watched. This was good. This was progress.
But Lvl 3 and Lvl 4 was stilluseless.
They had no skills. They had no Class. They were just... less-pathetic.
They needed weapons.
"A man with no tool is just an animal. A goblin with no spear is just... food."
He left them. He hobbled back to his Workshop.
He was in agony. His pink, raw hands were bleeding from pulling the hide.
He ignored it.
He sat, cross-legged, in the blue-light of his old hovel.
He began to work.
He was a cripple. But he was a Lvl 6 [Field Scavenger]. He was a master-craftsman of trash.
He grabbed the mound of [Charred Chitin Fragment (Junk)] from his roach-pyre.
"[Refine Material (Lvl 1)]!" he hissed.
Mana-Cost: 1.
The black, sooty, junkflaked away, leaving... [Hardened Chitin Fragments (Common)].
He did it again. And again.
He burned his entire 16-point Mana-pool.
He waited 20 minutes, his skin itching and sizzling, his 32 INT fighting to stay sane.
His Mana refilled. He did it again.
For three hours, he sat in the dark, Refining his junk.
His Classleveled.
[Your Skill [Refine Material (Lvl 1)] has gained 100% proficiency!]
[...CLASS LEVELED UP!]
[Class Level 6 -> Class Level 7]
[Intelligence +1, Perception +1]
[You have learned a new Class Skill!]
[Analyze Weakness (Passive) - Lvl 1]:Your [Appraisal] skill is now offensive. When you [Appraise] a target, you have a chance to passively detect a physical-weakness (e.g., [Cracked-Armor], [Weak-Joint], [Old-Wound]).
His stats climbed.
Intelligence: 33.
Perception: 28.
He had to stop. His tribe was starving.
He now had a pile of [Hardened Chitin Fragments (Common)].
He had [Goblin Bone (Junk)] from Gruk's hoard.
He had [Tough Goblin-Hide (Junk)] (which he refined into [Cured Leather Scraps (Common)]).
He activated his other skills. [Improvise (Lvl 2)]. [Junk-Tinker (Lvl 1)].
He crafted.
His raw, pink, bleeding hands moved with the preternatural grace of his 33 INT.
He bound the [Hardened Chitin Fragments] to a long [Goblin Bone] with [Leather Scraps].
[Improvise (Lvl 2) Check (Int 33) vs. Difficulty (8)... Great Success!]
[You have created a [Chitin-Edged Bone Spear (Common)] x 1!]
He took Gruk's broken [Crude Bone-Plate (Scrap)]. He refined it. He stitched it together with [Leather Scraps]. He studded it with more [Chitin Fragments].
[Junk-Tinker (Lvl 1) Check (Int 33) vs. Difficulty (10)... Success!]
[You have created a [Chitin-Studded Hide-Shield (Poor)] x 1!]
He limped back into the main cavern.
The fire was dying. His tribe was a huddled, shivering, starving mass of misery. Grik and Bruk, high on their level-ups, were pacing... and also starving.
He threw the weapons on the floor.
CLATTER.
The tribe jumped.
He pointed at Grik (Lvl 3).
"GRIK!"
He kicked the [Chitin-Edged Bone Spear] to him. "YOURS!"
Grik scrambled and grabbed it. He held it. It was light. It was sharp. It was beautiful.
He pointed at Bruk (Lvl 4).
"BRUK!"
He kicked the [Chitin-Studded Hide-Shield] and Gruk's old [Nail-Studded Club] to him. "YOURS!"
Bruk grabbed them. He had a shield. He had a club. He was Gruk. He was strong.
They were Lvl 3 and Lvl 4. They were armed. They were fed.
They were his.
He used his new [Appraisal (Common) Lvl 2].
[Name: Grik] [Lvl: 3] [Rank: F-Rank]
[STR: 4] [AGI: 6] [STA: 5] [INT: 4] [PER: 5]
[Note: Higher-than-average INT. Potential for growth.]
[Name: Bruk] [Lvl: 4] [Rank: F-Rank]
[STR: 7] [AGI: 5] [STA: 7] [INT: 3] [PER: 4]
[Note: Higher-than-average STR. A good... meat-shield.]
They were perfect.
Klik turned, his crippled (14 AGI, 12 STR) body aching. He was too weak to hunt.
But they were not.
He pointed his own, E-Rank shiv at the crawlspace. His crawlspace. The one that was stillfilled with the last survivors of the roach-colony. The Lvl 1s he used to farm.
"Grik. Bruk."
They snapped to attention.
"FOOD. IS. GONE."
He pointed at the crawlspace.
"FIND. FOOD."
The two goblins looked at each other.
Hunt?Them?
They were terrified.
But they looked at their new weapons. They felt their new levels.
And they looked at their King.
Klik, their God, was pink. He was raw. He was covered in acid-burns and blood. He was clutching a pulsating-bomb-core.
And he was watching them.
Grik, his 4 INT shining, puffed his chest. He raised his [Chitin-Edged Bone Spear].
"WE... HUNT! FOR... KLIK-GOD!"
Bruk banged his club on his new shield. THUD!
"HUNT! EAT!"
The first-ever goblin-hunting-party, led by a Lvl 3 spear-goblin and a Lvl 4 shield-goblin, plunged into the darkness of the crawlspace.
Klik was alone.
He was alone, in a vast, dark cavern, with 29other, useless, starving goblins.
He limped to the mouth of the main-tunnel—the one the Grave-Hound and the Slug had used.
He slumped to the ground, his back against the wall. He clutched his [E-Rank Chitin-Shiv].
He was vulnerable. He was in agony.
His crippled 12-Strength and 14-Agility were all that stood between his starving, useless subjects... and whatever else was still out there.
"The chief who sends all his warriors to hunt," his 33 INT screamed, "had better be able to fight the leopard that comes to his hut."
He waited.
And he listened.
The Age of Klik was truly beginning. And it hurt.