Victor's self-imposed exile was, in a word, luxurious. By the second day, he had used his corruption to create a comfortable, hidden den nestled between the roots of his Banyan tree. He'd found a stream and, with a touch, corrupted a patch of moss to act as a natural water filter, granting him a steady supply of fresh water without the risk of parasites.
[Skill Acquired: [Minor Purification I] - You can now make questionable water slightly less questionable. Don't test it with chemical waste.]
His diet consisted of fish he'd lured to the shore and then corrupted with a glance, their life force transferring to him in a cold, energizing wave. Each corruption, no matter how small, fed his system. He felt stronger, faster, and more alert.
'This is the life, sunbathing on a rock. No idiots, no arguments. Just me, my awesome powers, and this entire island as my personal buffet.'
Down on the beach, the situation was deteriorating. John's and David's factions were now in a state of cold war, arguing over the dwindling supplies from the wreckage. The signal fire was a soggy, blackened mess, and the shelter was a lopsided deathtrap. Morale was at an all-time low.
It was on the evening of the second day that the normal sounds of the island—the chirping of insects, the gentle lap of waves—suddenly stopped.
An unnatural silence fell.
Then, from the depths of the lagoon, a low, guttural croaking sound echoed, a noise that seemed to vibrate through the very sand. It was followed by a series of clicks and hisses that set everyone's teeth on edge.
Victor sat up, his interest piqued. 'What the hell was that? A whale with a sore throat?'
Down on the beach, people froze, their squabbles forgotten. They huddled together, staring out at the darkening water.
"Probably just… a large fish," John said, his voice lacking its usual bluster.
"A fish?" David snapped, his face pale. "That didn't sound like any fish on Earth."
As if on cue, the water about fifty meters from the shore began to churn. Something large and pale broke the surface. It was a tentacle, thick as a man's torso, covered in slime and studded with pulsating, bioluminescent suckers. But it was wrong. The texture was less like flesh and more like bleached coral, and the tip ended not in a point, but in a grotesque, tooth-lined maw that opened and closed with a wet, snapping sound.
Another tentacle rose, then another. In the center of them, a bulbous, eyeless head surfaced, a single vertical slit of a mouth filled with needle-like teeth letting out that same horrifying croak.
Panic erupted.
Screams tore through the air. People scrambled backward, tripping over each other in their terror. The creature moved with shocking speed, surging towards the shore. One of its tentacles lashed out, snaking around the leg of a young man who had been too slow to retreat.
"HELP ME! JOHN! SOMEONE!" he shrieked, clawing at the sand.
John and a few others rushed forward, grabbing the man's arms, playing a horrific game of tug-of-war. But the creature was impossibly strong. With a sickening pop and a crack of bone, the man was dragged into the water, his screams cut short by a gurgle and a flurry of pink foam.
The creature submerged, leaving behind a profound, ringing silence, broken only by the sobs of the survivors.
Victor, watching from his vantage point, felt a thrill of excitement mixed with revulsion.
'Okay, that was new.'
'A monster? An actual, honest-to-god sea monster? This isn't just a deserted island. This is a... dungeon island? A fantasy setting?'
He wasn't scared. He was fascinated. This changed everything. The rules of survival had just been rewritten.
Down below, the survivors were in hysterics.
"What was that thing?!" a woman wailed.
"That… that wasn't an animal," David stammered, his tech-CEO arrogance completely shattered. He pointed a trembling finger at the water. "The biology… the sound… the way it moved… that's not from our world! It can't be!"
"Don't be ridiculous!" John yelled, but his voice was shaky. "It's just… a new species!"
"A new species with tentacles that have mouths?!" a woman shrieked. "Look at the plants! Some of these trees have bark that looks like scales! The insects have too many legs! This isn't Earth! This isn't our world!"
The dam of denial broke. The strange, almost alien quality of the island that they had all been too busy or scared to acknowledge now crashed down on them. The colors of the flora were too vibrant, the shapes of the rocks too symmetrical, the very air felt different—thicker, more charged with an unknown energy.
They were stranded, yes. But they were stranded on an entirely different world, one that was very, very hungry.
As the group devolved into terrified weeping and aimless panic, their eyes, almost as one, drifted up the hill towards the jungle. Towards the place where the arrogant, resourceful young man had disappeared.
Victor saw them looking. He stood up, making sure his silhouette was visible against the twilight sky. He let them stare for a moment, let their desperation sink in.
'That's right,' he thought, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. 'Look at your only hope. The young man with the kickass system.'
He could see the calculation in their eyes. Their leaders had failed. Their world was a lie. They were prey.
And he was the only hunter they knew.
He didn't move to help them. Not yet. Let them marinate in their fear for a night. Let them hear every rustle in the jungle and imagine it was another monster. Let them understand the true depth of their helplessness.
He turned his back on them and melted back into the jungle, towards his safe, corrupted den.
Tomorrow, he mused, 'They'll be begging. And I'll be so much stronger.' He focused on a nearby beetle, corrupting it with a thought. It shriveled and died, granting him a minuscule trickle of power.
[Skill Increased: [Lesser Strength II] - You can now probably open two jars of pickles. Progress!]