Location: The edge of the Ancient Forest, New World.
Spring sunlight filtered through a dense thicket. Thorny vines, their branches wiry and tough, stretched out in a tangled mass. Their small, vibrant green leaves were offset by a profusion of sharp, dark-red thorns. Together, they formed a natural, irregular dome about two meters wide—a perfect shelter for small creatures.
Near the base of this thorny fortress, a small mound had been fashioned from damp leaf litter and rich, black humus. At its center lay several brown eggs, warmed by the gentle heat of decaying vegetation as they incubated.
…
Darkness. Confinement. Pressure.
Logan regained consciousness with a jolt. Disoriented, he instinctively struggled against the tight space surrounding him. He pushed and thrashed until—crack—a fissure split the darkness above. With one final effort, he shoved upwards.
Bright sunlight flooded in.
Gasping, his dark eyes darted around, taking in his surroundings. He was nestled in a bed of decaying leaves and twigs, covered by a layer of soft, peaty soil. Sunbeams pierced through gaps in the canopy overhead, creating stark, luminous pillars of light in the humid air.
Where in the world am I?
He wriggled again, finally breaking free of his cramped prison. Twisting his body, he saw it: the shattered pieces of an elliptical eggshell.
A wave of dread washed over him. He looked down.
Grey scales. Slender claws. A long, tapering tail.
This… this wasn't a human body. The reality of his transformation hit him like a physical blow.
His tail twitched nervously, its tip tapping against the soft earth. The memory of his final moments surfaced—the fading consciousness, the disembodied voice.
"Would you like to experience a different life?"
What did he have to lose? He was dying anyway. So, he had chosen "Yes." Then, darkness. And now… this.
This is the 'different life'? This isn't a life! I'm not even human anymore!
Drawing on his niche hobbies from his past life and comparing his size to the leaves around him, Logan quickly deduced his new form: some kind of small, unknown grass lizard. Freshly hatched, his body was barely five centimeters long, most of it tail.
He was, without a doubt, at the absolute bottom of the food chain. The only silver lining was that his vision and cognitive abilities seemed intact, unimpaired by this body's primitive eyes and tiny brain.
Which leads to the next question... where's my cheat system? A rebirth without a system is downright unscientific!
Annoyed, he tried to scratch his head, but his stubby forelimbs couldn't reach. He settled for rubbing his chin instead.
Suddenly, a torrent of information streamed into his mind. His vision flickered like a damaged disc before stabilizing into a translucent, pale-blue screen.
Welcome to the Ladder Evolution System. Here, you wield the authority of a creator.
By consuming Evolution Points, you can forge the perfect organism from your imagination.
You will receive 1 Evolution Point every 24 hours. Additional points can be earned by consuming various creatures or completing specific challenges.
Spend Evolution Points to enhance physical attributes or construct new biological abilities. With enough points, anything is possible.
Logan scanned the description. Then, he checked his balance.
Evolution Points: 1
One point. No beginner's bonus? How stingy can you get?
He shuffled his tiny body into a patch of sunlight. The warmth sped the hardening of his damp scales, giving them a tougher, more keratinous texture.
He needed to spend this point wisely. The mortality rate for newborns was terrifyingly high—over 90% for some species. Surviving to adulthood was a rare feat. His priority was clear: get through this vulnerable infancy.
He focused his will. The number on the screen dropped to zero.
A wave of warmth blossomed from within. He felt the acidity in his stomach increase, and his metabolism kicked into a higher gear. Like most hatchlings, he still carried a residual yolk sac—a vital nutrient reserve for the first critical days.
A powerful drowsiness washed over him. His eyes slid shut.
As he slept, subtle changes took hold. His frame lengthened slightly. The outline of nascent muscles formed beneath his skin. His scales hardened further, darkening to a deep, earthy brown.
…
Logan awoke to a gnawing, burning hunger. It was fully dark now. The pain in his gut felt like he'd swallowed hot coals.
He was starving—ravenous enough to eat a whole Aptonoth, if one were foolish enough to wander by.
His eyes adjusted to the gloom, scanning the nest. They landed on the other, still-unhatched eggs.
Sorry, brothers. Don't blame me. Blame the cruel calculus of survival.
Using his newly strengthened forelimbs, he laboriously lifted one egg and slammed it down onto another. The fragile shells cracked on impact. Peeling away the inner membrane revealed a clear, viscous albumen and a bright orange yolk.
To his surprise, the egg showed no signs of an embryo. It was just… food. He ate without a shred of guilt.
For the next few days, his "siblings" sustained him. Every Evolution Point he gained was funneled into accelerating his growth. His body swiftly expanded, soon reaching a length of ten centimeters.
Finally, the nest was empty. It was time to venture out.
Cautiously, he poked his head through a gap in the thorny walls, scanning left and right. Seeing no immediate threat, he slithered out completely.
At ten centimeters, covered in grey-brown scales, he was nearly indistinguishable from the surrounding bark and soil—a living piece of camouflage.
He chose a drooping vine and began to climb, carefully avoiding its thorns, until he reached the top of the thicket. Peering through the leafy screen, he beheld his new world.
Towering, ancient trees reached for a sky mostly hidden by a dense canopy, casting the forest floor into deep, verdant shadow. Thick, serpentine vines coiled down from above. Moss and lichen clung to damp bark, and in the darkest corners, bioluminescent fungi glowed with an eerie light.
One glance was all it took.
This was a pristine, untamed wilderness—a world far from any human footprint.
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