HP: 99 / 210
Stamina: 35 / 90
—
HP: 100 / 210
Stamina: 37 / 90
Rob shut his metaphysical eyes and closed the Character Sheet as an unbidden sigh of relief hissed through clenched teeth.
Despite everything that had happened, seeing his HP finally tick back up to the triple digits after hours of waiting for another rabid wolf to chance upon him and finish the job was almost, almost enough to make him feel better.
At present, the comfort it afforded did little more than make a dent in the iron wall of rage solidifying inside him.
Because someone was fucking with him.
It was something he'd strongly suspected considering the portal's parting words of "You'll Do", but having it outright confirmed via a belated post-it-note was such a slap in the face that he tore the message to shreds the second he'd finished processing it.
Good luck? he thought, for the hundredth time.
Some jackass put me here on purpose, and all they have to say to me is Good Luck?!
He thought, for the hundredth-and-first time.
Someone had dropped him in a death jungle with nothing more than a sword and a tunic—the latter already reduced to a torn, blood-soaked rag—and they had the fucking audacity to wish him good luck?
His rage might have felt less aimless if he'd been able to figure out more about the world he'd been chucked into, but his attempts at learning more about the video-game mechanics enforced upon his reality had largely been fruitless.
No matter how many random possible key phrases he thought of—like Help or Manual—nothing popped up, and the guiding instinct that had assisted him up to that point had been suspiciously quiet.
Of course, he knew what Stats like Strength and Dexterity did in a vague sense, but it would've been nice to get the particulars of what they governed before spending any more stat points. Or to learn the easiest ways to get Experience, or a primer on the specifics of how Skills functioned, or… a lot of things.
Rob ran his hand down his face.
It was fine.
Everything was… fine.
He'd survived, and in the end, that was what mattered.
As long as he stayed alive, he could find a way back home, give his friends and family a bone-crushing hug, and exact proportionately-acceptable revenge on the cosmic dickhead that had brought him to Ixatan.
In no particular order.
HP: 106 / 210
Stamina: 40 / 90
For surviving a near-fatal experience and bringing your HP back up over half, you have been awarded 1 Vitality!
Rob grinned.
Now that was something worth celebrating. One point wasn't much in the grand scheme of things—as far as he knew—but he had a hunch that every advantage he could wring out of the pseudo-RPG system governing this world was going to end up being important.
A point of Vitality seemed to equal 10 points of HP, and that had already once been the difference between life and death. A single droplet of water was nothing, but combine enough of them, and you got an ocean.
He still hoped that the way he'd qualified for the bonus wouldn't be replicated anytime soon.
Rob pushed himself to his feet with a grunt, putting most of his weight against the rocky wall of the cave as he rose.
While his HP had recovered, and he no longer felt as if he was knocking on death's door, his Stamina had cratered during the ordeal and was still languishing in the gutter. Hours of rest had done little to cure the shortness of breath in his chest.
That's what I get for neglecting cardio in favor of weight training. Not my fault most girls prefer muscles over how long a guy can run on a treadmill.
He kept himself busy with idle thoughts like those for five minutes longer, putting his finely-honed procrastination skills to good use.
Finally, Rob bit his lip and bit the bullet, unwinding the makeshift tunic-bandage he'd wrapped around his injured arm.
His body apparently worked by RPG logic now, so his arm was probably not a mangled mess anymore—but how far did that RPG logic go?
Rob's HP had partially recovered, but how much would that affect the entire chunk of flesh that had been torn from his arm?
How much of that regenerated, if any? Would he retain full motion of his arm?
Considering how his recent run of luck had gone—was that a stat he could raise?—the last thing Rob expected to find when the bandage fell off was the best-case scenario.
But that's exactly what he saw.
Relieved disbelief flowed through him as he discovered that his arm's muscle and skin had been entirely rejuvenated. The only thing left as a reminder of his run-in with an overly friendly doggie was a wide red mark that itched and was a little sore, but on the whole, it was barely an inconvenience and would probably disappear entirely once his HP reached max again.
A day of rest had cured what would have been a debilitating lifelong injury back on Earth.
For a moment, Rob couldn't help but wonder if he was still human, no matter what race his Character Sheet said he was.
Then he decided that being inhuman was a pretty good tradeoff for keeping an arm, so there was no point starting an existential crisis over it either way.
By now, the weather had cleared, stormy clouds giving way to gentle sunlight.
Rob walked over to the pile of food he'd dropped when he first saw the wolf; he'd been too busy shitting his pants to keep his grip on the provisions.
The shrooms were waterlogged, but in time they would dry out and be edible. Still not a cuisine he was going to test out unless he was at full HP, though, so he satisfied himself with the remaining berries and a half-empty waterskin before a message could pop up and tell him he needed to eat.
The juicy goodness took the edge off his frustration.
Guess I'm not myself when I'm hungry.