The air in the cramped room was thick with the sound of snapping bone.
Snap. Snap.
The Man-Eater Plant had grown to the size of a stray cat, its crimson leaves vibrating with a predatory hum. At the base of its thick, corded stem, a single bulbous green eye swiveled frantically. It wasn't looking at Ben with the loyalty of a pet; it was measuring the distance to his throat.
[Warning: Your Summon is starving.]
[Loyalty: 5/100 (Critical)]
[Caution: At 0 Loyalty, the Summon will initiate 'Master Hunt'.]
Ben's back hit the cold, peeling wallpaper of his bedroom. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
"Calm down," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I'll get you something. Just... stay in the pot."
The plant hissed, a glob of translucent green bile dripping from its serrated maw. Where it hit the soil, a small puff of acrid smoke rose. Acid.
Ben's mind raced. He had no meat, and the creature clearly wasn't interested in the stale crust of bread sitting on the table. It wanted a pulse. It wanted life.
Scritch. Scratch.
The sound came from behind the floorboards—the rhythmic, skittering footsteps of the Outer Ring's true owners. Rats.
To Ben, they had always been a plague. Tonight, they were a miracle.
"Stay," Ben commanded, though he wasn't sure the monster understood.
He crept toward the corner, grabbing a heavy, mud-caked work boot. A large, soot-gray rat emerged from the shadows, its whiskers twitching as it scented the bread.
THUMP.
Ben swung with the desperation of a man fighting for his life. The boot connected. The rat squealed, twitching on the floor, stunned. Before it could recover, Ben snatched it by its tail and lunged toward the window sill.
"Eat this!"
He swung the struggling rodent over the pot.
The Man-Eater didn't hesitate. The stem uncoiled like a high-tension spring. Its mouth distended, opening a full 180 degrees to reveal rows of obsidian-shard teeth.
CRUNCH.
The squealing cut off into a wet, sickening silence. Ben scrambled back, his chest heaving, as the plant dragged the rat into its throat. He watched, morbidly fascinated, as the plant's stem pulsed with a faint, rhythmic red light.
[Summon has consumed 'Giant Sewer Rat'.]
[Experience Gained: 50]
[Loyalty: 15/100 (Rising)]
[Status: Satisfied]
Ben slid down the wall, burying his face in his hands. He had survived his own creation. By the time he looked up, the plant had doubled in size. Its thorns were longer, hooked like fishing lures, and a secondary bud was beginning to swell on its side. It let out a soft, wet burp and settled into the soil, its eye closing in a post-meal slumber.
...
...
The next morning, the rain had tapered off into a miserable gray mist. Ben hadn't slept; he had spent the hours watching the plant grow in the dark.
His mother's breathing was still heavy and labored, a constant reminder of the ticking clock. He needed money. He needed to test the "Farmer" class in a real environment.
He packed the pot into an old canvas bag, cutting a small slit so the plant—which he now thought of as 'Snapper'—could see.
"Stay quiet," he murmured. "We're going to work."
The streets of the Outer Ring were a graveyard of ambition. Laborers trudged through the mud, their faces masks of grey exhaustion. Ben kept his head down, heading toward the 'Blackwood Park'—a patch of dead trees and rusted swing sets where the city's refuse gathered.
He never made it.
"Well, well. Look at our little hero."
The voice was like gravel in a blender. Ben stopped, his heart dropping into his stomach. Three men blocked the narrow alleyway. They wore the scorched leather jackets of the Iron Rats, the gang that bled the district dry.
In the center stood Gary. He was a mountain of a man with a jagged scar across his nose and a reputation for enjoying his work.
"Little Ben," Gary sneered, snapping his knuckles. "I heard you went to the Spire. Where's the tribute? A big 'Tower Player' like you must have some gold for the neighborhood fund."
"I... I failed, Gary," Ben said, clutching the bag to his chest. "The Core gave me nothing but useless class. I'll give the protection money next week. I swear."
Gary's smile vanished. "Next week doesn't buy my lunch today. What's in the bag? You steal something from the Tower?"
"Nothing. Just old clothes."
"Liar. Hand it over, or I'll start breaking your fingers."
Gary signaled his goons. They fanned out, trapping Ben against a dumpster.
Inside the bag, Ben felt a low, vibrating hum. The plant was awake. It didn't just sense the movement; it sensed the malice.
[Warning: Hostile Aura Detected.]
[Summon Status: Aggressive.]
[Awaiting Command...]
Ben looked at Gary's cruel eyes. He thought of the medicine his mother couldn't afford. He thought of the years he had spent trembling in the mud.
He was done trembling.
"You want to see what's in the bag?" Ben's voice was suddenly devoid of fear. It was cold.
He unzipped the top. "Attack."
Gary frowned. "What did you sa—"
HISS!A
blur of dark green lashed out. It was faster than a sword's thrust.
The vine whipped around Gary's extended wrist. Thorns the size of needles buried themselves in his flesh as the jagged maw clamped down on his hand.
CRUNCH.
"ARGH! MY HAND! GOD, MY HAND!"
Gary fell to his knees, his face turning a ghostly white as blood sprayed the pavement. He tried to punch the vine with his free hand, but the plant's hide was like reinforced rubber—the blow just bounced off.
The two goons stood frozen, their mouths hanging open. This wasn't a Mage's fireball or a Warrior's blade. This was something visceral. Something alive.
[Critical Hit!]
[Experience Gained: 10]
"Stop," Ben said quietly.
The plant retracted instantly, pulling back into the bag with a wet shiver. It licked its "lips," the red leaves now stained a deeper, darker crimson.
Gary scrambled back, cradling his mangled, bleeding hand. He looked at Ben not as a victim, but as a monster wearing a human skin.
"You... you're a Tamer? A Summoner?"
"I'm a Farmer," Ben replied, stepping over the puddle of blood. "And if I see you near my door again, I'll use you as fertilizer. Get out."
They didn't need to be told twice. Gary and his crew turned and bolted, their boots splashing through the mud in a panicked retreat.
Ben stood in the silence of the alley. He looked down at the bag. The plant's eye opened, looking up at him with a newfound spark of recognition.
"Good boy," Ben whispered.
He closed the bag and turned toward the park.