Grub woke the next morning with the familiar stiffness of someone whose body had been pushed far past what it should reasonably endure. His ribs ached the moment he sat up, the dull pressure along his chest reminding him that they were likely healing wrong, if they were healing at all. The claw marks along his throat still burned faintly beneath the cloth he had wrapped around them the night before. Even the muscles in his legs felt tight from the fall, the swim, and the long climb back up the waterfall. For a few seconds he simply sat there on the edge of his bed, rubbing his face slowly while the forest morning settled around him.
Then he sighed and reached for his notebook. Today had two purposes.
Observation and training.
He could not afford to ignore either. If he wanted to speak to the lizards someday, he needed their language. If he wanted to survive long enough to try, he needed a body that wouldn't collapse the next time something tried to kill him.
So the morning was spent the same way as the day before.
Grub gathered his bush disguise from beside the shelter and slipped inside it, carefully settling the layers of branches and leaves over his shoulders. The hollow twig listening tube was adjusted into place, and once everything felt secure he began the slow walk toward the edge of the settlement. The bush moved carefully through the forest. He slowly stalked forward as to not draw to much attention to the moving bush
Eventually he reached the same observation spot he had used the previous day and lowered himself beside the natural bushes near the tree line. From the outside he blended in perfectly. Inside the disguise he opened his notebook and prepared his charcoal.
The morning passed quietly.
He listened and watched.
He scribbled phonetic sounds across the pages as soldiers moved through their routines. Training commands were shouted across the field again and again. Short conversations occurred near the cooking tables. Groups gathered to eat bowls filled with fruits and the strange insects he had already recorded in his earlier notes.
Grub wrote everything down.
Patterns of tone. Repeated syllables. Gestures that seemed to accompany certain phrases. By midday his notebook had gained several more pages of messy scribbles.
Satisfied with the morning's progress, Grub slowly retreated from the tree line and returned to the forest. Now came the other task.
Training.
***
Grub made his way back toward the cave.
He had thought carefully about where to train. The forest around the settlement was too open in some areas and too close to patrol routes in others. If he began running or throwing stones out there, someone would eventually notice the noise.
The cave was different. The underground river chamber was deep enough that sound would echo inside the stone rather than escape into the forest above. The waterfall masked even more noise.
It was the perfect place.
By the time Grub reached the entrance he had already begun rolling his shoulders and flexing his fingers in preparation. He stepped inside. The cool cave air wrapped around him again as the dim light swallowed the forest behind him. The familiar sound of the underground river echoed deeper within the stone, accompanied by the distant rumble of the waterfall.
Grub set his notebook down beside the wall. Then he began.
First came the push-ups. He dropped to the stone floor and placed his hands against the rough rock. The first push burned his chest immediately. His ribs protested the movement, sending sharp pulses of pain through his torso with every rise and fall.
He easily pushed past it.
One.
Two.
Three.
By the time he reached twenty his arms were already shaking. By forty his breathing had turned rough and uneven. But he kept going. He had decided something earlier that morning while lying in his bed. Injuries were not going away. If anything, he would probably be injured most of the time now. This world had made that fact very clear. So there was no point in waiting to recover.
Grub gritted his teeth and forced himself upward again.
Fifty.
Seventy.
Ninety.
One hundred.
When he finally pushed himself upright his arms trembled violently and his ribs felt like they might collapse entirely, but that was only the beginning.
Grub immediately began running. The cave corridor stretched long and uneven between the river chamber and the waterfall passage. He sprinted down it as fast as his legs would allow, touching the wall at the far end before turning and running back again. He went down and back then repeated that at a constant pace.
The rough stone floor scraped his feet as he ran. His lungs burned as he forced air into them with every step. By the time he reached his five hundredth down-and-back run, his legs felt like they were made of stone. But he didn't stop.
The final exercise waited beside the wall. Two small boulders rested where he had dragged them earlier that morning. Each one was heavy enough that lifting them required both arms.
Grub crouched and lifted them slowly. His muscles screamed. He balanced the stones across his shoulders and began squatting.
One.
Two.
Three.
Thirty.
By the time he dropped the rocks back to the ground his entire body trembled with exhaustion. That was only one set.
He forced himself to repeat the entire routine again. Push-ups. Runs. Then squats.
By the end of the second set Grub collapsed onto the cave floor. He lay there for several seconds staring at the stone ceiling above him while his chest rose and fell in ragged breaths. This was exactly what he wanted. Total exhaustion.
Now came the real experiment. Grub closed his eyes and focused on the familiar pressure inside his chest. The dark blackness that was left behind by death. The weight in chest that had become a norm for him
He pulled it outward. The cold heaviness spread through his body like smoke flowing through his veins. It moved into his arms first, then his legs, then the aching muscles across his back. The exhaustion didn't disappear But it changed.
His muscles still felt tired, but the strain seemed lighter somehow. The power carried part of the burden for him.
Grub slowly sat up.
Interesting.
He grabbed his notebook and began writing.
Fatigue remains. Muscle strain reduced.Body feels capable of continuing activity.
He stood again and repeated the routine. The same amount of pushups, runs and squats.
But this time, the difference was clear. The movements still required effort, but his muscles obeyed him more easily than before. Grub completed two more full sets before the pressure in his chest suddenly faded.
The blackness disappeared and his strength left with it. He collapsed onto the floor again.
"Seems like I am all out of Death," he muttered.
He paused. That sounded strange. Still, the meaning was clear. He simply hadn't killed enough things recently. He had only really killed the bear looking monster, absorbing its Death before climbing back up. And he used all of his previous Death in that fight.
Grub stared at the cave ceiling while he caught his breath.
Peculiar.
If the power truly enhanced his body like that, he could have easily finished two more sets. Maybe more. He wrote that down as well. Then his thoughts drifted. This ability he had. Where had it come from?
He remembered Shiela. She had an ability too. But hers had looked completely different. She hadn't needed black smoke or death residue to use it. Perhaps the cost of her power had been her disability. But that explanation didn't feel right.
Grub frowned as he tried to remember more about the ridge. Gravel had shown an ability as well. How did his work? Did they always have those powers? Had they been born with them?
He couldn't remember. Which was another problem entirely.
Why could he remember push-ups? Why could he remember how to speak? How to write? How to think?
But not something as simple as his own name? Or where he came from? Or what his species was even called?
The questions made his head ache. Everything about this world felt like a puzzle missing half its pieces. Grub rubbed his temples slowly. Thinking about it too long made his brain feel like it was overheating.
So he stopped. Training had been enough for one day.
***
By the time he returned to his camp the sun had begun sinking toward the horizon. Grub collapsed briefly onto his bed and allowed himself a short nap. When he woke, dusk had settled across the forest.
He stretched slowly, wincing as the soreness in his muscles reminded him of the afternoon's training. Then he reached for his bush disguise once again. The leaves rustled quietly as he slipped inside it.
Time to study.
The walking bush returned to the edge of the settlement as the last light of the day faded across the clearing. Soldiers moved through the camp in slower patterns now, some returning from patrols while others gathered near fires or carried supplies between the huts. Grub settled into his usual observation spot and opened his notebook.
He had barely begun listening when a voice suddenly cut through the camp. The tone was wrong. It was sharp and panicked.
Grub froze. The lizard that had entered the clearing spoke again, its voice trembling with something Grub could only describe as fear.