Leon didn't rush.
The instinct to sprint toward efficiency—optimal routing, fastest progression paths, immediate resource funnels—was deeply ingrained. In his old world, hesitation cost time. Here, hesitation could cost blood. Master Mode was unforgiving even behind a screen. Inside it, the margin for error felt razor thin.
He approached the nearest tree and wrapped his fingers around the copper axe. The tool felt heavier than he expected, solid and unrefined, its balance slightly forward-weighted. He tested the swing once before committing. The arc was clean but slower than muscle memory expected. Real physics. Real resistance.
The axe bit into wood.
The sound was sharp and hollow. Chips splintered outward, scattering across the grass. It took more strikes than it ever had in-game, but eventually the trunk groaned and collapsed, dissolving into manageable chunks rather than falling naturally. The pieces didn't pixelate—but they didn't behave entirely like normal timber either. They compacted, almost simplifying themselves as he gathered them.
Inventory awareness pulsed faintly at the edge of his senses. The wood was simply there now—counted, organized, accessible without a visible interface.
Good.
He continued cutting trees, working steadily. The sun was past its highest point already. Time moved faster here, he realized. Not unnaturally fast—but accelerated compared to Earth. Terraria's day-night cycle. Roughly fifteen minutes of daylight.
That gave him maybe ten minutes before hostile spawn rates increased.
He cleared a modest section of forest near the initial clearing, intentionally leaving sightlines open. Early-game visibility was survival. He shaped the terrain slightly with his pickaxe, flattening uneven ground to prevent awkward movement penalties. A misstep during a zombie swarm could be fatal.
The finch followed him silently, occasionally fluttering outward to strike the occasional surface slime that wandered too close. It moved with more intention now, as if adapting to this reality as much as he was.
Once he had enough wood, Leon began constructing.
Walls first. Basic rectangular frame. Three blocks high, ten across. Not aesthetically pleasing—functional. He left a narrow entrance instead of crafting a door immediately. Doors in Master Mode could be liabilities early on; zombies had a way of forcing them open under pressure.
He crafted a workbench, the act of doing so instinctive—materials flowing from inventory to object without conscious assembly. The system of the world recognized the intention and complied.
Table. Chair. Torch placement—strategic, not decorative. Interior illumination reduced enemy spawn chance inside the structure. He added background walls to prevent internal spawning entirely.
Shelter secured.
As the last torch flared to life, the sunlight shifted.
Orange deepened into crimson. Shadows stretched unnaturally long across the grass. The ambient sounds changed first—birds quieted, wind thinned, and a low, almost imperceptible hum settled over the land.
Night in Terraria was never subtle.
Leon stepped outside his unfinished structure and looked west.
The sun dropped faster now, sliding beneath the horizon as if pulled. Darkness followed immediately—not gradual dusk, but decisive nightfall. The sky turned deep indigo. Stars emerged, bright and sharp.
Then he heard it.
A distant groan.
Another answered from farther away.
Zombies.
Master Mode meant increased spawn rate, increased health, increased damage. Even early enemies could overwhelm through numbers.
Leon retreated into his shelter and positioned himself just inside the entrance gap. He intentionally left it narrow—small enough to restrict movement patterns, wide enough for his finch to maneuver freely.
The first zombie shambled into view moments later.
Its posture was wrong in a way that felt deeply unsettling now that it existed in three dimensions. Limbs hung at irregular angles. Its eyes glowed faintly in the torchlight. It saw him immediately.
It accelerated.
Not fast—but purposeful.
"Go," Leon whispered.
The finch darted outward, slamming into the zombie's face with surprising force. The impact staggered it slightly. Leon stepped forward just enough to bait a swing, then stepped back again. The zombie's arm swiped through empty air.
Spacing.
He had practiced this thousands of times, but here the timing felt tighter. The weight of the zombie's movement carried momentum. If it grabbed him, it wouldn't be a minor inconvenience.
Another groan sounded.
A second zombie emerged from the darkness.
Then a third.
Spawn clustering. He had built near open terrain—good visibility, but also fewer obstacles to slow them.
The finch harassed one target while the others advanced. Leon shifted his position to force them into a single-file approach through the narrow entrance. One could reach him at a time.
The first zombie lunged again.
He sidestepped within the threshold, causing it to clip partially against the wall. The finch struck repeatedly, pecking at exposed flesh. It wasn't high damage—but consistent.
Master Mode health scaling meant durability. The fight took longer than it should have.
A fourth groan joined the chorus.
Leon's jaw tightened.
He could not let them stack at the entrance.
He stepped forward aggressively, baiting one into a premature swing, then retreated sharply inside. Two zombies collided awkwardly at the opening, blocking each other.
Good.
He focused target priority. One at a time.
Minutes stretched.
The rhythm established itself—bait, step, dodge, finch strike, reposition. The narrow choke point did most of the work. Eventually the first zombie collapsed, dissolving into faint remnants and leaving behind a few copper coins that clinked against the ground.
No time to collect.
The second fell shortly after.
The third proved more persistent, landing a grazing blow across Leon's shoulder before the finch finished it. Pain flared—real, sharp, not exaggerated—but controlled. He stepped back and assessed quickly. The wound wasn't deep, but it reminded him of a critical truth.
He was not invincible here.
The fourth zombie hesitated at the entrance, almost as if calculating.
Then something smaller leapt past it.
Leon's eyes widened slightly.
A Demon Eye.
Its pupil locked onto him as it swooped downward in a violent arc.
In-game, their erratic flight patterns were annoying. In person, they were terrifying. The speed was greater than expected.
The finch intercepted mid-air, colliding with the eye and disrupting its trajectory. The creature veered off course and slammed against the exterior wall. Leon used the moment to reposition deeper into the shelter, forcing the eye to commit to a tighter attack angle.
It swooped again.
He ducked instinctively.
The wingtip grazed his hair.
The finch struck repeatedly from behind, pecking at its exposed retina.
The Demon Eye shrieked—a piercing sound that vibrated unpleasantly in his skull.
Leon grabbed his copper shortsword, not for primary damage, but for spacing control. As the eye rebounded upward, he thrust forward, the blade catching it just enough to alter its flight path.
The finch finished the rest.
The eye burst into fragments that evaporated midair.
Silence followed—temporary, but meaningful.
Leon stood still, listening.
More groans echoed in the distance, but none immediately close.
He allowed himself to breathe.
Night would last several more minutes. He could not relax completely. But the structure held. The choke point worked. The finch adapted quickly.
He stepped outside briefly to gather the fallen coins and gel, moving quickly but deliberately. Gel meant torches. Torches meant safety.
As he re-entered the shelter, he looked up at the stars.
They looked almost artificial—too symmetrical, too evenly spaced. Somewhere beyond them, he knew, waited events far more dangerous than zombies. Goblin invasions. Blood Moons. Mechanical monstrosities. And far beyond that, celestial horror.
But none of that mattered tonight.
Tonight was about survival.
He sat briefly on the wooden chair, not out of exhaustion, but out of awareness. The world recognized housing. If he built correctly, NPCs would come. The Guide would arrive first.
And progression would begin properly.
The finch settled on the workbench, feathers slightly ruffled from combat. It tilted its head at him.
"You and me," Leon murmured.
Outside, another zombie groaned, but it sounded farther away now.
He leaned back against the wooden wall, eyes open, senses alert, waiting for dawn.
Master Mode had begun.
And he was still alive.