Chapter 30

  Blink - Howl - Yawn

  I jolt awake, gasping like I just took a

  steel-toed boot to the gut. Cold, damp grass sticks to my back, the smell of

  earth and crushed leaves heavy in the air. Birds chirp somewhere above, a lazy

  breeze stirs the trees, and—yep—naked. Again.

  For a glorious five seconds, I just lie there,

  staring up at the swaying canopy, ignoring the existential migraine

  jackhammering my skull. Then, right on cue—

  “Ow! Sprocket, get off me!”

  “You get off me, Twitch! Why do you always spawn

  on top of me like some clingy barnacle?”

  I groan, propping myself up on my elbows. Sure

  enough, the squirrel-like twins—Twitch and Sprocket—are twisted together in a

  tangle of limbs and tails, like a couple of toddlers fighting over the last

  cookie. Twitch, the grumpy one, kicks at his brother while Sprocket, ever the

  drama queen, clutches his tiny chest like he’s been mortally wounded.

  “Me? You’re the one who spawned spooning me.

  Again!”

  “Lies!”

  “Facts!”

  I rub my temples. “I die, and I still can’t get

  five seconds of peace before the nut squad starts bickering.”

  They freeze mid-squabble, beady eyes snapping to

  me.

  “Hey, boss,” Sprocket chirps, fluffing out his

  fur. “Welcome back to the land of the living. How was death?”

  “Shitty,” I deadpan. “Zero stars. Would not

  recommend.”

  I sit up, frustration curling in my gut.

  Respawning never gets easier. It’s not just the lost progress—it’s the hollow

  reminder that dying here is…cheap. No weight. No permanence. Just a slap on the

  wrist and a forced time-out.

  I glance down. Naked, again. Of course.

  “Seriously, who designed this system? Why is full-frontal the default?”

  Sprocket shrugs, deadpan. “Maybe the gods want

  you to embrace nature. Go feral. Full druid.”

  Twitch makes a retching sound. “Spare us.”

  I haul myself to my feet, swiping at the blinking

  notification in my peripheral vision. The system’s cheery blue text pops up,

  helpfully cataloging my latest failure.

  [Cause of Death]

  

  Unstable Aetheric Arcane Catalyst (Premature Explosion)

  [Info]

  

  The [Cerulean Pouch] its timer ticking down, unleashed a torrent of

  unstable fused aether and arcane energy. Your proximity at detonation led to

  complete annihilation.

  [Elapsed Time Since Death]

  

  [Respawn Penalty]

  

  -10% Stamina Regen

  -10% Health Regen

  -5% Dignity (Your reputation suffers)

  [Status Effect]

  

  “Fantastic,” I mutter, cracking my neck. “Just

  fantastic.”

  I flex my fingers, roll my shoulders, and dust

  off my non-existent pants. Alright. New life. New attempt. I square my jaw.

  “Round two. Let’s try not to explode this time.”

  Twitch snorts. “Yeah. Maybe don’t poke the

  glowing, volatile stuff next time.”

  Sprocket grins. “Or, I don’t know—stick to

  digging holes?”

  Great. Even my backup dancers are hecklers.

  I glance down at my arm, half-expecting raw,

  respawn-fresh skin. Nope—there it is. The vambrace, still clamped around my left

  arm, sleek metal pulsing with a faint blue glow. A sharp static hum ripples

  through my skull as Shaq’Rai, my ever-cheery AI companion, reboots our mental

  link.

  “You’re back,” she says, her smooth, synthetic

  voice laced with something dangerously close to relief. “I lost the tether when

  your body vaporized.”

  I snort. “Oh yeah? Try being the guy who

  vaporized.”

  Shaq’Rai doesn’t laugh. She never does. Instead,

  she dives right into her post-mortem spiel.

  “Your Soul is fragmented. You have lost a Soul

  Shard.”

  My stomach drops. “I lost a what now?”

  “It’s only a temporary severance,” she adds, like

  that’s supposed to help. “Your equipped gear remains at your death site.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “So that’s why I’m

  naked. Again. Stellar.”

  Respawning was already a

  nightmare—disorientation, creeping existential dread, the nagging sense that

  the gods coding this world were trolling me. But now? Now I’m shedding pieces

  of my soul like spare change every time I die?

  Yeah. No. Hard pass.

  I flex my fingers, jaw tight. “Okay, so where’s

  my shiny, shattered soul shard now? Floating around out there, singing sad

  songs?”

  “It remains at your point of death. Recovery will

  initiate reintegration. Failure to do so will result in its energy dispersing.”

  I stare blankly at the trees, the weight of this

  new headache sinking in. “So there are… literal pieces of me just lying around

  out there?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Fantastic. I love this for me.”

  Groaning, I rub my face. This just keeps getting

  better. Not only do I have to drag my ass back to where I exploded, but now I

  have to play fetch with my own damn soul before some eldritch horror decides

  it’s snack time.

  Shaq’Rai, unbothered as always, chimes in, “You

  should begin retrieval soon. Prolonged separation weakens the bond between mind

  and body.”

  “Yeah, no pressure,” I mutter, glancing around

  the clearing. “Let’s get this over with before someone loots my very

  existence.”

  Twitch scurries up my shoulder, twitching his

  tiny nose. “Sooo… we have to go back to the big, boomy place?”

  “Yep,” I sigh.

  Sprocket, of course, beams. “Dibs on not dying

  first.”

  “Dream big, buddy.”

  I crouch low in the underbrush, scanning the

  clearing for anything remotely useful. No weapons. No supplies. Just me, two

  squirrel-gremlins, and a growing sense of déjà vu. Naked, alone, and forced to

  play survivalist. Again.

  The twins are off doing their best impression of

  competent scavengers—which mostly means bickering while collecting twigs.

  Meanwhile, I’m fashioning a sad excuse for a loincloth out of thick vines and

  broad leaves. It’s not winning any fashion awards, but at least I won’t die

  again in my full birthday suit.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Alright, let’s see…” I mutter, yanking a

  sturdier branch from a fallen tree. With a jagged stone, I whittle one end into

  a rough point. Not exactly a spear, but good enough to jab something—preferably

  before it jabs back.

  Twitch and Sprocket scurry over, proudly dumping

  their haul at my feet. A handful of twigs, a couple of pebbles, and one very

  determined beetle already making a break for it.

  I sigh. “That’s it? That’s all you found?”

  Sprocket puffs out his tiny chest. “Excuse

  you—resource gathering is an art form.”

  Twitch kicks a rock. “We’d be better at it if we

  had, oh, I don’t know—pockets.”

  “Yeah, well, I’d be better at this if I had

  pants.” I jab my makeshift spear at them before grabbing another branch and

  hacking it into smaller pieces. “But here we are. So let’s gear up.”

  I toss Sprocket a stick about half his size. He

  turns it over in his paws, unimpressed.

  “This is… a stick.”

  Twitch sniffs at his own, which is rounder, less

  pointy. “Mine’s just a fat stick.”

  I level them both with a look. “First of all,

  that’s a damn shield. And second, when all you’ve got is sticks, you better

  stab like you mean it.”

  They exchange a glance. Sprocket grins. Twitch

  shrugs. Moments later, they’re twirling their “weapons” like they just unlocked

  some legendary loot.

  I keep crafting, letting the rhythm of survival

  work settle my nerves. It’s not like engineering back on Earth. Not like the

  military, either. But surviving? Yeah. That, I know.

  A memory flickers—me, my cousins, a camping trip

  gone sideways. Lost in the woods, separated, relying on half-remembered Boy

  Scouts training and my grandfather’s gravelly warning: “You better not die

  on me, boy.”

  This isn’t my first time roughing it. But man, do

  I miss modern conveniences.

  The forest hums with that kind of eerie,

  unnatural quiet that makes your instincts scream —and

  probably hungry—is watching. The deeper we go, the thicker the trees get, their

  twisted roots clawing at the earth like skeletal fingers. The air feels heavier

  now—hot, sticky, like stepping into a pressure cooker set to .

  Damp moss and decaying leaves fill my nose, but there’s something else—sharp,

  musky. Something alive.

  Shadows flicker between the trees, darting just

  out of sight. Leaves rustle, though there’s no wind. My grip tightens around

  the spear. There’s movement up ahead.

  A low growl rumbles through the clearing, deep

  and heavy, vibrating right through my chest.

  The creature steps out—massive paws landing

  silent on the underbrush. Its silver fur ripples like liquid metal under the

  dappled moonlight, each step smooth and deliberate. Pale-blue eyes glow like

  twin lanterns, cold and calculating, locked on me. This isn’t some dumb animal.

  This is a predator—and it knows exactly what it’s hunting.

  pings in my head, her voice as

  smug and calm as ever. “New Side Quest: Befriend or Dominate. Capture or

  subdue the Dire Wolf.”

  I blow out a breath, adjusting my stance.

  “Alright, team. Time to put those sticks to good use.”

  Twitch, the smaller and infinitely more unhinged

  of my squirrel-gremlin companions, cracks his tiny knuckles, tail flicking like

  an over-caffeinated metronome. “I was born for this.”

  Sprocket, the slightly more reasonable twin,

  clutches his spear like it’s a breadstick on the verge of snapping. His wide

  eyes bounce between me and the Dire Wolf. “I was definitely not.”

  The wolf doesn’t wait. It lunges—pure muscle and

  fury—a silver blur of fangs and claws closing the distance in a heartbeat.

  Twitch moves first, hurling himself like a tiny,

  screaming meteor, claws sinking into the wolf’s muzzle. The beast snarls,

  thrashing its head side to side in a violent shake. Twitch holds on for about

  two glorious seconds before physics throws up two middle fingers—he’s flung

  through the air like a particularly aggressive fastball.

  The impact echoes as he slams into the trunk of a

  gnarled oak. Leaves rain down. There’s a dazed groan from the leafy crater he

  left behind.

  No time to check if he’s breathing. My spear’s

  already in motion. It’s not a perfect shot—hell, it’s barely passable—but it

  flies true enough, grazing the wolf’s flank. The beast yelps, more insulted

  than hurt, its glowing blue eyes snapping toward me with the unmistakable look

  of

  “For fuck’s sake, Twitch! Use the damn shield!”

  From the crumpled heap at the tree’s base, Twitch

  makes a wheezing noise. “Right. Shield.”

  He yanks the makeshift shield off his

  back—because of course, the little idiot had been wearing it like a goddamn —and

  staggers upright. With a ragged battle cry, he charges, swinging the shield

  like a battering ram into the wolf’s ribs.

  The wolf grunts. Soft. Barely a reaction. It

  flicks an ear, clearly unimpressed.

  Twitch doesn’t quit. The bonking continues. It’s

  both valiant and aggressively pointless.

  Meanwhile, Sprocket is… leaning on his spear.

  Not braced for attack. Not mustering some

  squirrel-sized act of heroism. Just leaning.

  And, casually, waving his other paw through the

  air.

  A faint golden glow pulses from his fingertips,

  swirling toward Twitch. The battered little maniac straightens, wounds sealing

  like time itself just hit the undo button.

  I gape. “What in the—Sprocket, you can heal?”

  Sprocket blinks at me mid-yawn. “Huh? Oh. Yeah, I

  guess.”

  I nearly swallow my own tongue. “And you’re just

  mentioning this?”

  “Didn’t seem important.” He scratches his ear,

  completely unbothered.

  I have so many words. All of them profane. No

  time for any of them.

  The wolf lunges again, its massive paw slashing

  through the air. I barely twist aside, the force of it whipping a sharp gust

  across my face. One hit from that, and I’m paste.

  Twitch takes another hit, skidding backward but

  somehow staying upright. He finally gets the shield angled right, catching the

  wolf’s next swipe with a loud . Progress. I’ll take it.

  Meanwhile, Sprocket—sensing, perhaps, the looming

  specter of death—scrambles up the nearest tree with surprising speed for

  someone who treats movement like a personal insult. He perches on a thick

  branch, still healing Twitch with all the effort of flipping a light switch,

  flicking his paw lazily while chewing on a twig.

  Priorities.

  “Twitch!” I shout, ducking under a snapping jaw.

  “Tell me you’ve got some kind of ability! Magic? A special move? Anything?”

  Twitch actually pauses mid-battle—like I asked if

  he wanted fries with that—before turning to me with wide, vacant eyes. “Who,

  me? Naw…” He shrugs. “Ain’t fancy like that.”

  The Dire Wolf pounces.

  “Twitch—!”

  “NOOOOOOOOOO!”

  Sprocket throws himself across the tree branch in

  an Oscar-worthy display of grief, paws clutching his chest. “OH, BROTHER, WHERE

  THOUST HAVE YOU GONE? MY DEAREST, SIMPLE-MINDED BROTHER, TAKEN TOO SOON!”

  I blink. “That’s… not even close to—never mind.”

  Then, from above:

  “Shield Slam!”

  I whip my head up just in time to see a furry

  missile plummeting from the sky—shield-first. Twitch, who apparently has

  teleportation now (), descends like a

  chubby, squirrel-shaped comet, slamming straight into the Dire Wolf’s skull.

  The impact echoes through the clearing. The wolf

  staggers, legs buckling like it’s trying out ice skating for the first time.

  “Oh…” I exhale. “We are having a talk

  after this.”

  The tide shifts. Twitch, now grinning like he

  just discovered sugar, blinks out of existence again, reappearing mid-charge to

  body-slam the wolf’s ribs. I don’t waste the opening—my spear drives down,

  sinking deep into muscle.

  Sprocket? Still clapping from the tree like he’s

  at dinner theater.

  The Dire Wolf lets out a low, defeated growl

  before collapsing onto its side, chest heaving. Still breathing. Barely.

  Twitch immediately breaks into a victory

  dance—some unholy fusion of breakdancing and rabid rodent energy.

  Sprocket slow-claps from his perch. “Exquisite

  performance.”

  I sigh, stepping forward. Kneeling beside the

  wolf, I hover my hand near its muzzle. Part of me expects a snarl. A snap of

  jaws. Or maybe a deep, rumbling voice—ancient, primal wisdom, something worthy

  of a Dire Wolf.

  Instead—

  “Hey… hey… like, maybe don’t touch me? Please?”

  I freeze.

  The wolf blinks up at me, golden eyes wide with

  mild discomfort, ears twitching like I’d interrupted its afternoon nap.

  Of course. Of course this is happening.

  “Great,” I mutter. “Another unorthodox monster.”

  I rub my temple. “Alright, buddy… what’s your

  deal?”

  “The ?” The wolf snorts, shifting with

  a wince. “I was . In my hole. A good hole. Cozy. Quiet.

  Then—boom. No more hole. No more nap. Just chaos.”

  “A hole? Why not find something else, like a cave

  or something?”

  “Because caves around here are prime real

  estate, man! Feral goblins, kobolds, a drake or two—this place is a .

  I’m barely mid-tier on the food chain.”

  I stare. “You’re… not at the top?”

  “Dude. Big doesn’t mean . I got

  problems.” He lets out a long, miserable sigh. “Had one good spot. Now it’s

  gone. And to top it off! I get wrecked by a teleporting rodent and a guy with a

  stick. A freaking stick. Like… not kool man.”

  Twitch fist-pumps. “Hell yeah!”

  I shoot him a glare before turning back to the

  wolf. “So you were just… minding your business when your whole world flipped

  upside down?” My voice softens. “Yeah. I get that.”

  The wolf lets out a low rumble, then slowly

  presses his nose against my palm.

  “So… we like… now?”

  I chuckle. “Yeah. We’re definitely kool.”

  A bond—not of power, not of dominance—but of

  understanding