30 level 1 scavenge beetles slain.

  60 xp gained.

  5 level 2 scavenge beetles slain.

  100 xp gained.

  2 level 3 scavenge beetles slain.

  60 xp gained.

  1 level 4 scavenge beetle slain.

  40 xp gained.

  Ochre innards slipped down the blade of Scott’s dagger. The level 4 beetle twitched where it lay. Humid sun-gummed air stuck to Scott’s skin. His beaded sweat glinted in sunlight.

  Scott puzzled over the level 4 beetle. It wasn’t that much harder to kill than the lower leveled beetles. It hadn’t seemed faster or stronger or even that much larger than the others. So what did it mean for these monsters to level up? They couldn’t use fortification potions to apply stat points, so their stats wouldn’t really improve.

  A level 5 beetle had to be different. If the system affected monsters the same way they affected him, then level 5 would give them the choice of abilities. Yes, he had to be careful when confronting level 5 monsters.

  Through the damp haze, Scott batted fronds and gargantuan stalks aside. Flying insects swarmed him as he wended through the jungle. He slapped his face, his arms, his neck. He grumbled as he went.

  When Scott could no longer deal with the insects, he deftly swung himself up into the trees. His scabbed wounds were attracting the insects. They would take time to heal, and he couldn’t stand more itching. Thankfully, the height at which he traversed the jungle seemed to prove too difficult for most insects to reach.

  Swinging and leaping, Scott traversed the jungle from branch to branch and from tree to tree.

  Scott didn’t want this feeling to end. The flow of the gritty haze over his skin felt good. Dappled sunlight stunned his vision when he caught it on his face. Swinging from branches made him feel like a monkey, and that was absolutely freeing.

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  Bright white light shone through the jungle ahead. Surf crashed against the sandy beach. Wet sand sifted ebbing water. Scott swung under a wayward branch, flung himself forward, and then landed firmly upon a thick branch at the edge of the jungle. He crouched and gazed out at the sea.

  Scott was surprised to find the sea on the west side as well. It would mean trouble if he were on an island. He hadn’t put as much distance between him and the Lynan as he wanted, but at least he could start heading south.

  Smoothing out his footprints on the sand as he went, Scott crossed to the edge of the surf where the sand was soaked. He dashed south. The surf smoothed out his footprints behind him.

  Never has Scott run so fast. Wet sand flew from his heels and splattered his back as he ran. Never had his body worked so efficiently, so powerfully. He could definitely beat an olympic runner. He was only more excited to allocate the rest of his stats. How powerful would he become if only two additional stat points made him feel superhuman already? Ah, what a fucking world to wake up in!

  Sweat flung from Scott’s hair and fingers and elbows. Breezes buffeted him. The gummy haze of the day cooled, and the sun came over the jungle, and it drew to the western horizon, and it dipped beyond the sea. The deep of the jungle quickly darkened.

  In the distance of the curved coast, Scott saw thousands of little orange lights. He slowed to a run and then slowed to a jog and then slowed to a walk.

  With the way the lights were arranged, Scott realized that they could only belong to a city. Could it really be that he was so close to a city? The lights were too large to be candlelights at such a distance. He couldn’t fathom what they were through the haze and through such tremendous distance. But if it was a city, could he hide there? Could he acquire more fortification potions? Could he have access to items which would help him progress?

  Scott sprinted along the coast. The sun set, and the brightest stars began to fill the sky. The air cooled, the haze melted, and all the stars shone. The light of the moon mixed the depth of the jungle with lambent silver and black shadow.

  In the boughs of a tree whose leaves enshrouded him, Scott slept. In his dreams he heard the wildness of the jungle: feral cries calling, hollow throats thunking, hard beaks clapping, fast beetles, chittering.

  A rattle of bones woke Scott at predawn. He stretched, and then he turned over and gazed upon the sandy beach through the jungle’s edge. A skeleton ambled along the sand.

  Scott marveled at the sight. The skeleton was at least twelve feet tall. Its ribs could hug a tree. Each thigh-thick bone bore that druzy texture which glittered when it moved under daylight. What a large fat thing! Its legs were like elephant legs.

  “Holy shit.”

  The giant skeleton ambled quickly. Water lapped around its ankles, and it veered to the tree line. Scott leapt to lower branches, and he clasped one and used it to swing himself out in front of the giant skeleton. He charged it, brandishing his stained, wood-dented branch.

  His first strike bounced off the lowest rib of the skeleton. Rapid shockwaves traveled from the branch, harrowed Scott’s wrists, and stung his elbows.

  “Fuck,” said Scott, and he shook each hand out one after the other.

  The skeleton swung its arm, and Scott brought his branch up to block. The arm slammed into him, and sent him sprawling through the air. Scott grunted from the painful impact as he hurtled across the sand. He rose, and he coughed, and he spit sand, and then he smiled.

  “Worth it,” he muttered.

  The skeleton ambled toward him. Scott wiped sand from his lips with his arm. He knew he would win because he had heard it. He heard the rib crack when he’d struck it. All he needed to do was to strike and strike again while he dodged blows.