I groaned as I became aware of my surroundings—a pool of my own vomit soaked the dirt and grass beneath me. My teeth ached, bits of earth and grit stuck to my tongue.
The beautiful, authoritative voice returned, this time with a scolding tone. It wasn’t angry—just disappointed, like a teacher gently chastising a student for whispering in class. I’d been obsessed with ASMR ever since I first experienced it. What started as a fascination with spine-tingling tapping and popping sounds evolved into a specific preference for well-articulated female voices. Over time, it became so ingrained that a video game with the wrong narrator could completely ruin the experience for me.
The sound was so utterly captivating, so irresistibly smooth, that the meaning of its words almost slipped past me unnoticed.
BA-BAAAA.
Quest failed: Get home before the streetlights turn on.
Tut, tut, tut. I don't know how you managed to mess this up. It was only a 15-minute walk along a dirt path. Oh well, better luck next life.
The notification disappeared as soon as the voice finished.
I had no idea how long I’d been out. My body ached from lying on the uneven ground, and the graze on my chin itched unbearably. I reached up to scratch it, my fingers brushing against a hardened scab. Blood smeared onto my fingertips.
I winced, pulling back instinctively. When I touched it again, the wound felt oddly tacky, as though it had reopened hours ago, already starting to heal.
I pushed myself upright, groaning as I looked around. The forest had grown darker, bathed in the warm orange glow of the setting sun. Shadows stretched long and jagged across the ground. About a hundred meters down the path, a soft flickering light caught my attention—a flame-lit lamp swaying gently in the breeze.
I stood, only to crumple immediately as my leg gave out. The numbness of having laid on it struck all at once, followed by a sharp, tingling pain that surged through my nerves. I fell forward, smacking my forehead hard against an exposed tree root.
Pain exploded above my right eye. I gasped, clutching at the wound as I felt blood begin to trickle down the side of my face.
A faint red haze crept into my vision, inching in from the edges. It lingered for a moment before fading away, leaving me dazed and breathless.
I sat up slowly, careful not to jar my aching head, and wiped the blood from my face. My fingers moved cautiously around the wound, avoiding direct contact with the gash. My hand slipped into my pocket, searching for something—anything—that could help.
“YES!” I exclaimed as my fingers closed around the familiar shape. I pulled out my phone, only for the excitement to evaporate instantly.
The screen was dark, the power button unresponsive.
I sighed, catching my reflection in the blank glass. My hair was a wild mess, matted with dirt and vomit. My brown curls stuck out at odd angles, giving me the appearance of someone who’d rolled out of bed and immediately survived a car crash. My round face stared back at me, its soft edges betraying the years of inactivity that had added weight to my frame.
Dad’s hiking routines had kept me fit once—hours of forced marches, relentless daily "challenges" like "50 push-ups before dinner" or "move all my weights to the garage." But since his deployment, I’d let it slide, and the lack of activity was starting to show.
I leaned closer to the reflection, my eyes drawn to the wound above my eyebrow. To my astonishment, the blood had already clotted, and the injury looked like it was hours into healing.
A faint crunch of footsteps broke the silence.
I turned toward the sound, my heart pounding as a figure emerged from the woods.
They stumbled onto the path, clutching their side. Several arrows jutted from their ribs, their shafts dark and splintered. The figure wore a green hooded cloak, leather gloves, a quilted shirt, brown pants, and scuffed black boots.
They moved unsteadily, each step dragging as though they were barely holding themselves together.
I stood again, the numbness in my leg replaced by a fierce tingling sensation that felt like it had been hooked to an electrical outlet. My balance wavered, but I steadied myself, eyes locked on the wounded figure as they staggered closer.
"Hey!" I shouted to the figure.
They didn’t respond, their limp form swaying heavily to one side as they staggered along the path. They caught themselves against a tree, leaving a dark red smear as they pushed away. The blood fizzed unnaturally, releasing a stench of rotting meat that hit me like a freight train.
I gagged, raising my arm to cover my face in a futile attempt to block the smell.
"HEY! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?" I cried, shuffling towards them.
The figure slowed, then stopped, slumping against another tree before sliding down to rest in the grass.
I willed my legs to move faster as the tingling sensation in them began to fade. Moments later, I reached them. Their hood was pulled low over their face, obscuring their features. Hesitantly, I tugged it back to get a better look—and recoiled in surprise.
Their face was vaguely human but far too hairy. Thick ringlets of brown fur covered everything except their eyes and mouth. The deep brown eyelids were half-closed, framing brilliant yellow eyes with an unsettling double-slit pupil that formed a cross where a normal pupil would be. Their slack, unmoving mouth hung open, blood trickling in a thin line from the corner of their lips. The teeth within were an odd mixture—sharp, predatory fangs juxtaposed with flat, herbivorous molars.
Their face was slightly elongated, with their mouth and nose forming a vaguely wolf-like appearance. The... person’s... ears were small and round, pressed tightly against their head. Like the rest of them, the ears were covered in dense fur, except for their interiors, which revealed an intricate pattern of ridges and flaps, eerily reminiscent of a bat’s ears.
“W-What the absolute fuck…?” I whispered to myself. Despite my parents’ many failings, one thing they had managed to instil in me was a complete disregard for judging others based on their appearance. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a limit to the reasonableness of that principle as I took in the sight before me.
I shook the thought away. Whatever they were, they were clearly in need of help, and I hadn’t been raised to ignore someone in such a plight.
I reached out with a shaky, hand intending to try and check for signs of life. As I touched their neck to find a pulse, a new notification blinked into view. This time, there was no voice to accompany it, much to my disappointment.
BA-DING.
Lootable container: Corpse.
- Loot all
- Inspect
The two choices hovered in soft white text, glowing faintly. I shook my head, willing them away, concentrating on trying to feel a heartbeat.
Nothing.
I examined the bone-like shafts protruding from their side. They weren’t made of wood as I’d first assumed but bone, their jagged edges embedded deep. Around the wounds, a thick green substance oozed, staining the fabric of their quilted shirt and releasing a stench so foul it made my stomach turn.
I hooked my arms under their armpits and began to drag them towards the light further down the path. They were heavy—far heavier than I expected—and my feet skidded on the loose dirt. I let them go, gasping for air as they slumped lifelessly to the ground, one arm resting awkwardly across my bare foot.
I glanced down, reminded of how unprepared I was. A hoodie, track pants, and no shoes—my usual lounging attire—not exactly the ideal outfit for whatever this was.
BA-DING.
This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Lootable container: Corpse.
- Loot all
- Inspect
The notification reappeared.
I swallowed hard, my mind racing.
This doesn’t make any sense, I thought. I’m tripping. Sharla gave me a bad batch, and now I’m hallucinating all of this.
But then, in the back of my mind, a quiet voice tugged at me. No. This is real. You saw how they looked at you. Dad tried to warn you.
My mind’s eye fixed on the Inspect option, and with a faint haptic sensation, I selected it.
Before me, an inventory menu materialized, divided into half a dozen tabs. The first screen displayed a collection of seemingly random items. Among them was something labelled “Chrono Capture.” I selected it, but the system refused to transfer the item to me. Instead, a small window appeared, showcasing what it was.
The item was rendered in a minimalistic 3D model that rotated slowly, bathed in soft light. It looked like a photo frame but with an unusual, almost otherworldly geometry. Leaning closer, I noticed a faint outline of three figures huddled together, laughing. One of them—a small figure, likely a child—was perched on the shoulders of the tallest. The scene within the picture moved subtly; the figures shifted their stance, smiled at each other, and laughed softly, their interactions frozen in a looping moment of joy.
The throbbing in my toes yanked me back to the present, a sharp reminder of the jagged rocks beneath my feet. Shaking myself free of the reverie, I navigated to the "Apparel" tab. The list was cluttered with items—necklaces, rings, scarves, and, mercifully, boots.
The item was labelled "Walkin' Boots." I selected it, and with a soft fwoomp, a secondary menu appeared labelled Personal Storage. From there, I chose the Equip option.
With a light plonk, the boots materialized onto my feet.
I wiggled my toes experimentally. The boots were fur-lined, fitting my feet with uncanny precision. They flexed and stretched with my movements, far more comfortable than I expected.
BA-DING.
Achievement:
These Boots Are Made for Walkin’
Description:
You have found and equipped your first pair of magical boots. Great job! Need help with the laces?
Reward:
You have been awarded a container of foot powder. It’ll help them not smell—be thankful.
The absurdity of the situation gave me pause, but the ache in my feet had faded, replaced by a surprising warmth and support.
The climate was nothing like Townsville—the city I had lived in for the last six years of my life. The air was cold and dry; it must have been in the low teens, or mid-fifties if you don’t use Celsius. My hoodie and track pants were performing admirably against the frigid breeze, but a chill still seeped through.
I returned my attention to the inventory, wishing there were some way to sort the mess. To my surprise, the list rearranged itself, though still seemingly random. No values were attached to the items, and the top listing was a plain copper ring marked as equipped.
Am I really going to take a ring off a corpse?
The thought made my stomach churn. I’d already stolen this person’s boots—and worse, I was wearing them.
“At least they weren’t wearing them,” I muttered, trying to justify my actions. The words felt hollow even as I said them.
For several moments, I wrestled with the ethics of looting a corpse, my sense of decency warring with the reality of my situation. Finally, I settled on a compromise: I would inspect the ring. If it turned out to be life-saving or essential, I’d take it. Otherwise, I’d leave it where it was.
Reflecting on this moment, I now realize I probably should have spared a thought for how this man had just died—and more importantly, how close his killers might still be.
As I unequipped the ring from the man’s finger and added it to my inventory, a rustling sound snapped me out of my thoughts. It came from just a few dozen meters away in the forest. My head jerked up, and I froze, watching as three small, green, and profoundly grotesque creatures emerged from the trees.
They stood about four feet tall, each clad in mismatched circus attire that somehow made them even more horrifying.
The first wore a large, fluffy collar that looked like it had been ripped off a mangy animal and repurposed. The second was clad in a blue-and-orange pinstripe one-piece suit, the fabric fraying at every seam. The third had draped a fur sash over one shoulder, letting it fall into a crude skirt that would’ve been comical if it weren’t so unsettling.
Their teeth jutted out at bizarre angles, looking as though they’d been scavenged from a collection of various animals. Their sickly green skin was a patchwork of sores, welts, and pustules that glistened in the fading light. Each head bore a thin, greasy slick of black hair. Their noses were mismatched and entirely wrong: one had a bulbous round nose the size of a fist, another an impossibly long, thin nose with upward-facing nostrils, and the last sported what would’ve been a perfectly normal infant’s nose—if it hadn’t been grotesquely shrunken and scrunched into the centre of their face.
The baby-nosed creature’s eyes were unnervingly close together, forcing it to swing its head back and forth in exaggerated motions just to see what it was looking at.
My stomach dropped.
The creatures barked at each other in harsh, guttural tones interspersed with snarls, spitting, and snorting—a symphony of every gross sound a person could make, mixed with the tearing noise of a pit bull destroying a chew toy. After a few seconds of arguing, they turned down the path toward me.
Sweat soaked my hoodie as panic gripped me. My hands trembled, and every instinct screamed that I was about to be torn apart.
I needed to do something clever.
I did not do something clever.
Standing up robotically, I turned on my heel and began speed-walking away as if I were trying not to run near a lifeguard at the pool.
I made it six steps before glancing back. The baby-nosed creature had a bow drawn, its arrow aimed squarely at my back.
"OH FUCK OH SHIT!" I yelled, diving into the nearest bush. An arrow thudded into the dirt where I’d just been standing, quivering ominously.
The dead... man’s... inventory blinked away once I was roughly ten feet from them, leaving only my personal storage visible.
Personal Storage -Player 1209348-
- Hoodie - Equipped
- Slacks - Equipped
- Walkin’ boots* - Equipped
- Uncommon copper ring* - Unequipped 0.01Kg
Frantically, I selected the ring, spamming the mental equivalent of a mouse click as I prayed under my breath, please be invisibility, please be invisibility, PLEASE BE INVISIBILITY.
With a faint shimmer, the ring equipped itself.
BA-DING.
Achievement:
Ring Around the Rosey.
Description:
You have found and equipped a magic ring. Hope you identified it first.
Reward:
1 coupon for a prosthetic finger.
BA-DING.
Skill Acquired: Goblin Speech
You now understand and can speak goblin.
BA-DING.
Achievement:
Skill Issue
Description:
You acquired a skill. Great! That’ll happen to everyone eventually… as long as they don’t, you know, die.
Reward:
You have unlocked the Skill view in your interface. Sick.
BA-DING.
Skill Acquired: Morph Form
You are able to take the form of any creature you have catalogued. You don’t gain any inherent abilities, but it’s an amazing party trick.
I blinked several times, my mind reeling. There was so much subtext crammed into those few notifications that I barely knew where to start. The sheer absurdity of a prosthetic finger coupon made me feel like I was about to lose it all over again.
My lip stung as I bit down hard, the metallic taste of blood clearing my head just enough to focus.
At the top of my vision, a new tab had appeared: Skills.
Curious and desperate, I selected it, watching as my personal storage minimized into the corner of my interface.
The new window displayed two options:
- Goblin Speech
Passive skill. Allows comprehension and communication in Goblin.
- Morph Form
Active skill. Temporarily assume the appearance of any catalogued creature. Duration varies by target.
I pressed on Morph Form, and a tooltip popped up labelled Bestiary.
It was empty.
"Bugger," I muttered under my breath, the realisation adding another layer of frustration to my spiralling panic.
I belly-crawled deeper into the forest, keeping as low as possible, until I found an overhanging root system large enough to serve as an emergency hiding spot. The tangled roots created a small, dark pocket beneath them, just big enough for me to curl into.
Grabbing whatever was within reach—branches, leaves, mud—I piled it on top of myself, layering it thick to camouflage my presence. My dad’s survival lessons had paid off yet again, though I doubted even he had imagined this specific scenario.
I curled into a ball, every muscle in my body tense.
Not long after I finished camouflaging myself, the goblins came in search of me. Their snarls, snorts, and spitting grew louder as they approached, their guttural noises becoming less random. To my surprise, I began to understand their words.
BA-DING.
Achievement:
Bilingual
Description:
You have gained the ability to speak another language! See? It was totally worth giving up hours of your free time every Thursday after school. Now you can act all high and mighty around those filthy monolinguals.
Reward:
1 "Bonjour" Sticker.
The ridiculousness of the reward barely registered as the goblins’ conversation reached my ears.
“Gotta make this fast. Can’t trust that prick with the loot,” one of them said, their voice nasally and raspy, as if permanently congested.
“To the void with it. We’ll just say we got him with an arrow, and he fell off a cliff,” the second replied, their words carrying a peculiar whistling lilt.
“That’s stupid. They’ll want to see the cliff, won’t they? No, let’s say a pack of wolves got him. Make him want to run away, it will,” the first one retorted.
The second goblin snorted loudly, gurgled, and then spat a fist-sized glob of snot onto the ground. I gagged, trying to suppress the wave of nausea that rose in my throat.
Then the first goblin repeated the gesture.
When they both knelt, scooped up the globs, and slapped their hands together with a sickening squelch, I was sure I was going to vomit. Somehow, I managed to keep it down, my body trembling as I clamped my hand over my mouth.
Covered in mud, vomit, blood, leaves, and—possibly—goblin snot, I started to cry.
Silent tears streaked down my dirt-streaked face as I lay curled under the roots, wishing more than anything to be home.
I thought of my family.
I wished I could be back in that cramped living room, debating with my aunt about the intricacies of community management. I’d endure every condescending remark, every mocking laugh, just to see them again.
I’d tell my dad that I’d sign up for the military the second the recruitment office opened—and I’d mean it this time.
I’d tell my mum not to worry anymore. That I’d get my life together.
But I wasn’t there. I was alone, cold, and terrified, hiding from creatures that might kill me the moment they found me.
The sobs dried up eventually, leaving only the hollow ache in my chest. My head pounded, my lips cracked and dry from dehydration.
Exhausted and defeated, I drifted off into a restless sleep, cradled in the filth of the forest floor.