The Man Killing Deer - The Blue Box

Name: IvanMagic: NoneTitles:The Lost One, Trap Smith

Proficiencies:

Medical Equipment (7/100)

Crude Lumber Tools (28/100)

Polearms (7/100)

Archery Weapons (3/100)

Crude Traps (16/100)

Basic Craftsmanship (21/100)

Crude Leatherworking (2/100)

Crude Mapping (3/100)

Weapon Masteries:

Crude Spear (27/1000)

Crude Bow (19/1000)

Crude Axe (10/1000)

Status Effects:

Cold

Paranoia +3

Brain Damage

Wendigo's Curse +5

Face Lacerations

Back Lacerations +2

Right-Side Lacerations

Left Shoulder Lacerations

Chest Lacerations +4

Punctured Right Lung

5 Broken Ribs

Fractured Skull +1

Broken Left Shoulder

Broken Left Upper Arm

Fractured Vertebrae +1

Neck Cuts

Chin Lacerations

Status:Critical Condition

The Final Stand

I awoke.

My body—on fire. Heat radiated from every inch of me. Warm blood soaked my torn clothes, pooling beneath me like a scarlet blanket. My chest shuddered with each breath, lungs crackling like frost-bitten leaves.

Above, the night sky bled moonlight onto the snowy field. Stars shimmered like ice crystals. For a moment, it felt like I was floating.

"The moon…"

"Khh–hkk…"

"…The sky… was always this beautiful?"

A memory—fractured but vivid—cut through the haze. My father and I, years ago, camping in the woods. We sat beside the fire, its glow dancing across his weathered face as he said:

"Remember—no matter where you are… look up at the sky. Your mother's smiling down at us from a better place."

I clenched my fist.

I would not die here.Not like this.Not while that thing still lived.

With a broken groan, I pushed myself upright. My body screamed. Bones grated. Blood poured from open wounds. But I moved anyway. I staggered to the wood stove and ripped out a burning log, the flame spitting embers into the night.

I threw open the hut's door.

The snowy field shimmered under moonlight—each flake glittering like the stars above.

And across from me, waiting, stood the Wendigo.

We stared.

Then, we ran—first a walk, then a sprint.

It struck first—right claw down, left sweeping wide. I ducked and rolled, barely dodging the blows. I rammed the torch into the creature's exposed flesh. It snarled and reared back.

I spun right, evading another claw. It lunged, jaws snapping.

I kicked its knee. Its head dropped lower.

I gritted my teeth, reached up, and wrenched the crude spear from its chest with my ruined left arm. I slammed the torch against its face—flesh sizzled. The Wendigo howled for the first time.

I was hurting it.

But I got cocky.

It kicked me square in the gut. My vision blurred. I would've flown—but I clung to the spear, only getting knocked back a few feet.

I swapped the torch and spear—good hand, bad hand.

It roared and charged.

So did I.

It dove, jaws wide. I vaulted over its head using the spear like a pole. As I landed on its back, I dropped the spear, seized an antler, and drove the burning log into its scalp.

The flame spread.

The Wendigo ignited.

It screamed—a horrible, bone-rattling noise—and I leapt off, rolling in the snow. I landed near the axe still embedded in its cracked skull.

I ripped it free.

Then I swung.

Once. Twice. Three times.

It reared up and slashed—catching me across the chest, chin, and neck.

Blood geysered.

But I didn't stop.

With one final, desperate cry, I buried the axe in its skull. The cracked mask exploded, bone shards scattering like glass.

And the Wendigo collapsed.

Silent.

Dead.

"I won…"

"Kkhh… hkhkk…"

"…I won."