Ray Moss, Level 5 (Mana: 100/1000, all magic at Level 5), stood at the edge of Zyra's forge district, his low-tier short sword strapped to his belt, its goblin core humming with a faint 0.05 attack boost that would scale with his level. Purchased from Grunthar with hard-earned daalers, the blade felt solid, a smarter choice than static guns for the wasteland's close-quarters monster fights. His stats—Strength 5, Endurance 5, Speed 5, Agility 5, symmetrical—were modest, but his planning was sharp. HP: 100/1000. He'd crafted a health potion (rat blood, herbs; +10 HP, temporary) and a smoke bomb (rat fur, ash; clouds vision), stored in his Dimension Pocket alongside rat pelts and a pipe for backup. Limited daalers meant no silver dust or sea salt bombs—those were for wealthier mercenaries.
The sun dipped low, casting shadows over Zyra's walls. The wards hummed, blocking spatial magic like Short Blink, a defense against demonic incursions. Ray approached the gate, the demon scanner—a glowing metal arch—beeping as it checked for void corruption or psychic traces. Ray passed, his Yomi Protocol shielding him from mindflayer domination.
[Yomi Protocol: Gate cleared, fleshbag. Wasteland's calling. Don't trip over your own ego and end up as mutant kibble.]
Ray stepped into the wasteland, the air turning dry and dusty. Cracked ground stretched before him, twisted vines and glowing grass marking portal scars—sealed remnants of the hive-king's invasion, their residual Mana mutating local fauna. No mythical monsters or cursed spectrals roamed Zyra, only mutants like rats, but the wasteland teemed with all three, and space colonies faced their own threats. Ray followed the trail southeast toward the depot—tire tracks from an old military truck, fresh and deep, mingled with scattered orc-sized footprints, signs of a recent disembarkment. Inspection now revealed Mutant Blood on Tires, Recent Skirmish Outside Wards. Planning wins wars.
The path was treacherous, broken concrete from pre-portal roads crumbling underfoot. Ray's Inspection scanned the trail: Recent Tracks, Bandit Group, 8 Members, Military Truck, Footprints from Mutant Fight. Twilight deepened, the wasteland's eerie glow intensifying. He moved cautiously, senses sharp—elf hearing would help, but mutagens were a distant goal.
Trouble struck near a ruined warehouse, its walls cracked and vines crawling like veins. A low growl echoed. Ray crouched, using Stealth (Stealth: 1/4 uses toward Level 3). Inspection revealed: Mutated Rat Pack: 5 Beta Rats, 2 Alpha Rats, Aggressive. Beta rats, dog-sized with matted fur and glowing eyes, flanked two larger alphas, cat-like with razor claws.
[Yomi Protocol: Rat party, fleshbag. 5 betas at 10 EXP each, 2 alphas at 15 EXP each. Don't trip over your own feet, or you'll be their chew toy.]
Ray didn't charge in. He touched a nearby rock and imbued it with 10 Mana of Healing attribute to create a Healing Rune (Mana: 90/100), hoping to catch multiple rats with its contagious plague. He tossed his smoke bomb, clouding the pack's vision. The rats scattered, and a beta triggered the Healing Rune, a sickly mist erupting, infecting it (HP draining temporarily). Ray Short Blinked behind another beta (Mana: 80/100), slashing its throat with his core-forged sword (Swordplay: 1/4 uses, 10 EXP). The infected beta brushed past two others, spreading the plague (HP draining). Ray cast Gust, slashing with wind blades (Mana: 70/100), cutting them down (Swordplay: 2/4 uses, 20 EXP).
An alpha lunged, claws raking. Ray Short Blinked aside (Mana: 60/100), stunned it with Spark (Mana: 50/100), and slashed its flank with his scaling blade (Swordplay: 3/4 uses, 15 EXP). The second alpha charged; he froze its paws with Frost Touch (Mana: 40/100), tripping it, and finished with a sword thrust (Swordplay: 4/4 uses, Level 4, +10 EXP, 15 EXP for kill). Auto-loot stored rat pelts, blood, and claws. The plague didn't affect Ray, being race-specific to rats.
[Yomi Protocol: Clean work, fleshbag. That healing rune trick was nastier than a rat's breath—plague spreading like bad gossip. EXP: 80 from rats, 10 from Swordplay level-up. Total: 350. Don't start strutting like you own the wasteland.]
Breathing hard, Ray pressed on, the truck's tire tracks weaving through the soil, scattered footprints hinting at a recent fight. The wasteland darkened, decay thick in the air. Inspection caught: Mutated Earth Boar Tracks, Recent, Aggressive. A massive boar, hide like cracked stone, burst from a thicket, tusks gleaming. Ray cast Flames instinctively (Mana: 30/100), but the fire fizzled against the boar's earthy hide, barely singeing it.
[Yomi Protocol: Fire on an earth beast? Rookie move, fleshbag. Earth eats flames—try the opposite, or did you skip basic physics for a nap?]
Ray cursed, recalling the AI's lesson—fire was weak to earth. He switched to Drip, slicing with water blades under high pressure (Mana: 20/100), then cast Frost Touch to freeze it into a slick trap (Mana: 10/100). The boar slid, crashing into a boulder with a pained grunt. Ray Short Blinked beside it (Mana: 0/100), finishing with a sword thrust to the flank (Swordplay: 1/5 uses toward Level 5, 20 EXP). Auto-loot stored boar tusk and hide.
Mana depleted, Ray stumbled, scratches stinging (HP: 90/1000). The depot was still a ways off, and the fight had taken its toll. He needed to recover before pushing on—the wasteland was unforgiving at night, with mutants, mythical monsters, and cursed spectrals more active under darkness. Ray scanned for a safe spot, his Inspection revealing a small cave in a rocky outcrop, partially hidden by vines—Safe Shelter, No Mutant or Monster Signs, Portal Scar Nearby but Inactive.
He crawled inside, the cave's cool air a relief from the dusty wind. The space was cramped, barely enough for him to sit, but it offered protection. Ray leaned against the wall, his breathing steadying. Mana recovery was slow without sleep—about 10 mana per hour awake, faster asleep. He drank his health potion (+10 HP, HP: 100/1000), mending the scratches from the boar's tusks via touch. The potion's warmth spread through him, easing the pain.
[Yomi Protocol: Smart, fleshbag. Mana at 0/100. Rest, or you'll be monster chow faster than you can say 'I should've stayed in Zyra.']
Ray nodded to himself, closing his eyes for a short rest. Memories of William's life surfaced—foster homes, rejections, the cafe dream that never materialized. Why am I always punished? The thought echoed, but in this new world, he had power. The Yomi Protocol, its snarky voice cutting through doubt, was his second chance. Reckless wins battles, planning wins wars. He thought of the bandits' truck, likely parked at the depot, and the fight ahead, where his core-forged sword would outshine their static guns. The cave's portal scar remnant glowed faintly, its residual Mana speeding recovery slightly. Inspection: Portal Scar Remnant, Low Mana, Attracts Minor Mutants. No immediate threat, but he couldn't linger.
An hour passed, Mana ticking up to 10/100. Ray felt a slight surge, enough for a basic spell if needed. He emerged, the night fully fallen, the wasteland illuminated by the glow of scars and distant Zyra lights. The truck's tire tracks continued, footprints more chaotic, suggesting a larger skirmish. A screech pierced the air—an impundulu, a storm-infused alien monster, its feathers crackling with electric arcs, its biological core pulsing with bio-energy. Inspection: Impundulu, Mythical Monster, Weak to Overload. Its eyes glowed like miniature thunderstorms, talons sharp as lightning bolts, darting with unnatural speed. The air buzzed, static raising Ray's hairs. It swooped, talons grazing his arm, sending a jolt through him (HP: 95/1000). Ray cast Spark, amplifying its core's electricity to overload its biology, causing it to falter with a shrieking wail like thunder (Mana: 0/100). He dodged another strike, the ground singed where talons hit, and charged, slashing with his core-forged sword, carving through its flesh (Swordplay: 2/5 uses, 30 EXP). The impundulu collapsed, its screech fading, leaving an ozone scent. Auto-loot stored an impundulu core, pulsing with bio-energy.
[Yomi Protocol: Nice spark show, fleshbag. Sliced that alien bird like a pro with that scaling blade. EXP: 50 from boar and impundulu. Total: 400. Don't start thinking you're the wasteland's next top model.]
Exhausted, Ray found a hidden alcove near the depot, rusted tanks looming in the dark. His body ached, scratches and bruises pulsing from the impundulu's talons (HP: 95/1000). He touched his arm, using Minor Mend to heal the wounds (Mana: 0/100, recovering overnight). He rested under the stars, the wasteland's howls fading, the depot's silhouette—housing the bandits' truck—a promise of his guild dream. Planning wins wars, he thought, gripping his core-forged sword.
[Yomi Protocol: Rest up, fleshbag. Depot's waiting. Don't choke, or I'll have to write your epitaph: 'Here lies Ray, stabbed by his own bad ideas.']