Devon sat slumped against the rock, forcing himself to breathe deeply. The massive energy drain from the Void Field left him feeling hollow and weak. He didn't dare move for a long time, listening to the sounds of the forest return to their normal rhythm, waiting for the trembling in his limbs to subside. His mind was foggy, but one thought was crystal clear: he needed better control over this power.
When he felt a fraction of his strength return, he spoke, his voice barely a whisper. "System. That.. that Void Field. Is there anything else I can do with this power, beyond killing things? Is there a way to make it useful for simple survival?"
[Query acknowledged. Current Void Energy Reserves: Critically Low.]
[User's capacity for complex Void manipulation is currently rudimentary. With increased mastery and energy reserves, the Void ability offers a wide spectrum of applications. The most immediate and practical non-combat use for survival involves manipulating small amounts of localized space.]
[Future Technique: Spatial Pocket]
[This technique allows the user to carve a temporary, non-Euclidean space for the storage of items. The size and stability of the Spatial Pocket are directly correlated to the user's maximum Void energy reserves and current expenditure. At full capacity, a master could store materials the size of a warehouse. For a novice, it would be limited to a backpack-sized space.]
[Warning: The Spatial Pocket requires a constant, minimal energy drain to maintain stability. If the user's reserves drop below a critical threshold (e.g., due to injury or exhaustion), the pocket will collapse, instantly spilling all contents back into local space.]
Devon nodded slowly. A storage space that couldn't be detected and kept his hands free was invaluable. That was a goal worth striving for.
Feeling slightly less exhausted, Devon slowly made his way back toward the stream and his abandoned fishing line. He was intensely aware of every rustle and shadow, constantly glancing behind him. The thought of another Chitterbane or something worse terrified him. He found his fishing line where he'd dropped it and pulled it in.
He moved quietly, choosing a spot where the stream narrowed. With patience, his makeshift hook finally found its mark. The line tugged, and he quickly hauled up a small, silver-scaled Swiftfin fish onto the bank. It wasn't large, but it would satisfy him for now.
After securing his catch, he continued his foraging. He checked the snare he'd set earlier in the thicket; it was empty. Not surprising, given how exposed the spot was. He retrieved the cordage, packed up his fishing pole, and made his way back toward his hollowed-out tree shelter.
His next problem was cooking. The System had warned him that the scent of cooking and fire would attract monsters. Cooking was essential to prevent sickness, but an open fire was a beacon in this deadly forest.
Once inside the relative security of his thick tree hollow, Devon had an idea based on the same principles as the smoke vents he'd seen in old fireplace designs. He needed a chimney.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, he focused his remaining energy. It had to be precise, or he could ruin his only shelter.
He materialized a small Void Sphere and carefully guided it against the wood. With a quiet hiss, the sphere ate away a perfect, clean hole straight up through the wood, creating an initial smoke channel. He then moved the sphere sideways, carving a meter-long passage horizontally within the tree's core, and finally angled it outward to emerge a few feet away from the trunk.
He deactivated the sphere, breathing heavily. The vent was perfect, a small fire built on the floor would send smoke directly up and out a hole several meters away from the base, hopefully dissipating the scent before it pooled and attracted unwanted attention. It was risky, but better than broadcasting his location with an open blaze.
He looked at the fish he had caught and then at the dark, narrow ventilation shaft he'd carved with the Void. He needed a fire, and he needed it now, before he was too tired to even try.
He moved to where he had dropped the pieces of the first Chitterbane carapace. The material was hard and thick. It had a faint, sickly green shimmer. He picked up one of the largest fragments, a roughly curved piece of shell about the size of his palm and ran his thumb across its surface.
"It's strong enough to stop a rock," he muttered to himself, "but can it make a spark?"
He found a piece of river stone he'd collected earlier for potential tools. He cleared a small patch of dirt near the center of the hollow, making a tiny, contained area for a fire pit. He gathered some fine, dry tinder, shredded bark and dried moss and arranged it into a nest.
Holding the carapace piece firmly in one hand, he brought the edge of the river stone down hard along its surface. The sound was a grating shhhick, and a bright, yellow-white spark jumped off the surface of the shell, sputtering briefly on the moss. The shell was generating sparks! The strange biological makeup of the alien chitin had a high enough mineral content to function perfectly as the "steel" in a flint and steel setup.
Encouraged, he scraped the stone across the shell again and again, sending a shower of sparks toward the tinder nest. Finally, a tiny thread of smoke rose, followed by a small orange ember. He gently blew on it, nursing the tiny flame until it caught hold of the dry moss.
He fed the infant fire with small twigs, careful to keep the size minimal and directly beneath the entrance of the ventilation shaft. Picking up the Swiftfin, he stuck a small but thick branch into its mouth and out its gills, propping it up between some stones he found outside, the smoke rose obediently up the tunnel and away, leaving the interior of his shelter clear. He was safe, hidden, and finally, he had food. The first real taste of survival in this deadly new world.
Devon watched the small fire, its smoke climbing up the vent. The smell of cooking fish was intoxicating. Making sure it was cooked through by tearing a small piece off, and confirming it was, Devon started eating, savoring the slightly tough, sweet meat. It was the best meal he'd ever had, not because of its flavor, but because it represented a victory over an environment that seemed designed to kill him.
As he ate, he considered the implications of the Spatial Pocket the System had mentioned. It was a high-level goal, but the ability to carry essential tools and supplies invisibly would completely redefine his approach to travel and scavenging. For now, however, he had to focus on the immediate. He was in a known monster area, and he was exhausted with critically low energy reserves. The best defense was making his shelter impenetrable.
With the last bits of fish consumed, Devon turned his attention to defense. The two attacks had proven the forest floor was not safe. His current shelter was a tree hollow, and the entrance was just a gap that was easily forced open by anything larger than a rabbit.
He dragged the thickest pieces of wood and heavy stones he could find within the hollow to the entrance. He wedged a large, splintered log across the opening, then jammed stones and smaller pieces of wood into the remaining gaps. It wasn't airtight, but it was now a much more formidable barrier, secured against accidental intruders and anything short of a determined assault.
Despite the early hour, a sudden rush of exhaustion hit Devon. It was the combined fatigue from the Chitterbane attacks, the stress of constant danger, and the near-total depletion of his Void energy reserves. The System's warning of critical low status echoed in his mind, reminding him that he was essentially defenseless until he recovered.
With his shelter fortified and the faint, savory scent of cooked fish still lingering, he wedged one last stone into the door barrier and sat back against the inside of his hollow.
He curled up, forcing his tense muscles to relax. On the streets of Earth, sleep was a liability, a moment of weakness where one could be robbed, injured, or worse. Here, it felt like an even greater risk, but it was a necessary one. He had food, protection, and no energy left to fight. Recovery was his highest priority.
He let the crackle of the tiny, contained fire lull him into a state of semi-awareness. His last conscious thought was a quiet vow: when he woke up it was time dedicate time to practicing the precise, less draining control over the Void that the System demanded.