Still feeling the lingering burn in his muscles, Traebus slowly flexed his fingers, testing the connection between himself and the reattuned gem. The mana still felt raw, unstable, but it moved now—less like trying to hold onto lightning and more like gripping a live wire that hadn’t quite decided if it wanted to kill him yet.
"Alright, let’s see if you can actually do something useful," he muttered, shifting into a more stable position beneath the tree. He closed his eyes and focused, drawing a thin thread of mana from the gem and directing it through the gauntlet. Immediately, a surge of energy shot through his arm, strong enough to make his fingers twitch involuntarily. The gauntlet trembled slightly, runes along its surface flickering as the wild mana fought against the device’s structured design.
Traebus frowned. The gem may have been willing to accept this world’s energy, but that didn’t mean it liked behaving. It was like trying to fit a raging river into a drinking glass—possible in theory, but almost certainly doomed to overflow in the most explosive way possible.
His focus wavered for just a second, and a sharp snap of uncontrolled energy sparked from his palm, scorching the tree’s roots beside him. He yelped, jerking his hand back. "Okay! Nope! That was not water-walking! That was ‘set the forest on fire’ magic! Let’s try not to start an extinction event before breakfast."
Taking a deep breath, he tried again, this time pushing less forcefully, feeling out the way the mana moved, adjusting to its wild currents rather than trying to force them into strict patterns. The gauntlet hummed in response, not quite stable but no longer actively trying to explode. "Progress. Maybe.
With a deep breath, Traebus pushed himself to his feet, stretching out his aching limbs before stepping toward the river’s edge. The water shimmered under the late morning light, calm and deceptively inviting—if not for the monstrous, prehistoric nightmare lurking beneath the surface.
"Alright, time for the moment of truth. Either I pull off something miraculous, or I add ''drowning'' to my ever-growing list of humiliating near-death experiences."
He flexed his fingers, feeling the hum of the reattuned mana stone in his gauntlet. The energy still felt volatile, but he had to work with what he had. Closing his eyes, he concentrated, channeling the unstable mana downward, trying to shape it into a proper spell.
The runes flickered erratically, the gem pulsing in warning, but he grit his teeth and took a tentative step forward—onto the water.
For a single, glorious moment, he felt weightless, balanced perfectly on the surface as the magic held. His eyes widened. "Ha! It’s working! I’m actually—"
The gem stuttered.
His foot dipped.
Panic shot through him as the spell wavered, the water shifting beneath his boot like thin ice. "Oh no. No, no, no—"
With a desperate yelp, he flailed his arms, trying to rebalance the flow of mana before he became an easy snack. He hopped forward awkwardly, slapping the gauntlet with his other hand as if that would help. "Don’t you dare short out on me! I swear, if I die like this, I will haunt myself out of spite!"
His feet skidded, half-walking, half-sprinting across the river in a barely controlled wobble, each step threatening to plunge him straight into the depths. "I am so not built for this!" he shouted as he reached the halfway mark, eyes darting nervously for any lurking shadows beneath the surface.
The gem flickered violently again, and his stomach dropped. "Oh, come on! Just ten more steps! That’s all I need!"
With sheer, desperate determination, he threw himself into a final, wildly ungraceful sprint, practically hurling himself toward the rocky shoreline of the island. The last step collapsed beneath him as the spell finally gave out, and with an undignified yell, he tumbled the final few feet onto solid ground, landing face-first into a patch of damp moss.
For a long moment, he just lay there, wheezing. "Well… technically, that worked."
Just as he pushed himself up onto his elbows, shaking off the lingering dizziness, a deep, guttural huff of air washed over him. The temperature around him seemed to rise by several degrees, and an overwhelming stench of damp scales, raw meat, and stagnant water hit him like a physical blow.
Slowly—painfully slowly—he lifted his head.
He was face to snout with the most enormous crocodile he had ever seen.
Its head alone was the size of a small boat, its thick, ridged snout covered in battle-worn scars, with jagged teeth protruding from its massive maw even when its mouth was fully closed. A single amber eye the size of his fist regarded him with unsettling patience, unblinking, unreadable. Its nostrils flared, taking in his scent, and Traebus could hear the slow, rumbling breath that accompanied it.
Every instinct in his body screamed at him to not move.
"...So, uh," he whispered, his lips barely moving, "you live here? Cool, cool. That’s great. Love what you’ve done with the place."
The crocodile blinked slowly, its massive bulk as still as stone, save for the faint ripple of its nostrils flaring again. For one agonizing moment, neither of them moved.
Then, with alarming speed, the beast shifted, its enormous body pivoting slightly, muscles coiling with unmistakable intent.
"Oh, nope, nope, nope!" Traebus yelped, throwing himself sideways just as the monster lunged, its massive jaws snapping shut where his torso had been a second earlier. He hit the ground hard, rolling clumsily over a patch of damp moss, scraping his elbow on an exposed root.
The crocodile huffed again, clearly unimpressed, and began shifting to reposition itself for another attempt.
Scrambling to his feet, Traebus sprinted sideways, keeping a wide berth around the creature as he muttered frantically under his breath. "Oh yeah, let’s settle on the island, Traebus. Good plan! What could possibly go wrong?!"
The crocodile snapped again, jaws slamming shut with an audible clap, the sheer force rattling through Traebus’ ribs. He threw himself behind a rock, heart pounding, only for the beast to begin slowly lumbering forward, tail dragging grooves into the earth. It wasn’t in a hurry. It didn’t need to be.
Traebus, however, very much needed to be.
"Right! Time to get creative!" He reached for his gauntlet, hoping, praying, that whatever shaky functionality it had would hold together long enough to keep him from becoming a poorly digested snack.
The crocodile growled low, rumbling deep in its chest, then charged again.
"Oh, COME ON!"
With no better options, Traebus did what any self-respecting, completely outmatched survivor would do—he threw up his gauntleted hand and willed the first spell that came to mind. "Fireball! Big, glorious, crocodile-scorching fireball!"
The gauntlet whined in protest, the unstable mana gem flickering violently. There was a loud fzzzt, followed by an ominous gurgling sound.
That… was not the sound of fire.
The next second, a wet splat echoed through the clearing as a massive, steaming pile of something decidedly not fire materialized midair and flopped onto the crocodile’s head with a truly disgusting plorp.
Everything went dead silent.
Traebus and the crocodile both stared at each other, equally horrified. The stench hit first—an unholy mix of rot, swamp filth, and something Traebus could only describe as ‘prehistoric death’. The crocodile’s eye twitched. Its nostrils flared. Its enormous tail slammed into the ground in what could only be described as deep, personal outrage.
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Traebus took a single step backward. "Sooo… not a fireball. Good to know."
The crocodile let out an earth-shaking bellow of pure indignation.
"Okay, I see you’re upset. That’s fair. Let’s talk about—"
The beast lunged.
Traebus turned and ran for his life.
His boots barely found traction on the damp moss before he was off like a shot, sprinting toward the dense interior of the island. Behind him, the crocodile let out a furious roar—an ear-splitting mix of rage and indignation that rattled his very soul. The ground trembled as the monstrous reptile thundered after him, its massive bulk surprisingly fast despite its size.
"Oh, come on!" Traebus wheezed, weaving between thick tree trunks and ducking under low-hanging vines. "How are you this fast?! You’re not supposed to be this fast! You''re supposed to be a lazy, sunbathing log of death!"
A thunderous crash erupted behind him as the crocodile plowed through a fallen tree like it was nothing, splinters flying in all directions. Traebus stole a glance over his shoulder and immediately regretted it. The beast’s mouth gaped wide, rows of jagged teeth gleaming, its giant tail sweeping aside anything in its path.
"Not good, not good!" he gasped, leaping over a tangle of roots. He needed a plan. Fast. Running forever wasn’t an option, and climbing a tree seemed like a surefire way to turn himself into an easy-to-reach snack. His eyes darted wildly, searching for anything—anything—that could help.
Up ahead, a rocky incline jutted out from the forest floor, its uneven surface slick with moss but climbable.
"Alright, desperate times!" he gritted out, pouring every last ounce of energy into his legs as he veered toward the outcrop. He hit the base and immediately scrambled upward, fingers grasping for purchase on the damp stone. The sounds of snapping branches and crashing foliage grew louder behind him. The crocodile wasn’t slowing down.
As Traebus hauled himself higher, he dared another glance back. The reptile skidded to a halt at the base of the incline, glaring up at him with pure, undiluted hatred. It let out a low, guttural hiss, steam rising from its nostrils.
Traebus gulped. "Please tell me you don’t climb."
The crocodile, to his absolute horror, did climb.
With a deep, guttural huff, the beast lunged upward, its massive claws digging into the damp rock face. The stone cracked under the weight, but somehow, impossibly, the reptile began to haul itself up—slowly, deliberately, with the patience of something that knew it had already won.
Traebus’ stomach dropped. "Oh, come on! You''re an aquatic nightmare, not a mountain goat! Pick a biome and stick to it!"
The crocodile’s amber eyes gleamed with what could only be described as deep, personal satisfaction, as if the universe itself had conspired to remind Traebus that he was, in fact, prey. Its thick tail slammed against the incline, propelling it another few feet up, jagged claws scraping against the rock.
Traebus scrambled backward, nearly slipping on the wet moss. "Alright, new plan: higher ground. Much, much higher ground!" He turned and bolted up the incline, gasping as his legs screamed in protest. The beast was gaining, and he was running out of ledge.
"I swear, if I live through this, I am personally waging war on the food chain!"
The crocodile surged higher, claws gouging deep into the rock face, its thick muscles tensing with every powerful heave. It was nearly upon him, its jaws parting slightly, revealing rows of glistening, bone-crushing teeth. Traebus could smell the swampy breath wafting up toward him, the scent of decay making his stomach churn.
Then, just as the beast reached the final ledge below him, something gave way.
With a sickening crack, a large chunk of the rock beneath its claws crumbled, sending debris tumbling down the incline. The crocodile snarled, its balance faltering, its massive body twisting as it instinctively tried to grip onto something—anything—to stop its descent.
Gravity, however, had other plans.
The beast let out a deafening roar as it lost its hold completely, its bulk lurching backward. It tumbled, slamming into jagged outcroppings as it plummeted, tail whipping wildly. The moment stretched in sickening slow motion as its enormous body twisted midair—before it came down hard right onto a spire of sharp rock jutting from the ground below.
A sickening, meaty crunch echoed across the island.
Traebus, panting, hands braced against the rock, stared down at the unmoving mass of scales and muscle impaled on the jagged stone. He blinked. Then blinked again. "Huh." He wiped a trembling hand down his face, exhaling shakily. "Well… that was not how I expected to win this fight, but I’ll take it."
The crocodile let out one last, gurgling breath before going completely still. Silence settled over the island.
Traebus swallowed hard. "Okay. So. Step one: don’t climb down that way..."
With his heart still hammering in his chest, Traebus forced himself to move. He needed warmth, light, and something—anything—to remind himself he was still in control of this mess.
His eyes darted around the rocky incline until he spotted a small cluster of dry twigs wedged between two boulders. He gathered what little dry kindling he could find, snapping off thinner branches from low-hanging trees as he made his way back to a relatively flat patch of ground. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.
Dropping to one knee, he arranged the sticks into a crude pile and exhaled. "Alright, fire. Let’s try this again, and preferably not in the form of an explosive incident."
He raised his gauntlet, focusing on channeling just enough mana to spark a flame without summoning some eldritch disaster. The mana gem hummed, its dull red glow flickering uncertainly.
A brief, sputtering spark jumped from his fingertips, barely more than static electricity. "Oh, come on, you were just throwing sewage at reptiles like it was an art form! Now you’re getting shy?"
He growled and focused harder. This time, a thin wisp of smoke curled up from the kindling, followed by a small but steady flame. He let out a slow breath, watching as the fire crackled to life, casting flickering shadows against the stone.
As he sat back, rubbing his aching arms, his gaze drifted to the thin branches he had snapped earlier. "You know what would be really useful right now? A knife." He sighed, eyeing the sticks with disdain. "Yeah, that’s right, let’s whittle with our bare hands, because that’s what survivalists do, right?" He rolled his eyes and muttered, "Next thing you know, I’ll be gnawing fish bones into spears like a lunatic."
He sighed and turned away from the fire, rubbing his eyes before glancing at the surrounding rock formations. As his gaze swept across the uneven surface, his goggles flickered to life with a faint ping. He frowned. They hadn’t been picking up much lately—mostly because half their functions were either fried or outright refusing to cooperate—but now, glowing text scrolled across his vision.
Material Identified: Obsidian. Volcanic Glass. Ideal for cutting tools, weaponry, and primitive implements.
Traebus blinked, then leaned in closer, peering at the dark, glassy rock embedded in the stone. "Wait, hold on—you can scan minerals while they’re still in the ground? You’ve been sitting on this feature this whole time and now you decide to be helpful?"
He groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I swear, if I had known that earlier, I wouldn’t have spent the last four days contemplating gnawing bones into knives. You are so getting an upgrade if I ever get proper tools again."
With careful precision, Traebus picked up a loose shard of the volcanic glass, examining its razor-sharp edge. Even in its raw form, the obsidian was already leagues better than anything he had to work with before. If he had a way to chip it down properly, he could turn it into an actual knife—something useful for more than just wishful thinking.
But for now, he had another pressing task.
Turning away from the rock face, he made his way toward the fallen crocodile. The beast lay motionless, impaled where it had fallen, its massive bulk sprawled across the jagged stone. Traebus took a steadying breath, swallowing down the discomfort in his gut. As horrifying as the fight had been, this was an opportunity. This thing was a walking armory—bone, hide, and meat that could keep him alive far longer than his miserable little foraging routine.
"Alright, let’s see if I can do this without butchering myself in the process."
He carefully pressed the obsidian shard against the beast’s thick hide and dragged it downward. The glass bit deep, slicing through the leathery skin far more effectively than he had expected. Traebus blinked. "Huh. This stuff really is terrifyingly sharp. No wonder people loved making murder tools out of it."
As he worked, an idea took shape in his mind. The bones of the creature—especially the thick ones from its limbs—could be shaped into rudimentary tools. Spears, knives, even clubs if he could refine them properly. He could finally start arming himself with something better than a hastily whittled stick.
But that wasn’t the only thing he needed. As he carved away at the thick hide, he glanced at his gauntlet and goggles. If he was going to make progress in this world, he needed precision, not just brute force. Smaller tools—something he could use to tinker with the intricate wiring and cracked conduits of his gear—were just as important as weapons. If he could carve delicate picks and fine-tipped instruments from the smaller bones, he might actually have a chance at maintaining, or even improving, what little tech he had left.
He ran a hand over his face, smearing himself with sweat and crocodile gore. "Yep. That’s it. I’m officially a madman. Not only am I making a DIY murder arsenal, I’m also starting a prehistoric workshop. Great. Just great."
Still, the more he thought about it, the more the idea made sense. If he could get his gauntlet functioning properly, repair the damaged connections in his goggles, and maybe even integrate some of this world’s materials into his failing tech, he wouldn’t just be surviving—he’d be adapting.
And if his gauntlet was fully operational, that meant enchanting was back on the table.
The realization hit him like a bolt of lightning. If he could get his magic flowing properly, he wouldn’t just be limited to crude survival tools—he could enhance them. Hardened bone weapons, reinforced obsidian blades, maybe even rudimentary magical traps. He could imbue materials with durability, sharpness, or even basic elemental effects. The possibilities sent an excited thrill down his spine.
Of course, none of this would matter if he keeled over from exhaustion first. But who needed sleep when there were bones to carve, weapons to enchant, and questionable life choices to commit to? He gave a tired chuckle, shaking his head as he set his mind to the long night ahead. "Sleep is for people who aren’t stuck in a civilization-free nightmare. Let’s get to work."