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Chapter 42
That’s… Not A Cow
I’m staring down a Dire Wolf the size of a damn
horse, its golden eyes locked onto mine, peeling me apart layer by layer. Thick
fur bristles, muscles tight like a coiled spring. A low growl hums beneath his
breath—not loud, just enough to send a warning straight to my spine. The air
between us crackles, heavy with something unspoken.
Neither of us knows what the hell just happened.
And I’m pretty sure we’re both trying to figure out how to feel about it.
Then there’s Sprocket.
He’s off to the side, looking… wrong. The little
gremlin who’s usually all nervous energy and bad ideas now stands on all fours,
a near-perfect copy of the Dire Wolf. Same hulking frame. Same thick coat. Same
absurdly massive paws.
Except for one problem.
Antlers.
Not tiny nubs—full-grown, gnarled things curling
from his skull like he lost a bet with evolution. They catch the dim light,
jagged and sharp, a mix of majesty and pure, unfiltered nonsense. A wolf
crossed with a moose.
The universe is messing with me.
The golden eyes? Those match. The solid muscle
under his fur? Same. But the energy? That’s new. The usual twitchy mischief is
gone, replaced by something heavier. Something quieter. The kind of presence
that makes you rethink who the real threat in the room is.
Sprocket flicks an ear and glances at the Dire
Wolf—who, judging by his expression, is just as baffled as I am. I can hear him
sniffing, taking in the scent of the creature beside him. The one who should’ve
been my small, snarky disaster, not… whatever this is.
I exhale, slow and steady. The weight of the
moment presses in.
Sprocket—he’s always been unpredictable. But now?
Now he looks like he could tear me in half just as easily as he could crack a
joke.
Antlers.
Goddamn antlers.
The wolf tilts his head, his voice a low,
gravelly rumble in my mind. <i>“Hey… uh… this is a tad bit… weird.”</i>
I blink. “Yeah…”
Sprocket, unfazed by the existential nightmare
happening in real time, sniffs the air, stretches, and promptly turns away.
“I’m gonna find a spot to nap,” he announces, already trotting off into the forest.
Good talk, I guess.
Which leaves me standing here, locked in a
staring contest with my new, very large, very wolfy companion. He hasn’t moved.
Just watching me with those eerie, knowing eyes. He’s waiting. Expecting
something.
I rub the back of my neck and gesture vaguely.
“Alright, big guy. Looks like you need a name.”
His ears twitch.
I nod. “Yeah. A name. You know, so I don’t have
to keep calling you ‘Big Guy.’”
The wolf blinks. <i>“What’s wrong with Big Guy?”</i>
I sigh. “That’s not a name. That’s a lazy
descriptor.”
Silence.
I exhale through my nose, thinking. “Alright,
let’s try something simple. What about… Fido?”
Nothing. No reaction. He might as well be a
statue.
“Old Faithful?”
The wolf snorts. So that’s a no.
I cross my arms. “Rufus?”
His left ear twitches. Barely a reaction. Not
exactly enthusiasm.
I squint. “McGruff?”
A low growl rumbles from his throat.
“Okay, definitely not McGruff,” I mutter. “Tough
crowd.”
Shaq’Rai, my ever-present AI assistant, sighs,
her voice thick with simulated exasperation.
<i>“You’re hopeless.”</i>
I don’t know how she does it, but Shaq’Rai has
this way of making her voice hum through the air—smooth, almost too calm—like
she’s barely holding back laughter. I can practically hear the smirk in her
tone.
“You do know there’s a random function, right?”
I squint at the sky, silently questioning every
life choice that led to me creating her. Not that I’m actually looking at the
endless gray above—I’m more focused on the way Shaq’Rai’s voice seeps into my
thoughts, like an itch I can’t scratch.
“And let fate name my wolf? What if it calls him
‘Fluffy’?”
The Dire Wolf, who’s been standing there,
perfectly still and stoic, finally lets out a short, unimpressed huff. His
golden eyes meet mine with the kind of look usually reserved for people who try
petting wild animals.
Honestly? I’m starting to feel like the idiot
here.
“The function doesn’t pick at random,” Shaq’Rai
corrects, her voice dripping with that smug AI efficiency that grates on my
nerves. “It takes the first five names each participant thinks of and selects
one at random.”
I cross my arms, the weight of my half naked body
settling against the breeze. My gaze drifts back to the wolf, his dark fur
rippling under the dull light, eyes locked onto me like he’s waiting to see
just how far my stupidity will go.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“Alright, big guy. You in?”
He gives me a long, suffering look.
“If it gets you to stop throwing terrible names
at me, sure.”
I sigh. “Fine. Let’s do it.”
The moment I think the words, the system chimes—a
low, melodic note that rings in my ears, like an invisible bell just sounded. I
swear I can feel the magic hum through the air. Then, between us, a glowing
wheel flickers to life, its edges curling like flames as letters shift and
rearrange in a dizzying blur.
Then, just as suddenly, it stops.
Nike’deimus.
I blink.
The Dire Wolf blinks.
For a long second, neither of us moves. The name
just hovers there, glowing in the air—awkward, clunky, like someone mashed a
keyboard and called it a day.
Then I start laughing. Not because it’s
funny—but… yeah, actually, it’s mostly funny.
“What the hell kind of name is that?” I choke
out, still trying to stifle the chuckles creeping up my throat.
The wolf tilts his head, ears twitching. His
golden eyes narrow slightly, like the name physically offends him. “I didn’t
think of it.”
“Neither did I.” I shake my head in disbelief.
Shaq’Rai’s amusement cuts through the silence,
smug as hell. “Looks like the system glitched. It stitched together letters
from all your suggestions.”
Her voice practically purrs with satisfaction.
I narrow my eyes. “Shaq’Rai… did you pitch in
five names?”
A pause. Then an exasperated sigh. “Guilty.”
Way too pleased with herself.
“Really?”
“Yes…” she drawls, full of mock innocence.
“Why—”
“Grant.” Her voice turns patient, like she’s
explaining something to a child. “What’s my name?”
I pause.
…Oh.
“Touché.”
Nike’deimus—because apparently, we’re stuck with
it—lets out a low, frustrated sigh that rumbles through his chest. “I suppose
it’s better than McGruff.”
I snort. “Barely.”
Shaq’Rai pings—and by that, I mean she literally
says <i>Ping</i>. A glowing quest notification flashes in front of me. I barely
stop myself from sighing.
<i>THE HUNT FOR MEAT.</i>
Shaq’Rai hums with mock enthusiasm. “The details…
blah, blah, blah.” Then she perks up. “Oh! There’s a note about Nike’deimus’
tracking ability. Looks like he can tell the difference between intelligent
creatures and viable prey.”
I blink. “You know what that means, don’t you?”
We hold the silence for a beat before blurting
out, “Burgers!”
I scan the quest text, rubbing my chin. “Hunt for
meat, huh? Yeah, that’s about as subtle as a sledgehammer.” I glance at
Nike’deimus. “So, you can tell what’s edible?”
The giant wolf shifts his weight, ears flicking
back. “Uh… yeah, I guess?” His voice is deep and a little rough, like he’s
still getting used to words.
A slow grin spreads across my face. “Sweet. That
means we can get some thick, juicy sirloin burgers.”
Nike’deimus tilts his head. “What is... <i>burgers</i>?”
I freeze. Just stare at him. Of all the things
wrong with this world, <i>this</i> might be the worst. “What is—” I shake my
head, trying to process the tragedy. “Juicy, thick-cut sirloin from a cow’s
butt, ground up to perfection,” I say, already salivating.
Nike’deimus narrows his eyes like I just gave him
an unsolvable riddle. “What is... a <i>cow</i>?”
I let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Oh, come
on. Four legs, big, dumb, makes milk. We eat ‘em. You <i>have</i> to know what
a cow is.”
Shaq’Rai, ever the know-it-all, chimes in. “A cow
is a large, herbivorous mammal commonly domesticated on Earth for milk and
meat. Females have udders. Males have large, curved horns.”
Nike’deimus’ ears twitch. His nose lifts to the
air, nostrils flaring. “What is… <i>Earth</i>?”
I squint at Shaq’Rai. How the hell does she know
that? Is she scanning my memories?
Nike’deimus doesn’t wait for an answer. He huffs,
considering, then lets out a low growl of realization. “I know where to find
this <i>cow</i>. I can smell them.”
I freeze. My breath catches. I stare at him,
heart kicking up a notch.
“Wait—what? Hell... yeah, you do.”
Excitement stirs in my chest—real,
stomach-churning excitement. But it’s gone in five seconds, replaced by a tight
knot of dread.
Cows. If cows exist here, that means real
food—actual meat. Not the weird, gamey stuff this world tries to pass off as
edible. But I’ve learned by now. Nothing here is simple. "Cows" might
not even be cows.
Nike’deimus strides ahead with purpose, his
massive frame cutting through the terrain like a king. His tail swishes
proudly. He’s on a victory march.
I follow, keeping pace, but unease settles in,
clinging to me. “This better not be some nightmare hybrid with fangs,” I
mutter, mostly to myself. Nike’deimus doesn’t respond. Of course, he doesn’t.
The air grows heavier as we near the cliff’s
edge. The ground softens beneath my boots, unsettling, like it’s begging me to
turn back. Then the smell hits.
Jesus.
Wet earth, decay, something foul and rancid. I
clamp my mouth shut to stop from gagging, eyes watering from the stench.
We reach the edge, and my stomach drops.
Below us sprawls what should be a meadow, but
it’s more of a swamp. Waterlogged, murky—one of those places that breeds things
better left alone. Tall grasses claw at the mud, reeds poke through stagnant
pools, and the whole scene feels like a nightmare.
I can’t help but laugh, even though I really
shouldn’t. “Nike’deimus… what the hell?”
The Dire Wolf stands proudly, chest puffed, ears
perked, waiting for some kind of praise. “I present to you… the almighty cow,”
he says, smug as ever.
I blink.
No way.
I lean forward, squinting at the creatures below.
My jaw drops.
That’s not a cow. That’s not even close.
In the middle of the swamp, standing knee-deep in
the muck, is a creature straight out of a legend. A creature that could only be
described as a fucking Minotaur. Thick muscles, dark fur, a bull’s head with
sharp, curved horns. It bellows, a deep, guttural sound that shakes the air.
And it’s not alone.
More of them—Minotaur-like beasts—move through
the reeds, their hulking forms cutting through the mist. No peaceful grazing.
No lazy sunbathing. Just pure muscle, snorting and shifting, their eyes full of
menace.
I slap my palm to my forehead, groaning. “That’s
not a fucking cow… that’s a goddamn Minotaur.”
Shaq’Rai chimes in at the perfect moment. “Oh
boy…” Her voice is a mix of amusement and dread, just like mine.
Nike’deimus wags his tail, looking even prouder
now. “I present to you… the almighty cow,” he repeats, somehow more smug than
before.
I can feel my soul leave my body.
“This world,” I mutter, already regretting every
step that brought me here, “never fails to disappoint me in new and creative
ways.”
I exhale sharply, rolling my shoulders. “Yeah, I
think we’re gonna need a bigger knife.”