ã€ŠGhost In The Systemã€‹


 Chapter 1 - Welcome to the... DEAD!

    Jordan Robberts had been sitting on the toilet for the past thirty minutes, legs spread, elbows resting on his thighs, completely engrossed in his phone. He''d finished his business a while ago¡ªat least ten minutes, maybe fifteen¡ªbut the algorithm had him in a chokehold. Snapchat, with its uncanny ability to serve up precisely the kind of absurd, gut-busting videos he loved, had him suppressing snickers that nearly echoed off the tiled walls. He bit his lip, shaking slightly, his stomach clenching as he tried to stifle another wheeze. The last thing he needed was to be the guy cackling alone in the office bathroom.

    A few stalls down, another pair of shoes remained planted on the floor¡ªa quiet, unknown coworker, equally engaged in his own private ritual. Jordan had no idea who it was, and he wasn''t about to make it weird by breaking the unspoken rule of restroom anonymity. He figured if the roles were reversed and he heard some random dude wheezing over his phone while he was mid-squat, he¡¯d probably pinch it off and leave, mortified. Though he knew he was no upstanding citizen of polite professionalism. He and his crew of guys were a bunch of immature jokesters.

    Eventually, responsibility nudged at the back of his mind. He sighed, locked his phone, and braced himself to stand. The moment he pushed up from the seat, his knees wobbled, and his stomach lurched as a wave of cold numbness rippled down his legs. A deep, unsettling absence of sensation blanketed his feet and ankles, and for a split second, he wondered if he''d lost them entirely.

    "Shit," he muttered under his breath, gripping the stall divider for balance.

    He took a careful step forward, but his feet felt like hollow blocks of wood, utterly detached from his body. He had no choice but to trust that they were still positioned correctly beneath him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a paranoid thought surfaced: What if my bones aren¡¯t lined up right? What if I step down wrong and they just snap like twigs? He swallowed, pushing the ridiculous image of his ankle crumbling to dust out of his head, and shuffled forward with all the grace of a newborn deer.

    By some miracle, he made it to the sink without face-planting. As he scrubbed his hands under the lukewarm water, the dreaded pins-and-needles sensation began creeping back into his legs¡ªslow at first, then building to that unbearable, static-like prickle. He winced, flexing his toes inside his boots as he speed-walked back toward the maintenance shop on the ground floor, his movements stiff and robotic.

    By the time he collapsed into his chair at the workbench, the full-force agony of reawakening nerves hit him like a freight train. He clenched his jaw, exhaling sharply through his nose, determined to play it cool. The last thing he needed was for Darren to notice. If his buddy caught wind of the fact that Jordan was temporarily paralyzed from the knees down, he wouldn¡¯t hesitate to grab the armrests of his rolling chair and spin him like a carnival ride, just to be an asshole.

    Jordan leaned back in his chair, keeping his legs completely still as he scrolled absentmindedly through his phone, half-listening to the usual chatter of the maintenance shop. The air was thick with the scent of oil, grease, and stale coffee¡ªjust another day in the Engineering Department.

    Darren was slouched at the workbench, disassembling a pump motor, while Clarke and Chris debated over whether the breakroom coffee maker was truly garbage, or if ¡°someone¡± was just too lazy to clean it. The dynamic between the four of them had settled into an easy rhythm¡ªeach of them had their quirks, their strengths, their history.

    For Jordan, this job was easy, almost mindless. After thirteen years in the field, bouncing from base to base, station to station, nothing in the electrical trade could really throw him off anymore. He¡¯d seen it all¡ªfried panels from idiots who didn¡¯t lock out breakers, contractors cutting corners, facilities held together with more wishful thinking than actual maintenance. Compared to the chaos of his earlier years, this was comfortable.

    His mind drifted, as it often did when he wasn¡¯t actively engaged in a task. Back to those younger years.

    September 11th. Sixth grade. The world had cracked open that day, exposing something dark and terrifying that he hadn¡¯t fully understood at the time. The fear of a draft, of being thrown into a war he wasn¡¯t ready for, loomed over him like an unspoken threat in those teenage years. That fear eventually turned into a strange inevitability¡ªwhen he graduated high school, directionless and restless. Jordan was a worker¡­ outside of that he had no plans. However, plans found him.

    At just 18, Jordan stood before the judge, unflinching, unrepentant. He had hurt someone¡ªhurt them so badly they would never be whole again. And he was glad.

    The man he brutalized had once been a friend, someone he had trusted. Jimmy. Charismatic, friendly, the kind of guy everyone liked. He had even been dating Jordan¡¯s sister, Sarah. For a while, it seemed like a good match. Until the day Sarah came home broken¡ªher face swollen and bloodied, her spirit shattered. She didn¡¯t have to say much. Jordan knew. The trust she had placed in Jimmy had been twisted into something monstrous.

    And Jordan refused to let that stand.

    He hadn¡¯t denied a thing. In the courtroom, he recounted the encounter with an almost eerie detachment. How he hunted Jimmy down. How he beat him senseless, crushed his arm in the struggle, then, when Jimmy lay helpless, took his time destroying him. He stomped his knees until they were ruined, bones splintered beyond repair. Jimmy would never walk again. And Jordan? He felt no guilt. Only satisfaction.

    Jimmy was convicted of rape. But that didn¡¯t absolve Jordan. His attack had been relentless, calculated. His defense argued it was a crime of passion, a brother protecting his sister. But his lack of remorse, the cold precision of his actions, made it clear¡ªthis hadn¡¯t been a moment of blind rage. It had been a decision.

    The verdict came with a choice: five years in prison or ten years in the military. Jordan weighed his options quickly and chose the military. The judge asked which branch, but Jordan said it didn¡¯t matter to him. He would go wherever he was told. The judge approved and sent him into the U.S. Coast Guard, calling it an opportunity to serve, to save lives rather than destroy them.

    Jordan said nothing. He knew what he had done. He would never forget. But this was a reset¡ªstructure, purpose, movement. A way to keep going. Because standing still in a prison cell had never been an option. So, off he went into his sentenced future.

    Every few years, he¡¯d pack up and move, drop into a new command, and start the process over again¡ªlearning the ropes, keeping his head down, figuring out what was expected of him. He had chosen to become an Electrician¡¯s Mate, working on anything electrical that fell in his scope of responsibility. Usually, within a year of being at a new place, he¡¯d become the go-to guy, the one people turned to when things broke down and repairs were needed. There was a quiet satisfaction in that, in knowing that even when everything else shifted around him, his work¡ªhis ability to solve problems¡ªremained solid.

    It was a pattern he¡¯d developed long before the military, even back when he was just a kid grinding through dead-end jobs. The cycle was always the same: work hard, do more than his fair share, watch everyone else coast by, and let the frustration build until it boiled over.

    The explosions were legendary.

    Jordan didn¡¯t consider himself an angry guy, not really. For the most part, he kept his mouth shut, didn¡¯t make waves. He let the little things slide. Until he couldn¡¯t. It always took about a year and a half, maybe two years, before the resentment calcified into something unshakable. It would always end the same way¡ªa confrontation, words he could never take back, and a set of keys hurled against a wall with enough force to dent drywall. The keys¡­ those damn keys.

    Every job he¡¯d ever had, he somehow ended up with a set of them. Maybe that was the universe¡¯s way of giving him something tangible to throw when it all went south. It had become almost ritualistic¡ªhis final act of defiance before storming out the door. Fuck you, I quit. A phrase spoken with the weight of months, sometimes years, of pent-up frustration.

    He could still remember the look on his last boss¡¯s face, red and flustered, when he¡¯d done it the final time before the assault. He¡¯d been standing there, keys loaded in his hand, practically vibrating with fury as he laid into the guy¡ªpointing, cussing, tearing into every flaw, every bit of incompetence he¡¯d let slide for too long. And then, with a sharp clack, the keys hit the wall, bouncing once before landing unceremoniously on the tile floor.

    He had stormed out, his heart hammering, his skin hot, but the second he got into his car, he felt it¡ªthe quiet vacuum of regret. Not because he¡¯d quit. No, that part was always inevitable. But because he never seemed to figure out how to handle it better. His father would have.

    His dad was the kind of man who handled problems in the moment. There was no build-up, no boiling point. He nipped things in the bud the second they started. Jordan had spent his whole life watching him navigate the world with a firm, unwavering confidence¡ªcalling people out, taking control of situations before they spiraled. His mother, on the other hand, was the opposite. She was warmth, patience, quiet resilience. She put everyone else¡¯s needs before her own, offering kindness where his father offered strength and accountability.

    And Jordan? Jordan was somewhere in between. He could hold his tongue, tolerate the bullshit¡ªfor a while. But when he finally snapped, it was pure fire.

    ¡°You look deep in thought, Robberts.¡±

    Darren¡¯s voice cut through the fog of memory, dragging Jordan back to the present. He blinked, shaking off the haze, and turned toward his coworker, who was now standing with his arms crossed, a shit-eating grin on his face.

    ¡°Or,¡± Darren continued, ¡°you¡¯re still trying to feel your feet and don¡¯t wanna admit it.¡±

    Jordan exhaled through his nose, giving a half-hearted smirk. ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it.¡±

    ¡°Do what?¡± Darren scoffed. Then¡­ he did it. He sprinted over and shook Jordan''s legs back and forth, surging the prickling in his feet to new heights.

    Jordan gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, laughing and almost crying at the same time, ¡°FUCK!¡±

    A few minutes passed and it had finally subsided. That one lasted a long time.

    ¡°How¡¯d you know?¡± Jordan asked his buddy.

    ¡°Dude, you were power-walking back in here like you just walked past a pack of feral dogs.¡±

    Clarke chuckled from the other side of the shop. ¡°Yeah, man. You looked like you were either in excruciating pain or trying really hard not to shit yourself.¡±

    Jordan shook his head with a chuckle. ¡°Fuck y¡¯all.¡±

    Darren clapped a hand on his shoulder. ¡°That¡¯s why you love us.¡±

    Jordan snorted, finally standing up and rolling out his shoulders. The static had finally left his legs, replaced with the dull ache of returning circulation. Another day, another round of ball-busting.

    This wasn¡¯t a bad gig. It wasn¡¯t exciting, but it was steady, predictable¡ªsomething he had control over. For Jordan, the Coast Guard had been more than just a job¡ªit had been a perfect system, a structured cycle that kept him moving forward, kept him from stagnating. He had a pattern: he¡¯d get stationed somewhere, work his ass off, earn his qualifications, and by the time the monotony and frustrations started creeping in¡ªwhen the bureaucracy, the inefficiencies, and the same faces day in and day out began to wear on his patience¡ªhe¡¯d already be counting down the days to his next transfer. That knowledge, the inevitable change on the horizon, acted as a pressure release valve. It dulled the edge of his anger, allowed him to navigate workplace frustrations with a little more grace, kept him from burning bridges. After all, what was the point of getting into it with someone when, in a few months, he¡¯d be gone anyway?

    This cycle had carried him through years of service, station after station, new people, new skills, fresh starts. It was a life that had shaped him, hardened him, and by the time he was thirty-five, he had become the kind of man who thrived in movement. He was six-foot-one, 212 pounds of solid, compact muscle¡ªa build that defied expectations. He never looked as heavy as he actually was, and that always got a laugh out of his buddies during weigh-ins. They¡¯d shake their heads in disbelief when he stepped on the scale, expecting a number far lower than what appeared. Jordan wasn¡¯t bulky in the way some guys were, the ones who lived in the gym and wanted everyone to know it. His strength was more subtle, packed into his frame with the kind of density that caught people off guard.

    He liked to joke about it. "I''m a turd that drops straight to the bottom of the bowl, no floating," he¡¯d say, grinning at the groans of disgust that followed. If they didn¡¯t like that one, he¡¯d switch it up: "I¡¯m dense, like a neutron star." That one usually earned him blank stares. He¡¯d try to explain, talking about collapsed stellar cores and extreme gravitational forces, but by the time he finished, any potential humor had evaporated. He¡¯d learned to just let the joke die. He still used it in the hopes that one day someone would give him a true laugh.

    Physically, mentally, even professionally¡ªJordan was solid as an adult. Experienced. Capable. In his mind, he was in his prime, the best version of himself. And yet, for all that he had built, there was one thing missing, the one thing that gnawed at him in quiet moments, in the spaces between jobs, in the silence of his empty place at night.

    A woman. A partner.

    Relationships had never been his strong suit. There had been girlfriends over the years, some lasting a handful of weeks, others stretching into months, but none had ever turned into something lasting. He was used to temporary things¡ªtemporary units, temporary friendships, temporary attachments. But for the last three years, there had been one exception, one woman who had lingered in his mind far longer than he had expected. Her name was Alex Jones; a raven-haired beauty whose uniform hid the flawless form beneath. She was a workout fanatic and if you ever caught her in civilian clothes you¡¯d do a double take if you knew her from work.

    Of course, he knew her full name was Alexandria, but no one ever called her that. She had this effortless confidence about her, the kind that made people naturally gravitate toward her, and Jordan had been no exception. During the first two years at his current unit, he had played it safe, keeping things in the realm of workplace acquaintances, then casual friendship. He had learned early on that romance in the military was a tricky landscape to navigate, littered with rules and restrictions that varied depending on the unit, the leadership, and the chain of command. Technically, he and Alex weren¡¯t violating any hard regulations¡ªhe worked in maintenance under a warrant officer, part of the facilities engineering team, while she was in logistics, reporting up through a Senior Chief. Different departments, different command structures. Close enough to cross paths, but distant enough that no one could officially tell them ¡°no.¡± Still, they both kept it pretty hush-hush. Nothing was ever a problem¡­ until it was.

    Office gossip had a way of spreading like wildfire, and even though they weren¡¯t sneaking around, they had been more careful than needed. There was an unspoken agreement between them, a mutual understanding that whatever this was¡ªwhatever it might turn into¡ªhad to be handled with discretion.

    That wasn¡¯t the hard part. The hard part was Alex herself. She was never fully in, never fully out.

    They had been out together a handful of times over the past year, and every time, it had been easy. Comfortable. She laughed at his jokes, met his banter with sharp comebacks, and leaned in just close enough to make him wonder if she wanted more. But then, the next day, she¡¯d be distant again¡ªnot cold, just¡­ neutral. Friendly, but not flirtatious. Warm, but not inviting. It was like every time they made a step forward, she pulled back before it could mean anything.

    At first, he had taken it in stride. Maybe she was just feeling things out, unsure of what she wanted. But as the months stretched on, it became harder to ignore the possibility that she wasn¡¯t unsure¡ªshe was just not that interested.

    So, he waited. Held back. Let her set the pace, let her decide what this was or wasn¡¯t going to be. Part of him wanted to push, to ask outright if she saw this going anywhere. The other part¡ªthe part that had spent years learning to let things roll off his back, to keep his expectations low and his attachments light¡ªtold him to step back, to see if she would come to him instead. He just wasn¡¯t sure how much longer he was willing to wait.

    As much as Jordan wanted someone special in his life, he wasn¡¯t about to waste his time chasing after a woman who didn¡¯t want him back. Desire had to be mutual¡ªanything less wasn¡¯t worth it to Jordan. He had too much self-respect to be some lovesick puppy, trailing behind a woman who couldn¡¯t even decide if she wanted to hold his leash. If that was the case, he¡¯d rather be alone, biding his time until he met someone who actually saw him the way he wanted to be seen.

    The thought lingered in his mind as the workday wound down. The hum of machinery had faded, the last-minute maintenance had been wrapped up, and the usual end-of-day ritual had begun¡ªtools getting wiped down and returned to their proper places, the sharp scent of industrial cleaner mingling with the lingering musk of sweat and oil. The shop had that distinct sound of closure, boots scuffing against the concrete floor, lockers slamming shut, low chatter filtering through the air.

    And, as expected, the conversation shifted to their evening plans.

    ¡°So what y¡¯all thinking?¡± Darren asked, leaning against his workbench, arms crossed like he was making an important proposal. ¡°Harry¡¯s tonight? Got two-for-one specials from eight to ten.¡±

    ¡°Fuck Harry¡¯s, dude,¡± Clarke scoffed immediately, shaking his head with disgust. ¡°That place is ass.¡±

    Jordan smirked to himself as he coiled the test leads around his multimeter with practiced precision, taking his time before stowing it neatly in its protective case. He didn¡¯t need to jump into this debate; it was already unfolding exactly as he expected.

    ¡°No, it¡¯s not!¡± Darren shot back, clearly offended. ¡°I like that place!¡± His tone carried the weight of someone defending his family¡¯s decades-old restaurant, as if Harry¡¯s was a sacred institution rather than a rundown bar with sticky floors and questionable clientele.

    Chris, who had been quietly polishing off his own work, finally chimed in, shaking his head with a knowing smirk. ¡°D,¡± he began, his tone exasperated, ¡°you ever stop to wonder why they¡¯re giving away two drinks for the price of one? Think about it. They¡¯d be losing money¡ªunless, of course, no one actually wants to drink there. So instead, they sling out cheap-ass liquor, slap a shiny little bow on it, and sell it to the dullards of this town like it¡¯s some kind of deal.¡± He scoffed, shaking his head. ¡°Harry¡¯s is ass.¡±

    Darren opened his mouth, but whatever comeback he had died before it even formed. The realization started to dawn on him, his expression shifting from defiant to betrayed as he turned toward Jordan, his last hope. ¡°Come on, man¡­ what do you think?¡±

    Jordan finally looked up, slinging his tool bag over his shoulder. He let the moment hang for a beat, enjoying Darren¡¯s pleading expression before sighing. ¡°Yeah¡­ Harry¡¯s is ass,¡± he admitted with a slow nod, as if he regretted having to break the news.

    Darren groaned, exasperated. ¡°Man, fuck all of you.¡±

    ¡°However,¡± Jordan continued with a grin, ¡°we all know that¡¯s where we¡¯re going.¡±

    The group fell silent for a moment before, one by one, they all nodded in reluctant agreement. Because, as much as they loved to complain, as much as they called the place garbage, it was their garbage. And, like clockwork, they would find themselves right back at Harry¡¯s, sipping watered-down drinks, bitching about how terrible it was, and coming back the next week to do it all over again.

    Jordan pulled into the parking lot of Harry¡¯s, cutting the engine of his truck as he spotted the familiar group of his coworkers standing outside the entrance. They weren¡¯t moving, just clustered around the doorway, heads tilted as they stared at something. Clarke was gesturing toward the door, his voice carrying over the evening air.

    ¡°Yep¡­ knew this place was ass.¡±

    Jordan stepped up beside them and followed their gazes to the large, garish sign now hanging on the bar¡¯s front door.

    CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE¡ªHEALTH CODE VIOLATIONS

    It was hastily taped up, the edges curling as if it had been slapped on in a hurry. Jordan exhaled sharply through his nose. ¡°That didn¡¯t take long.¡±

    Darren looked genuinely heartbroken, rubbing the back of his neck as he muttered, ¡°Damn, man¡­ I liked this place.¡±

    Chris gave him a hard pat on the shoulder. ¡°Yeah? Well, enjoy your time off from food poisoning.¡±

    Jordan smirked but said nothing. Instead, he let the inevitable discussion play out¡ªwhere to go next. It was a predictable cycle: half-hearted suggestions of lesser dive bars, immediate shot-downs from Clarke or Chris, and finally, the begrudging acceptance that they¡¯d have to step out of their comfort zone.

    ¡°What about Suave?¡± Clarke finally suggested, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets.

    Darren groaned. ¡°That bougie place across town? Man, that¡¯s where all the finance and admin folks go. They¡¯d never lower themselves to be seen at Harry¡¯s.¡±

    ¡°And now, neither can we,¡± Chris pointed out, nodding toward the sign.

    Jordan sighed, already resigned. ¡°Screw it. Let¡¯s go to Suave.¡±

    As they piled into their vehicles and made the drive across town, Jordan couldn¡¯t help but scoff to himself at the name. Suave. Sounded more like a cheap bottle of body wash than a bar. When they arrived and stepped out of their trucks, he voiced exactly that.

    ¡°Suave, huh?¡± Jordan mused. ¡°I swear I¡¯ve seen this name on a bottle of shampoo.¡±

    The guys chuckled, and Clarke added, ¡°Yeah¡­ I mean it¡¯s a pretty big soap brand. I¡¯m a little surprised you ¡®vaguely¡¯ know of it. I guess you don¡¯t bathe enough.¡± Clarke laughed at his own joke as Jordan just stared unamused. ¡°Shit, maybe they¡¯ll hand out free samples for you in the bathroom.¡±

    Jordan did have to crack a grin at that.

    Chris perked up. ¡°Oh, hell yeah, my hair¡¯s been feelin¡¯ kinda dry lately¡­ my ass hair!¡±

    That earned a round of laughter before they finally made their way inside.

    The inside of Suave was about as different from Harry¡¯s as night and day. Dim lighting, sleek black tables, and polished wooden floors. The music was low, just enough to create an atmosphere but not enough to drown out conversation. A long bar stretched across one side, lined with high-end liquor bottles illuminated by soft golden backlighting. Servers in crisp black shirts weaved through the tables, carrying trays of drinks that didn¡¯t come in sticky plastic cups.

    The guys found an open high-top near the back, settling onto the stools as a waitress came over to take their drink orders. Jordan ordered a cinnamon-flavored whiskey. It felt like the right kind of drink for a place like this¡­ hoity-toity.

    They had just started to relax when Darren suddenly leaned forward, eyes narrowing at something across the bar. ¡°Hey¡­ isn¡¯t that Alex?¡±

    Jordan didn¡¯t look up right away. He took a deliberate sip of his drink, swallowed, and finally followed Darren¡¯s gaze.

    There she was.

    Alex Jones, the woman who had occupied far too much of his mind over the past few years, was across the room, seated with a group from logistics. And not just any group¡ªone that included Chase.

    Jordan felt his jaw tighten slightly. Chase was one of those guys who walked around like he was just a little bit better than everyone else, carrying himself with an air of self-importance. His job in Operations was apparently classified or some other nonsense, which only made him more insufferable to the lowly peons of the maintenance team at the large base where they worked. And right now, he had Alex¡¯s full attention.

    Jordan didn¡¯t need to hear what they were saying. He could read it well enough¡ªthe way she leaned in when she laughed, the way Chase¡¯s hand brushed against her arm in a way that was just friendly enough to be deniable but deliberate enough to start the process of making a move¡­ if he hadn¡¯t already.

    Darren, still watching Jordan, cleared his throat. ¡°You good, man?¡±

    Jordan didn¡¯t answer. Instead, he lifted his hand and signaled for the waitress.

    ¡°Another whiskey,¡± he said.

    And then, after a pause¡ª

    ¡°Actually, make it two,¡± Jordan corrected with zero emotion that Darren could detect.

    Darren had always been good at reading people. It was a skill that had served him well, both in and out of uniform. And right now, as he sat at their high-top table, nursing a beer and watching the scene unfold across the bar, he was reading a situation he really wished he wasn¡¯t.

    Alex wasn¡¯t just here with her logistics crew¡ªshe was with him. Comfortable. Loose. Laughing at Chase¡¯s jokes like he was the most charming bastard on earth. She leaned in just a little too much, touched his hand just a little too often. It wasn¡¯t the kind of interaction that could be brushed off as friendly. This was different. This was intentional.

    Darren felt his stomach tighten as he turned his attention back to Jordan.

    Jordan hadn¡¯t said a word. Hadn¡¯t even looked across the bar again after that first glance. But Darren knew he had seen her. Had taken in every detail, had processed it in that sharp, methodical way he always did.

    The thing about Jordan was that most people only ever got the version of him he allowed them to see. He was friendly, sure¡ªhe joked around, shared drinks, shot the shit with the guys¡ªbut there was always a distance, a line no one was allowed to cross. Jordan controlled the narrative of who he was. He let people think they knew him, let them believe they had a window into his life, but it was all surface-level. A well-crafted mask to hide who he really was¡­ the past version of himself whose action landed him in front of that judge.

    Even Darren, who had known him for about two years, had only ever been given glimpses behind that wall. And he knew for damn sure Jordan wasn¡¯t about to lower it now. Quite the opposite in fact.

    But that didn¡¯t mean Jordan wasn¡¯t feeling something.

    Darren could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers drummed once against the side of his glass before he forced them still. That tiny, almost imperceptible pause before he lifted his drink again.

    In Darren¡¯s eyes, Jordan wasn¡¯t the kind of guy to explode. He didn¡¯t make a scene, didn¡¯t lash out. He just took whatever emotion he was feeling and shoved it deep down, locked it away where no one could reach it. Just as he always had.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    That was the mask he had created.

    Darren exhaled slowly and looked away. He felt something in that moment for Jordan. Pity maybe¡­ compassion even. But he just sat there, staring blankly into the empty air. Maybe that was the problem. Because even now, watching the woman he had been seeing for the last year, cozy up to some asshole across the bar, Jordan didn¡¯t react. Not outwardly.

    Alex leaned in her seat from across the bar, laughing at something one of the logistics guys had said, though she barely heard the words. Chase had excused himself to the restroom, and with him gone, the conversation dipped into small talk and half-hearted commentary about work. It was just enough of a lull for her gaze to drift across the bar, casually scanning the crowd.

    She wasn¡¯t looking for anything in particular¡ªjust the usual habit of scoping out the room, making sure she was still the center of attention, still the one worth noticing. But then, her eyes landed on Clarke weaving his way back from the bar, beer in hand, making his way toward his table. And just like that, her stomach twisted.

    She knew Clarke. She knew all of them. And if Clarke was here¡­

    Her eyes followed his trajectory, scanning the faces at his table, the familiar group of mechanics, and electricians she had seen countless times before. Darren, Chris, a few others¡­ and then¡ª

    Jordan.

    He was sitting there, quiet, almost still, his fingers idly wrapped around the base of his glass. There were a few drinks in front of him¡ªtoo many for the short time they¡¯d been here¡ªand his gaze was locked on nothing, just staring off into space. He hadn¡¯t even noticed her. Or maybe¡­ he had.

    Her breath caught slightly as Darren turned in his seat, his eyes flickering toward her. For the briefest moment, they locked eyes.

    Recognition.

    It wasn¡¯t anger, not exactly, but something close. Something knowing.

    Then, without hesitation, Darren leaned toward Jordan and said something.

    Alex was too far away to hear the words, but she knew they were about her. The way Darren¡¯s gaze had barely lingered, the way he immediately turned his attention back to Jordan, his voice low¡ªyeah, they had seen her. Of course they had seen her.

    She felt a strange, uneasy knot tighten in her stomach.

    She had never promised Jordan anything. They had never defined what they were. She had made sure of that. Because the truth was, she liked Jordan¡ªprobably more than she liked admitting¡ªbut she liked being wanted more. She liked the chase, the push and pull, the way men scrambled for her attention. It gave her something, some sense of control over them. It had always worked in her favor.

    But Jordan¡­ Jordan was different. He never chased her like the others. He never begged for her time or hung on her every word. He wanted her, that much was clear, but he never acted like it defined him. He let her come and go, never trying to pin her down, never feeding into the game she played with every other guy.

    And somehow, that made him the one she thought about when she was alone at night.

    Not Chase. Not the logistics guys. Not the endless string of men who tried to impress her, to win her over. Jordan.

    She could still picture the way he looked at her sometimes¡ªdeep, assessing, like he was seeing past whatever performance she was putting on. And now, sitting across the bar, knowing that he had already seen her, that Darren had just told him she was there with Chase¡ª

    Jordan didn¡¯t even look up.

    He just took a slow sip of his drink, set it down, and signaled for another.

    That knot in her stomach twisted harder.

    For the first time in a long time, she wasn¡¯t sure she liked being the one left unnoticed.

    Alex kept stealing glances at Jordan from across the bar, her drink barely touched as her nerves coiled tighter with every passing second. Chase was still in the restroom, and the more she sat there, the worse the weight in her stomach became.

    Jordan hadn¡¯t looked at her. Not once.

    Darren had seen her. Clarke had seen her. Jordan knew she was here with Chase. And yet, he acted like she didn¡¯t exist. It was like watching a slow realization crash down around her, the kind she never expected to have¡ªbecause she was the one people fought for, the one men pursued. And yet, Jordan wasn¡¯t doing anything.

    He wasn¡¯t glaring at her.

    He wasn¡¯t making a scene.

    He wasn¡¯t even leaving.

    He was just¡­ existing. Without her. And that scared her.

    She swallowed hard, inhaling sharply as she pushed back her chair and stood. ¡°What the hell am I doing?¡±

    Her legs carried her across the bar before she could think too much about it, her hands smoothing down the front of her dress as if that would steady her fraying nerves. As she approached Jordan¡¯s table, the rest of the guys took notice.

    Chris and Clarke exchanged quick glances, barely concealing their smirks before they downed the last of their drinks. Darren, looking unimpressed, didn¡¯t even wait for a pretense¡ªhe just pushed back his chair and muttered, ¡°I¡¯m getting another round.¡±

    The others followed suit, abandoning their seats like rats off a sinking ship, leaving only Jordan behind. Jordan, who was finally looking at her now. Unamused. Unbothered. And yet, she could see it¡ªthe simmering disappointment beneath the surface, the kind that wasn¡¯t loud or aggressive but cut deeper than anything else.

    ¡°Hey,¡± she said, voice smaller than she wanted it to be.

    Jordan leaned back, arms folding across his chest as he regarded her, dark eyes unreadable. ¡°Hey.¡±

    Her stomach twisted harder.

    He knows. He definitely knows. She thought to herself.

    She tried to think of something to say, some way to soften the moment, but every word that came to mind sounded pathetic. There was no excuse, no clever quip, no explanation that would undo what he had already seen.

    Jordan wasn¡¯t like the others. He didn¡¯t play these games. And she had been caught. She could feel her pulse in her throat as she shifted on her feet.

    ¡°I, uh¡­ I didn¡¯t expect to see you here,¡± she tried, wincing the moment the words left her mouth.

    Jordan exhaled sharply, something close to amusement¡ªthough there was no warmth in it¡ªas he picked up his drink and took a slow sip. ¡°Didn¡¯t expect to see you here either.¡±

    There was something in his voice¡ªcalm, even¡ªbut the edge was unmistakable.

    Alex bit her lip. ¡°Jordan, I¡ª¡±

    ¡°You here with Chase?¡±

    The words were blunt. A direct hit.

    Alex stiffened, her hands curling into fists at her sides. She had seconds to decide¡ªtell the truth, and it would be over. Lie, and¡­

    Her throat felt tight.

    He was watching her, waiting.

    And for the first time in a long time, Alex realized she didn¡¯t want to lose someone. Not just anyone. Him. She should have been here with Jordan, not Chase. She should have never let it get to this point, never let herself fall back into the same old patterns. But she had.

    And now, she was standing here, looking at the one person who never chased after her, who never begged for her attention¡ªbecause he didn¡¯t have to. Because she was the one who had been thinking about him every night.

    She opened her mouth, and for the first time, she didn¡¯t know what to say.

    The silence between them stretched unbearably, thick with all the words Alex couldn¡¯t find, all the explanations that wouldn¡¯t matter now.

    Jordan studied her for a moment longer, then exhaled through his nose. A short, tired sound.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to say anything,¡± he offered, his voice even. Detached. A mercy. ¡°You don¡¯t owe me anything¡­ and I don¡¯t owe you.¡±

    The words were quick. Sharp. But more than that, Alex could hear what they really were¡ªa shield. A way to sever whatever this had been before it could dig any deeper, before he could be hurt any more than he already was.

    And she had hurt him, no matter how much he tried to hide it.

    Maybe he wasn¡¯t the kind of guy to wear it outright¡ªno anger, no accusations, no pleading¡ªbut it was there in the way his jaw tensed, in the way his fingers curled slightly against the tabletop, in the way he didn¡¯t look away, like he was memorizing this moment so he¡¯d never let himself be in it again.

    Alex swallowed past the lump in her throat.

    She didn¡¯t know what else to say. Didn¡¯t know how to fix this, if it even could be fixed.

    ¡°¡­Okay.¡± The word barely made it past her lips, small and weak.

    Jordan nodded once¡ªjust a single, final motion¡ªthen stood. He didn¡¯t hesitate, didn¡¯t spare her another glance as he grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and walked away, weaving effortlessly through the bar crowd.

    Alex stood frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs, watching as he slipped out the door without looking back.

    He was gone. Just like that. A sharp breath shuddered past her lips, and she turned, making her way back toward her table on unsteady legs.

    When she rejoined her group, the atmosphere had shifted slightly. Clarke, ever the opportunist, had invited himself to their table and slid closer to Olea, leaning in with a grin that was just a little too charming. Her female coworker rolled her eyes, but there was amusement behind it.

    The groups had merged¡ªsomewhere between her conversation with Jordan and now, the lines had blurred. One of his friends, maybe Chris, had somehow ended up among her group, beers being passed around as conversation swelled.

    It should have been easy to sink back into it. To pretend none of it mattered.

    But Alex¡¯s gaze drifted across the room, back to where Jordan had been sitting. His table was empty. Her chest tightened. She looked toward the exit, to the door he had walked out of. A moment passed. Then another. And then she realized¡ªshe had never wanted to chase anyone before. But right now, she wanted to chase him.

    The music thumped low and steady, blending into the hum of overlapping conversations and the clinking of glasses. The air was thick with the scent of alcohol, cheap cologne, and the faint, lingering bitterness of unspoken words.

    Alex sat stiffly at the table, her fingers curled around the rim of her drink, barely hearing Clarke¡¯s latest attempt at charming Olea. She forced a smile, nodded at the right moments, but her mind wasn¡¯t here. It was still outside, following Jordan¡¯s retreating figure into the cold alley, reliving the way his words¡ªquick, detached, final¡ªhad sliced through her.

    ¡®You don¡¯t owe me anything¡­ and I don¡¯t owe you.¡¯

    She swallowed hard, her throat tight.

    Then, just as she was starting to collect herself, Chase returned from the bathroom, sliding back into his seat with the easy confidence he always carried. He draped an arm lazily over the back of her chair, oblivious¡ªor perhaps unconcerned¡ªabout the shift in her demeanor.

    ¡°Damn, took you long enough,¡± a friend snorted, raising his glass to his lips. ¡°You fall in?¡±

    Chase smirked. ¡°Nah, just had to take care of business.¡± His eyes flicked over to Alex. ¡°Miss me?¡±

    She gave him a half-hearted smile. ¡°You were gone for, like, five minutes.¡±

    Chase leaned in slightly, voice dropping just enough to feign intimacy. ¡°Yeah, but five minutes without me probably felt like a lifetime, huh?¡±

    The guys at the table groaned, rolling their eyes, while Olea scoffed. ¡°God, you are so full of yourself.¡±

    Chase just grinned, tipping his beer toward her. ¡°Confidence, sweetheart. You should try it sometime.¡±

    Alex let out a breathy laugh, but it didn¡¯t quite reach her eyes. She barely registered the way Clarke and Chris started ribbing Chase for his shamelessness because suddenly, the bar door swung open again.

    Jordan stepped back inside.

    Alex felt it before she even turned to look¡ªan almost gravitational shift in the room, or maybe just in her.

    He hadn¡¯t changed at all in the time he¡¯d been outside, but something about him seemed colder now. His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes flat and distant, as if he had already put the entire situation behind him. A fresh drink was in his hand, and instead of returning to his previous seat, he stood by the bar, leaning one elbow against the counter, his gaze focused on nothing in particular.

    The energy at their table remained light, oblivious¡ªuntil one of Alex¡¯s friends, a guy named Evan, took notice. He nudged Darren with his elbow.

    ¡°Hey, isn¡¯t that your buddy?¡±

    Darren barely glanced over. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s Jordan.¡±

    Evan grinned, already waving him over. ¡°Dude, bring him over! No point in drinking alone.¡±

    Darren hesitated, his eyes flicking to Alex for the briefest moment, reading the tension she was trying desperately to keep buried. But before he could say anything, Evan was already calling out.

    ¡°Yo, Jordan! Quit being antisocial and get over here.¡±

    Jordan turned his head at the sound of his name, his expression unreadable. For a split second, Alex thought he might refuse, just down his drink and leave altogether.

    But then, without a word, he pushed off the bar and walked toward them.

    Alex¡¯s pulse spiked.

    He took the empty seat directly across from her.

    The conversations around them continued as if nothing had changed, as if there wasn¡¯t a thick, unseen wire of tension stretching between them, taut and dangerous. Alex forced herself to look at anyone but Jordan.

    The minutes stretched on, each one feeling heavier than the last.

    And then, slowly, Chase started noticing it.

    The way Alex wasn¡¯t quite meeting Jordan¡¯s gaze. The way Jordan, usually composed and unbothered, seemed¡­ off. The slight stiffness in Darren¡¯s posture. The way Chris and Clarke were laughing, completely unaware, while something unspoken simmered just beneath the surface.

    And Chase didn¡¯t like what he was seeing. The base was small in the grand scheme of things. He heard rumors, heard the secrets of relationships. That was his bread and butter being an unmarried single male, always on the prowl for his next conquest. Alex was proving especially hard to nail down. And now that he saw this situation with his own two eyes, he would not allow Jordan to get in his way. No matter what kind of history they may or may not have.

    His jaw tightened as he took a long sip of his drink, his eyes flicking between Alex and Jordan, the realization dawning on him in pieces. He didn¡¯t say anything. Not yet.

    Instead, he leaned back in his chair, swirling the liquid in his glass, an easy smirk curling at his lips.

    He wasn¡¯t angry. Not outwardly. No, he was waiting. Waiting for an opportunity. Waiting for the perfect moment to make Jordan look like a fool. And when it came, he¡¯d make sure everyone saw it. Especially Alex.

    The night had settled into that hazy, warm lull that came with enough drinks and easy conversation. The low buzz of voices and laughter had filled the air, mingling with the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of music from inside Suave. But when Jordan and his friends finally peeled away from the table, heading for the outside seating, something shifted.

    Alex felt it immediately. The absence of the rowdy maintenance crew left a noticeable gap in the atmosphere like the air had been sucked from the room. The lively, effortless flow of conversation faltered for just a second, but it was enough for everyone to realize where the real energy had been coming from. Even Olea¡ªnormally unbothered by anything that didn¡¯t involve her own amusement¡ªcast a glance toward the front of the bar, where Jordan and the others had settled into one of the outdoor tables.

    It didn¡¯t take long before they all started gravitating that way.

    The outdoor section of Suave was lined with rickety metal tables, their surfaces worn and scratched from drunken scuffles and hurried drinks. The space was dimly lit by hanging bulbs that cast flickering golden light onto the concrete sidewalk. The night air was cooler now, carrying the distant sounds of the city beyond the bar.

    Alex followed the group outside, keeping her pace even, but the weight in her stomach made her feel like she was walking toward something inevitable.

    And then, right on cue, Chase started up again. Loud. Too loud.

    ¡°Man, this is nice, huh?¡± He stretched his arms dramatically, his voice cutting through the comfortable murmur of conversation at Jordan¡¯s table. ¡°Way better than being cooped up inside. Good call, guys.¡±

    Jordan barely looked up from his drink. If he was annoyed, he didn¡¯t show it¡ªyet.

    Darren and Chris exchanged a glance, but they said nothing. They knew Chase well enough to recognize the undertone in his voice.

    Alex knew it too.

    Chase leaned forward, drumming his fingers against the table as if he were just making casual conversation. But there was something pointed in the way he looked at Jordan.

    ¡°You know, it¡¯s funny,¡± Chase said, tilting his glass, the liquid swirling inside. ¡°I was talking earlier about how important it is to have competent people in the right places, you know? Like, people who actually make sure things run smoothly. People who, if they weren¡¯t there, the whole operation would probably collapse.¡±

    He took a slow sip of his drink, then exhaled sharply. ¡°But then I started thinking, man¡­ There are some jobs where, if you pulled one guy out, it wouldn¡¯t even make a difference.¡± He let out a small chuckle. ¡°Like, no one would even notice if they were gone.¡±

    Alex¡¯s breath caught in her throat.

    She knew exactly what he was doing.

    Jordan finally looked up, but there was no reaction¡ªno anger, no irritation. Just that flat, unreadable stare. The kind that made it impossible to tell whether he was truly unbothered or simply waiting for the right moment to strike back.

    Chase, emboldened by the lack of immediate response, pressed on. ¡°I mean, take, for example, maintenance crews,¡± he said, his tone as casual as ever. ¡°Important, sure, but essential? Eh.¡± He made a so-so gesture with his hand. ¡°I mean, a broken machine is a broken machine, right? Someone will eventually fix it, whether it''s one of you guys, if you''re competent enough, or we pay a contractor to do it. What¡¯s one of you guys compared to the whole system?¡±

    Jordan took a slow sip of his drink, then set it down with a deliberate motion.

    ¡°That so?¡± His voice was calm. Too calm.

    Chase smirked, leaning back like he¡¯d just won something. ¡°I mean, I¡¯m just saying. We all play our parts, but some parts? Kinda¡­ interchangeable.¡±

    Alex¡¯s heart pounded in her chest.

    She could see the way Darren tensed slightly in his seat, the way Clarke glanced at Chris like they were both wondering how far Chase was planning to take this.

    Jordan didn¡¯t move, didn¡¯t shift in his seat, but something in his expression darkened just enough to make the temperature drop a degree. He ran his fingers along the rim of his glass, slow and thoughtful.

    ¡°Interchangeable,¡± he echoed like he was testing the word. He nodded slightly as if he were actually considering it. Then he exhaled, shaking his head. ¡°Funny thing about that.¡±

    Chase raised an eyebrow. ¡°Oh?¡±

    Jordan leaned forward slightly. Not much, just enough to make it clear he wasn¡¯t about to let this slide. His voice stayed even, measured¡ªbut there was a weight behind it now, something heavy and deliberate. ¡°Maybe one guy doesn¡¯t matter much in the grand scheme of things.¡± He shrugged. ¡°But it¡¯s always the ones who think they¡¯re important who find out real quick just how useless they really are.¡±

    A tense silence settled over the table.

    Alex barely breathed.

    Chase, for the first time, didn¡¯t have a quick comeback. He glanced away, gripping his drink a little tighter than before.

    Jordan leaned back again as if the whole thing had been nothing more than a passing observation. He reached for his glass, took another slow sip, and let the moment stretch.

    Chase forced a chuckle, shaking his head like none of it had bothered him. But Alex saw the way his jaw tensed, the way his fingers drummed just a little too fast against his glass.

    He wasn¡¯t done. Not by a long shot.

    But Jordan had just made it clear¡ªif Chase wanted a fight, he¡¯d better be ready to lose.

    The night dragged on, the air thickening with the weight of unspoken resentment and half-drunken bravado. More drinks were poured, more voices rose and fell, but the atmosphere had shifted¡ªdarkened. Conversations blurred together, but beneath the surface, a slow-burning tension pulsed between Chase and Jordan, silent yet suffocating.

    Neither of them looked at Alex anymore.

    At some point, the reason for their hostility had become irrelevant. The bitterness between them had taken on a life of its own, feeding off every slight smirk, every sidelong glance, every word that was spoken just a little too loud. It had evolved past its origins, turning into something neither of them could¡ªor wanted to¡ªtrace back to the source.

    Jordan had stopped acknowledging Chase altogether. He ignored the jabs, the passive-aggressive comments, the exaggerated laughs that were meant to dig under his skin. He sat back in his chair, fingers lazily curled around his drink, his expression unreadable. He wasn¡¯t playing the game anymore, and that only made Chase more desperate to provoke a reaction.

    It was small things at first.

    A remark about how some people just didn¡¯t have what it took to make it in the military. A casual mention of how certain men¡ªreal men¡ªhad to claw their way to success while others simply existed in the background, unnoticed and unimportant.

    Jordan didn¡¯t flinch. Didn¡¯t even glance up.

    Chase leaned in, drumming his fingers against the table with a too-casual smirk. "Nothing to say?" He cocked his head. "Guess I shouldn¡¯t be surprised. You never really did have much going for you in the first place."

    Jordan exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate, before draining the last of his drink. He set the glass down carefully, then stood, stretching his shoulders. He was completely detached on the outside¡­ he had to be.

    "Callin¡¯ it a night," he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. Almost like he was telling himself to go home before he faltered.

    Chase scoffed. "Oh, come on, don¡¯t be like that." He grinned, voice slurring slightly from the alcohol. "We were just starting to have fun."

    Jordan didn¡¯t respond. Didn¡¯t spare him a glance. He just turned and walked away.

    The deliberate dismissal sent a white-hot wave of fury crashing through Chase¡¯s system. His smirk dropped, replaced with something meaner, uglier. His fingers curled into fists as he pushed back his chair.

    "Yeah, that¡¯s right," he called after him, his voice too loud, too sharp against the background noise of the bar. "Run away, man. It¡¯s what you do best, isn¡¯t it?"

    Jordan kept walking.

    Chase¡¯s face twisted. He stood abruptly, knocking his drink over, but he didn¡¯t care. "Hey!" he barked, shoving past the others as he stalked after him. "You think you¡¯re too good to even look at me now?"

    The moment spilled out of the bar and into the parking lot, the humid night air doing nothing to cool the heat rising between them. Chase¡¯s voice followed Jordan, a string of curses and insults that grew louder, more venomous with every step.

    "You¡¯re a fucking joke, you know that?" Chase spat, his steps uneven as he caught up to him. "Acting like you¡¯re too good for this? Like you¡¯re too good for me?"

    Jordan didn¡¯t slow. Didn¡¯t acknowledge him.

    That only made Chase push harder.

    "You keep acting like you don¡¯t care, but I see right through that bullshit." He let out a breathless, humorless laugh. "You think you¡¯re above this? Above me? Face it, man¡ªyou¡¯re nothing. Always have been, always will be."

    Jordan¡¯s shoulders remained relaxed, his hands shoved in his pockets as he neared his car.

    That wasn¡¯t enough for Chase.

    "You think Alex wants you?" The name left his mouth like poison, meant to wound. "Her? With you?" He laughed cruelly. "Come on, man, get a grip. She¡¯s so far out of your league, it¡¯s embarrassing."

    Jordan''s footsteps slowed.

    Chase¡¯s lips curled. He saw the slight shift in posture¡ªthe smallest tell. "She doesn¡¯t even see you, dude. You were just a fucking afterthought to her. You think you deserve someone like her?" He sneered. Chase cockily stomped forward toward Jordan as he reached for his car keys. He was just about to place his hand on his shoulder like an older man teaching a youngster some kind of life lesson. "She wouldn¡¯t waste her time on a nobody¡ª"

    The second Chase¡¯s hand clamped down on Jordan¡¯s shoulder, everything that was building inside of Jordan just snapped.

    Now¡­ there is something you have to understand about Jordan. Something fundamental, something at his core.

    Ever since he was a kid he had believed, with a certainty, that bordered on delusion, that he was more. More than the others in his run-down trailer park, more than the kids who tripped over their own feet in gym class, more than the men who let their bodies go soft with time. He had convinced himself he was built different, and he had spent every day proving it to himself in ways that left no room for doubt.

    He would drag cinder blocks across the yard before he was old enough to drive, hoisting rusted metal scraps behind Dad¡¯s shed like gym equipment. He would run for hours, long past the point of exhaustion, long past the moment when others would collapse, because, to Jordan, the pain was not a stopping point¡ªit was a threshold to push through. A goal to aim for, where the real work started. He wasn''t just training his body. He was training his mind, reinforcing the illusion he had sculpted into an unwavering truth: He was above the average human.

    Not intellectually. Not morally. But physically¡ªundeniably, indisputably. He never let it slip in conversation, never let the arrogance bleed into his words, but when he looked at people, he knew. He measured them against himself, weighed their capabilities, and dissected their weaknesses. And they never measured up.

    By the time he reached adulthood, he had become a walking contradiction¡ª209 pounds of lean, brutal muscle that moved with a sprinter¡¯s speed and a fighter¡¯s precision. He had spent his youth as a long-distance runner, carving endurance into his bones, lungs trained to pull air with relentless efficiency. But endurance alone wasn¡¯t enough. He trained with different people in many different forms of close combat. He lifted weights, much heavier than he should. But he never stopped running as hard as he had in the beginning. Over the years, he had added mass, force, and destruction, without sacrificing the speed that made him deadly. Somehow, impossibly, he had sculpted himself into something that should not exist: a man who could run like a marathoner but hit like a warhammer.

    His strength was not the greatest in the world¡ªthere were powerlifters who could bench three times his max, men with arms like steel beams. But that wasn¡¯t the point.

    Most men had one thing. Power or speed. Mass or endurance. They were specialists, their bodies honed in a singular direction. But Jordan? He wanted it all.

    And that meant that when Jordan moved¡ªwhen he truly committed to action¡ªhe did so with a force and velocity that the average person simply could not comprehend. It was beyond their frame of reference, beyond what they were accustomed to seeing in real life. He was a bigger guy, so the way he moved was never expected when he went all out.

    When Jordan snapped, it was like watching a car crash at full speed¡ªfast, brutal, and unstoppable. Jimmy was the first ever to experience this firsthand. And tonight, a little drunk, in the dim-lit parking lot outside the bar, Chase was about to find out exactly what Jordan was capable of.

    Jordan turned so fast, so suddenly, that Chase barely had time to react before a fist connected with his jaw.

    The impact was brutal. A sharp, sickening crack echoed through the parking lot as Chase¡¯s head snapped to the side. His balance faltered, his vision blurred, and before he could catch himself, another blow drove into his ribs, sending him stumbling back against the hood of a parked car.

    The world tilted.

    Chase barely had time to suck in a breath before Jordan was on him again, a hand fisting in his shirt, dragging him forward just to slam him back down.

    The rage in Jordan¡¯s eyes wasn¡¯t loud. It wasn¡¯t wild. It was quiet, focused¡ªlethal. No doubt in his movements or actions.

    "You talk too much," Jordan muttered, voice low and dangerous.

    Chase coughed, pain exploding through his ribs as he struggled to regain himself. He swung blindly, but Jordan caught his wrist midair, twisting it back just enough to send a sharp bolt of pain through his arm.

    "Fuck¡ª!" Chase choked, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts.

    Jordan yanked him forward again, their faces inches apart. "Don¡¯t ever put your hands on me again." His voice was calm. Too calm.

    For the first time that night, Chase didn¡¯t have anything to say.

    Jordan let go abruptly, shoving him back with enough force that he nearly crumpled against the car. Then, without another word, Jordan stepped away, his breaths even, his expression unreadable once more.

    Chase stayed where he was, clutching his ribs, his face twisted with humiliation and something dangerously close to fear. Blood ran from the skin of his lips and above his right eye. He was beaten¡­ and it happened so fast that he could barely register what exactly had transpired. He was still pretty shell-shocked.

    Jordan didn¡¯t spare him another glance. He just turned, walked back to his car, and left Chase crumpled there¡ªbeaten, speechless, and alone.

    Jordan had turned away, uninterested in whatever last, pathetic remark Chase had thrown his way. It should¡¯ve ended there¡ªJordan walking off, leaving Chase to wallow in his wounded ego. But men like Chase never let things go. They burned with the kind of insecurity that demanded an audience, that needed to claw its way back from humiliation with violence.

    A sharp metallic snick cut through the air like a guillotine.

    Chase exploded forward.

    The movement was sudden and violent¡ªhis body launching ahead with the erratic, reckless speed of someone drunk and furious. Gasps tore from the watching group as they saw the glint of a knife catching the dim streetlights, a six-inch folding blade now fully extended in Chase¡¯s hand.

    "Chase! No!" Alex yelled, but the words were swallowed by the chaos.

    The others moved, but too slowly. Hands reached, voices screamed, but none of it mattered¡ªChase was too close, too fast, and Jordan¡ª

    Then something happened.

    Every single person in that parking lot froze, not from fear, but from something else. Something much, much bigger.

    A thin, translucent blue screen materialized in the air before them, glowing with an otherworldly light. Not just in front of them, but in front of every single person on Earth.

    A voice¡ªnot a voice, but something deeper, something felt inside their minds¡ªechoed through existence:

    ¡°Welcome to the System.¡±

    Then the ground shook. Not just the pavement beneath their feet¡ªthe world. A deep, rumbling quiver passed through every structure, every street, everybody standing upright. People across the planet staggered, hands reaching for walls, for cars, for anything to hold them steady.

    And then¡ª

    New text scrolled across the glowing blue screens, visible to every living soul:

    ¡°Integration into the multiverse will begin in ten seconds.¡±

    Jordan¡¯s fists had clenched, his body wired for a fight, but even he hesitated at this screen, his darkened eyes flicking up to the incomprehensible display before him.

    ¡°Tutorial sequence engaging. (Warning: No alternate races can be selected by inhabitants of Planet Earth. ¡®Human¡¯ will be selected as the default race for the Planet.)

    The screen pulsed and shifted. More text scrolled.

    ¡°Class selection available. Choose carefully, as the class selection is nigh unchangeable. See selected Classes¡­¡±

    Then, a list¡ªhundreds, thousands of options cascading down the screen, unfurling like an endless digital scroll.

    ¡°What the fuck¡­?¡± Darren''s voice came out hoarse, almost reverent, as he stared into the glowing blue light.

    They all did.

    The night, once filled with drunken bravado and petty violence, had turned into something else entirely. Something beyond them. Something that would change the world forever.

    It happened in a blink¡ªfaster than thought, faster than breath.

    Jordan barely had time to register the flickering blue screen in front of him before something cold, something final, punched through his chest.

    The impact stole the air from his lungs, a brutal, visceral shock spreading through his ribcage as six inches of hardened steel drove into him like an iron stake. A sharp, choked gasp ripped from his throat as he staggered back, his body refusing to process what had just happened. Then came the pain.

    A white-hot bloom of agony radiated outward from the wound, every nerve screaming, every pulse an explosion inside him. His fingers twitched at his sides as his knees buckled, the ground rushing toward him. The pavement met him with cruel indifference, slamming into his back as his breath shuddered from his lips.

    Chase stood over him, his chest heaving, eyes wide with something between triumph and horror. The knife¡ªChase¡¯s knife¡ªwas still buried in his chest, Chase¡¯s fingers hovering inches from the hilt like he hadn¡¯t fully grasped what he¡¯d done.

    They had been fighting. Chase had always been fighting with someone, he never let things go. The anger, the grudges, the petty bullshit that should have died long ago¡ªit had built, brick by brick, into something monstrous. And now, here it was attacking the sole target in front of him.

    The translucent blue screens that had appeared moments ago¡ªthe ones that had stopped them all in their tracks, the ones that had made their world glitch¡ªstill floated in the periphery. But now, they didn¡¯t matter. Nothing mattered except the knife¡­ and the blood. The only thing that Chase could think was¡­ I just killed him.

    Jordan coughed, the taste of iron flooding his mouth. His chest rose and fell in uneven, broken gasps. He could hear someone yelling¡ªsomeone was screaming his name¡ªbut his vision had started to blur, tunneling inward as the world closed in on him.

    Chase took a stumbling step back, his breath ragged, his hands shaking. ¡°I¡ª¡± His voice cracked. ¡°I didn¡¯t¡ª¡±

    The realization struck Chase like a hammer. His body sagged, his knees nearly giving out beneath him. His hands trembled, his mouth opening and closing uselessly as if words had abandoned him.

    Jordan had seen it in his eyes before the knife went in. The way Chase lunged. The way his grip tightened. The way he¡¯d wanted it.

    In the periphery, beyond the blur of floating blue screens, Jordan could see them; Alex, the guys from maintenance, and logistics. His so-called friends.

    None of them had stopped this. None of them had moved. They had let it happen, although they stared into the bloody scene with shock and horror. None of them stopped Chase on his tirade.

    A new kind of pain spread through Jordan¡ªone deeper than the blade, deeper than the blood loss. Betrayal.

    They let him do this to me.

    His gaze landed on Alex, and for a moment, he wasn¡¯t staring at the girl who had been so much of his world lately. He was staring at a stranger.

    She chose him. And now I¡¯m dying for it.

    Rage flared in his chest, burning away the cold for a fleeting second.

    She left me for him.

    She stood there watching as he drove the knife through Jordan¡¯s heart.

    His vision swam again. He was slipping. The blue screen in front of him pulsed, flickering as words formed across its surface. He squinted, but his eyes refused to focus. The letters blurred and danced, unreadable symbols forming and fading as if the screen itself was glitching.

    Somewhere in the depths of his failing mind, images of his mother and father surfaced, memories ghosting across his mind like distant echoes. His mother¡¯s soft hum as she made dinner. His father¡¯s calloused hands gripped his shoulder in a hug. His sister and all the stupid stuff they got into as kids. her haunted face after what Jimmy had done.

    It hurt. God, it hurt. But then¡ª Then the pain started to fade. It was subtle at first. A shift, a gentle pull, as though something was peeling him away from his own body. His breath slowed. His heartbeat softened, its desperate hammering turning into a dull, fading rhythm.

    For the first time in a long time, the rage¡ªthe bitterness¡ªthe anger¡ªall of it¡ªslipped away. And for a fleeting moment, Jordan felt peace.

    A vast, open nothingness stretched before him, and he let himself sink into it, weightless, unbound.

    But just before the darkness swallowed him whole, the blue screen in front of him flickered.

    ERROR¡­ Race: Human¡­

    His fading consciousness barely had time to process the words before the screen died, vanishing into the void.

    Jordan felt himself drifting. Gone. Empty.

    But then¡­ A new screen burst into existence. Not blue¡­ Red. Crimson, pulsing, alive.

    And then, there was nothing.

 Chapter 2 - Ghostly Beginnings

    Jordan''s awareness returned in fragments, slipping into place like broken pieces of a shattered mirror. He wasn¡¯t sure how much time had passed¡­ if time even existed here. However, as his mind returned, he knew that he had been gone.

    The void stretched around him, an infinite abyss of black so deep it swallowed the concept of distance or even time itself. Yet, in that endless dark, tiny pinpricks of light slowly flickered into his perception. Impossibly distant and unfathomably ancient, like the last dying embers of long-dead stars billions of lightyears away. They grew just a bit brighter, to allow him to realize they were real, but so¡­ so far away. The sight should have been terrifying, should have made him feel small, but he didn¡¯t feel anything, not at first.

    Then he noticed. He wasn¡¯t breathing. His chest neither rose nor fell. His heart didn¡¯t beat. His lungs weren¡¯t pulling in air. His eyelids hadn¡¯t even blinked since he had awakened in this abyss. Yet he was¡­ aware.

    A jagged panic cut through his thoughts, the instinctive expectation of adrenaline slamming through his veins. But it never came. The pulse of fear that should have seized his chest, the biological chain reaction that should have set his nerves alight, it was absent, as if his body had forgotten how to respond.

    Wait¡­ my body¡­ Jordan actively thought.

    His gaze dropped downward, expecting to see himself, to see skin, blood, muscle, something. But what he found made his metaphorical stomach drop. He wasn¡¯t solid. There was an outline, a vague, shifting form of what should have been his body, but it was hazy, insubstantial like smoke caught in the rough shape of a man. No clear lines, no weight, no true presence. He was more of an¡­ awareness.

    He lifted his hand, or what should have been his hand, and stared at the indistinct edges. His fingers weren¡¯t fingers, not really. Just the idea of them, blurred and formless. The more he focused, the more he realized he wasn¡¯t whole. He wasn¡¯t right.

    Something inside him recoiled at the realization, a deep, gnawing wrongness clawing at the edges of his mind. Where am I? What am I? What happened to me?

    Then, memory surged back. The knife. Jordan¡¯s breath¡­no, he wasn¡¯t breathing, his thoughts stilled as the image flashed through his mind, vivid and sharp. The cold steel buried deep in his chest like an executioner¡¯s final act. The agony seared through him as the blade punched through his sternum and chest cavity.

    And then the face of him¡­ Chase. He could still see his face at the moment of the strike. Twisted with rage, with blind determination, with something so ugly and intentional it made Jordan¡¯s insides curdle. Rage started to swell in his formless mind. He wanted revenge, he wanted retribution against the one who wronged him. He was dead, and the murderer walked free.

    He had been seconds away from breaking Chase¡¯s wrist, from wrenching the knife away, from beating him bloody¡­ but then¡­

    The distraction¡­ the blue screen.

    Jordan¡¯s metaphorical jaw clenched as the memory snapped into clarity. That blindingly bright, translucent blue rectangle had appeared out of nowhere, right in his face. It blocked his vision at the worst possible moment.

    He could still feel the split-second of disorientation, the way his focus had shattered the instant that unnatural light had burst into existence. And in that fleeting moment of distraction, Chase had driven the knife home.

    If his fingers curled into a ghostly fist, it wasn¡¯t visible to anything in existence, only in his own mind.

    ¡°What the fuck was that?¡± he muttered, his voice a hollow echo in the empty void. Though his voice didn¡¯t sound audible in the way he thought it should. He heard his active thoughts, but he didn¡¯t speak them. He thought them, heard them, willed them into existence.

    No answer came.

    His thoughts raced, grasping at the fragments of his final moments. The screen. The words. The system¡­?

    ¡°What¡¯s the system?¡± he whispered to the nothingness.

    The void again did not reply.

    But something deep within him, something beyond his fractured form, beyond the ghostly haze of his body stirred. And in the endless dark, unbeknownst to Jordan¡­ something watched. It connected to Jordan in a way he couldn¡¯t understand. Something else was there in the void, observing him.

    Jordan shifted his mind, his thoughts stretching outward in search of the screen he remembered. That impossible glowing interface that had blinked into existence just before everything had gone dark. He remembered the way it had flared blue, an unnatural, piercing hue, before suddenly shifting to a deep, bloody red. And then¡­ nothing.

    Now, no matter how hard he searched, there was no sign of it. No flickering display, no translucent text, no ominous presence. Only the abyss.

    The void around him remained unchanged; an ocean of endless black, speckled with distant, cold pinpricks of light. The stars, impossibly far away, blinked faintly, indifferent to his presence. The sheer scale of the darkness was suffocating. If he had lungs, the realization alone would have stolen his breath.

    Yet, amidst that oppressive emptiness, something shifted. A glow, faint at first like the whisper of a fire¡¯s sudden growth. It came from behind him. He felt it before he saw it, an eerie warmth crawling up the edges of his amebous presence, an undeniable force. He tried to turn, instinct urging him to pivot, but he had no body. No muscles to flex, no joints to pivot, or mass to shift.

    How did he move?

    He felt a sickening moment of helplessness, the sensation of trying to grip something solid with hands that no longer existed. His old methods of motion; bones, ligaments, and the unconscious rhythm of movement were useless to him. He knew he had to turn, but there was nothing to push off from. Nothing to use. A cold feeling of emptiness washed through his mind as the truth hit him harder. His body was gone. He was¡­ dead.

    Yet¡­ something within him reached.

    A force beyond flesh, beyond muscle memory; something deeper, instinct, willpower, sheer defiance. He latched onto the idea of movement, focusing his mind with razor-sharp intent. It was all fueled by the rage that sat in his core. The anguish and fury of what had been done to him. He felt it¡­ then he used it.

    He began to move inside the void. It was alien, an entirely new sensation, like floating in a current without water, like shifting space itself rather than shifting through space. It wasn¡¯t physical, but mental and extremely taxing.

    As he turned, the glow sharpened into a blazing inferno. A massive, writhing sphere of fire churned before him, its molten form twisting and folding in on itself in a violent, endless dance. It pulsed with an internal rage, surging and spiraling like a living thing. Waves of molten fury fully encompassed the surface of this celestial body. A world-shaking vibration and ominous noise emanated out from the world of fire. The power inside of it was palpable all the way out where Jordan¡¯s presence lingered.

    Jordan stared, the sheer scale of it overwhelming his senses.

    ¡°The sun?¡± He stared in awe. ¡°No.¡± He knew that wasn¡¯t right.

    The Sun was still there, hanging in the far distance to his left, a familiar celestial beacon burning far, far away.

    ¡°Then what the hell is this?¡±

    His mind reeled as he took in the full, impossible sight. This was no normal star, no mere celestial body drifting in the void. It was here¡­ and so was the sun. Jordan¡¯s mind began connecting the dots. And then, to the right of the molten planet, he saw something else.

    A white sphere, smooth, cratered, familiar.

    ¡°The Moon.¡± It was hanging there in the vast nothingness, silent and unbothered, exactly as he had always seen it from Earth, only larger and closer.

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    A terrible, sinking feeling clawed its way up through his mind, curling icy fingers around what was left of his fading sense of reality.

    He wasn¡¯t on Earth anymore. He was outside of it. Beyond the atmosphere, beyond the sky, beyond the safety of everything he had ever known. He was floating in the abyss.

    If he had a body, his eyes would have gone wide, his breath would have hitched, and his heartbeat would have thundered in his chest like a war drum. He would have gasped, would have reached for something, anything solid to ground himself at the realization. That ball of fire¡­ it was the earth.

    A sharp, unbearable terror gripped him, a fear deeper than instinct, deeper than reason¡ªan ancient, primal horror. The fear of not only being cast out of the world but having no world to go back to; of being lost in the void, untethered, unseen¡­ forgotten.

    ¡°This can¡¯t be real.¡± It had to be a dream.

    He wanted to pinch himself, slap himself so hard his ears would ring, anything to wake up¡­ but he had no hands. No self.

    His thoughts spiraled, panic and dread lacing through them like wildfire.

    ¡°Is this what happens when you die?¡±

    Then, his mind latched onto another question, clawing at the edge of his sanity.

    ¡°What the fuck is that?¡±

    His gaze snapped back to the molten sphere.

    ¡°Why does the world look like that?¡± Jordan floated there confused.

    From Jordan¡¯s perspective, something was very wrong. Horribly, impossibly wrong. And Jordan was right in the middle of it.

    Then, images of the glowing blue screen flickered through Jordan¡¯s mind. A memory¡­ faint, distant, but undeniable. He had seen it just before it happened. Just before Chase drove the knife straight into his heart.

    ¡°What did it say? Something about a system? A welcome message? A tutorial sequence?¡±

    The details eluded him, slipping through his grasp like mist, but before he could dig deeper¡­

    Without warning, a red rectangle blinked into existence directly in front of him.

    Its harsh crimson glow burned against the endless darkness, its presence oppressive and inescapable. The moment his eyes, if he even had eyes anymore, locked onto it, words began to materialize in slow, deliberate strokes, scrolling like the credits of some bleak, inescapable movie. The lettering was obsidian black against the blood-red backlight.

    <hr>

    YOU HAVE DIED.

    Jordan Robberts

    Race: Human

    Level: 0

    Class: Not Applicable

    Total Experience Earned Towards Next Level: 0 XP

    <hr>

    The scrolling halted as soon as the last line reached the center of the screen. Jordan waited, pulse hammering in his mind¡ªor it would have been if he still had a pulse.

    Nothing else appeared. The letters faded, leaving behind an empty, glaring red rectangle.

    An unsettling silence filled the void for a moment, the powerful quaking from the inferno even disappeared as the void almost seemed to darken.

    Then¡­ new words surfaced, materializing with eerie precision.

    <hr>

    SYSTEM ERROR DETECTED.

    An anomalous event killed a newly integrated member of Earth before the initializing stage of the quantum flux event was complete.

    Adjusting to compensate¡­

    <hr>

    The red screen pulsed, then blanked out again.

    For a fleeting second, there was nothing.

    Then, in a single overwhelming surge, a flood of information exploded across the screen.

    Lines upon lines of black text raced downward at blinding speed, too fast to read¡ªbut Jordan didn''t need to. He knew the words. The moment they flashed across his vision, the knowledge embedded itself directly into his brain, as if the system was forcing it into his very being.

    It was inside him. He understood now. The screen wasn''t just a display, but a manifestation of something deeper. It was a visual representation of data being force-fed into his consciousness. A connection for the universe to feed him knowledge¡­ and power.

    Most people in the multiverse discovered this gradually. The screens were just a way to interpret the system, a tool for navigating the branching paths of their new reality. It was their individual connection to the multiverse-spanning system that gave everyone their path.

    But for Jordan¡­ it was all being dumped into him at once. This was not usual for enlightened races, but for beasts and¡­

    <hr>

    RACE: HUMAN ¨C NO LONGER APPLICABLE.

    HEALTH POINTS (HP): 0 ¨C Plummeted to zero during quantum flux event.

    WARNING: Only (Race: Human) is allowed in the tutorial sequence.

    NEW RACE DETECTED.

    <hr>

    Jordan¡¯s pulse, or the memory of a pulse, spiked. ¡°New race?¡±

    He wasn¡¯t human anymore. The words continued, unwavering, indifferent.

    <hr>

    RACE: MONSTER

    CLASS SELECTION AVAILABLE:

    Select from the list of available classes below:

    <hr>

    Classes? He thought to himself.

    He remembered the list he had briefly seen on his old blue screen before everything faded to black.

    The system had shown countless possibilities for others; mages, warriors, rogues, healers, knights, artificers, assassins. The list on the planet went on and on for others. However, these classes were innate to the human condition and could be extended up and grown in exotic or mundane branches as each individual made their own way.

    Jordan¡¯s screen, however? Jordan¡¯s screen only had one option.

    <hr>

    CLASS: WRAITH

    <hr>

    Jordan¡¯s mind seized. ¡°What the fuck?¡±

    The glowing red rectangle burned in his vision, the lone, singular word staring back at him like an accusation. WRAITH.

    He wasn¡¯t just dead. He was something else entirely. His mind drifted, latching onto a desperate, grasping hope¡­

    ¡°Maybe this isn¡¯t real. Maybe Chase just got a lucky shot in. Maybe I just got knocked out in the parking lot, and any second now, I¡¯ll wake up.¡± He tried to convince himself. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    That had to be it. Because none of this, the screens, the text, the system, the bullshit about races and classes, none of it made sense.

    But no matter how many times he turned it over in his head, no matter how many desperate rationalizations he tried to construct, the emptiness around him remained unchanged.

    The void stretched in every direction. There was no ground, no sky, no air to breathe. Just an endless expanse of nothing. And he was part of it; floating, disembodied and alone.

    The truth gnawed at him, slow and insidious. But before panic could take hold, the crimson glow of the screen pulsed again to regain his attention.

    A single word flashed. Then another. Then more. Letters unfurled into words, solidifying into a structured display; something eerily reminiscent of a stat page.

    Jordan stared, his entire being coiling with unease as the screen unveiled itself.

    <hr>

    STATUS PAGE

    Jordan Robberts

    RACE: Monster

    CLASS: Wraith (pending)

    LEVEL: 0

    <hr>

    Beneath the words, the screen displayed a final question, stark and unavoidable:

    <hr>

    Do you accept?

    <hr>

    And below that¡­

    <hr>

    YES / YES

    <hr>

    Both options were highlighted, encased in small, flickering rectangles, pulsing steadily like a heartbeat. Like it was waiting for an answer. Demanding a choice be made.

    Jordan froze. His mind scrambled for some kind of understanding, but all he felt was an overwhelming sense of loss.

    This wasn¡¯t a choice. This wasn¡¯t even some cruel game giving him the illusion of free will. He wasn¡¯t human anymore. Not according to this. Not according to the screen that had latched onto him and pulled him into whatever this was.

    And worst of all¡­ there was no option to deny it. No rejection. No going back.

    Just YES¡­ or YES.

    And how the hell was he even supposed to pick?

    He had no arms nor a body. He was nothing but a drifting presence in the void. If this was real, if this was actually happening, then how was he supposed to¡­ his fingers twitched on instinct¡­ except there were no fingers. It was a mental version of an extremity. It was willpower.

    Somehow, despite the formlessness of his existence, the screen pulsed as he accepted the choice.

    <hr>

    Class Accepted.

    <hr>

    A surge of something, not quite pain, not quite sensation rippled through Jordan¡¯s awareness. It wasn''t like anything he had ever felt before. There was no heartbeat pounding in his chest, no lungs gasping for air, no limbs bracing against the unknown. Just a sudden, all-consuming attention, like the void itself, had suddenly acknowledged him. Like something locked its eyes on Jordan from deep within the black chasm of space beyond his world.

    Then, a new screen materialized before him, blood-red and cold, its text assembling with eerie precision.

    <hr>

    STATUS PAGE

    Jordan Robberts

    RACE: Monster

    CLASS: Wraith

    LEVEL: 1

    <hr>

    A cacophony of whispers, like the last dying words exhaled from countless beings, too soft to understand but loud enough to make the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, echoed in the space around him. Another section of text unfurled beneath his stats, lines of data appearing one after another in a way that felt less read and more injected directly into his mind.

    <hr>

    New Skill Acquired: Poltergeist

    Poltergeists are said to possess a variety of supernatural abilities, including telekinesis, levitation, and the ability to create disruptive noises. They are often associated with spectral movement, invisibility, and manipulation of the physical world.

    Note:

    <ul>

    <li>Skill 1 of the Wraith Skill Tree.</li>

    <li>No physical damage can be done directly to living entities, as Level 1 Wraiths lack a corporeal form.</li>

    <li>Regaining a physical form will alter the function of Skill: Poltergeist.</li>

    </ul>

    <hr>

    Jordan¡¯s awareness latched onto one single, undeniable truth buried within the flood of information: He could get his body back.

    The thought pulsed through him, louder than the roiling world of fire in the void, louder than the unreadable weight of his situation.

    He wasn¡¯t stuck like this. He wasn¡¯t doomed to be some formless, bodiless thing forever.

    A spark of something dangerous ignited inside him. It wasn''t hope¡­ not exactly. It was determination¡­ and behind that determination¡­ was a rage that burned brightly. A fuel that swarmed his mind like an inferno for something he couldn¡¯t quite understand¡­ not yet. But he would soon find out.

    Then, the red screen winked out of existence, and he felt the void of space open up around the swirling cloud of his presence. He was consumed by space and he was transported somewhere else.

    Unseen and undiscovered in the void, the ancient presence that watched Jordan, smiled to himself. Without hesitation, he turned and, with a wave of his hand, ripped open a rift in space that took him home. There, he would continue to watch this intriguing turn of events.

 Chapter 3 - "Class" is in Session

    Darren, Chris, and Clarke stood frozen; their bodies locked in place as Jordan lay sprawled on the ground before them. His body was unnervingly still, the wound in his chest was a crimson stain against the pavement. The sheer brutality of what had just happened¡­ the speed, the finality. It had ripped the breath from their lungs.

    The parking lot, just another mundane setting of their everyday lives had transformed into something surreal. A silent graveyard where reality itself felt like it had cracked open.

    In the middle of all that, it happened. A cold, artificial glow bathed their faces. Floating in front of them were blue rectangular screens that materialized out of thin air. Their soft, pulsing light cast eerie reflections in their wide, terrified eyes.

    <hr>

    TUTORIAL SEQUENCE BEGINNING IN: 10¡­ 9¡­ 8¡­

    <hr>

    The countdown pulsed in their minds, the numbers ticking down in an inevitable march forward into the unknown. Time seemed to slow as everything around them was burned into their minds. The death¡­ their friend was mercilessly slain but that piece of shit Chase.

    Darren barely registered the screen as his gaze flickered down to Jordan¡¯s body again, too heavy to be replaced by whatever the screens were. His friend wasn¡¯t moving. The warmth in his skin had already begun to fade. He looked pallid and empty.

    This isn¡¯t real. This can¡¯t be real. Darren''s thoughts surged in his mind. His heart pounded in his chest like a subwoofer, and yet, the world around him continued. Though it refused to make sense. His fingers twitched at his sides, instinct screaming at him to do something¡­ but what? Call for help? Scream? Shake Jordan and beg him to wake up? None of it would matter.

    The countdown continued.

    <hr>

    7¡­ 6¡­ 5¡­

    <hr>

    Then the ground lurched beneath their feet. A deep tremor rippled through the parking lot, a slow-building earthquake that made their knees buckle, sending most of them to their hands and knees in terror. The asphalt cracked beneath their feet, spiderweb fractures spreading outward like veins of something ancient waking up beneath them.

    And then¡­ they were gone.

    Darren''s stomach plummeted. For a moment, there was nothing. Just the sensation of being ripped away, like an unseen force had reached into his very existence and dragged him through the void. The world around him blurred into colorless oblivion; no sound, no air, no time. It was just a moment of pure, disorienting nothingness. Then impact.

    His feet slammed against solid ground. The sun''s heat baked into his skin, warm sand shifting beneath him as a gust of salty, humid air rushed into his lungs.

    Darren staggered forward, barely managing to keep his balance. His head spun as he blinked, adjusting to the sudden brightness.

    Around him, a vast beach stretched in both directions, golden sand meeting the gentle break of ocean waves behind him. The rhythmic crashing of water against the shore filled the silence, strangely calming in contrast to the sheer chaos in his mind.

    Ahead, a lush green forest loomed, dense with tangled foliage and towering trees. Strange sounds and unfamiliar cries of unseen creatures echoed from within its depths. The world was alive. But it wasn¡¯t home. It was nothing like Darren knew.

    Darren turned sharply, heart hammering. Chris was there. Clarke too. Both looked just as shell-shocked as he felt. And then¡­

    With a flickering burst of blue light, another person exploded into existence just a few feet away, their body materializing like loose sand in the wind deciding to lock together and become a solid statue. The stranger landed hard on the beach, stumbling wildly, eyes darting in panic.

    More people popped into reality; dozens, hundreds¡­ thousands. They just kept coming.

    Darren¡¯s breath caught in his throat as he scanned the shoreline, his pulse roaring in his ears. As far as the eye could see, people were appearing out of thin air.

    Some screamed. Some fell to their knees. Others just stood there, frozen in horror, their own glowing blue screens hovering before them. The world felt wrong.

    "Bro, what the fuck?!" Clarke¡¯s voice cracked as he shoved past the crowd to stand next to Darren. His chest rose and fell with rapid, frantic breaths as his wild brown eyes darted from the endless sea of people to the impossibly vast jungle ahead.

    Chris stumbled up beside them, rubbing his arms as if trying to shake off the phantom sensation of being transported there. ¡°Where the hell are we?¡±

    Darren swallowed hard, his voice lost in his throat. He didn¡¯t have an answer. No one did.

    A sudden commotion to their right snapped their heads around.

    "Get the fuck out of my way!" Chase¡¯s voice cut through the chaos, raw with panic. He barreled through the disoriented crowd, shoving past strangers without hesitation. Fear and confusion warped his expression. His stupid slicked-back hair was all frazzled and the terror in his eyes was plain as day for all to see. But all the guys noticed the same thing, something was missing in Chase¡¯s expression. It was remorse. There wasn¡¯t a single trace of regret for what he had just done. His only concern seemed to be for his own person as he looked for an escape from this new reality.

    Darren''s stomach twisted as he watched Chase shove a woman to the ground, not even sparing her a glance as he sprinted forward, desperate to find safety. He wasn¡¯t plagued by the memory of Jordan¡¯s lifeless body and didn¡¯t seem haunted by what he¡¯d just done before they had been moved. The only thing the guys could see in him was pure unadulterated selfishness in this new situation the entire world seemed to be thrown into. He was in pure survival mode.

    Chase had always been selfish¡­ always. The moment a greater threat loomed over him, the memory of his own atrocity was erased like it had never existed.

    Darren¡¯s hands clenched into fists at his sides, rage boiling beneath his skin. If they ever made it out of this, if they ever got the chance¡­

    Chris gripped his shoulder, voice low. "Not now."

    Darren exhaled sharply, his knuckles white.

    The world around them was spiraling into madness. Among the swirling panic, more familiar figures emerged.

    Alex and Olea were pushing through the chaos, scanning the waves of strangers until their eyes landed on Darren and the others. Relief flickered across their faces as they rushed forward, their fear briefly overshadowed by the sight of people they actually knew.

    "Darren!" Olea gasped, grabbing onto his arm as if making sure he was real.

    "Oh shit,¡± Alex¡¯s voice was tight, her gaze darting between the thousands of people materializing across the endless beach. She looked to the guys, ¡°What¡¯s happening?"

    People were gathering in small clusters, frantically speaking in dozens of different languages. Some were screaming. Others stood frozen in stunned silence. There was no pattern, no explanation.

    The beach stretched endlessly in both directions, meeting a vast, shadowy jungle that loomed ominously at the edge of their vision. The sky above was a deep, unnatural blue, and though the sun blazed overhead, something about its light felt... wrong. Not the sun they knew their whole lives. Some of them were starting to understand¡­ this wasn¡¯t Earth.

    Blue screens blinked into existence before every single person. A soft, monotone voice slithered into Darren¡¯s mind, speaking directly to him, yet no one else could hear it. They had voices speaking into their own minds that mirrored the white lettering that flitted across the screens.

    <hr>

    Welcome (Human) to the integration into the Multiverse.

    Your planet (Earth) is currently swallowed in a flux event and is now uninhabitable by indigenous life forms. You are standing in the Tutorial World.

    This world is vastly larger than your native planet and is home to both familiar and alien life forms for you to engage with.

    <hr>

    Darren¡¯s breath hitched.

    The words imprinted directly into his mind, sinking into his very being like a permanent brand. His eyes darted toward his friends, only to find them just as horrified and dazed by what their screens said.

    Chris¡¯s face had gone pale, his lips slightly parted as if trying to deny what he had just heard. Clarke swallowed hard, fingers gripping his other wrist in a white-knuckled grasp.

    Olea¡¯s hand trembled on Darren¡¯s arm.

    No one spoke. No one could. Because something had clicked into place. That lingering hope that this was all a dream? That somehow, they¡¯d wake up? It shattered. They weren¡¯t waking up. This was real. And whatever chaos had just exploded into their lives¡­ it wasn¡¯t going away.

    The emotionless voice continued, the blue screens shifting before their eyes.

    <hr>

    This tutorial will last the length of time it takes for Earth to fully integrate into the Multiverse.

    This tutorial aims to teach you how to survive, adapt, and grow in the Multiverse.

    The first step in this process is to select a Class.

    Upon class selection, you will be transported into the depths of the Tutorial World. You will acquire your first skills and learn the mechanics of survival.

    Choose wisely¡­

    <hr>

    The words vanished.

    In their place, a list of classes fell across the screen, just as it had before they were ripped from Earth.

    A choice. And a future that none of them were ready for.

    Darren blinked as he studied the floating screen before him. It hadn¡¯t actually disappeared¡­ he realized that now. Instead, it had simply been overlaid by newer messages, much like how multiple windows stacked on a computer screen. As the latest information faded, the previous menu remained, glowing faintly against the surreal backdrop of their new world. The class selection list was still there, waiting for him.

    A sharp breath next to him made him turn his head. Alex stood rigid, her hands clenched into tight fists. ¡°What do we do?¡± she asked, her voice brittle, her breath coming quick. She was trying not to crack, trying to hold it together in front of the others.

    Their whole world, everything they knew, worked towards, trained for¡­ it was all for nothing. Everything they had before was gone. It was a literal clean slate. Starting from the bottom. Knowing nothing about what the world would be like anymore.

    Chris was the first to answer. He exhaled slowly, stroking the short beard along his jaw as his eyes flicked across the screen. ¡°Pick a class, I guess.¡± His voice was rough, his tone unnervingly resigned. He glanced up at the others. ¡°Whatever this is¡­ we can¡¯t control it. Look around.¡±

    Darren did just that.

    People were frozen in place, staring at their own floating screens, their expressions ranging from shock to outright terror. Some whispered amongst themselves, their voices rising in uneasy murmurs that blended with the sound of crashing waves. Others stood paralyzed as if refusing to accept what was happening.

    Chris continued, his tone grim. ¡°We were moved here by something we can¡¯t see. Some kind of force¡­ maybe not even from Earth. This¡­ all of this,¡± he gestured at the seemingly endless white sands, the glowing blue screens hovering above thousands of heads, ¡°is beyond anything we¡¯ve ever known. We have no control. We just¡­ move forward.¡± He said this last part almost resigned.

    Alex shook her head. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came. Instead, her gaze dropped to the sand, her face twisting in frustration. She didn¡¯t want this. None of them did.

    Darren turned back to his screen, heart pounding. The list of classes stared back at him, a strange mix of familiarity and impossibility. He skimmed over the more mundane ones;

    <hr>

    Armorer¡­

    Blacksmith¡­

    Swordsman¡­

    Warrior¡­

    <hr>

    They were jobs, titles, things he recognized from history books and documentaries. Familiar roles in his actual world.

    But as he scrolled further, his brow furrowed.

    <hr>

    Darkness Magician¡­

    Mage¡­

    Sorcerer¡­

    <hr>

    The words sent a ripple through him, like a silent whisper brushing against the back of his mind. Some of these shouldn¡¯t be real, and yet¡­ they were here as something to choose.

    Then came an odd sensation, like a pull deep within his gut. He wasn¡¯t just reading the words, he was feeling them; instinctively. The moment his gaze lingered on a class, he felt a faint tug, as if his very being resonated, or rejected it.

    When his eyes passed over Berserker, a sharp wave of unease rolled through him. His lips pressed into a thin line. That was¡­ wrong. He didn¡¯t know much about the term, just flashes of stories he had read or television shows he had seen. Warriors who fought with reckless abandon, forsaking armor for sheer rage, aiming to kill as many as possible before their own inevitable deaths or brutal triumph. He didn¡¯t need to know more. His gut screamed no, and that was enough.

    His gaze drifted down.

    <hr>

    Electrician.

    <hr>

    The second he saw it, there was an immediate, almost comforting connection. It made sense. That was his real-world job. But something about it felt¡­ lacking. Too simple. Would that really help him here?

    His gut told him no.

    ¡°Plus¡­ fuck that,¡± Darren whispered to himself with absolute certainty. Then he thought to himself, If I got shit like Darkness Magician and Sorcerer on this list, I sure as hell am not going to settle on being somebodies fucking lightbulb changer.

    Darren¡¯s breathing shallowed as he continued scrolling. More words flickered past;

    <hr>

    Armored Bullwark¡­

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Runesmith¡­

    Weather Witch¡­

    <hr>

    Strange ones, unfamiliar designations, names that stirred something faint but distant inside him. Some were stronger than others, but none of them felt just right. Until his eyes landed on it.

    <hr>

    Elemental Mage.

    <hr>

    A slow, electric tension coiled inside him. He froze, heart pounding as he scanned the variations beneath it:

    <hr>

    Elemental Mage (Fire)

    Elemental Mage (Water)

    Elemental Mage (Ice)

    Elemental Mage (Wind)

    Elemental Mage (Earth)

    Elemental Mage (Nature)

    Elemental Mage (Lightning)

    <hr>

    His vision locked onto the last one.

    For a moment, the world around him faded. Everything¡­ Alex¡¯s anxious breathing, Chris¡¯s quiet muttering, the distant crashing of waves, it all dimmed beneath the sheer certainty flooding his veins. A connection stronger than anything before gripped him. He didn¡¯t need to look further.

    This was it. This was his class.

    Without hesitation, Darren raised his left hand, reaching for the glowing name on the list. His fingers stretched toward the screen¡­

    The glowing text hovered before Darren, stark against the backdrop of the endless beach and the murmurs of confused voices around him.

    <hr>

    Selection: Elemental Mage (Lightning)

    Warning: Class is nigh unchangeable once selected.

    However, expansion is guaranteed as you progress on your path.

    Note: Origins are important. It is crucial to remember where you come from, but it does not dictate your destiny.

    Commit to class selection: Elemental Mage (Lightning)?

    [Yes] / [No]

    <hr>

    Darren barely hesitated. His heart pounded, his fingers tightening involuntarily as if gripping something unseen. This felt right. There was no doubt in his mind. This was what he was meant to become.

    His breath was shallow as he raised his hand again, this time fully aware that the screen didn¡¯t need his touch. His will alone was enough.

    Yes!

    The moment the thought solidified in his mind, the screen pulsed, its glow intensifying for a brief second before the text shifted.

    <hr>

    [Status Screen]

    Darren Rogers

    Race: Human

    Class: Elemental Mage (Lightning)

    Level: 1

    XP to Next Level: 0 XP

    Health: 100/100

    Mana: 65/65

    Stamina: 50/50

    <ul>

    <li>Strength: 8</li>

    <li>Dexterity: 12</li>

    <li>Endurance: 10</li>

    <li>Intelligence: 15</li>

    <li>Wisdom: 14</li>

    <li>Perception: 11</li>

    <li>Willpower: 8</li>

    </ul>

    Affinity: Lightning (Primary)

    Skills:

    <ul>

    <li>Arc (Active) ¨C Releases a concentrated arc of electricity from the palm, striking a target within 30 feet.</li>

    <ul>

    <li>Damage Type: Energy (Lightning)</li>

    <li>Mana Cost: Low</li>

    <li>Cooldown: 5 seconds</li>

    </ul>

    </ul>

    Traits & Passives:

    <ul>

    <li>Electric Conduit ¨C Naturally attuned to lightning, increasing resistance to electrical damage and enhancing the effectiveness of lightning-based abilities.</li>

    <li>Keen Instincts ¨C Slightly improved reaction time and perception of movement.</li>

    </ul>

    Equipment:

    <ul>

    <li>Basic Cloth Shirt</li>

    <li>Worn Pants</li>

    <li>Athletic Shoes</li>

    <li>No Weapon Equipped</li>

    </ul>

    <hr>

    Darren barely had time to process the information before it hit him.

    A shockwave rippled through his very core, like a jolt of static electricity igniting every cell in his body. His breath hitched, his muscles tensed involuntarily, and for a brief second, he felt weightless; his entire being vibrating with an unfamiliar, yet exhilarating power.

    ¡°Whoa¡­¡± The word left his lips in a whisper, filled with sheer awe. It wasn¡¯t just a feeling, it was real. Something had changed inside him. He could sense it, thrumming beneath his skin like an untamed current. His veins tingled as if the air itself had become charged¡­ like his very soul had been rewritten with something new. Power. A raw, electric force that pulsed deep in his core, itching to be used.

    He could feel it¡ªlike an unspoken instinct, like something long dormant that had just been awakened. If he concentrated, he knew, without a doubt, that he could call it forth. Lightning.

    He didn¡¯t know how he knew, but he did. The understanding settled into him naturally, as if it had always been there, waiting to be unlocked. He flexed his fingers, and for a split second, he swore he saw tiny sparks flicker between them.

    But before he could explore further, the world shifted. A sudden force, unseen yet absolute, yanked him from the ground. The beach, the waves, the voices of those around him, everything blurred, twisted, and then¡­ Darren vanished.

    Clarke stared at the glowing text hovering before his eyes, his vision shifting between lines of unfamiliar words and the choices he had yet to make. He had seen Darren and the others make their choices. He watched as some of them vanished into thin air the moment their decisions were finalized, but for him, the process wasn¡¯t so simple.

    The class list stretched endlessly, filled with names that either made immediate sense or sounded like something straight out of a fantasy novel. For three agonizing hours, he scrutinized each option, testing the connection he felt with them, searching for the one that resonated the most. It was a strange sensation, an intuitive pull toward certain words, a deep knowing that some of these classes were a natural fit for him, while others felt foreign, even dangerous.

    He muttered under his breath, rubbing his jaw as he weighed his options.

    Mechanic was the obvious choice. It was who he was and what he did. Clarke had spent years in the Coast Guard working on engines, vessels, and all sorts of machines that needed careful hands and keen eyes. He was damn good at it, too. But something gnawed at him as he considered it; was that really enough? In this bizarre, unknown world, where people were disappearing before his eyes, would being a mechanic really serve him?

    With a sigh, he scrolled further. That¡¯s when he saw something that made his brow furrow.

    <hr>

    Construct Engineer.

    <hr>

    He blinked at the words. ¡°The hell is that supposed to mean?¡± he asked no one in particular, rubbing the back of his neck.

    For a moment, his brain misread it as "Construction Engineer," and he almost scoffed. Did this system expect him to build houses or something? But no, there was something deeper here, something his gut told him was important. He couldn¡¯t explain it, but he knew this class meant more than just putting up walls and hammering nails.

    Then his eyes drifted further down the list, and that¡¯s when he saw it. Necromancer.

    A shiver ran down his spine. The name alone sent a thrill through him. He had played plenty of games that had necromancers in them, summoning undead warriors to fight on their behalf, bending death to their will. For a moment, his fingers twitched, tempted to select it. But then, the feeling hit him¡­ a warning.

    If he chose this¡­ he would die.

    He didn¡¯t know how he knew that, but it was an undeniable truth. His body tensed as if he had just stepped too close to the edge of a cliff, a primal instinct screaming at him to back away. Clarke exhaled sharply and moved on.

    That left Warrior and Soldier. Both felt like reasonable choices. He had some combat training, and knew how to handle himself in a fight, but there was something about them that rubbed him the wrong way. The moment he considered them seriously, an overwhelming sense of restriction filled his chest, like chains tightening around him. Soldier, in particular, sent a cold dread through him. What if this system tried to draft him into something? He wasn¡¯t about to sign himself up for a war he didn¡¯t understand.

    That left two options; Mechanic and Construct Engineer.

    His eyes flicked back to the latter. He still didn¡¯t know exactly what it entailed, but the word Engineer called to him in a way that Mechanic didn¡¯t. He didn¡¯t want to just fix things, he wanted to build them; create something greater than himself. Maybe it was stupid, maybe it was just pride, but Clarke didn¡¯t care. ¡°I¡¯m gunna be an Engineer! Take that, Mr. Craig!¡± Clarke spoke to the memory of his high school science teacher who told him he¡¯d never amount to anything. Real asshole, that guy. He smirked and muttered, ¡°Fuck it.¡±

    His finger tapped YES.

    The moment he confirmed his choice, a rush of energy surged through his body. It was as if something deep inside of him had been unlocked, a door that had always been there but never opened. His muscles tensed, his mind sharpened, and for the briefest moment, he felt capable in a way he never had before.

    Then, without warning¡­ he vanished.

    <hr>

    [Status Screen]

    Michael Clarke

    Race: Human

    Class: Construct Engineer

    Level: 1

    XP to Next Level: 0 XP

    Health: 100/100

    Mana: 65/65

    Stamina: 50/50

    <ul>

    <li>Strength: 12</li>

    <li>Dexterity: 10</li>

    <li>Endurance: 13</li>

    <li>Intelligence: 16</li>

    <li>Wisdom: 14</li>

    <li>Perception: 12</li>

    <li>Willpower: 9</li>

    </ul>

    Skills:

    Basic Construct (Active) ¨C Create a Level 1 construct from available materials.

    <ul>

    <li>Strength and durability depend on the materials used.</li>

    <li>Only one construct can be summoned at a time.</li>

    <li>Mana Cost: Medium</li>

    <li>Cooldown: N/A (Summon limit increases with level.)</li>

    </ul>

    Traits & Passives:

    <ul>

    <li>Blueprint Mind: Understands how to repurpose materials for constructs.</li>

    <li>Structural Analysis: Can assess object durability and weaknesses.</li>

    <li>Tinkerer¡¯s Touch: Improves efficiency when modifying constructs.</li>

    </ul>

    Equipment:

    <ul>

    <ul>

    <li>Basic Shirt</li>

    <li>Basic Shorts</li>

    <li>Athletic Shoes</li>

    <li>No Weapon Equipped</li>

    </ul>

    </ul>

    <ul>

    <li style="list-style-type: none"> </li>

    </ul>

    <hr>

    Chris barely glanced at the massive list of classes scrolling in front of him. The words glowed faintly in the air, shifting as he flicked his eyes across them, but he wasn¡¯t interested in sifting through endless possibilities. He had never been the kind of person to overthink things.

    Then, about halfway down the list, something caught his attention. The word hit him like a freight train. It wasn¡¯t just a name¡­ it was a declaration, a presence. Something inside him recognized it, and resonated with it on a level so deep it was almost instinctual. He didn¡¯t need to understand it. He didn¡¯t need to weigh the pros and cons.

    Chris grinned, his pulse picking up. Without hesitation, he tapped YES.

    A surge of raw, primal power erupted through his body. It wasn¡¯t a slow transformation. It was instantly overwhelming, like flipping a switch on a machine that had been operating at half-power its entire life. His muscles burned, not with pain, but with a kind of limitless potential. His limbs felt heavier, yet at the same time, more controlled, more explosive. His skin tightened; the very fibers of his being tempered by whatever force governed this strange new system.

    Chris clenched his fists, feeling the new weight behind them, the promise of devastation in every movement. His breathing deepened, each inhale filling his lungs with something more than just air. It was as if the very world around him had suddenly become too fragile.

    A new hunger stirred in his chest. A craving for release. He flexed his fingers, imagining them wrapping around a throat¡­ Chase¡¯s throat. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest.

    "I¡¯m gunna turn that bastard into a pile of broken bones."

    And just as the thought formed, the world around him snapped away. Chris vanished from the beach.

    <hr>

    [Status Screen]

    Christopher Gaetz

    Race: Human

    Class: Dreadnought

    Level: 1

    XP to Next Level: 0 XP

    Health: 200/200

    Mana: 30/30

    Stamina: 100/100

    <ul>

    <li>Strength: 30 (+10 from Class Bonus)</li>

    <li>Dexterity: 10</li>

    <li>Endurance: 22 (+5 from Class Bonus)</li>

    <li>Intelligence: 5</li>

    <li>Wisdom: 5</li>

    <li>Perception: 5</li>

    <li>Willpower: 15</li>

    </ul>

    Skills:

    <ul>

    <li>Superhuman Strength (Passive) ¨C Physical strength is vastly increased beyond human limits.</li>

    <ul>

    <li>Effect: Enhances all strength-based actions, including lifting, striking, and durability.</li>

    <li>Limitations: Strength is limited by Stamina/Endurance calculation. Strength tapers off to normal human of the same level as Stamina levels drops. Damage from very high-impact actions may still apply.</li>

    <li>Stamina Cost: N/A</li>

    <li>Cooldown: N/A (Always active)</li>

    </ul>

    <li>Unyielding Body (Passive) ¨C Flesh and bone are naturally reinforced, drastically increasing resistance to physical damage.</li>

    <ul>

    <li>Effect: Reduces damage from blunt force, slashing, and piercing attacks.</li>

    <li>Bonus: Immunity to minor fractures and bruising.</li>

    </ul>

    </ul>

    Traits & Passives:

    <ul>

    <li>Momentum ¨C The faster you move, the harder you hit.</li>

    </ul>

    Equipment:

    <ul>

    <li>Tattered Jeans</li>

    <li>Worn Leather Jacket</li>

    <li>Basic Shirt</li>

    <li>Leather Boots</li>

    <li>No Weapon Equipped</li>

    </ul>

    <hr>

    The moment Olea''s fingertip tapped the YES button, she felt the shift. A sharp inhale hitched in her throat as the world around her blurred, and then she was gone.

    She vanished two seconds before Alex, accepting her fate without hesitation.

    <hr>

    [Status Screen]

    Olea Hernandez

    Race: Human

    Class: Spear Maiden

    Level: 1

    XP to Next Level: 0 XP

    Health: 100/100

    Mana: 40/40

    Stamina: 60/60

    <ul>

    <li>Strength: 18 (+5 from Class Bonus)</li>

    <li>Dexterity: 16 (+3 from Class Bonus)</li>

    <li>Endurance: 14</li>

    <li>Intelligence: 11</li>

    <li>Wisdom: 10</li>

    <li>Perception: 13</li>

    <li>Willpower: 9</li>

    </ul>

    Skills:

    <ul>

    <li>Impaling Thrust (Active) ¨C A devastating, full-force thrust designed to pierce through armor and flesh alike.</li>

    <ul>

    <li>Effect: Maximizes physical damage output based on level and weapon quality.</li>

    <li>Stamina Cost: Medium</li>

    <li>Cooldown: 20 Seconds</li>

    </ul>

    </ul>

    Traits & Passives:

    <ul>

    <li>Martial Grace ¨C Increased proficiency and agility when wielding a spear.</li>

    <li>Piercing Precision ¨C Small bonus to penetration when striking weak points.</li>

    <li>Battleflow ¨C Slight increase in reaction speed during combat.</li>

    </ul>

    Equipment:

    <ul>

    <li>Basic Spear [System Granted] Crude, effective, balanced for quick strikes and thrusting attacks.</li>

    <li>Basic High Heel</li>

    <li>Slutty Dress</li>

    </ul>

    <hr>

    Alex stood frozen, staring at the glowing blue screen in front of her. She had been looking at the same words for what felt like forever, feeling something deep within her respond to them, something instinctual.

    She had never considered herself particularly special. But as she gazed at the class before her, Empath, it felt less like a choice and more like a revelation. A confirmation of something she had always known but never acknowledged. This was her. This had always been her.

    Her life before the system had been a slow, uncertain crawl toward this moment. Every interaction, every understanding glance, every time she had felt the emotions of others before they spoke, it had all led here. And now, the system had simply named it.

    She exhaled slowly, chest tightening as she accepted her path. She had been on it for some time now. Accepting the ability to see people¡¯s emotions and urges towards her as a basic human being, and manipulating them in the process to get what she wanted. Now¡­ all that was amplified and boosted by the system.

    YES.

    A wave of sensation surged through her; not painful, not overwhelming, but sharp. A clarity, an awareness, unlike anything she had ever known. The emotions of those around her lit up in her mind like colors, their fear, excitement, doubt, and hunger pressing against her consciousness. It wasn¡¯t overpowering, but it was there for her to unravel if she so desired. Alex sucked in a breath. She could feel them.

    And then, she was gone.

    <hr>

    [Status Screen]

    Alex Jones

    Race: Human

    Class: Empath

    Level: 1

    XP to Next Level: 0 XP

    Health: 100/100

    Mana: 150/150 (+50 from Class Bonus)

    Stamina: 50/50

    <ul>

    <li>Strength: 7</li>

    <li>Dexterity: 10</li>

    <li>Endurance: 8</li>

    <li>Intelligence: 18 (+5 from Class Bonus)</li>

    <li>Wisdom: 20 (+7 from Class Bonus)</li>

    <li>Perception: 22 (+5 from Class Bonus)</li>

    <li>Willpower: 8</li>

    </ul>

    Affinity: Mental and Emotional (Primary)

    Skills:

    <ul>

    <li>Emotional Influence (Active/Passive) ¨C Detect, interpret, and subtly manipulate the emotions of others.</li>

    <ul>

    <li>Effect: Allows the user to sense emotions and nudge them in a desired direction. Stronger influences require active engagement.</li>

    <li>Limitations: Resistance is directly tied to the target¡¯s Willpower.</li>

    <li>Mana Cost: Variable (Depends on intensity and duration of influence.)</li>

    <li>Cooldown: N/A (Passive effects are always active, direct influence requires focus and consumes mana.)</li>

    </ul>

    </ul>

    Traits & Passives:

    <ul>

    <li>Heightened Awareness ¨C Stronger sensitivity to emotional and social cues.</li>

    <li>Instinctive Resonance ¨C Easier to connect with others on an emotional level.</li>

    <li>Emotional Anchor ¨C Resists outside emotional influences, making it harder to be manipulated.</li>

    </ul>

    Equipment:

    <ul>

    <li>Tight Fitting Shirt (Comfortable, offering no real protection.)</li>

    <li>Skinny Jeans</li>

    <li>Flat Shoes</li>

    <li>No Weapon Equipped</li>

    </ul>

    <hr>

    And then¡­ they vanished.

    One by one, the newly chosen race disappeared. Those who had made their decision, who had embraced the change, were transported away, their bodies flickering out of existence as soon as they confirmed their choice. It left those still deliberating in a cold, uneasy silence.

    The ones who remained hesitated even longer now. Seeing their fellow humans disappear without explanation or warning, paralyzed many of them.

    The fastest person to leave had chosen in just thirty seconds, barely pausing before selecting their fate. The last? Thirty-six hours.

    For some, this wasn¡¯t just about choosing the right class, it was about accepting that their entire existence had changed. That their world was over, and there was no going back. Once they selected YES, they were gone just as the others before. TO where exactly?

    No one knew exactly. Some would be lucky. They would arrive somewhere with familiar friends or family. A rare few might even land with multiple people they knew.

    But for most? Survival was all that mattered now. It didn¡¯t matter who you knew. It only mattered what you could do.

    The beginning of integration into the Multiverse had begun. Unbeknownst to the indigenous life of Earth, many eyes were watching their world. Watching for the events that would transpire in the tutorial, and who would rise in power.

 Chapter 4 - Monster World

    Jordan¡¯s consciousness appeared amid a dense, untamed wilderness, the air thick with the scent of earth and pine. Trees loomed around him, ancient and gnarled, branches clutching the sky like skeletal fingers. The sunlight that filtered through the canopy wasn¡¯t the natural golden rays; it was slightly blue, an eerie, underwater vibe that bathed the forest in an unnatural glow. Shadows stretched longer than they should, moving with a strange sluggishness as if reluctant to release their hold on the ground as the blue star passed through the sky. The shadows were darker than what Jordan was used to, swallowing the world that stood in their path; even Jordan.

    But Jordan wasn¡¯t ¡°standing¡± in this forest. He wasn¡¯t even solid.

    His form was something else entirely: an amorphous presence, a sentient wisp of existence that defied physicality. He had no hands to touch, no legs to walk, yet he could see. Not through eyes the way a human would. His awareness was somewhat omnidirectional, shifting with the barest flicker of thought, granting him a sense of space beyond a mere forward-facing perspective. It was freeing in some ways but also unsettling. He observed his surroundings slowly, watching for anything. The dark forest felt alive¡­ with something.

    Moving was easier than when he was trapped in that void. There he had been weightless and without reference, spinning in endless darkness. Here, at least, there was ground, trees, sky. Things to navigate by. He drifted effortlessly, gliding past the massive trunks of varying trees and plants. His incorporeal form phasing through branches and undergrowth like mist dispersing on the wind. He was completely unseen.

    Still, that gnawing, unshakable grief weighed on him. A wound deeper than flesh, carved into the very essence of his being. Everything he had ever known¡­ was gone. His body. His life. And worst of all, the memory of Chase¡¯s attack landing.

    Jordan still saw it, the flash of the knife, the cold gleam of steel plunging into his chest. The raw, unfiltered agony of it. The betrayal of Alex choosing that guy¡­ the guy who did this¡­ it burned hotter than the pain. All the years, all the struggles of Jordan¡¯s life were ripped away in an instant. He hadn¡¯t even had the chance to fight back as the blue screen popped up in his face. One moment, he had a future; the next¡­ he was nothing.

    But now? Now, he was something else.

    He didn¡¯t know what yet, but the system, the thing that had rewritten reality, had changed him. That cold blue screen had once labeled him human, but now it was blood-red, angrier, and proclaiming him a monster.

    He wanted to ignore it, to pretend it didn¡¯t matter. But it did. That word¡­ monster. It was something he didn¡¯t like.

    And then, as if responding to his thoughts, the red screen materialized before him. Not outwardly for others to see, but in the center of his awareness. It demanded his attention.

    <hr>

    WELCOME TO PRIMARIS-1. MONSTER WORLD.

    System-calculated corrections have placed you on Primaris-1 as a replacement for your planet (Earth''s) tutorial.

    <hr>

    "Primaris-1?" The words echoed in his mind, his very being vibrating with confusion. ¡°What the fuck?¡±

    More lines of text scrolled across the red interface.

    <hr>

    Primaris-1 is inhabited by various monsters of all classes and levels.

    A dangerous and highly volatile environment compared to your planet, Primaris-1 will be your first step as a Monster in the Multiverse.

    Good luck¡­

    <hr>

    And then, just as suddenly as it appeared, the red screen flickered out, leaving him alone again in the stillness of the forest. For a moment, the world was quiet. Too quiet.

    Then, a deep, guttural growl rumbled through the trees.

    Jordan froze, his presence instinctively pulling inward as an inhuman roar shattered the eerie calm. Twigs snapped, and leaves rustled as something big moved in the undergrowth. And it wasn¡¯t alone.

    For the first time since waking in this world, a new sensation crept into his formless being: fear.

    Jordan instinctively drifted into the cover of a dense cluster of trees, his formless essence weaving between the towering trunks like mist curling in the morning air. The guttural snarls of the unseen beasts sent a ripple of tension through him, a deeply ingrained survival instinct that clashed with his new, uncertain nature. He had no heart to hammer in his chest, no lungs to hold breath¡­ yet he felt the raw, primal urge to hide, to shrink away from whatever prowled the undergrowth. Then, heavy footsteps.

    The ground trembled beneath the weight of something massive approaching from the left of his awareness. Jordan turned his focus just as a hulking, feline monstrosity emerged from the shadows of the trees. It was unlike any predator he had ever seen. Its sheer size alone made his presence feel minuscule.

    It stood easily the size of a small truck, its muscular frame rippling beneath pale, yellowish, furless skin. Skin that bore the jagged scars of countless battles. Its body was corded with power, every movement a display of lethal precision. Twin saber-like fangs, each as long as a man¡¯s forearm, curved down from its upper jaw like polished ivory daggers. Its thick, sinewy tail lashed behind it, slicing through the tall forest brush as it prowled forward with the kind of lethal grace only a top-tier predator could possess.

    Jordan coiled into himself, pulling his presence deeper into the thick trees, pressing his incorporeal form into the very essence of the bark, as if sheer will alone could make him smaller. If he had lungs, he would be holding his breath, but all he could do was wait, frozen, utterly silent.

    Then, another set of footsteps. Closer. Too close.

    Jordan barely had time to process it before a second beast stepped forward, its monstrous paws crushing leaves and twigs barely a foot away from where the first stood.

    It stopped.

    Jordan¡¯s awareness flared in alarm as the beast turned its massive skull toward him.

    Glowing, slitted, yellow eyes pierced the space he occupied. It was staring right at him.

    A pulse of panic flooded his thoughts. His instincts screamed at him to flee, to whisk away like smoke before the wind, but something about the way the creature was looking at him didn¡¯t make sense.

    It wasn¡¯t poised to pounce. Its muscles weren¡¯t tensing for a strike. It simply¡­ looked.

    Jordan felt the first flickers of motion as his form began to instinctively drift, the very edges of his awareness shifting like the barest ripple in the air, and that was when the beast simply turned away.

    Just like that. No alarm. No interest. It gave him no more acknowledgment than a breeze rustling past its whiskers.

    Jordan remained utterly still, thoughts reeling. It didn¡¯t see him. Not in the way a predator saw prey. Not in the way a living thing perceived another entity in its space. To that monstrous feline, Jordan was nothing.

    The two saber-toothed beasts rumbled to one another in deep, guttural tones before padding off toward the sound of rushing water, their heavy footfalls fading into the distance.

    Jordan remained where he was, bewildered, unnerved, and utterly perplexed. Then, the realization truly set in. He wasn¡¯t on Earth anymore. He was on Primaris-1¡­ a monster planet? His mind surged with panic as the implications of that thought hit him in his core. How would he ever get home? How would he get back to his family and his friends? Would he even want to get back to his friends after what happened? He knew his initial thoughts were angry and that they truly were not to blame for Chase''s actions. But still¡­ he was furious, and he could do nothing to quell this emotion. Now he was this¡­ thing

    And then, in the lingering silence, a single question burned in his mind. What exactly is a Wraith?

    A sudden flicker of red light appeared before Jordan, the glowing screen materializing in his vision like a pulse of phantom energy. His thoughts twisted toward it instinctively, drawing up the details as if summoned by his will.

    <hr>

    [Status Screen]

    Jordan Robberts

    Race: Monster

    Class: Wraith

    Level: 1

    XP to Next Level: 0 XP

    Wraith

    <ul>

    <li>Class Description: Invisible and extremely volatile. Wraiths are born from extreme acts of violence. Their existence is a rare phenomenon, requiring multiple contributing factors. A soul murdered and torn from the world before its time, cursed to return over and over¡­ until it is laid to rest. More powerful variants emerge if fire is involved in the destruction of the body.

    <ul>

    <li> Typically unseen forces of wrath and vengeance, lesser Wraiths lack the ability to interact with the physical world. However, as they grow in power, they gain the ability to possess the living, manipulate objects, and even manifest a physical form. Their strength is drawn from the fear of their victims and sheer force of will.</li>

    </ul>

    </li>

    </ul>

    <hr>

    Jordan¡¯s mind sharpened. So that cat never even saw me?

    His thoughts flickered, and the status page shifted in response.

    <hr>

    Skill: Poltergeist (Common)

    Poltergeists are said to possess a variety of supernatural abilities, including telekinesis, levitation, and the ability to create disruptive noises. They are often associated with spectral movement, invisibility, and manipulation of the physical world.

    Note:

    <ul>

    <li>Skill 1 of the Wraith Skill Tree.</li>

    <li>No physical damage can be done directly to living entities, as Level 1 Wraiths lack a corporeal form.</li>

    <li>Regaining a physical form will alter the function of Skill: Poltergeist.</li>

    </ul>

    <hr>

    Drifting forward, Jordan followed the two massive saber-toothed monsters as they prowled through the dark desolate forest, their powerful shoulders rolling with each step. Their muscular frames, rippling beneath scarred skin, moved with a terrifying grace that belied their sheer size. They navigated the shadowy underbrush effortlessly, their heavy paws making only the faintest sound against the soft, leaf-littered ground.

    The forest opened ahead into a clearing, where a rushing river cut through the gloomy landscape, its waters surging and wild. The scent of damp stone and crushed foliage filled the air as the two beasts made their way toward a substantial waterfall that plunged over a jagged cliff. The drop was at least 300 feet.

    The water, a thundering wall of white and grey, churned violently as it crashed onto the jagged rocks below. The misty spray rose like a ghostly shroud, curling into the lower trees at the bottom of the falls.

    Jordan hovered behind them, watching as the two creatures lingered at the water¡¯s edge, their slitted eyes scanning the river with an unnerving intent. Were they hunting? Waiting? Searching for something?

    Then, an idea struck him. Time to test his skill.

    He focused. Somewhere deep within his formless essence, something unfurled, like claws of unseen force stretching out toward the physical world. Jordan willed Poltergeist to activate. Immediately, the forest responded.

    A deep tremor ran through the trees around them. Leaves rustled without wind. Branches swayed violently as if seized by unseen hands. A low, thrumming pressure built in the air, like static before a storm. Then, rocks trembled. Jagged stones near the waterfall''s edge began to quake, shifting with an unnatural force.

    The two beasts whipped around, ears flattening, their muscles tensing as eerie, unseen wrath seeped into the atmosphere. To them, it was as if the very forest had come alive in fury. Their bodies stiffened, primal instincts screaming at them to flee, but they had nowhere to run.

    Jordan felt it. That unseen grip he had over the world. The power to move, to shake and disrupt.

    One of the cats let out a deep, wary growl, its massive skull turning, searching the empty space where Jordan lingered. It couldn¡¯t see him. But it could sense something.

    Then, the rocks gave way. The ground beneath the hind legs of one beast suddenly crumbled, and before it could react, its rear paws slipped out from under it.

    A startled, guttural snarl tore from its throat as it desperately clawed at the ground, its hooked claws dug into crumbling stone. It scrambled for purchase, muscles bulging with strain, but the earth beneath it was already breaking apart.

    A moment later, the last stone fell free. Gravity took hold, and the beast plunged into the raging river. Its body vanished beneath the current right at the edge of the waterfall.

    The surviving cat watched in helpless horror as its companion was swept forward with terrifying speed, tumbling toward the inevitable drop. It took only four seconds. Then¡­ impact.

    The monstrous saber-tooth collided with the jagged rocks below, its body impaled and shattered upon impact. The sickening crunch of bones and flesh being torn apart echoed through the canyon, swallowed swiftly by the relentless roar of the falls.

    Dead¡­ instantly.

    Jordan lingered in the air above, watching in silence.

    For the first time, he truly was beginning to understand what he was. A force unseen. A whisper of destruction. A thing that could not be touched, but could touch the world.

    And as the surviving cat bolted into the trees, terror rippling off its form, Jordan felt its fear. A slow, deep pull in his being, siphoning off the dread that had built inside the feline. His first taste of power.

    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Jordan narrowed his focus. The implications were unmistakable. He was a ghost, a thing of presence rather than flesh. The creatures had no idea he existed. He was unseen, untouchable, a force of nature rather than a man.

    His crimson screen materialized before him once more, casting an eerie red glow over the darkened forest (from Jordan¡¯s point of view). The text burned into his vision like some divine decree.

    <hr>

    You have defeated:

    Sabretooth Mountain Lion

    Level: 7

    XP Earned: 600

    <hr>

    A deep, resonant groan reverberated through his consciousness, like the tolling of a cursed bell or the echo of something vast and unseen shifting in the void. The weight of unseen forces stirred around him, and new words flooded his status screen.

    <hr>

    You have reached Level 2

    You have reached Level 3

    <hr>

    Another prompt followed in swift succession, the letters shimmering in crimson light.

    <hr>

    Upon reaching new levels, you have the option to unlock a new class skill or upgrade an existing skill.

    Option 1: Select new skill

    Option 2: Upgrade existing skill

    You currently have two skill points.

    <hr>

    Jordan smirked at the revelation. "Two skill points, huh? Interesting,¡± he spoke to himself in the unseen world he occupied.

    But before he could linger on the thought, his gaze flicked toward the surviving sabretooth mountain lion. It was pacing now, its massive paws pressing into the forest floor, muscles tense beneath its fur as it sniffed the air cautiously. It was searching, hunting for the source of the unseen terror that had just obliterated its companion. From its perspective, the presence had simply vanished.

    Jordan narrowed his focus, willing Poltergeist to activate once more. But this time, instead of shaking the environment, he directed his energy toward the beast itself.

    The reaction was immediate. The great cat¡¯s hide bristled as though an invisible claw had run down its spine. A deep, guttural growl rumbled from its throat, its fangs bared at the empty darkness of this forest. It crouched, muscles coiling, tail razor-straight. And then, without warning¡­ it bolted.

    Jordan blinked. Well¡­ he did the ghostly version of a blink. A double take I guess would be more appropriate for whatever Wraith-ly expression he gave. Basically, he was surprised.

    The beast was gone, disappearing into the dense underbrush without looking back.

    His screen still hovered before him, its words burning into his vision, but Jordan barely noticed. A realization settled over him, cold and undeniable.

    He had failed.

    His power had frightened the creature, but it had done nothing more than scare it away. It hadn¡¯t attacked, it hadn¡¯t fallen. It had simply fled. Jordan¡¯s thoughts clenched as his mind raced over the details. Then, his mind landed on a crucial phrase from before.

    No physical damage can be done directly to living entities, as Level 1 Wraiths lack a corporeal form.

    "Well... shit!"

    The realization struck like a hammer to the skull. He had miscalculated. It was literally written in the skill description, but he hadn''t fully grasped what it meant until now. He couldn''t just reach out and telekinetically hurl a living creature to its doom. Not yet, anyway. There were rules to this.

    A small, mischievous voice in the back of his mind whispered, It¡¯d be pretty badass if I could just grab someone and fling their ass over a cliff.

    He chuckled under his breath. "Maybe if it gets stronger¡­ if I get stronger¡­"

    With that, Jordan pulled his status screen up again and examined his skill points.

    <hr>

    Skill Point Allocation

    Option 1: Select new Skill

    Option 2: Upgrade existing skill

    Upgrade existing skill.

    Poltergeist has been upgraded from Common to Uncommon.

    <hr>

    The description shifted, words reshaping themselves before his eyes.

    <hr>

    Poltergeist (Uncommon)

    Poltergeists are said to possess a variety of supernatural abilities, including psychokinesis, levitation, and the power to create disruptive noises that instill fear. Wraiths are closely associated with spectral movement, invisibility, and the manipulation of the physical world. All psychokinetic power and fear induction are moderately increased.

    Note:

    ? Skill 1 of the Wraith Skill Tree.

    ? No physical damage can be done directly, as Level 3 Wraiths still lack a corporeal form.

    ? Regaining a physical form will alter the function of Skill: Poltergeist.

    <hr>

    Jordan¡¯s eyes lingered on a single line in the update. Psychokinetic power.

    "Now that''s interesting." He had a lot of questions about how that would work, but he still had another point to spend.

    <hr>

    Option 1: Select new skill.

    Skills Available:

    Visibility ¨C Allows the Wraith to manifest visibly to enemies.  Let them see you¡­ and fear.

    Psionic Scream ¨C Emits a piercing wail that reverberates directly into the minds of victims. Psionic energy fuels the attack, its intensity scaling with the user¡¯s willpower.

    Possession ¨C Enter the body of a targeted victim, taking complete control of their physical form.

    <ul>

    <li>Note: Cannot possess targets that are 10 levels or more above your current level.</li>

    </ul>

    <hr>

    Jordan¡¯s gaze lingered on the first option. It was an odd thing to see visibility as a skill. His natural state as a Wraith seemed to be complete invisibility, so the idea that he could choose to be seen intrigued him. It had potential, maybe for deception or intimidation, but it wasn¡¯t what he needed right now.

    No, there was only one real choice. Possession. If he could physically take over another body, then he could manipulate a situation in entirely new ways. He could use his enemies against one another, orchestrate their demise from within, and leave no trace of his involvement.

    His mind flickered back to the two sabretooth lions. If he had Possession earlier, he could have turned one against the other, made it attack, driven it to the edge, and forced it to leap to its death. The possibilities spun through his mind.

    But then, a new question arose.

    What happens if the body I¡¯m possessing dies while I¡¯m still inside it?

    Jordan smirked. "Guess it¡¯s time to find out."

    He mentally selected Possession and confirmed his choice.

    <hr>

    New Skill Acquired: Possession

    As a Wraith, you can enter and control a target¡¯s body, assuming full command over their physical form. You can walk, talk, and act as the victim for a limited duration based on their level.

    Restrictions:

    ? Cannot possess targets that are 10 levels or more above your own.

    ? Maximum possession time: 10 minutes.

    ? Minimum possession time at a 10-level difference: 1 minute.

    ? Cooldown: 10 minutes.

    <hr>

    Jordan¡¯s grin widened as he read the description.

    "This is gunna be fun."

    The hours stretched on, Jordan drifting silently through the forest like a shadow unmoored from the world. He was an unseen specter, a presence without form, waiting, watching. But nothing stirred. No animals darted from the brush. No unsuspecting prey blundered into his awareness. It was as if the wilderness itself recoiled from him, sensing his unnatural presence and retreating before he could so much as register them.

    He frowned, or at least, he would have, had he still possessed a face. Was he emitting something? A silent, invisible signal of doom? Some primal instinct woven deep into the fabric of nature warning all living things to flee before they even knew what they were running from? He doubted that was the case. He was only level 3 after all.

    His awareness spread outward like an invisible tide, reaching roughly twenty, maybe thirty feet in all directions. But beyond that, he was blind from the density of the forest. If anything skittered outside that range, he wouldn''t know it unless he moved.

    Then, movement above through the canopy. His focus snapped upward, tracking the silhouettes darting through gaps in the trees. Birds. High above him, their dark shapes cut through the dull light filtering between the branches. They were far too high for him to reach, hovering just beyond his grasp like everything else in this strange half-existence.

    His first instinct was to climb, but he had no hands. No body to heave himself up. Just his will.

    Then he remembered. Poltergeist.

    There had been something in its description about levitation. He''d assumed it meant he could manipulate objects, but what if it applied to himself? What if he could move¡ªtruly move, not just drift along the ground like a Walmart bag aught in the wind?

    He focused. Willed himself to rise. The sensation was immediate. The weightlessness he''d felt when he first awoke in this form, untethered and adrift in the void, returned. But now, it was directed¡­ controlled. He was lifting. Rising without resistance, his formless presence gliding through the air, higher and higher. The ground fell away beneath him.

    For the first time since his death, a sense of exhilaration pulsed through him. He was flying.

    This¡­ this is something. He thought to himself.

    He ascended through the tangled web of branches, slipping effortlessly between them. A raven swept past, its glossy black feathers rippling in the dappled light. The other birds paid no mind, oblivious to the entity that had drifted into their world.

    Jordan grinned inwardly.

    "All right¡­ time to become a little birdy."

    He fixed his gaze on one particular creature perched a few feet away, its head bobbing in that quick, twitchy way birds had, scanning the world with tiny, sharp eyes.

    He activated the skill.

    Nothing happened.

    The bird continued its preening, ruffling its feathers, unconcerned.

    Jordan scowled¡­ or again, would have if he still had a face. Am I doing something wrong?

    Then, the bird froze. It turned its head sharply, cocking it toward him. A single, unblinking yellow eye locked onto his position. An impossible, piercing gaze staring directly at him.

    Jordan lunged forward with his will, forcing the skill to activate. Possession!

    This time, it took.

    His world rushed.

    He felt himself hurtling forward, shrinking as he closed the distance, his consciousness compacting, compressing, narrowing into a singular point. The bird¡¯s golden eye expanded in his vision until it was all he could see, a brilliant abyss that swallowed him whole.

    Darkness.

    Then¡­ feeling.

    A sharp, immediate awareness, unlike anything he''d known since his death. His chest expanded, lungs filled with air, real air. His body balanced, perched delicately on a branch. A heartbeat¡­ a rapid, frantic rhythm that thumped in his chest.

    Jordan took a step.

    His foot was clawed, gripping against the bark. Instinctively, he adjusted his weight, shifting in a way that felt alien yet entirely natural somehow. He shuffled sideways, his movements awkward, legs bending in strange directions. Then he tried lifting his arms, except they weren''t arms. His wings unfurled, stretching unevenly, crooked at the joints.

    The sensation was¡­ bizarre. His mind rebelled against it, expecting limbs that bent in human ways, expecting fingers that flexed and grasped. Instead, his "arms" responded differently. More rigid yet flexible in a way that felt right for this form.

    He tested them, adjusting, feeling out the muscle memory that wasn¡¯t his own but belonged to the body he now inhabited.

    "Holy shit¡­"

    His voice didn¡¯t come out. He had no voice, not in this form. It was more internal dialogue. But that didn¡¯t stop the wild, breathless thrill flooding through him. He had done it. He was inside. He was the bird. And now¡­ now it was time to see just how far he could push this.

    Perched on the branch, Jordan¡¯s new perspective made the world feel enormous. The trees stretched skyward like towering monoliths, their canopies shifting with the wind in slow, hypnotic waves. Every leaf seemed vast, every twig a precarious foothold. He was no longer the looming, unseen specter drifting through the woods. Now, he was something small, fragile, confined to flesh and feather. The disorienting shift in scale sent a jolt of anxiety through him, but beneath that, there was something else. Excitement.

    For the first time since his body was ripped away from him, he felt grounded. He had shape. He had weight. He had breath. He was real again.

    The sensation was intoxicating. Jordan had always been a physical being. He thrived on pushing his limits: lifting heavier, running faster, and outlasting everyone. His whole life had been a quiet, relentless pursuit of dominance, an obsession with not just being strong in one aspect but in every aspect. He trained harder than the gym rats who thought a single bench press PR made them gods. He ran faster and farther than the so-called marathoners at work who boasted about their half-marathon times but couldn¡¯t deadlift their own body weight. He never bragged, never sought validation, he just worked, honing himself into something unstoppable. Looking at everyone else as less than he was physically. And then, in an instant, he lost everything.

    That knife had cut more than his flesh. It severed him from everything he had built, reducing him to a formless entity drifting in the void. He could still see the memory of the Earth. The way it was twisting, burning, transforming into something unrecognizable. A swirling inferno of molten rock. If his body had still been there, it had long since been turned to ash by the flames of the ¡°Flux Event¡±¡­ whatever the fuck that was.

    But now, now he was standing again¡­ just in the body of a bird. It wasn¡¯t his body, but it was something.

    Jordan felt a grin form in his mind. Alright. Time to fly.

    He spread his wings. It felt strange, familiar in some ways, utterly alien in others. They moved like arms, but not really. They were lighter and flexible in ways his human limbs had never been. The wind ruffled through his feathers as he crouched, shifting his weight forward.

    And then he leaped. For half a second, it was exhilarating. Then, gravity yanked him down like an anvil.

    Jordan barely had time to process his mistake before he plummeted, his wings flaring out uselessly, feathers scattering as he spiraled like a crumpled paper airplane. He twisted, flapped awkwardly, but it was too late. His little bird body slammed into the ground with a sickening thud.

    Pain exploded through his tiny frame.

    ¡°Ah, fu¡­¡±

    The wind had been knocked out of him. He gasped, tiny lungs struggling to suck in air. His beak clacked uselessly, his wings flopping against the dirt as his dazed bird brain tried to process what the hell had just happened.

    For a moment, Jordan just lay there, stunned. Then, as the shock faded, he started laughing; actually laughing, full-bodied and uncontrollable. It was ridiculous. Absolutely, utterly ridiculous. He had just possessed a bird and then, without hesitation, immediately walked it off a tree.

    ¡°Oh man,¡± he wheezed between laughs, ¡°he¡¯s gunna feel that in the morning.¡±

    Eventually, after what felt like forever, the pain dulled to an ache. Jordan twitched his wings experimentally, but before he could even think about trying again, he felt something shift inside him. A tug. A pulling sensation. His connection to the bird was breaking. His vision wavered, the edges of his awareness stretching like a rubber band. And then, with a sudden, jarring snap, he was flung free.

    Jordan reeled back into his usual formless state, an unseen specter once more. The sudden loss of sensation left him disoriented. The wind no longer brushed against him. The ground was no longer beneath his feet. He was back to being a shapeless, invisible presence in the forest.

    Below him, the bird wobbled in the dirt like it had just been sucker-punched by reality itself. For a second, Jordan actually thought he had killed it. Then, with a few pathetic, flapping attempts, the bird found its footing and awkwardly stumbled forward. It shook itself off, feathers puffing out in a ruffled mess. And then, without a second thought, it took flight, flapping its way back up into the branches as if nothing had happened.

    Jordan watched it go, amused.

    It didn¡¯t seem afraid. It didn¡¯t even seem aware of what had just happened. But then again¡­ it was just a bird.

    He chuckled to himself, hovering idly in the dark. I wonder what level that bird was.

    Without missing a beat, Jordan¡¯s red screen flared to life again. This time, it didn¡¯t hover in his periphery like before, but it zipped straight to his face, shrinking down into a compact, translucent rectangle. The corners of the screen still held a faint red haze, like glowing embers in the dark, but the center remained see-through, framing the world beyond it.

    Jordan frowned. It was almost like a targeting window, a lock-on reticle in a game. His gaze flicked toward the raven still perched in the tree, and the red-tinted rectangle snapped to match his line of sight, boxing the bird in perfectly.

    ¡°Is this thing tracking what I¡¯m looking at?¡±

    Before he could ponder the mechanics further, text flooded the transparent window in sharp, clean lettering.

    <hr>

    Race: Beast

    Class: Raven

    Level: 1

    <hr>

    Jordan raised an eyebrow. "That¡¯s it?" he muttered under his breath. "Race, class, and level? Seems kinda barebones¡­"

    As if in response to his skepticism, the rectangle suddenly split in two, a second translucent screen peeling away from the first and sliding to the left of the raven. More text scrolled down the new panel, breaking into a neat, organized description.

    <hr>

    Forest Raven: A common beast found in most wooded environments and nearly anywhere trees are present. Primarily hunts insects and small rodents for sustenance. As ravens increase in level, so do their physical size and resilience. Level 1 ravens are the most abundant and are highly vulnerable to all forms of physical and non-physical damage.

    <hr>

    Jordan exhaled sharply through his nose, watching the words as they finished populating.

    "So¡­ just a bird," he muttered. His eyes flicked back to the raven, which was preening its feathers, completely oblivious to the fact that it had been momentarily possessed by an invisible force.

    Jordan crossed his metaphorical arms. ¡°I wonder what the big ones are like?¡±

    The thought sent a ripple of curiosity through him. If low-level creatures were this fragile, what would happen when they leveled up? How big could a raven get? Could there be ones the size of dogs? Wolves? Hell, what if there were some the size of a damn horse?

    A slow grin spread across his nonexistent face. ¡°Now that would be something worth seeing.¡±

    With that, Jordan continued forward into this strange and mysterious world that surrounded him. The forest was like an organism in itself. It crept around him, watching, waiting as he too watched, completely unseen by any poor thing that crossed paths with him. He lost himself in the small excitements of this new life. He just tried not to think too much about everything he had just lost. Though... it never left the deepest parts of his consciousness. There, at his core... sat unquenched rage. It was waiting to be unleashed..

 Chapter 5 - Primaris-1 Disturbance

    Flayah stood atop the jagged outcrop, the wind whipping through the thick canopy of alien foliage below, sending rustling whispers through the dense jungle. Her piercing yellow eyes, sharp as a predator¡¯s, swept over her sabretooth pack. Instinctively, she counted them, her mind tallying the massive beasts she had trained and led for cycles. A scowl darkened her face. One was missing.

    With slow, deliberate movements, she knelt beside her favorite, an alpha in its own right, though not the largest of the pack. Her emerald-green fingers trailed across the beast¡¯s powerful shoulders, feeling the tension in its coiled muscles, the steady rise and fall of its breath as it lay on its side. Its pale coat, nearly white in the shifting light, stood in stark contrast to the tan and yellowish shades of the others. It was a rarity, an anomaly, and Flayah had always been drawn to the ones who defied expectations.

    She understood these creatures better than she understood most of her own kind. For the last ten cycles, she had been charged with the care and command of the sabretooth mountain lions, a task few in the Multiversal Beast Association dared to take on. Taming these beasts was no small feat. These creatures were relentless, their strength and cunning rivaling the most dangerous apex predators of similar levels across known dimensions. Only an iron will and an unbreakable bond could keep them under control, something the association valued highly for its high-risk expeditions.

    Flayah was no ordinary Beastmaster. She was the strongest in the Emerald Skull, an elite Orc faction that had seized the rare opportunity to claim a foothold on Primaris-1; a world teeming with untapped resources, monstrous creatures, and the kind of power that could elevate their standing in the multiversal hierarchy. Wealth, influence, and dominance were the rewards for those who could survive the gauntlet that was this world.

    Few had ever set foot on Primaris-1. The planet¡¯s monstrous inhabitants and relentless natural defenses made it nearly impenetrable. The multiversal rules governing such high-threat zones made access even rarer. The System imposed dimensional forces that were nigh impossible to slip between and gain entry to Primaris-1, except for a flux event. Yet, through careful maneuvering, political gambits, and an unprecedented shift in dimensional currents, the Emerald Skull had managed to insert a carefully chosen selection of their strongest into this world.

    They knew how much time they had, as every integration of a new world into the multiverse took about the same amount of time. They just had to get off the planet before the flux ended. Or¡­ they¡¯d risk being stuck until the next integration¡­ which ultimately meant death. The cause of this rare opportunity? The monster planet¡¯s ecosystem had been disrupted, and dimensional forces were opening the planet up from isolation. Some of Primaris-1¡¯s monstrous inhabitants had already been siphoned through dimensional barriers into a so-called tutorial world. These were hidden proving grounds rumored to be the teaching site for new integrations. This disruption, while an enigma to most, had created the perfect opening, just as all integrations before. The Emerald Skull had slipped through the cracks, embedding themselves in this savage world, ready to carve their own path to power while the flux lasted.

    Flayah exhaled, rising to her full height, her long red braids whipping in the wind as she cast a final glance at the missing spot in her ranks. Whatever had taken one of her sabretooth mountain lions would regret it.

    Flayah was a simple woman, at least in her own eyes. She had no interest in grand conquests, no hunger for wealth, no lust for the kind of influence that made men kneel and swear fealty. No, her passion was for beasts: the wild, untamed creatures that roamed the monstrous world of Primaris-1, or any world she could visit. She had always lived for the challenge of understanding them, commanding them, and becoming one with their instincts. If the Emerald Skull¡¯s goals happened to align with her own, all the better. She would use them as much as they used her.

    She adjusted the thick leather harness slung across her shoulder as she paced through the encampment, her keen yellow eyes darting between the tents of stretched, ancient hides. The scent of charred meat, damp fur, and sweat clung to the air. The ground beneath her was a patchwork of dirt and moss, hardened by the constant patrol of boots and claws.

    Her sabretooth pack, Pack 35, was her greatest pride, her truest loyalty. And tonight, something was wrong.

    One of the scouting cats had not returned. The other, a lean but battle-hardened beast, had slunk back into camp alone, its flanks streaked with something that wasn¡¯t blood¡­ it was fear. Flayah wasted no time, kneeling beside the creature, running a hand over its scarred fur, her mind reaching out. She closed her eyes, searching for the tether that connected her to the other missing scout.

    Nothing. A void where there should have been life. A complete disconnect.

    Her jaw clenched. That could mean only one thing. The beast was dead.

    Flayah forced herself to breathe, the anger simmering low in her gut as she straightened and marched toward the command tent. The largest in the camp, it stood at the dead center, a patchwork of tanned hides from fallen behemoths whose ancient, monstrous forms were reduced to mere shelter for those who had slain them.

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Inside, voices clashed.

    ¡°Come on, Rikter,¡± Skinner was saying, his tone edged with impatience. ¡°It¡¯s not moving far, it¡¯s staying in one place. We can take a raiding party out, kill it, and drag the resources back. Simple.¡±

    Flayah stepped inside without hesitation, her presence shifting the air. Rikterpile, the commander of their expedition, barely glanced at her, but Skinner let his gaze linger. Unlike Skinner¡¯s sickly yellow-green complexion, a sign of weaker orcish blood, Rikterpile was built from the same deep emerald flesh as Flayah, a mark of strength and purity among their kind.

    He rolled his eyes at Skinner before answering, voice low and clipped. ¡°Last-minute hunts need Expedition Leader approval. I say no. It¡¯s not part of the plan, and we¡¯re due to break camp soon. We can¡¯t spare the resources.¡±

    Skinner leaned forward, an oily grin on his face. ¡°But Rikterpile, we¡¯ll gain more resources if we kill the thing. It¡¯s like a squishy bag full of money just sitting out there in the open¡­¡±

    Rikterpile let out a long, slow sigh, his patience thinning. He shifted his gaze toward Flayah.

    ¡°You can send your scouts to get a look for yourself,¡± he said, voice firm. ¡°If this land squid is as unprotected and alone as Skinner claims, we¡¯ll take it down. But if there¡¯s anything amiss, we¡¯re not going. Anything at all. We don¡¯t have the time or people here to make a large raid if it¡¯s high-level. Most of our encampment has already shifted down range to the next site, closer to the array.¡±

    Flayah crossed her arms over her chest, muscles flexing under the tanned leather of her armor. Her red hair, woven into thick braids, framed her sharp-featured face. She studied Rikterpile, then let her gaze flick to Skinner, who smirked at her in that way he always did, half amusement, half desire.

    She ignored him.

    Skinner let out a low chuckle, the sound grating against her nerves. ¡°You worried about your little pets, Flayah?¡± he taunted, leaning back with a cocky grin. ¡°Or do you just need an excuse to get out of the camp and away from all this?¡± He gestured vaguely around him, but the way his eyes lingered on her, she knew exactly what he meant.

    She met his gaze with a slow, deliberate smile of her own.

    ¡°If I wanted an excuse to be rid of you,¡± she said, voice smooth, ¡°I¡¯d have let my pack make a meal of you.¡±

    Skinner¡¯s smirk faltered for the briefest moment.

    Rikterpile let out a grunt of amusement. ¡°Get it done, Flayah. If you can confirm it¡¯s worth it, we¡¯ll move. If not, we forget it.¡±

    Flayah¡¯s sharp eyes narrowed, her red brows furrowing as she addressed Rikterpile, her voice steady but carrying an undertone of restrained fury.

    ¡°There¡¯s just one problem with that plan, expedition leader,¡± she said, crossing her muscular arms over her chest. ¡°I sent two scouts out on their usual exploratory routes. Only one came back.¡±

    Rikterpile¡¯s dark green face creased in surprise. ¡°Dead?¡± he asked, his tone sharp. ¡°What killed it?¡±

    Flayah exhaled through her nose, willing her interface into existence with a flick of her fingers. A translucent blue screen flared to life in the dimly lit tent, illuminating her angular features in an eerie glow.

    ¡°Normally,¡± she continued, her voice colder now, ¡°when one of my beasts is killed, the system tells me exactly what did it. "Killed by Level 35 Beast King", or whatever it was. But look at this.¡±

    <hr>

    Beast Log:

    Saber #22 and Saber #23 deployed on exploratory search routes ¨C 14:00

    Saber #22 and Saber #23 encounter disturbance ¨C 14:40

    Saber #23¡ªDECEASED ¨C 14:41

    Saber #22 RTB ¨C 14:43

    <hr>

    Rikterpile¡¯s eyes darkened as he read the words. ¡°A disturbance¡­ then one of our beasts dead¡­¡±

    Skinner, however, let out a low chuckle, his yellow-green skin nearly shining with anticipation. ¡°Well, now that¡¯s interesting.¡±

    Flayah clenched her fists, resisting the urge to snarl at him. He had always been a snake, one who looked for opportunity in every weakness, every crack. To him, the loss of one of her sabers was not a tragedy but a means to an end. Even possibly a chink in her armor to slither his way into her bed.

    Rikterpile, however, was not pleased. His thick fingers drummed against his knee as he leaned back into his seat, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. They were close to exfiltration, too close for complications like this. They had already gathered more than enough loot, experience, and natural treasures from Primaris-1. The only thing left was to return to the rest of the repositioned expedition, exfil the planet, and offer their earnings to the Emerald Skull.

    But there was something else, something deeper. Orcs were creatures of instinct, blood, and fury. Even those like Rikterpile, who had learned to temper their urges for the sake of leadership, could not fully suppress the primal need for retribution. Something had been taken from them. From him.

    He rose to his full, imposing height, the firelight casting heavy shadows across his broad, battle-worn features. ¡°Forget the land squid,¡± he said. ¡°We go after the disturbance.¡±

    Skinner¡¯s smirk wavered slightly. ¡°You sure about that, boss?¡± The avarice refused to let go of his mind.

    Rikterpile shot him a glare that silenced him instantly. Then, he turned his gaze to Flayah.

    ¡°Gather your sabers. The entire pack,¡± he ordered. ¡°We¡¯ll assemble a small force from the faction camp. We¡¯re going into the forest. We find out what did this.¡±

    Flayah gave a single, resolute nod. She turned sharply on her heel and strode out of the tent, her boots crunching against the hardened dirt.

    The encampment was quiet at this hour, the thick, leathery hides of the tents shifting slightly in the night breeze. The scent of charred meat and burning wood still lingered from the evening¡¯s meal, but to Flayah, the air carried something far more potent¡­ loss.

    Her saber pack was everything. More than beasts, more than mere tools of war. She knew them, each one. Knew the way their muscles tensed when they were about to pounce. Knew the cadence of their growls, the subtle shifts in their body language. They were her family.

    And now, one of them was gone.

    Her fingers clenched at her sides as she walked. Her connection with Saber #23 was severed completely, as if the beast had never existed. Not even a trace remained. It wasn¡¯t just death. It was an erasure.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, 23,¡± she murmured under her breath. ¡°We¡¯re going to find your body, give you the burial you deserve¡­ then we¡¯re going to find whatever did this to you.¡±

    Her eyes gleamed with the promise of blood.

    ¡°And we¡¯re going to fucking kill it.¡±

 Chapter 6 - Feeling It Out

    Jordan moved through the forest with no particular aim. It wasn¡¯t that he didn¡¯t care about his surroundings, but more that he was too focused on getting a grip on his new form. The forest was vast, the dark trees towering like ancient giants around him, but they didn¡¯t hold his attention. It was his own presence that demanded it, the sensation of his intangible, ghostly form stretching across the landscape.

    At first, every movement felt strained, like he was fighting the very air itself. His consciousness tugged against the stillness, pulling his essence through the forest; slow, uncertain, like trying to wade through a dense fog. But with every passing moment, it became easier. A quiet mental hum began to accompany each movement, a growing familiarity. It was subtle at first, barely a whisper in the back of his mind. But as he continued pushing his presence out in front of him, it began to feel natural, like an extension of his will.

    It was still mentally taxing, though. Every movement required focus, a tinge of discomfort as if his consciousness had to break free from some unseen weight that bound him to the spot. But with time, the effort diminished, and soon it felt like slipping into a pair of well-worn shoes.

    When he realized he had unconsciously moved several dozen feet through the dense underbrush, Jordan paused. The forest was quieter now, as though the creatures had scattered. He was starting to realize it was happening more and more. The kind of effect his presence had on the world around him.

    His focus shifted. It was time to experiment with his Poltergeist skill. The description had been vague, but it was clear that his power had a way of affecting the physical world. The key, however, was the word, area.

    He closed his metaphorical eyes, mentally pulling his focus inward, then outward, reaching for the very air around him. It was strange at first, like trying to grip smoke with bare hands. The skill wasn¡¯t something he could actively aim for; it was an effect that rippled outward, like dropping a stone into a pond.

    With a thought, he let his presence stretch out further, expanding it like an invisible wave. The effect was immediate: dirt shifted, and small pebbles tumbled from their resting places. A deep, low grumble echoed through the trees. The air around him seemed to hum with an unseen force, trees groaning and creaking under the weight of his presence.

    ¡°That felt¡­ satisfying.¡±

    He experimented again, this time with more force. The ground trembled beneath him, sending a series of smaller trees shaking, their roots straining against the earth. Above, the birds in the canopy scattered, the raven he¡¯d been watching moments ago shrieking in panic as it fled the area. The forest was alive with the sound of his disturbance, but it didn¡¯t seem like he could direct the skill as much as he could control the magnitude.

    A smile tugged at his intangible lips. It was an odd joy, being able to affect the world around him without even being seen. Rocks flew, branches snapped, and the air thickened with the disturbance he caused. It was exhilarating but fleeting.

    He couldn¡¯t ignore the hollow feeling it gave him. Yes, he could rattle trees and knock dirt loose, but was that it? Was this the extent of his power? It wasn¡¯t the physicality he had always valued. It wasn¡¯t the training that had shaped him into someone who pushed himself harder, faster, and stronger than anyone around him. It wasn¡¯t the kind of challenge that made his muscles ache, or his heart race, or his breath catch in his throat.

    Jordan had always sought to be better, to be the one at the top. He¡¯d learned the limits of others, how to outpace them, outlift them, and outlast them. He had reveled in the physical¡­ that was his domain. But now, he had no body, no flesh to push, no muscle to strain. And it felt¡­ hollow.

    Still, he couldn¡¯t help but wonder. If this new existence was all he had now, then maybe it was time to change his approach. Maybe it wasn¡¯t about what he¡¯d lost but what he could gain. He still had this leveling system, this strange, unnatural way of growing stronger and evolving.

    He thought back to the words in his skill description: ¡®Gaining a physical body will alter the function of Skill: Poltergeist.¡¯

    That was his anchor, his only path forward. His entire focus shifted. Regaining his body. That was the goal. He had to do it.

    ¡°But how the hell do I even start?¡±

    Jordan felt a slight pulse of unease in the back of his mind, the sheer weight of the unknown pressing against him. But then, that same force, the sheer will to keep moving, surged through him. He couldn¡¯t be satisfied with where he was. He couldn¡¯t accept that this was all there was. He had to fight, to push forward until he found a way.

    So, he continued his journey, alone, forgotten, and lost in the woods of a world he didn¡¯t understand. But he had a goal now. The pieces were scattered, but they were out there¡­ somewhere. He just had to find them one by one, step by step.

    <hr>

    Jordan drifted through the landscape for what felt like forever, his presence skimming over dry, cracked earth as the forest gave way to a harsher, rockier terrain. The air felt different here; hotter, drier, carrying the scent of dust and stone rather than damp leaves and moss. The sky left behind the blueish hues and somehow turned a more menacing red. Sparse vegetation clung to the earth in brittle patches, the occasional jagged boulder jutting out like the ribs of some ancient beast.

    He hadn''t come here for any particular purpose. His wanderings had been instinctual, driven by an ever-present need to understand what he had become. Every step, or movement rather, made him more familiar with his incorporeal state. He felt less like a ghost and more like a force that simply was, something the world had to accommodate, even if it couldn¡¯t see or touch him.

    Then, he saw it.

    A creature, low to the ground but long. Longer than either of the two big cats he¡¯d seen. Its body was sleek, built for speed, its limbs coiled with power as it prowled across the uneven terrain.

    A red translucent box flickered into existence before his eyes:

    <hr>

    Race: Monster

    Class: Reptilian

    Level: 5

    A bipedal reptile capable of shifting between two- and four-legged movement. Its prehensile tongue and tail aid in both combat and survival. Scaled flesh provides natural resistance to physical damage. Very fast. Very dangerous.

    <hr>

    Jordan¡¯s focus snapped to the creature¡¯s body, studying its every detail. Its scales were a blend of muted tan and green, the latter pooling in the deeper creases and folds of its skin like shadows on armor. It wasn¡¯t bulky, but its low profile and taut muscles made it clear. The thing was strong. It moved like a predator, sharp and deliberate, each step carrying an unspoken threat.

    And then, something scurried into view.

    A trio of large, rodent-like creatures burst from a tangle of dry brush near a split in the rocks. Jordan¡¯s head, or what counted for one, tilted with intrigue as another flickering box popped up:

    <hr>

    Race: Beast

    Class: Field Mouse

    Level: 2

    A common field mouse found in a variety of environments. Primarily herbivorous, sustaining itself on edible plants, fruits, and vegetables. However, as a field mouse levels up, so do its appetite¡­ and size.

    <hr>

    Jordan let out an involuntary, silent scoff.

    "Those are probably the biggest fucking mice I¡¯ve ever seen."

    If he had encountered one of these things back on Earth, he would¡¯ve sprinted out of his house and never looked back. They weren¡¯t massive compared to the reptilian, but they were each about the size of a small dog. Which, for something that was supposed to be a mouse, was downright wrong.

    The reptilian struck.

    It happened in a blink. Its limbs coiled and then launched, kicking up loose dirt as its tail whipped violently behind it for balance. It was so fast, a blur of tan and green surging across the ground.

    Jordan barely had time to register the movement before the reptilian¡¯s maw snapped open.

    Rows upon rows of jagged, serrated teeth gleamed in the light, stacked like a shark¡¯s, wide at the base and tapering into cruel points. Jordan had seen plenty of unsettling things in the last few hours, but the sheer efficiency of those teeth sent a cold recognition through him. It was kill or be killed in the monster world.

    Then came the impact.

    The reptilian¡¯s jaws clamped down on the field mouse with a sickening crunch, bone and muscle giving way beneath its force. A wet, grotesque squelch ripped through the air, and Jordan saw a spray of crimson explode from the side of the reptilian¡¯s mouth, spattering jagged rocks in a dark, viscous mess.

    The two remaining field mice squealed in terror, their bodies twisting mid-run as they bolted in separate directions. The reptilian didn¡¯t chase them. It was already content, tilting its head as its throat bulged, swallowing down torn flesh with a wet, grotesque gluck.

    Jordan, for the first time, actually welcomed the fact that he had no body. Nothing for those teeth to sink into. Nothing for this monster to latch onto and rip apart.

    That didn¡¯t mean he wasn¡¯t watching, though. And as he watched, an idea began to form in his mind.

    "All right, let''s see what happens," Jordan muttered mentally, his focus locking onto the reptilian¡¯s slitted eyes. The creature¡¯s pupils were thin, vertical slashes of darkness, glimmering with a primal hunger. Jordan felt an unnatural pull toward them, a strange magnetism as his presence hovered undetected in the arid, rocky expanse.

    With a sharp pulse of intent, he activated his second skill. Possession.

    The world around him blurred. It was as if something yanked him forward at breakneck speed, a violent slingshot into the reptilian¡¯s consciousness. The moment his essence connected, everything went dark. An abyss of nothingness was swallowing him whole.

    Then, in a blink. Light. Jordan was back in a physical body, but it wasn¡¯t his.

    The sensation was overwhelming. His mind surged with alien instincts, an ancient, predatory intelligence unfurling within him. The reptilian¡¯s muscular frame felt powerful and sleek, every sinew and tendon wound tight like coiled steel beneath his new, scaled hide. The rough texture of his body scraped against the crags as he moved, his claws clicking lightly against the uneven rock. The sensory overload was disorienting yet exhilarating.

    An internal clock ticked in his mind. He couldn¡¯t hold this form for the full ten minutes. He could feel it. The skill¡¯s duration wasn¡¯t just a description in his status window, it was an ingrained limitation. It was like a burning fuse gradually winding down.

    He pushed himself forward, testing the body¡¯s limits. Speed.

    The reptilian surged into motion, his limbs blurring beneath him as he streaked across the barren landscape. Dust and loose stones scattered in his wake, his long tail lashing behind him to balance his momentum.

    Then, ahead, the land sloped downward into a valley of stone. Jordan skidded to a stop atop a rocky overlook, his claws digging into the terrain. He scanned the area below, and what he saw made his heart jolt. Structures.

    Nestled in the valley were two makeshift shelters, their walls made from a leathery material stretched taut over jagged metal frames. Between them, two figures moved about, engaged in some unknown task.

    Jordan¡¯s heart pounded as he glimpsed the figures moving around below. Two humans. Actual people. Relief surged through his scaled chest, an instinctive hope overriding his caution. He wasn¡¯t alone¡­ there were others. Maybe they had answers. Maybe they knew what this place was, what the system was; maybe they were survivors like him.

    Without hesitation, he propelled himself forward, his claws scrabbling over loose stone, kicking up a small dust cloud as he scurried toward the encampment. His mind was singularly focused. Just reach them, speak to them, and learn something. It wasn¡¯t until he closed the distance to a mere fifty yards that the figures turned toward him, alerted by the noise of his rapid approach. And then his gut twisted.

    They weren¡¯t human. Their skin was a sickly green, a color that gleamed faintly under the red-tinged sunlight of this desert area. Their faces were wide and angular, their features heavy with an almost brutish sharpness: pointed noses, thick brows, and deep-set eyes that burned with an intelligence he hadn¡¯t expected. Thick cords of muscle stretched beneath their rugged uniforms, which were a mismatch of dark, metallic plating and fabric reinforced with strange, sinewy fibers. They weren¡¯t some offshoot human race; they were something more advanced.

    The two orcs had been preoccupied, moving between their experimental cages, where grotesque creatures twitched and shuddered, restrained by steel harnesses. One of the creatures, a massive, six-legged beast with exposed wiring running along its spine, let out a mechanical screech, its cybernetic limbs spasming. The orcs paid it no mind. This was their work. They were scientists, but the kind of scientists whose hands were too used to wielding weapons.

    They belonged to the Emerald Skull, a faction dedicated to experimenting on the monstrous wildlife of different worlds¡­ right now, that was Primaris-1. Turning the planet¡¯s inhabitants into biomechanical abominations¡­ assets for their faction. These ground-level researchers were the lowest rungs of their organization, but even so, they had the same instincts as any orc. They had been raised in bloodshed, conditioned for combat before they had even learned to read their reports.

    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    So when they turned and saw a wild reptilian charging toward them, they reacted as orcs did¡­ with violence.

    The first orc, a thick-necked brute with jagged scars running down his bare forearm, dropped the electronic tablet he had been using. The screen cracked as it hit the ground, forgotten. His sharp teeth bared in a reflexive snarl as he pivoted, moving toward the nearest weapon rack. His companion, taller and leaner but no less formidable, mirrored the action, lunging in the opposite direction. Neither hesitated. They didn¡¯t call for backup. They didn¡¯t warn each other. They simply moved.

    They weren¡¯t warriors in the traditional sense, but they understood their place in the hierarchy. They were weak by orcish standards, but weakness didn¡¯t mean helplessness. Unlike the warbands who reveled in melee combat, these orcs had abandoned outdated pride and honor. They relied on superior firepower.

    Their hands closed around pulse weapons, strange, angular firearms with pulsating energy cores. The barrels hummed to life, crackling with an unstable purple light that cycled rapidly, growing in intensity. Jagged metal spikes jutted from the weapons at chaotic angles, as though the guns themselves had been grafted together in a brutal, industrial process. These were not sleek, mass-produced firearms. They were crude, experimental, and horrifically effective.

    Jordan barely had time to register the danger before one of the orcs raised his weapon and fired.

    A bolt of seething violet energy tore across the open ground, slicing through the dust-laden air with a shrieking sound. It struck Jordan¡¯s possessed reptilian body square in the face.

    Agony! His entire existence inside the lizard form imploded in an instant. The blast didn¡¯t just punch through flesh¡­ it boiled it, vaporizing scales and muscle in a split-second burst of catastrophic heat. Flesh blackened, cracked, and then peeled away in chunks as the concussive force sent what remained of the body crumpling to the rocky ground.

    Jordan felt himself yanked free, ejected violently from the reptilian host as if an unseen force had kicked him in the chest with enough power to send him flying backward. He wasn¡¯t physically thrown; he had no body of his own, but the sensation of being hurled through an invisible void was overwhelming. His mind reeled, disoriented, stunned beyond words.

    Somewhere behind him, the orcs were already moving forward, their weapons trained on the smoking, ruined carcass of the lizard. Their snarls turned into grunts of satisfaction. To them, this had just been another monster, another thing to dissect and modify.

    Jordan¡¯s consciousness wavered in the ether, dazed. He had found others, yes, but they weren¡¯t the allies he had hoped for. Jordan removed himself from the scene, ascending with his will to get a better view.

    From his vantage point high above the broken landscape, Jordan observed the two orcs below, their guttural laughter carrying across the desolate plains. They stood triumphantly over the torn remains of the reptilian beast, its blood pooling dark against the cracked, sun-scorched earth. The creature¡¯s entrails had been ripped apart, its armored hide breached in multiple places, and yet the orcs seemed less concerned with their kill and more with their exchange, one boasting, the other chastising.

    Jordan willed his red screen into existence, its translucent glow framing his vision as he locked onto the first orc. The system¡¯s interface flickered, streaming its sparse information in jagged, digital text:

    <hr>

    Gunter Skad (Translated)

    Race: Orc

    Class: Cyberneticist

    Level: 13

    <hr>

    That was all. No elaborate statistics, no list of skills or attributes. No backstory or general facts like the detailed readouts he received for beasts and monsters. Just a name, a race, a class, and a level. Jordan frowned. ¡°Why¡¯s the system so limited when it comes to sapient beings?¡±

    Shifting his gaze, he focused on the second orc, the one who had fired the killing shot. He now stood a step behind his superior, shoulders squared but head slightly lowered.

    <hr>

    Sivil Drake (Translated)

    Race: Orc

    Class: Gunner

    Level: 9

    <hr>

    Unlike Gunter, Sivil radiated an unrestrained, almost juvenile pride, reveling in his successful kill. Yet Jordan could see, even from here, that Gunter was displeased. The older orc¡¯s expression was one of disappointment, his fanged mouth curled into a disapproving scowl as he barked something in his guttural language. The sound was raw, thick with heavy consonants, harsh clicks, and rolling K¡¯s; completely indecipherable to Jordan, yet layered with unmistakable meaning.

    They were orcs, but not in the crude, savage sense he¡¯d expected. They were more refined, their clothing and equipment a strange fusion of survivalist and techno-savvy garage inventor. Both wore sturdy, dust-streaked garments reinforced with armor plating in key areas, their belts weighed down with small tools, glowing devices, and vials of unknown substances. Gunter, the superior, had a sleek, metal-wrapped gauntlet covering his left arm¡­ ¡°cybernetic enhancements, perhaps?¡±

    Sivil, by contrast, bore an array of firearms strapped to his back, his long-barreled rifle still humming faintly from its recent discharge.

    They looked human¡­ almost. Their greenish-yellow skin, fangs, and striated muscle that hung across their slim but fit bodies set them apart. Gunter¡¯s lower fangs jutted slightly past his bottom lip, while Sivil¡¯s upper canines were more pronounced, giving him a perpetual sneer. They were not quite the monstrous figures Jordan had seen in cartoons and fantasy games, but something more evolved, something more real. If they closed their lips, you might not actually be able to see their teeth coming out or their lips bulging forward. Not the orcs he remembered from movies and cartoons before the system. Their ears were slightly pointed, though. That correlated to the pre-multiverse world¡­ but just barely.

    Jordan figuratively nodded his ghostly consciousness, as he was proud of himself for being some kind of knowledgable. But he knew he didn¡¯t actually know shit.

    They were basically different colored humans¡­ just from another world. ¡°And more dangerous¡­¡± he admitted to himself.

    Jordan¡¯s gaze lingered on their levels. Gunter was a solid ten levels above him, a gap that made the idea of any direct attack a bad one if he was returned to the land of the living. Sivil, however, was closer¡­ still a threat, but only level nine. He wouldn¡¯t last long in a fight against Gunter, but that wasn¡¯t Jordan¡¯s plan.

    A thought coiled in his mind, dark and enticing.

    ¡°Could I do it? Could I take one of them?¡±

    He had possessed beasts before. But a person¡­ or at least, something as close to human as an orc was an entirely different matter. If it worked, if he could control Sivil, it might lead him to answers. To a way back into his own body.

    He knew had to try.

    With a slow, deliberate breath, Jordan reached out with his will, the air around him rippling as he prepared to descend.

    The moment the ten-minute cooldown expired from the Reptilian, Jordan moved in, a silent specter gliding through the air. The two orcs remained oblivious to his approach, their attention fixed on the fresh kill before them. He drifted toward them, his incorporeal form slipping through the stagnant heat of the wasteland, positioning himself directly in front of Sivil.

    The orc¡¯s small, beady eyes gleamed with satisfaction, his lips still curled in a smirk as he basked in his superior¡¯s begrudging acknowledgment. He had no idea Jordan was there. No idea he was being watched.

    Jordan locked onto him, staring deep into those dull amber irises. And then¡­

    Possession.

    The world seemed to shatter around him. Darkness swallowed him whole. The void stretched, deeper and longer than ever before, a sensation akin to plummeting endlessly through a chasm with no bottom. Jordan braced for impact, though he knew none would come. Instead, the void shifted and became something else entirely. Then, with a gasp, he breathed.

    Air rushed into his lungs; foreign, but real lungs. The heat of the arid world pressed against his skin, and the dust coating his tongue was dry and bitter. He was no longer hovering, no longer an observer. He was grounded and inside something solid... Sivil¡¯s body.

    A sharp barking voice sounded behind him, guttural and harsh, followed by the heavy thud of boots on cracked earth. Jordan¡¯s mind reeled, colliding violently with the consciousness that had once belonged to Sivil. A force pushed back¡­ not a mere animal instinct, not a flicker of simple resistance like the beasts he had taken before. No, this was different. The orc was resisting.

    Sivil¡¯s mind clawed at its own existence, a primal defiance resisting Jordan¡¯s intrusion. It wasn¡¯t just survival instinct¡­ it was will. A fractured identity still gripping the edges of its stolen body, still trying to reassert itself. The orc''s emotions flared; confusion, anger, fear. But then, Jordan¡¯s skill shoved him aside.

    His body still tingled with the remnants of the struggle, his nerves electrified as the takeover settled. Something told him there was more at play than just the ten-level cap. Some kind of mental fortitude¡­ a battle of wills? Jordan didn¡¯t have the words for it yet, but he could feel it like a lock barely clicking open. A tougher opponent might have been able to resist completely.

    But Sivil hadn¡¯t. And now, Jordan was him. Then the flood came.

    A torrent of memories surged through him. Fragments, emotions, and images flashed behind his eyes; Sivil¡¯s memories, his thoughts, his instincts. The sensation was far more intense than when he had possessed the raven or the reptilian. Those creatures had been simple, primal. Their minds had been empty except for hunger, instinct, and survival. They had been nothing more than beasts.

    But Sivil was a person. He had lived, fought, and bled. And now, Jordan was drowning in the pieces of that existence.

    Then, something shifted. A pattern emerged within the chaos. It was language.

    At first, it came in fragments. Gunter¡¯s voice was previously a mess of alien snarls and clashing consonants, but now it was beginning to change, morphing in real-time. Words materialized, shaping themselves into something comprehensible. First, sounds, then syllables. Then, full-fledged sentences.

    ¡°What in the blasted void is wrong with you?¡± Gunter¡¯s irritated voice came into focus. His words were now perfectly clear in Jordan¡¯s mind. ¡°Stand up, Sivil! You¡¯re embarrassing yourself.¡±

    Jordan barely had time to process the realization¡­ he could understand them now.

    And Gunter was waiting for an answer.

    Gunter sneered down at him, sharp teeth bared in a grin that didn¡¯t quite reach his eyes. ¡°What¡¯s wrong, Sivil? The reptilian didn¡¯t touch us. Why are you on the ground?¡±

    His voice carried no concern, only mild irritation, like he was scolding a lazy underling for tripping over his own feet.

    Jordan clenched his fists against the dirt, forcing himself to breathe through the lingering haze clouding his mind. His body felt off¡­ disjointed, stretched like he was a puppet that had been hastily shoved into place. He flexed his fingers, testing them, grounding himself in the feeling of sinew and skin that wasn¡¯t his own. Then, with effort, he planted a hand into the dry, cracked earth and pushed.

    His legs wobbled beneath him as he rose, but he ignored the instability. The fog was dissipating, clarity returning like light through storm clouds. And with it came an overwhelming realness, not just the physicality of possessing an animal or a mindless beast, but the full, living presence of a humanoid body. He was here. Whole and alive. Well¡­ an orc.

    But aside from the thick, fibrous muscles pressing taut beneath his yellowish-green skin, it wasn¡¯t all that different from being human. These orcs were built stronger and denser, but to Jordan, the mechanics were the same. It was still his body now. His movements. And then the memories hit.

    Visions bled into his mind, unbidden, raw, and real. Sivil¡¯s hands, his own hands, wrapped around another orc¡¯s throat, tightening with a murderous squeeze. A desperate power struggle, vying for the coveted role of Gunter¡¯s top assistant. The feeling of flesh buckling under his grip and then a body going limp rushed through Jordan. It was the unspoken rule among them: only the strongest deserve to rise.

    Then came the blood. Pools of it splattered across cold metal floors. The corpses of orcs littered a dimly lit lab; those who had protested the inhumane methods of experimentation. They had pleaded for more ethical studies, to treat their subjects with a sliver of dignity. Gunter had silenced them.

    Jordan felt it. Knew it.

    These two were killers. They didn¡¯t hunt for survival. They didn¡¯t kill out of necessity. They enjoyed it. They killed their own kind as quickly as the creatures around them in cages.

    His breath came slow and measured, but something within him had already begun to shift.

    A weight settled deep in his chest, an unseen hourglass ticking down, a limit to how long he could remain inside this stolen body. He didn¡¯t know the exact time, but his instincts whispered to him; three minutes, maybe less. Not enough for hesitation.

    Jordan stood straighter, shoulders squaring, eyes scanning his surroundings. His gaze landed on something gleaming in the dirt; a weapon. Sivil¡¯s weapon.

    It was sleek, crafted from chromatic metal that shimmered in the light. Its design was bulky, yet balanced, an alien blend of brutality and efficiency.

    Jordan crouched, grasping the handle. The moment his fingers curled around the grip, his system flared to life.

    <hr>

    Orcish Plasma Rifle (Common)

    Fires charged bolts of altered plasma. Common weapon of the Orc Empire.

    <hr>

    The weight of it felt right in his hands as if the body he occupied had been trained to wield it. He lifted it, testing the smooth slide of his finger against the trigger.

    And then, without pause, without hesitation, he turned it on Gunter. Jordan¡¯s movements were fluid and decisive. He pivoted sharply, leveling the barrel at Gunter¡¯s chest.

    The orc barely had time to blink.

    The rifle hummed to life, a deep, reverberating charge. Then, it unleashed a bolt of searing purple energy. The blast hit hard. Gunter¡¯s body detonated backward, his limbs flailing as the force launched him off his feet. His flesh boiled and ruptured, grotesque pockets of gore bursting open from the sheer energy coursing through his frame. The sickly green of his skin blackened, cooked from within. By the time his body slammed against the ground, there was nothing left but a hollow husk, lifeless and burned beyond recognition.

    The moment stretched in silence. Then, Jordan exhaled, with no hesitation, no remorse, and no mercy; only Wrath!

    But he wasn¡¯t done. His grip tightened around the rifle as he flipped the barrel toward himself.

    He pressed the cold metal beneath his chin, angling the shot straight into his stolen skull. He didn¡¯t flinch. Didn¡¯t waver. He had to reach all the way down but found the trigger. He pulled it without thinking.

    Pain. Pressure. A pop¡­ a sensation of bursting, like a bubble being violently ruptured. His vision fractured, and the world imploded in on itself before everything went black.

    For a moment, he floated. Weightless. Directionless. No body, no form¡­ just a drifting presence in the void.

    Then, a chime. A system notification blinking into existence:

    <hr>

    You have defeated: Orc ¨C Level: 13

    You have defeated: Orc ¨C Level: 9

    XP Gained

    <hr>

    Jordan let the information sink in. The plan had worked.

    <hr>

    You have reached Level 4.

    Skill Point Earned.

    <hr>

    A ripple of awareness coursed through Jordan¡¯s being like a silent vibration humming through his incorporeal form. The numbers had gone up again, but something about it felt more real this time, more visceral. He had felt the way Gunter and Sivil¡¯s bodies crumpled under the plasma shot, the way their flesh seared and peeled away as if stripped from bone by a raging inferno. The system had rewarded him for it. But something was missing.

    "So, I got XP for killing the orcs¡­ but nothing for the reptilian?" Jordan mused, the thought gnawing at the edge of his mind.

    It made sense in a way. He hadn''t killed the lizard outright. He had ridden it, been the puppeteer of it like a twisted marionette, but its final fate was not at his hands. A realization dawned on him. Perhaps possession alone wasn¡¯t enough. The system wanted something final. Something absolute.

    His mind flickered to the interface before him, the faint red glow of the translucent menus floating in the darkness.

    <hr>

    Skill Point Allocation

    Option 1: Select new skill

    Option 2: Upgrade existing skill

    <hr>

    Jordan¡¯s spectral fingers drifted toward the first option without hesitation. His wraith-like form pulsed as the menu expanded before him.

    <hr>

    Skills Available:

    <ul>

    <li>Visibility ¨C Allows the Wraith to manifest visibly to enemies. Let them see you¡­ and fear.</li>

    <li>Psionic Scream ¨C Emits a piercing wail that reverberates directly into the minds of victims. Psionic energy fuels the attack, its intensity scaling with the user¡¯s willpower.</li>

    <li>Spirit Drain ¨C Siphon spirit and mana from enemies to fuel wraith abilities and skills to greater heights. The more fearful the victim is, the more energy is extracted.</li>

    <li>Ectoplasm Conversion ¨C Ectoplasm is the physical matter of Wraiths. Convert slain enemies into ectoplasm to be used with wraith abilities and skills. Current skills compatible ¨C 0.</li>

    </ul>

    <hr>

    Jordan¡¯s gaze lingered on the last one.

    Two new skills had been added to the list. That alone intrigued him. Did that mean skills were infinite? The more you leveled the more skills would be available, or would there be some kind of limit? Maybe they could be replaced? He pushed the thought aside. One skill stood out above the rest.

    Ectoplasm Conversion.

    His mind latched onto two words in the description: physical matter. That was it. That was the key. A way to interact with the world. A way to become something more than a formless shadow.

    Spirit Drain seemed useful¡­ hell, maybe even powerful, but something in his gut told him it would still be available the next time he leveled up. The fact that the original two options had remained on the list only reinforced that theory.

    No hesitation. No second thoughts.

    <hr>

    Selection Confirmed.

    Ectoplasm Conversion (Uncommon)

    Ghosts, Spirits, Wraiths, and all denizens of the ether are incorporeal. Ectoplasm is a substance born of the sheer willpower of such invisible entities, used in a variety of ways. Ectoplasm is a means of interacting with the world physically.

    Note:

    ? Ectoplasm is generated from corpses.

    ? Total generation rate directly correlates to the level of fear upon death.

    ? Ectoplasm unused after conversion will be stored in the ether.

    ? Current skills compatible ¨C 0.

    Total Ectoplasm Stored: 0% Manifestation

    <hr>

    Jordan¡¯s form trembled with an electric excitement. This was it¡­ a stepping stone. A way forward.

    He grinned¡­ or, at least, he was mentally cheesing hard.

    "Now we''re talking."

 Chapter 7 - Trailing Something

    Flayah rode like the wind, her powerful frame pressed low against the sinewy back of her alpha sabretooth. The beast moved with the fluid grace of a seasoned hunter, muscles rippling beneath its thick, pale coat. The contrast between them was stark: her deep green skin against the near-white fur of her companion. Her crimson hair whipped behind her like a war banner as they tore through the dense underbrush.

    Skinner and Rykterpyle followed closely behind, each mounted on their own sabretooth. Flayah, however, had a bond unlike any other with the beasts. The cat Rykterpyle rode was Flayah¡¯s, tamed by her own hands, forged through a connection deeper than instinct, a tether of the mind and spirit. Even now, with the wind screaming past her ears, she could feel its presence within her thoughts, subtle yet unmistakable. That same connection led her toward the fallen one. Toward the place where death had severed the link.

    It was a brutal half-day¡¯s ride, with the sun climbing high overhead and scorching the damp forest air. By midday, the scent of moist soil grew thick, and the crash of a waterfall pounded in the distance. The pulse of the remnant bond grew stronger, whispering to her like a final plea. When they arrived, Flayah wasted no time.

    Without hesitation, she leaped from the cliff¡¯s edge, her body cutting through the air with the precision of a falcon diving for prey. The waterfall roared beneath her, its white mist rising in defiant clouds, the jagged rocks below threatening a gruesome end. But she was no fool. She calculated her dive to the inch, twisting her body mid-air to cut through the raging depths, missing the deadly stone outcroppings by mere feet.

    Skinner gasped, his knuckles white around his reins. ¡°By the blood of the first¡­¡±

    Rykterpyle, in contrast, only watched with a knowing gaze, his expression unreadable.

    Flayah plunged into the tumultuous waters, the force slamming into her like a giant¡¯s fist. The weight of her gear threatened to drag her under, but she fought against the current, her powerful arms cutting through the liquid fury. Gritting her teeth, she seized hold of jagged rocks beneath the surface, their slick edges threatening to slice her palms. She climbed, her fingers curling around any crevice, any hold that would grant her purchase. The rain of water thundered down over her, the pressure unrelenting, but she scaled the cliffside like a predator born in this environment.

    Emerging from the crashing deluge, she found the body amidst a section of rocks that were out of the direct path of the falls.

    The saber¡¯s massive form lay twisted and broken, its once-mighty muscles slack, its powerful limbs splayed at unnatural angles. The sight was a blade through her heart.

    Flayah crouched beside it, running her calloused fingers over the blood-streaked fur. She could still feel the fading echo of their bond, weak, distant, fading like the last embers of a dying fire. She had tamed countless beasts in her lifetime and had ridden upon the backs of monsters few dared approach, but her sabers¡­ her sabers were different. Each was a part of her, as much an extension of her soul as her own limbs. She had just always felt a much closer connection to them than any other pack of beasts she had tamed. Maybe it was because they were native to her home jungle on Naroona.

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    They had no names. They did not need them. She knew them by their spirit, by the way they moved, the way they thought, the rhythm of their very being in her mind. The system granted them number designations, but Flayah ignored them. Her bond with them was closer than a mere system-granted number. And now, one of them was gone.

    Her jaw tightened, moisture gathering at the corners of her yellow eyes. She glanced up at the towering cliffside. It had fallen from there¡­ but how? Her beast was strong. Agile. It would never have lost its footing so carelessly. Something had to have happened.

    For twenty long minutes, Skinner and Rykterpyle remained atop the waterfall, waiting. Skinner fidgeted, uneasy, while Rykterpyle remained stoic and patient. Then, from the bend in the thick underbrush, Flayah emerged. She was soaked, her hair clinging to her emerald skin, her armor weighted down with water. But her movements were steady, her stance unbroken. She had climbed the rock face, gear and all, as though the treacherous ascent had been nothing more than a morning ritual. All while pulling the weight of her fallen saber behind her on a long rope. She asked for no assistance, she only pulled the rope.

    Rykterpyle met her eyes, nodding in silent approval. A warrior. A true survivor of the Orc race.

    Skinner, however, stared for another reason. His amber eyes burned with something darker¡­ envy, hunger. She was everything he was not. Strong, relentless, and untamed. He could never have her. He knew that. But knowing only made him crave her more.

    She was an orc of pure blood, a warrior born and bred. He was not. He was a yellow; an offshoot, a mutation, a reminder of diluted lineage. Weaker. Lesser. And that knowledge festered in him like an unhealed wound.

    He had always lived in the shadows of orcs like Flayah and Rikterpyle, always looked up at them from below. Always been forced to accept that no matter his skill, no matter his ambition, he would never truly stand among them as an equal. And that made him want her all the more.

    Flayah dropped the outer layers of her light armor and waterlogged boots as she prepared to honor her fallen friend. As she buried the beast, performing the rites with a warrior¡¯s reverence, Rykterpyle observed in silence. Skinner, however, let his gaze roam, tracing the lines of her wet undershirt that clung to her powerful form. The taut muscle beneath her skin, the way her drenched hair framed her fierce features. She was a vision of raw, primal beauty, both beast and master, both wild and disciplined.

    As a Beastmaster, her path had been clear from the moment she came of age. Orc society was brutal and primal. Women were often claimed by the strongest warriors, given as mates to those who had proven their might. But Flayah was not one to be given. She took. One who chose, if she ever found one worthy. And few were.

    Her primal eyes burned with purpose as she stood, wiping mud and blood from her hands.

    A chirping sound broke the heavy silence. Rykterpyle¡¯s chrome communicator buzzed to life on his shoulder. A voice crackled through the speaker.

    ¡°Boss, we¡¯ve got a problem at Research Outpost Theta. Two researchers haven¡¯t checked in. It¡¯s close, maybe two hours from your location.¡±

    Rykterpyle¡¯s eyes flicked to Skinner. ¡°Something¡¯s happening out here.¡±

    Skinner¡¯s expression hardened. ¡°First the beast¡­ now this¡­¡±

    Flayah said nothing, only adjusting the straps of her armor as she donned it once more before mounting her alpha.

    Rykterpyle exhaled sharply, nodding. ¡°We ride.¡±

    The three orcs spurred their sabers forward, tearing across the wilderness toward the outpost.

    As they rode, Skinner¡¯s gaze lingered on Flayah¡¯s back, watching the way she moved with her beast, the seamless flow of her body with the large feline. She was untouchable. Unattainable. But he would bide his time.

    One way or another, before they left this world, she would be his.