《Atlas Code》


 1: Goto Start

    ¡°Not long left, I¡¯m sorry."


    Words. Formless, shapeless words.


    ¡°No, he won¡¯t suffer. There¡¯s nothing left to suffer.¡±


    Words without origin, without meaning, just blips in oblivion.


    ¡°Goodbye, son. And good work. I love you.¡±


    He opened his eyes.


    Grey stone confronted him, coarse, unworked rock slick with green slime, which he could see easily even without any apparent light source. In the corner of his eyes, flashing on and off, over and over, were the words: ¡°GOTO START¡± in electric blue.


    He raised his hands, ghostly white. Had he always been so pale? His face felt smooth to the touch, smooth and-


    He didn¡¯t have a mouth. Or a nose. Or even hair!


    Looking down, he saw that there were a lot of things he didn¡¯t have, including clothes, or anything to cover with them, standing on a metal platform covered in unknown runes.


    Was he even human anymore?


    He stopped.


    Had he been human before?


    Trying to step from the platform almost knocked him from his feet as something tugged sharply at the back of his skull. Some quick probing found two thick cables which he yanked free, leaving no trace they¡¯d ever been on the featureless skin of his scalp. The text in the corner of his eye vanished.


    ¡°...¡±


    He couldn¡¯t even talk to himself. He supposed that was fine, if depressing. You weren¡¯t supposed to talk to strangers, and he definitely qualified.


    Dropping the cables with a clank of metal on metal he stepped free and turned to observe. Apparently it wasn¡¯t a platform so much as a tube, with a collapsed tunnel in the ceiling as though it had burrowed down from above. The front half of the tube was open to reveal a back panel thick with the same wiring as had been plugged into his head. A single monitor showed two words in the same electric blue font.


    ¡°ATLAS ONLINE.¡±


    Atlas? He rubbed his shapeless chin. Was that him?


    It wasn¡¯t as though there was much competition, so he guessed Atlas it was. He reached in and tapped the monitor on the off-chance that it was a touch screen.The monitor flashed, though the words didn¡¯t change, and a metal panel beneath slid open to reveal two round holes with pictures of a hand beside each.


    Well this couldn¡¯t possibly go badly. Shrugging off the urge to put the wrong hands in, Atlas reached into the openings.


    He wished he hadn¡¯t. A thousand needles pierced his hands, locking them in place as the interior of the machine grew hotter and hotter. Atlas couldn''t even scream as the pain reached a crescendo.


    The monitor let out a cheerful ping and the screen turned blue, new text flashing across it.


    ERROR


    NEURAL INTERFACE NOT FOUND. THIS MACHINE HAS PERFORMED AN ILLEGAL OPERATION AND MUST NOW SHUT DOWN.


    The monitor went dark, and the agony in Atlas¡¯ hands subsided into merciful numbness. He tried to pull free, unsuccessfully at first. His arms felt as heavy as lead as he dragged them bit by bit from the holes, taking part of the machine with them. Black metallic bracers bounded his wrists, a screen on the left one, a pair of buttons on the right, and his hands were now clad in armoured gauntlets, only his white fingertips still uncovered.


    No wonder he¡¯d felt so heavy. Atlas wriggled his fingers. Despite the weight the material moved, and felt, like a second skin. Probably just as well. He prodded and pulled at the contraptions but couldn¡¯t find any way to get them loose. There were no straps or seams of any kind, it was as though they¡¯d always been part of him.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    The screen on the bracer flickered to life as his fingertip brushed past, though it showed nothing except two coloured bars, one blue and one red. After a few moments of anticipatory staring it turned dark again. Atlas furrowed a hairless brow. He poked it a few more times, but apart from showing the two bars it did nothing else.


    Alright¡­ Atlas switched arms to press at the buttons on the other bracer. One did nothing, but with the second a green beam flashed from his wrist, briefly illuminating the machine beside him.Blue words appeared in the corner of his vision.


    SCANNING LEVEL TOO LOW


    MORE DATA REQUIRED


    The screen on his other bracer turned on of its own accord, blue bar now slightly shorter than before.


    So it was an energy meter? Did it- Sure enough, after a few moments the bar began to fill until it flashed, back at maximum again.Atlas tilted his head before turning to look around the cave for something else to ¡°scan¡±. Rocks?


    SCANNING LEVEL TOO LOW.


    The sandy floor of the cave?


    SCANNING LEVEL TOO LOW.


    His foot?


    SCANNING LEVEL TOO LOW.


    The¡­ other bracer?


    NESTING ERROR, REALITY STACK OVERFLOW.


    OPERATION CANCELLED.


    That one drained his blue bar entirely. Atlas would have sighed if he could. Maybe he should have left the wires in? There was probably a manual for something he¡¯d missed out on. Atlas hovered his finger over the scan button, waiting for the blue bar to refill as he pondered what else to scan.


    Wait a minute. Wasn¡¯t there some slime on the wall? Maybe he could scan-


    As Atlas turned to look for the slime, it launched itself into his chest with a rubbery smack. He fell backwards from the unexpected blow. On his bracer the red bar dropped by a third.


    The slime splatted onto the floor before him, two black eyes peering up at him from a mucousy puddle before it pulled itself back into gumdrop shape.


    Was he seriously being attacked by sentient snot? Atlas threw himself to the side as it launched towards him again, and it slapped into the metal tube behind him leaving a shallow dent as it trickled back to the floor.


    He staggered to his feet, body moving through some half remembered instinct or muscle memory as he settled into a loose stance, armoured hands held up against another attack.The slime launched again, fast but predictable. Atlas leaned to the side and it sailed past, bouncing across the floor. So he could dodge it easily enough, but what was he supposed to do to stop it? It certainly didn¡¯t seem to mind smacking itself into things.


    Atlas looked around for an escape route. The collapsed tunnel upwards wasn¡¯t an option. Well, maybe for the slime, but that hardly helped him.


    There. From his current position he could make out a small opening in the far wall of the cavern. If he could run past the slime he could-


    It launched while he was thinking. Atlas hurriedly raised his arms, absorbing the impact. The red bar only dropped a sixth, leaving it half full.


    Well, blocking helped, but the bar - his health points? - wasn¡¯t recovering, so three more hits like that and he¡¯d be dead anyway.And what if there were more slimes down that tunnel? He¡¯d just end up surrounded, or worse, they¡¯d combine to make some giant super slime or something.


    Atlas ducked, the slime sailed over his head.


    No, he was going to have to kill it or stop it somehow. What were the weak points of slimes again? Traditionally you were supposed to shoot the core, right? Shoot the jelly, expose the eye¡­At least if it was a boss fight. And he had a gun.


    Where were these memories coming from?


    Atlas¡¯ vision crackled with static as he clutched his, apparently earless, head. A moment later the slime slammed into his jaw sending him spinning to the ground. His skull cracking against the metal side of the tube jarred him back to his senses.


    One sixth of a bar left.


    Did it even have a core?


    The slime glared at him with its two black eyes as it reformed. He quickly pushed up to a stance once more.


    Well, here went nothing.


    The slime leapt. Atlas dropped to one knee and thrust his hand up into its underside as it passed. The slime exploded into goo, coating his head and shoulders with sticky residue.Atlas opened his hand, the slime¡¯s two eyes nestling on his palm.


    MATERIALS LOGGED


    The orbs disappeared. Atlas let out a fist pump in triumph before casting a suspicious glance around the cave for any more slimes approaching through the creature¡¯s goopy remains.


    Oh no.


    He¡¯d forgotten to scan the bloody thing.

 2: Ping!

    Had he broken his gauntlets?


    Atlas stared in consternation at the status screen, watching the blue bar drop all by itself. Had they sprung a leak somehow? Had he got goo in them when he punched the slime?


    So much for his plan to try and scan its corpse. Atlas watched helplessly as the blue bar dropped. Half. Quarter.


    Just as the bar lost the last sliver of blue, his red bar shot up a full sixth, leaving it a third full once more. Atlas dropped with relief as the blue bar started flickering between empty and a sliver remaining, regenerating then disappearing over and over.


    Okay, so no leak, and his red bar - HP? - did actually recover, but apparently used blue - MP? EP? - to do so, which drained faster than it recovered to make that happen. It wasn¡¯t exactly quick, but he wasn¡¯t going to be a one hitpoint wonder until he found an inn or something.


    Atlas¡¯ vision pixelated once more and he dropped to one knee, pressing his cold metal gauntlets to his temples either to try and purge the alien thoughts from his consciousness or to hold onto them a moment longer. He wasn¡¯t sure which. Maybe both.


    His HP bar was half full by the time he got his thoughts in order, heaving back to his feet and shaking the last of the static out of his head.


    Well, he wasn¡¯t going to find anything new standing here. Atlas girded his loins - Did he have loins? Or anything to gird them? He shut down the thought process to avoid another unpleasant headache. - and headed towards the potential exit he¡¯d seen while he was fighting the slime.


    No sooner had he reached the entrance than another slime slithered down the wall and attacked, but now he knew its weakness, Atlas just ducked down and scooped up its eyes when it splashed itself into a puddle. Ripples went across its surface before its already liquid remains lay still


    MATERIALS LOGGED


    He didn¡¯t even get to take a closer look before they disappeared. Wasn¡¯t it supposed to drop small denominations of local currency and XP?


    Atlas winced, rubbing his head. His MP bar was still ticking over at zero so he couldn¡¯t scan the slime¡¯s remains, but¡­ He reached down, cupping his hands to scoop up some of the slime from its pool in the rock. It felt how it looked.


    Gross.


    MATERIALS LOGGED


    Bingo! The viscous gel running through his fingers vanished just like the eyes. He could apparently atomise things by touching them. Except for the living slime he''d blocked. And the cables. And the machine he¡¯d messed with. And the ground.


    Some experimentation later revealed that anything he could pick up and hold would be ¡°logged¡± into oblivion, and that he was, in fact, extremely weak, as he¡¯d struggled to lift a rock the size of his fist with both hands, to say nothing of an experimental handful of sand. He might be able to dig his way out of the cave if it was conveniently blocked by small pebbles though.


    At least his HP bar had gone up again. Odd how it went up in large chunks compared to his MP, unless¡­ Was each sixth a single point? So he had 4 out of 6 HP and, with a quick estimation from the single pixel that flickered on and off the monitor, about 50 MP or so?


    It hurt his head to think that his life was based on an integer, so Atlas turned his attention back to exploring the tunnel. The damp sand was coarse against his bare feet which, he¡¯d just noticed, didn¡¯t have toes.


    Good god he was weird.


    1 HP and two slimes later, and Atlas found himself at a dead end, a reasonably spacious cavern with piles of boulders and broken stalactites-  Stalagmites? Both? He couldn¡¯t remember the difference. Stone spike things - surrounding a wide pool of water that covered most of the cavern. He checked cautiously as he approached, but the pool didn¡¯t appear to be a giant slime boss monster.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    His brain twinged again.


    For want of any better plan Atlas stepped to the edge of the water, curious to see if he could discover what he looked like for the first time, but the surface didn¡¯t reflect anything whatsoever. He could see straight to the bottom all the way across, a mix of pebbles, shells, and there in the centre of the pool, what appeared to be a human skull half buried in the sand.


    Well that was probably a flag. Ow. Atlas stepped into the water all the same, careful to avoid stepping on any of the shells as he waded towards the object. The water only reached his calves, his chest when he dropped down next to the skull, casting a careful glance around to make sure there wasn¡¯t suddenly a giant enemy crab or - ow - something.


    Nothing. Water dripping from stalag-whatevers was the only movement in the cavern. Atlas gave an internal sigh of relief and turned back to the skull, grabbing disappearing handfuls of wet sand from around it to reveal vertebrae beneath, followed by a ribcage still clad in tattered clothing. The water didn¡¯t even get cloudy as he worked. Excited, Atlas struggled to dig faster. Not that he got tired. He didn¡¯t even need to breathe, after all, but he was still aware of the massive effort he needed to pull the sand far enough away for his gauntlets to consider them ready to ¡°log¡±.


    And his efforts paid off. Bit by bit he revealed the skeletal remains from their sandy grave, a torn backpack, a corroded dagger with a broken blade still clutched in a hand, and a small golden locket lodged between two sand-filled ribs.


    Atlas settled back, pleased with his handiwork. It honestly wasn¡¯t the most useful of finds, considering he couldn¡¯t even pick it up without disintegrating it, but when he actually had some MP he could at least try scanning it or something.


    It was that moment that his bracer let out a loud ping, his health bar flashing as it filled to maximum once more. His long zeroed MP started creeping back up. Things were looking up.


    Then the splashing started. Atlas zeroed in on the sound to see a slime shooting across the top of the water towards him. Behind it two more slimes ¡°dripped¡± from the stalagmites, impaling themselves heedlessly on the stalactites below before flowing around them towards the water.


    Damnit.


    Unlike him the slime had no problem manoeuvring in the water. Quite the opposite in fact, it bounced across the surface like a skipping stone, with none of the pauses to reform itself of its land bound compatriots still on the shore behind it. Atlas got to his feet, hands outstretched for balance as he edged away from where he¡¯d been working. The last thing he wanted was for the skeleton he¡¯d uncovered to be destroyed by a stray step. Or to step on the rusty dagger, whether he could catch tetanus or not. The slime swerved to follow him, covering the distance between them in moments before leaping high into the air to come down on top of him.


    Atlas dove forward as it plunged down behind him, its underside impaled with sharp stones and seashells as it buoyed back to the surface with a second spray of water. He pushed forward and slammed an open palm into it, sending it skipping away from him at considerably reduced speed. It started to turn a wide circle back towards him.


    Okay, they couldn¡¯t change direction easily when they were moving like that, and they were still utterly predictable, but - two splashes came from behind Atlas - there were three of them to account for, and he was at a definite disadvantage in the water. Atlas turned trying to get all three in his field of vision, wading backwards to where the water was shallower. The two slimes moved neck and neck towards him, even hitting the water at the same time as they zeroed in on his location. He rapped his gauntlets together, setting his feet more firmly into the shifting sand.


    Time to thin their numbers a bit.


    The two slimes leapt as one, water droplets trailing behind them as they sailed down towards him, colliding in midair with a mushy squelch to make a larger footprint to crush him with.


    Just like he¡¯d expected them to. Atlas shifted his weight forward to allow them to pass over his head then arched backwards, slamming his hands into the slimes and tearing out two gel-encrusted orbs as he pulled back forward.


    Damn it, he¡¯d been aiming for both together. No problem. With only one orb they¡¯d be unstable or something, right? Slime residue and orbs logging into nothingness as he moved, Atlas sloshed forward and to the side as he turned, just in case the slimes managed to redirect themselves in his direction, but the two slimes just wriggled together aimlessly where they¡¯d landed, their single remaining eyes spinning wildly.


    Perfect. Atlas glanced aside. He still had a good ten seconds before the first slime reached him again. He raised his fist to finish the job, then faltered, falling back into the water as he stumbled backwards.


    Oh crud.


    The two slimes had merged.

 3: Blob

    He knew this would happen.


    Atlas threw himself to the side as a pseudopod erupted towards him from the side of the now massive slime, slapping into the first slime hard enough to send it bouncing all the way out of the pool entirely. It splattered against the wall and didn¡¯t reform.


    He didn¡¯t dare think what he knew or how he knew it, but on some level he had understood that it was simply inevitable he would face some boss monster in a big cave like this. The slime¡¯s surface rippled again, and Atlas ducked the pseudopod¡¯s backswing.


    It was between him and the shore, currently bobbing towards him without much momentum but getting speed with each bounce, and plenty fast enough to keep up with him backing up through the water, barely keeping clear of its clumsy attacks.


    Atlas¡¯ wrist monitor flashed into life. His MP bar had filled. The distraction almost cost him a tentacle in the face. He narrowed his eyes at the thing. This was all it¡¯s fault in the first place!


    Wait. His ¡°materials logged¡± thing destroyed whatever he held, maybe the scanner worked the same way? He ducked as the tendril snapped back over his head, then slapped his hand onto the ¡°scan¡± button. The green beam blazed out, enveloping the amorphous menace with energy.


    SCAN SUCCESSFUL.


    Yes! Atlas pumped his fist as a third bar appeared on his monitor, this one golden yellow. Eat that, you oversized-


    The slime swatted him with its pseudopod.


    As Atlas bounced across the surface of the water much like the slimes did, the yellow bar maxed out, and an array of messages accompanied the blur of passing scenery as he spun his way face first into the sandy beach.


    SCAN LEVEL UP


    LEVEL 1


    NEURAL NET  UPGRADED: LEVEL 1


    CORE FUNCTION RESTORED: MATERIAL STORAGE


    CORE FUNCTION RESTORED: CODE GRID (SMALL)


    NEW CODES ACQUIRED: [Jelly], [Water]


    Great. Atlas pulled his head out of the sand with difficulty, leaving a smooth round hole where his head had been. Two feet more and he¡¯d have hit rock instead.


    So¡­ not disintegrated then. Atlas pulled a seashell out of his shoulder and weaved to his feet, head spinning from the impact. Just that one strike had been enough to drop his HP back to 1. What was left of his MP bar started to dwindle down to nothing once more.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    This time, though, when he looked at the slime accelerating across the water towards him its eyes flashed red, and a small window appeared in the corner of his vision.


    GIANT SLIME (COMMON - WATER)


    THREAT LEVEL: 1


    MONSTER CREATED BY TWO INJURED SLIMES MERGING TOGETHER.


    ITS EXTRA MASS MAKES IT DIFFICULT TO REACH ITS MONSTER CORES.


    CREATES PSEUDOPODS TO ATTACK ITS PREY IN ADDITION TO TACKLE ATTACKS.


    MOVES FASTER IN WATER.


    Just. In. Time. Atlas slapped his forehead hard enough to make his HP bar wobble. And this thing was only threat level 1? What did that make him?


    Glancing away from the speeding slime for a moment, Atlas backed away towards the wall of the cavern, pressing his back against stone. He was where the slimes had originally descended in the first place, the exit was on the other side of the pool from here. He might have been able to outrun the giant slime, but there was no reason to think it couldn¡¯t squeeze into the narrow tunnels to follow him, and then he¡¯d have an even harder time avoiding its attacks.


    His time was up. As soon as it reached the shore the slime launched itself towards the ceiling with speed that belied its bulk, two pseudopods extending from its body as it hurtled down towards him.


    Now.


    Atlas threw himself forward, allowing the slime to land - directly onto the stone spike it had landed on to start with. He jumped a pseudopod that swiped for his legs, splashing into the edge of the pool to make space between himself and the flailing monster. After twitching its tendrils after him a few times, the slime withdrew them, its body turning to liquid as it began to flow around the stone spike.


    Atlas struck, lunging out of the water and slamming the back of his gauntlet into one of the slime¡¯s cores, catching it between the rock and his hard fist before it could solidify. The eye fragmented, and the slime splashed wetly to the sand, congealing around its single remaining eye. Thin tendrils snapped out, coiling around Atlas¡¯ wrist, pulling him towards the centre of the slime puddle as he struggled to pull away. His HP bar began to blink as the skin on his feet started to burn.


    Atlas slammed his free fist into the slime¡¯s core, bouncing off its rubbery shell. Once. Twice. Thrice.


    With the fourth punch the tendrils holding him fell apart. Atlas stumbled backwards, rolling to land head first into the pool, his body bent painfully over his planted shoulders. The burning in his legs eased in the water, and after two tries he rolled over into a slightly less undignified heap, dragging himself through the water without surfacing to avoid a further counter attack.


    That attack never came. When his HP bar recovered by 1 with no sign of movement, Atlas poked his head out of the water, squinting to see the slime still wetly plastered over the shore, thin tendrils collapsing as soon as they formed on its surface. While maybe not dead, it certainly wasn¡¯t a threat anymore. Atlas limped out of the water towards it, brushing aside its tendrils as he stared down at the cracked eye bobbing at its centre, still encased inside a protective ball of jelly.


    It felt like this was the time for a meaningful saying.


    MATERIAL LOGGED


    Or pithy one liner.


    MATERIAL LOGGED


    Atlas scooped up another handful of caustic slime.


    MATERIAL LOGGED


    But he had no mouth.


    MATERIAL LOGGED


    MATERIAL LOGGED


    MATERIAL LOGGED


    Atlas slumped to the floor, surrounded by stray droplets of slime soaking into the sand, and waited for his HP bar to refill.

 4: Barebones

    SLIME (COMMON - WATER)


    THREAT LEVEL: 0


    WEAK MONSTER TYPICALLY FOUND UNDERGROUND.


    MORE DANGEROUS IN GROUPS.


    ATTACKS BY TACKLING WITH ITS ENTIRE BODY.


    HARD TO DAMAGE WITH BLUNT TRAUMA.


    MOVES FASTER IN WATER.


    The last slime, still quivering where its giant cousin had smeared across the rough stone wall, collapsed entirely as Atlas plucked out its cracked eye, logging it into non-existence.


    That had brought his Exp bar - Atlas winced preemptively for pain that never came - up to half a bar¡¯s worth. He tapped the scan button again, sweeping the puddle with the beam, but just like his earlier experiment on the giant slime, it gave no experience.


    NEW CODE ACQUIRED: [Rock]


    What? Atlas rubbed the back of his head and peered closer. His beam had apparently picked up one of the sharp bits of rock that had been embedded into ithe slime''s undercarriage.


    Oh. So they could scan a rock, but - Atlas zapped an experimental beam at the wall of the cave. "Scanning level too low." Yep, it couldn¡¯t scan a wall made of rock. Perfectly sensible.


    And it still didn¡¯t earn any Exp. Atlas ran his scanner over some of the shells that drifted at the bottom of the slime with little success until it passed over a fragment of the shattered slime core.


    CORE [SLIME] ACCESSED


    OPEN CODE GRID Y/N?


    Science! The buttons on his wrist changed colour, the scan button green for a presumably positive response. Atlas prodded it impatiently. The green beam shot out of his wrist. The blue bar on his status window vanished in an instant, and the beam followed suit.


    THIS DEVICE HAS POWERED DOWN UNEXPECTEDLY


    CODE GRID ACCESS ABORTED


    Damnit. Atlas sagged. At least his MP recharged pretty quickly when he wasn¡¯t injured, but that was one experiment he wouldn¡¯t be able to try. At least not unless he could find a way to drastically raise his MP in short order. Oh well. He picked up the rock. The new ¡°bag¡± icon flashed on his status monitor as it was logged, adding to an unhelpful list of his previously collected rocks, sand, pebbles, and dead slime parts which appeared to do nothing but supply equally unhelpful descriptions of those items.


    Well, there was one more thing he could try at least. Atlas turned towards the water once more, casting a careful gaze around the cavern for any fresh slimes. Or did they just respawn?


    He flinched, but once again there was no pain at the outside thought. Had something changed? Atlas shrugged. Were there really people in life who investigated things when they had stopped being problems? Picking his way between the carpet of sharp objects was more than enough to keep him occupied until his MP recovered as it was. It had been a deeply unpleasant experience to pull one out of his body, even if it hadn¡¯t left a wound.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    Come to think of it, he¡¯d managed to pull it out and drop it without logging it, hadn¡¯t he? Atlas scooped a passing seashell. A moment later it disappeared with the usual message.


    Experimenting with this particular phenomenon was clearly going to be annoying. Atlas was scanning around for another shell among the jagged rocks when his bracer flicked on. MP bar full again, time to stop standing around with his thumb up his- well he didn¡¯t have one of those either.


    The skeleton grinned up at him from the centre of the pool, largely unchanged by his maritime encounter. Atlas wasted no time in raising his bracer, sweeping the green beam across the skeleton¡¯s skull.


    SCAN SUCCESSFUL


    Yes!


    SCAN LEVEL UP


    LEVEL 2


    PHYSICAL CHASSIS UPGRADED: LEVEL 1


    CORE FUNCTION RESTORED: CODE GRID (PERSONAL, LEAST)


    MATERIAL STORAGE EXPANDED


    Well that was worthwhile. Atlas blinked, trying to keep up with the text scrolling past his eyes. Finally a single blinking line remained.


    NEW FORM LOGGED


    [Human]


    EQUIP FORM Y/N?


    Well that was interesting. Atlas tapped a finger where his lips would have been. If he said no, there was no guarantee that he could find the option again, but equally no guarantee he could undo the change if it turned out bad even if it did say ¡°equip¡±. And what ¡°form¡± was he ¡°equipping¡±, exactly? A human, or at least something broadly similar? As far as he could tell his current body probably had more in common with the skeleton itself than a living, breathing person.


    But he could charitably be compared to a toddler right now. Boundless energy capped by strictly limited strength. If he ever ran into anything tougher than a slime, which the other thoughts in his head were screaming was inevitable, dealing actual damage would be a problem.


    Well, he couldn¡¯t scan anything else until he chose one way or another, so¡­


    Atlas pressed the scan button to confirm. The last thing he saw before his vision faded was the skeleton burning into nothing, engulfed in a blazing white flame that ignored both the water and the objects touching it before everything faded to black. Text took its place, scrolling up across his vision.


    HUMAN


    THRALL OF PROMETHEUS.


    THIRD MOST POPULOUS SPECIES OF H¡¯MAN ON TARTARUS.


    HIGH LEVEL OF PHYSICAL STAMINA.


    ABLE TO SURVIVE SIGNIFICANT PHYSICAL AND MENTAL TRAUMA.


    FORM UPGRADED


    PHYSICAL ABILITIES EXPANDED


    CODE GRID (PERSONAL) EXPANDED


    TOOL ARRAY EXPANDED - MAY NOW EQUIP [1] TOOLS


    AEGIS UPGRADED


    ESSENTIA POOL UPGRADED


    REGENERATION RATE INCREASED.


    All across his body things grew, separated, expanded and split. Atlas felt bones agonisingly pop and expand to accommodate widening shoulders, felt the tickle of the pool¡¯s surface creeping down his leg, at least proportionally, as he grew taller. His scalp itched like fire as hair cascaded down his neck.


    As the discomfort began to ease, a new pain settled and amplified in his chest, growing in intensity until he could focus on nothing else. He pressed a cold hand against his ribs to try and reach the source of his burning need inside.


    Atlas¡¯ face split open, and air passed into virgin lungs for the first time. And he grinned. With his mouth. With his teeth!


    He could feel the strength in his arms. He could taste the brackish atmosphere of the cave. Even the chill of the water had an intoxicating depth of sensation that he had lacked before.


    But¡­ Why couldn''t he see anything still?

 5: Run

    Atlas took a deep breath, nostrils flaring.


    It was a surprisingly novel experience.


    There was no need to panic. Maybe the process just hadn¡¯t finished yet? Eyes were complicated, right?


    Maybe the dead guy was blind. He had apparently got eaten by slimes, after all.


    Or maybe his eyes were closed? Atlas stretched his face experimentally. He couldn¡¯t see - heh - much difference no matter what he did. He raised an exploratory finger to check.


    Ow.


    Well, two discoveries then. His eyes were indeed open, and his new fingernails were surprisingly long. Atlas rubbed at his useless, and now sore, eyeball with his gauntlet.


    Well this was just great. He prodded at his wrist monitor. Maybe he¡¯d find an undo button or something he could activate if he poked around long enough?


    The monitor turned on. Atlas stared at it. His blue bar was almost recovered, and his red bar seemed unchanged from his recent act of self-harm. The light revealed ghostly white skin either side of his bracer. He groaned. He wasn¡¯t blind at all, just human, with human eyes, stuck in a pitch black cave, and growing increasingly aware of his lack of clothing the longer he stood in the middle of a cold pond surrounded by sharp objects and a bladed implement which was, from memory, somewhere around half a foot from his big toe.


    There was indeed a new icon on the screen, this one a cartoonish white face with blue hair. He pressed it to reveal a list with a single entry. ¡°Human¡±, which, when highlighted, showed a few symbols and the description he¡¯d read before and did exactly nothing else. Atlas sighed.


    At least things could be worse.


    Prodding his screen one more time to keep it alight he lowered his hand to the surface of the water. The image reflected clearly off the black surface revealing nothing that had been so clear just before. Plunging his arm under the surface wasn¡¯t much better. He barely made out the silhouette of the dagger in the murky water and grabbed it.


    TOOL LOGGED


    [Rusted Broken Blade]


    EQUIP Y/N?


    Atlas tapped yes and went back to searching before he lost his spot. A few inches away he found the shirt the skeleton had been wearing, now laid flat and empty against the sand. It vanished as he was pulling it up.


    EQUIPMENT LOGGED


    [Rotting Ruined Raiment]


    EQUIP Y/N?


    He tapped yes again, and this time the threadbare shirt was instantly fastened over his shoulders, its sleeves truncated by his bracers. At his waist a rotten leather belt held up a pair of breeches that were more hole than clothing. Even the backpack was strapped to him, though as far as he could tell it didn¡¯t actually have a bottom.


    At least it was dry. Or at least had started that way. His breeches had soaked up the water faster than anything with that little material had any right to. Atlas straightened and stretched his back. From the feeling of sand beneath his toes he hadn¡¯t inherited any boots from the acquisition. Now he thought of it, the skeleton had only had the one for some reason, and even that looked like something had chewed on it.


    Because he¡¯d thrown the other one.


    Atlas gritted his teeth as static split his vision.


    His torch fell in the water. Slimes were moving all around him, untold numbers moving together in the dark. He fell, cutting his hand on his own dagger, slick with slime juices. He threw his boot to draw them off so he could get back to the entrance of the cave and-This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Atlas¡¯ monitor shut off, dropping him into darkness once more. Atlas heaved a ragged breath, water dripping from his arms the only sound in the dark. Was that¡­ his memory? It was different than before, more¡­ raw? Less a part of him and more of something, or someone, else.


    And they¡¯d been heading towards the exit when¡­ Atlas peered around the darkness. There, against one of the walls, was a tiny streak. A sliver of light. He¡¯d never have noticed without the darkness. He might not have noticed if he hadn¡¯t been headed there before. Atlas slapped his forehead to clear his brain of the painful interference. He hadn¡¯t missed this sensation one bit.


    But how to get over there? He could try to swim, but the depth of the pool coupled with his increased weight would pretty much mean he was just dragging his stomach over the rocks instead of his feet, and it was clear from his earlier excursion that he wouldn¡¯t be able to see under the water even with his status screen active.


    Plus he was exceptionally cold at this point and in no rush to feel colder. Atlas moved gingerly through the water, feeling the sand beneath his numbing toes before taking each step. His steps loud in his ears as he moved.


    Splash. Pause. Step. Splash. Pause. Step.


    Confronted with a particularly thick cluster of stones or shells, Atlas swept a few aside with his foot, settling on tip toe in the space he¡¯d made.


    More rhythmic splashing. Splash and search. Splash and step. Monitor off so he wouldn¡¯t lose that lifeline of light on shadow.


    How wide was the pool again? Most of the cavern, right? But the shore was clear of-


    Atlas hissed in pain as he put his weight onto a jagged shell that had been buried under the sand. Standing on one leg he raised his status screen to the wound, showing he¡¯d lost a sliver off his HP bar. Not deep, but bleeding all the same, crimson blood a striking contrast to his pale skin as it dripped into the water.


    Damnit. He limped onwards, sand irritating his wound as he stepped. Hopefully he wasn¡¯t going to catch an infection. A body had been marinating in the water for who knew how long, after all.


    The ground trembled beneath Atlas¡¯ feet, and a wave splashed his legs from behind.


    Oh no.


    His vision crackled into a sense of horrified deja vu as trickling water accompanied a rattling sigh that echoed through the darkness. Jericho half turned, his still glowing wrist monitor raised. The dim light hinted at writhing worms coiling in the darkness. Unfolding.


    The monitor shut off.


    Atlas bolted.


    Shards tore at his feet unheeded as he ran, picking up speed as he reached the shallows, ankle depth, then just splashing beneath his feet, then sand, clinging to his wounds as he approached the lifeline of light.


    And behind him, that rattling sigh, a rhythmic clicking of many sets of teeth snapping together at once. Of something big being dragged through the water. Unhurried. Inexorable.


    Atlas skidded to a halt.


    It was a dead end. The grey light filtered between a tiny gap between rocks. He flicked on his status window to reveal a massive boulder partially buried into the sandy floor, its sides wedged firmly between a set of stalactites at its base. There was no way he could move it.


    The sigh was getting closer. Black tentacles flickered in the edges of Atlas¡¯ light. He raised his other bracer towards the sound and hit the scan button. The green beam licked the edges of something black and oily.


    SCAN SUCCESSFUL


    SCAN LEVEL UP


    SCAN LEVEL UP


    SCAN LEVEL UP


    LEVEL 5


    NEURAL NET UPGRADED: LEVEL 2


    NEURAL NET UPGRADED: LEVEL 3


    PHYSICAL CHASSIS UPGRADED: LEVEL 2


    CORE FUNCTION RESTORED: CODE GRID (MATERIAL, LEAST)


    CORE FUNCTION RESTORED: REMOTE ACQUISITION (SMALL)


    MATERIAL STORAGE EXPANDED


    ESSENTIA POOL UPGRADED


    NEW CODE ACQUIRED [Abyss]


    Well that was ominous.


    SCYLLA


    THREAT LEVEL: ???


    THE SCOURGE THAT SLEEPS BELOW.


    AWAKENED BY BLOOD.


    SEVENTH SPAWN OF TYPHON.


    Yep. He was going to die. Atlas pressed his back against the wall as more and more of the gargantuan creature dragged itself into sight.


    Wait. Remote Acquisition. Atlas blinked at his bracer. Was that what he thought it was?


    Trembling with adrenaline, Atlas fumbled for the scan button, flashing it over the boulder blocking his escape. The first of the Scylla¡¯s limbs reached the shore, close enough for the light to hint at something taller than Atlas trailing behind the coiled mass.


    ITEM TOO LARGE FOR REMOTE COLLECTION


    OPEN CODE GRID Y/N?

 6: Cracked

    Atlas hit the yes button like the fist of an angry god.


    The green scan beam flashed onto the rock. His MP bar, already a quarter depleted just from scanning the Scylla, began to drain.


    50% remaining.


    Worse, he¡¯d had to tilt his screen away from the approaching horror, leaving him blind to its approach, if not deaf. The sound of its watery approach gave way bit by bit to the rasp of sand as something heavy dragged across it.


    35%


    Please have enough. Please have enough. Please have enough.


    10%


    He couldn¡¯t just hear its breath, it was as though a dozen men panted in not-quite unison with one another.


    3%


    Atlas bit down on his own panicked breathing. The beam ceased with barely a sliver left on the bar. His status screen flashed.


    CODE GRID OPENED


    COMMENCING REWRITE


    Please be useful. Please be useful. Please be useful.


    A single square appeared on his screen, surrounded by incomprehensible runes. In its centre the word [Rock] sat below a cartoonish picture. A brief list of words and icons opened alongside.


    [Abyss] x1


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.[Jelly] x1


    [Rock] x1


    [Water] x2


    No time.From the corner of his eye Atlas saw a probing tentacle stretching from the dark. He dragged an icon to the grid. The list changed.


    [Abyss] x1


    [Rock] x2


    [Water] x2


    Nothing happened. Atlas pressed hard against the wall as the tentacle touched the ground he¡¯d been standing on, digging in to drag the Scylla forward.


    Wait. The buttons on his other wrist were lit up, just like with the Yes/No choices. He hammered the green scan button.


    SAVING


    The dim light from his screen reflected off massive fangs.


    SAVED


    Blinding light poured into the cavern. Atlas threw his hands in front of his face and dropped as a black blur lunged at him. Warm, sticky liquid splashed across his face.


    It was green.


    Atlas squinted between his arms to see a massive blob pouring into the cavern before him from the exit. On the other side, a distorted silhouette let out a hellish shriek that left him weak at the knees, tearing chunks out of the viscous material to try and reach him.


    He threw himself to the side as a black tentacle lanced through the blob. It barely missed, impaling the wall behind him. A wave of inky black bubbled from where it had struck, spreading along the stone. He threw himself through the newly opened tunnel, the darkness right behind. Adeathly chill seeped into his very bones but he kept running. Every icy breath hurt more than the one before but he kept forcing his legs to move, leaving bloody footprints on the stone as he ran.


    And he was out. Atlas stumbled into the light, the sun shining down from above. He collapsed to his knees, muscles no longer responding. His breath misted in the air as he shivered uncontrollably on the sand.


    He didn¡¯t notice the clicking until it was too late. Atlas turned just in time to see a massive blue crab looming over him, its oversized claw bearing down towards him.


    An inky black hand lunged from the sand below the crab, shadowy fingers coiling round its leg and dragging the giant crustacean towards the cave. The crab let out a high pitched shriek as its shell wedged in the opening on the cave, claws flailing, but only for a moment. With a terrible crunch the shell gave way and the crab disappeared squealing into the depths.


    A woman¡¯s triumphant laughter echoed from the tunnel.


    Atlas crawled until exhaustion took him.

 7: Hello World!

    When he jerked awake from a nightmare of teeth and tentacles, Atlas found himself huddled beneath a sea shell larger than he was, warm orange light filtering through its broken opening, the sound of seabirds and splashing waves soft in his ears.


    He rolled upright with a groan, his body aching in muscles he hadn¡¯t previously had in places he hadn¡¯t known he could have them. Checking his status, the red bar was under half, his blue bar barely a third. He shivered. He hadn¡¯t even taken a direct hit from the abominable thing. Was that just from stepping on rocks? He hadn¡¯t exactly been paying attention to his HP bar, but he didn¡¯t remember it being that low when he¡¯d been starting the code grid. Was he actually losing HP over time?


    And why had his MP bar partially filled? Was he no longer recovering HP with MP now he was human? Considering how lethal this place was, taking days to recover from simple wounds sounded pretty bad. Atlas checked his feet, stained thick with his own blood and encrusted with sand which he scraped off with a long fingernail.


    MATERIAL LOGGED


    Okay, ew. Atlas carefully prodded at the myriad wounds from his frenzied flight across the water, long, jagged scratches and heavily bruised puncture wounds that were painful to the touch, it certainly didn¡¯t look like half an HP bar¡¯s worth of damage. To the contrary, the wounds looked, against all odds, clean, shallow, and to be recovering nicely.


    Not what he¡¯d expected. He was pretty sure some of the shells had been over an inch long, and he¡¯d been far from careful where he was putting his feet, not to mention his slog through the dunes. Was he just lucky? Recent events suggested... no.


    A shadow fell over the opening of the shell. Atlas twitched nervously, but it passed by just as quickly. Atlas peeked out to see a giant orange crab scuttling after a large weasel-like mammal - an otter? - snapping one oversized claw as the slender mammal yowled an indignant retreat.


    Case in point. Atlas pulled his head back inside, huddling against the slick wall of the shell once more. The crab was far smaller than the blue from before, but its larger claw was still large enough to wrap around his waist and snip, while there was little he could do except give it a congratulatory pat on its heavily armoured back in return.


    Hold on. Wasn¡¯t he supposed to have that broken knife? It had disappeared when he¡¯d ¡°equipped¡± it, but the clothing, such as it was, had appeared straight on his body.


    Poking at menus soon revealed a square containing the knife. Its icon was neither rusted nor broken. There was an empty space alongside which he assumed would be filled with other weapons. Or tools? He tapped the icon with his finger. Like the item menu and the form menu there were no icons or other options, just a description.


    [Rusted Broken Blade]


    DOUBLE EDGED DAGGER.


    STOLEN FROM A CORPSE.


    DIDN''T HELP ITS PREVIOUS OWNER MUCH EVEN WHEN IT WAS IN ONE PIECE.


    Well that was about as helpful as he¡¯d expected, and surprisingly snide at that. And why the heck was the title in lower case if the description was in all caps like everything else?


    Atlas tapped his lips, taking brief satisfaction at having lips even despite everything. He¡¯d needed to press the buttons on the other bracer, despite that being a terrible idea from a design perspective. He¡¯d complained-


    Atlas blinked. The thought was gone half formed. He frowned and pressed the scan button. The menu closed and his MP bar dropped by almost half its current value.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    CODE GRID OPENED


    COMMENCING REWRITE


    Well that wasn¡¯t quite what he was hoping for, but progress all the same, he guessed. The grid that appeared on screen wasn¡¯t a single square this time, but four, though all but the first were greyed out, question marks as their contents, which the remaining square contained something far more interesting.


    [Broken].


    If swapping the ¡°Rock¡±ness from a boulder for ¡°Jelly¡±ness turned it into snot, could he rewrite the ¡°brokenness¡± of this dagger using his bracers? That was¡­ almost amazing enough to forgive them for the clunky UI, lack of documentation, mind-numbingly painful installation, the stupid descriptions and having to swap hands to perform basic functions for no good reason whatsoever.


    But change it with what? According to his list he had two [Rock] and two [Water] ¡°codes¡±, as well as the [Abyss] code he¡¯d picked up from the Scylla. Atlas thought about that creeping darkness and shook his head with a shudder. Not this time. It was either a stone dagger or a wet one.


    He ultimately decided on the water code on the grounds that he could just make a stone dagger without much difficulty, and a dagger made of water would be pretty neat. Hopefully it wouldn¡¯t trickle away and leave him with nothing. Assuming he ever actually managed to get the thing anywhere outside of a menu screen.


    Switch, save, and... done. The title and description changed.


    [Rusted Dive Knife]


    VERSATILE TOOL USED BY DIVERS.


    FLAT TIP MAKES IT GOOD FOR PRYING OPEN SHELLFISH.


    BEING LEFT IN SALT WATER TOO LONG HAS DULLED ITS EDGE.


    Hm. He wasn¡¯t sure what he¡¯d expected, but that wasn¡¯t bad compared to what he¡¯d started with. So was there a code in those mystery boxes making it rusty? What would happen if he cleaned it by hand?


    A long shadow flitted across the entrance of the shell, bringing Atlas back to the moment. If the scan button modified the weapon then the other button should-


    Close the window and bring him back to the main status page, just in time to see his HP bar increase by a single pixel. Atlas banged his head softly against the shell.


    Whatever. He repeated the process with the clothing, leaving his MP bar with a few pixels left.


    [Frayed Miner¡¯s Outfit]


    THICK CLOTHES SUITABLE FOR STRIKING THE EARTH.


    DIRTY AND TORN FROM BEING UNDERGROUND SO LONG. HOW AUTHENTIC.


    Thick, warm fabric billowed to cover his body, growing to seamlessly fill many of the holes in the material, while leather, already scuffed and torn, affixed itself to his elbows and flowed into a thick pair of leather breeches to cover his legs.


    Neat. He¡¯d considered using his last water code, but the chance at ending up in a threadbare speedo, despite the sounds of the ocean nearby, had seemed inappropriate given the circumstances. Still no boots, but his expectations hadn¡¯t been particularly high on that front.


    Experiment over, Atlas closed the equipment menu with the button, and tapped it again to turn off the screen.


    A knife appeared in his hand. The blue bar on his still open status screen ticked down a percent.


    What.


    Atlas started at it mutely. Six inch blade, flat tip, serrated with a little hook for cutting cord. It was a dive knife, alright. And a rusty one at that.


    Atlas pressed the button again. It disappeared. Again, it reappeared. He caught it without thinking, indeed, without any particular intention to do so. Apparently he had found the ¡°materialise¡± button. But only if it was on the main menu, only for "tools", and only for when something was equipped.


    Whoever designed these things was an arseface.


    Twirling the knife expertly between his fingers with no idea how, Atlas pushed up to a crouch. He hadn¡¯t seen any movement outside the shell for a few minutes now and the light was starting to dim. Hopefully the crab had chased the otter away from the shell entirely and he could get away from the beach before nightfall. Crabs were nocturnal, last he remembered... Maybe scanning one would tell him?


    Atlas poked his head out further, glancing either side. The crab was further down the beach, poking at the sand with its claws. There was no sign of the animal.


    Atlas crawled out of the shell, keeping his body low and knife high as he scanned his surroundings. Roiling grey fog hung off the coast as far as the eye could see, thick and dark. The sun had started to set into the thick cloud, tinting everything with a burnt orange. Giant shells like the one he¡¯d sheltered in dotted the beach here and there, casting long shadows.on the sand. Almost a dozen massive crustaceans wandered the beach, some blue, some orange, all huge. Atlas stared intently at them as they moved, watching for some route between them.


    A woman''s voice came from behind, cold and furious.


    ¡°What in the wilds are you doing here?¡±

 8: Handshake

    ¡°Ah!¡± Atlas clutched his pounding chest. He spun around to face the speaker too quickly and lost his balance, falling back onto the sand.


    The woman glowered down at him, short chestnut braids framing a freckled face and a furrowed brow. Atlas¡¯ heart skipped another beat as he looked up at her, while she looked singularly unimpressed. The otter he¡¯d seen before pranced from her side to nuzzle him wetly on the foot.


    ¡°Figures.¡± The woman pinched the bridge of her nose. ¡°Another city boy thinks he¡¯ll strike it rich with karkino roe. Do you have any idea how lucky you are that I saw you?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­ Sorry?¡± Great. His first ever words and he already sounded like an idiot.


    ¡°Did you think they were just going to let you take it? Or that you were going to fight them with that little dagger of yours?¡± The woman shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m amazed you even survived long enough for me to get down here. I was expecting to find your corpse.¡±


    ¡°Are... you some kind of lifeguard?¡± Atlas peered up and down the beach. Where had she been watching from?


    She snorted. ¡°Do I look like a guardsman? I just don¡¯t want unburied on my doorstep.¡±


    ¡°Well I-¡± Atlas was interrupted by his stomach letting out a long gurgle. He wasn¡¯t doing well at this conversation thing. He pressed a hand to his waist to try and silence it.


    The woman rolled her eyes and held out her hand. ¡°Come on, get up before that kark comes back. Maybe you¡¯ll live long enough to grow some sense. What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Ah¡­ Atlas.¡± Atlas took her hand, his white skin and black gauntlet a stark contrast against her flesh. She hauled him to his feet in one smooth motion.


    ¡°Sparks you¡¯re skinny. When¡¯s the last time you ate?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t remember.¡± Atlas replied honestly. She hadn¡¯t commented on his abnormal skin tone so maybe humans were a bit more variable than his brain was telling him, but he was pretty sure ¡®I didn¡¯t have a mouth this morning¡¯ wouldn¡¯t go down well.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t even pack any supplies?¡± The woman shook her head and turned away. ¡°Come on, we need to get out of here before dark. Karks aren¡¯t the worst thing you¡¯ll find down here.¡± She beckoned for him to follow her towards the same cliff face he¡¯d crawled from. Myriad caves dotted its surface.


    Atlas swallowed drily.


    ¡°I had a pack.¡± He tapped the button to recall his knife and raised his bracer surreptitiously. He had no idea what messing with the buttons would do when he was holding something. ¡°I guess I lost it?¡±


    It hadn¡¯t been part of his new outfit, after all.


    ¡°Boots too?¡± The woman sounded skeptical.


    Atlas tapped the scan button, ready to run as the green beam flashed over the woman¡¯s leg. She showed no sign of noticing.


    HUMAN


    NEW CODE ACQUIRED [N/A: CODE LOCKED]


    NEW FORM VARIANT DETECTED


    UPDATE FORM Y/N?


    Atlas sighed with relief. Human after all. He quickly pressed the second button to decline the change. He was in no particular rush to alter his current genital configuration, or incinerate his rescuer for that matter. But what was that about a locked code?


    Wait, she¡¯d asked him a question.


    ¡°Um¡­ There was¡­ a¡­ cave?¡±


    The woman stopped so suddenly Atlas almost walked into her.


    ¡°Did you...¡± She shook her head and resumed walking with a brusque ¡°Forget it.¡±


    So they walked in silence, save for when the otter scampered away to investigate a small seashell in the sand and she let out a shrill whistle to call it back.


    Atlas didn¡¯t mind. He couldn¡¯t think of anything to say anyway, and it gave him time to think as he stared at her from behind. She was wearing a tan coat over a pale blue dress that stretched down to her ankles, with laced leather boots that extended somewhere up beyond that. Not exactly helpful in figuring out what kind of place this was. Was the coat machine stitched? He couldn¡¯t tell. All he knew so far was that they didn¡¯t have lifeguards and liked crab eggs.


    And why couldn¡¯t he stop staring at her? Atlas forced his eyes away. They were close enough now that he could see a knotted rope dangling from a ledge halfway up the cliff face. At least there were no caves nearby.


    The woman stopped at the base of the cliff and smoothed down her dress, giving him a pointed glance.


    Stolen story; please report.¡°You first.¡±


    The sun had set by the time they had climbed to the ledge and followed it on a long winding path to the top of the cliff. Atlas spent the time in silence, trying, and failing, to find a way to walk without aggravating his damaged feet as he went, while the woman trudged along ahead of him, pausing now and then to look out across the beach. It wasn¡¯t until they reached the top that she said a word, though not to Atlas.


    ¡°Finally.¡± She walked over to a crude bench facing the beach and flopped down on it. The otter hopped up onto her lap as she leant forward to adjust her boots. ¡°Not the way I wanted to spend my evening.¡±


    Atlas shifted uncomfortably. While his saviour wasn¡¯t particularly friendly, he would probably have still been down on the beach right now, possibly posthumously.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to have troubled you. Thank you very much for helping me, Miss.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Mrs Damastes to you, thank you very much.¡± The woman looked up at him. ¡°But I see you¡¯ve some manners after all. I suppose you don¡¯t have any coin on you either?¡±


    Atlas winced. ¡°No, sorry. I don¡¯t have anything.¡±


    ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll let you stay a night in my inn, no charge.¡± Mrs Damastes snorted. ¡°Or you can try your luck walking to the city in the dark, your choice.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Atlas stared at her wide-eyed. Considering how things had been going for him most of the day Mrs Damastes was turning out to be something of a miracle.


    The woman busied herself with the strap of her boot, finally pulling it off giving it a shake. A pebble pattered onto the ground. ¡°Well, we¡¯d normally be full with the harvest and all, but with the war on we¡¯ve got a lot of empty rooms. Consider it a reward for not being dead when I found you.¡±


    Atlas beamed and thanked her but Mrs Damastes waved it off, She yanked her boot on once more and led Atlas up a dirt path towards a small cluster of buildings. One, presumably the inn, was the largest, and the only one with lighted windows. No electricity then? There certainly didn¡¯t seem to be any wires.


    As though reading his mind, Mrs Damastes spoke up. ¡°I don¡¯t know what kind of gadgets you¡¯re used to in the city, but not many end up out here in New Astros, and I won¡¯t have that sort of thing in my inn, so make do.¡±


    Atlas nodded mutely, still looking from house to house as they walked. Most were wooden, while a few like the inn were made of the same grey stone as the cliffs. All of them had glass windows, while all but the inn had a thatched roof.


    There was clearly some kind of schizo tech situation going on here. Maybe the city Mrs Damastes had mentioned had more people like him? Someone had to make the bracers, after all, not to mention himself.


    ¡°Sanda, I¡¯m back.¡± Mrs Damastes called out as she pushed open the thick oak door of the inn. The otter slipped under her legs to vanish inside.


    Inside the inn was a dim room with a few bearded men sat at tables lit by thick tallow candles eating from porcelain plates with metal forks. They stared at Atlas for a few moments as he walked in before going back to their meal, their low conversation beyond hearing. At the back of the room a woman with tanned skin and sun-bleached hair poked her head out of a doorway. Probably the kitchen, given the smell.


    Atlas¡¯ stomach growled again. He clamped his hand down on it with a grimace.


    ¡°Welcome back, boss.¡± The younger woman, Sanda, smiled. ¡°You¡¯ve been gone longer than usual today.¡±


    Mrs Damastes snorted, pulling off her jacket and throwing it onto a nearby coat stand. ¡°Found this whelp hurt down on the beach.¡± All eyes but hers turned to Atlas once more. He gave a sheepish grin and a little wave. ¡°Why don¡¯t you take him to a room?¡±


    ¡°Sure thing, boss!¡± Sanda gave a cheery smile and sauntered out of the kitchen. ¡°Got a name, handsome?¡±


    ¡°Atlas.¡± Sanda couldn¡¯t have been more different from her employer if she¡¯d tried.


    ¡°Well, ¡®Atlas¡¯, let¡¯s get you upstairs then.¡± She winked, grabbing a key from behind a small counter before leading him up to a small room on the second floor before sauntering off, only to appear a short time later with a tray of bread and a thick meaty soup.


    Atlas thanked her and settled on his bed, breathing in the delicious aroma of his first meal. He was starving, not to mention parched. He¡¯d have to think of some way to pay Mrs Damastes back for her generosity somehow. He picked up the bread to dip it in the soup.


    MATERIAL LOGGED


    ¡°... Shit.¡±

 9: Booting Up

    Atlas woke early, the scent of herbs still strong in his nostrils. And probably a few herbs, actually. It had been a difficult evening.


    Still, his HP bar was full - in fact the loud ping informing him such was why he was awake so early, and his MP bar had filled not long after. The perfect time for some experiments.


    He¡¯d wanted the first one to be on his clothes, which he¡¯d taken off before going to bed - not without some difficulty getting the sleeves over his bracers. Now they stubbornly refused to disappear. According to his menu they were still ¡°equipped¡±, despite all evidence to the contrary, but unless he was going to risk disintegrating the inn¡¯s bedsheets, which felt a little unappreciative, he had nothing to switch over to. About the only thing he could do was damage them to see what happened to their code, but he didn¡¯t really want to mess up his only outfit, even for science.


    Which left only one thing. Atlas raised his bracer and hit the scan button. The beam flashed over a sleeve.


    REFORMATTING.


    The outfit disappeared from the chair and reappeared on his body a moment later. Atlas adjusted his collar and nodded thoughtfully. Alright, that could potentially be quite useful, assuming he needed to get dressed in a hurry sometime or¡­ He rolled up his sleeves and scanned his trousers. The sleeves reappeared in an unrolled state a moment later. Wipe his sleeve along his dirty bowl? Gone a moment later. And it only took a few moments for his blue bar to refill as well. Shame the default state of his clothes was a shabby mess, but still, that was surprisingly convenient. He fixed his collar again.


    Alright, same experiment, except¡­ Atlas tapped his second¡­. B Button? The dive knife appeared before his hand and he caught it instantly, again without so much as a thought. That was almost worth testing on its own, but first, Atlas reached out and placed the knife on the table.


    Except he didn¡¯t. The knife was still firmly in his grasp. Atlas tried again, but his hand simply ignored all attempts to get it to release the knife. Flip it over in his hand, fine, he caught it deftly by the blade before flipping it once more. Toss it up and grab it from the air? No problem, even though he had no idea how he did it without losing a finger.


    Atlas frowned. This raised an uncomfortable question about his relationship with the bracers that he¡¯d have been happier about if he could actually take them off. Or was that in itself a mental block just like this one?


    Alright, how about¡­ Atlas flicked the knife up, balancing the tip on one finger. Easy with its flat tip. He slapped the blade with his other hand. Though he tried to catch it - without any intention to do so - it clattered to the floor besides his bed.


    TOOL LOST


    [Rusted Dive Knife]


    DISARMED


    Success! Atlas reached down and scooped the knife back up.


    TOOL LOGGED


    [Rusted Dive Knife]


    EQUIP Y/N?


    Atlas tapped ¡°no¡±, then reequiped it using the menu instead. It worked the same way as the code grid menu, just a few taps and he was holding it in his hand again.


    He threw it.


    TOOL LOST


    [Rusted Dive Knife]


    LAUNCHED


    He hadn¡¯t expected that to work, but it did. One smooth flick and the knife was spinning over the small bedside table, clipping the tray as it sailed past before striking the wall. It fell to the ground.


    So did the tray.


    ¡°Ah!¡± Atlas launched from the bed, arms outstretched. He barely intercepted the porcelain bowl before it hit the ground. The tray clattered to the floor, the spoon a moment later after bouncing off his head. He sighed with relief.


    MATERIAL LOGGED


    ¡°Nooooo.¡± Atlas slumped to the floor. Explaining to Mrs Damastes that he¡¯d broken her bowl would have been bad, but how infinitely worse to tell her he¡¯d atomised it? And who knew how expensive porcelain was in this weird setting? It wasn¡¯t like he could work off the debt, either. Washing dishes? Mopping floors? He had a singularly pathetic version of the Midas touch. He couldn¡¯t even pick up the tray. Atlas sat up, rubbing his ribs. He¡¯d even lost a pixel of HP from the impact.


    Okay. He couldn¡¯t see the sun since his room faced out towards the sea, which was still shrouded with the same fog bank as yesterday, but the sky was still pretty dark, overcast with thick clouds. Did they have clocks here? What time would they expect him to leave?Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    Atlas gritted his teeth. He didn¡¯t even know what deadline he was working with. Better not waste any time. He tapped on the materials menu, and sure enough there was the bowl. He highlighted it.


    [Bone China Bowl]


    PROPERTY OF DAMASTES MAGIC BED INN


    STAINED WITH SOUP


    NOT CHEAP


    ¡°...I hate you.¡± Atlas glowered at the bracers. He tapped the B button just in case, but it just closed the menu. He reopened it. The slime cores were special, right? He selected the next item down, [Slime Jelly x 11], and hit the scan button.


    MATERIAL REAPED


    NO NEW CODES FOUND


    The x11 turned into x1 on his menu, and an amorphous mass of goo appeared in the air in front of him. Hope dimly flickered in Atlas¡¯ chest before the jelly was consumed by the same white flame as before. Not even ash made it to the floorboards.


    Great. So he had upgraded to either stealing the bowl forever or actually disintegrating it. It was good to have the choice between which disaster he wanted. This was the problem with only having two buttons. He glared at the black metal contraptions binding his wrists. They weren¡¯t even easy to use, having to swap hands every time he wanted to press a button, and the buttons themselves weren¡¯t even close together, he could barely reach both at the same ti- Hm. He rubbed his chin.


    Atlas perked up at the sound of footsteps in the corridor outside, coming closer. A guest heading for the bathroom? Check out time for freeloaders? He winced. Time to take a third option. He tapped the next menu item, [Sand x16], then twisted his hand across the bracer, pressing both buttons simultaneously.


    MATERIAL EJECTED


    A ball of sand bigger than his head appeared in front of him and splatted down onto the floor. Atlas pumped his fist. The footsteps stopped in front of his door. He hadn¡¯t dared lock it with the key last night. Spinning around to the bed, he ejected the bowl. It landed safely on the covers. Atlas twisted back towards the doorway, plastering on his best innocent smile...


    The footsteps moved back the way they¡¯d come. Atlas dropped down in relief before looking to the heap of sand spread across the floorboards. He took an experimental fistful, it didn¡¯t disappear. He groaned.


    A pyrrhic victory.


    Well he could clean that up in a minute. Maybe his mysterious visitor had left a broom? Atlas poked his head out into the corridor. The hallway was devoid of people, whoever had been there had gone, but had indeed left a parting gift. A pair of thick woolen socks folded neatly over two sturdy, ankle length brown boots. A single gold coin had been laid on top.


    Raising his bracer, he tapped the scan button.


    [Adventurer¡¯s Boots]


    GIFT FROM A MYSTERIOUS BENEFACTOR


    ONE PREVIOUS OWNER


    EXACTLY YOUR SIZE


    Atlas smiled. He really was going to have to find some way to repay everything they¡¯d done for him.


    He should probably start by cleaning up all that sand.


    Atlas was in good spirits as he walked down stairs, having deposited most of the sand into a clay pot he¡¯d found under the bed and engaged in some light cleaning that had involved far too much wading through menus by the time he was done.


    ¡°Morning, handsome.¡± Despite the hour, the young woman - Sanda? - was standing at the counter when he entered the hall, polishing the dark wood with a threadbare rag.


    ¡°Good morning.¡± Atlas smiled at her.


    ¡°Trouble sleeping? It¡¯s not quite six yet.¡±


    So they did have clocks, or at least some way of telling time. Good to know. ¡°Just trying to get an early start, I guess. And you?¡±


    Sanda grinned brightly. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m a real early bird myself. Not like the boss. She¡¯s up late most nights on account of her husband. Can I get you anything to eat?¡±


    Atlas adopted a neutral expression and nodded, filing that away under ¡°way too much information¡¯. ¡°Yes please.¡±


    Science was hungry work, after all. He reached for the golden coin he¡¯d rematerialised in advance.


    Sanda raised a hand. ¡°No charge, boss¡¯ orders. I¡¯ll get it for you in a jiffy, just find yourself a seat somewhere.¡±


    Without waiting for a reply Sanda swept past him, leaving a faint sweet smell tickling Atlas¡¯ nose as she bustled into the kitchen, rag laid over her shoulder. Atlas watched her go.


    She really was the complete opposite to Mrs Damastes, bright and friendly. Pretty too, though she didn¡¯t have the same hypnotic attraction Mrs Damastes held over him. He¡¯d just started thinking about her again, after all.


    Atlas shook his head, picking a table close to the window where he could see into the town. A few lone figures were out and about, carrying bundles or pushing carts in the grey dawn light. One plump woman staggered onto the street with a bucket in each hand. A handful of children followed her like ducklings down the street, leaving puddles of water from their own buckets as they went.


    Hm. Maybe there was a well? He could try logging some water for his trip to the city, though come to think of it, he hadn¡¯t logged any in the cave. Did his bracers just ignore it? He didn¡¯t have fistfuls of oxygen in his inventory, after all.


    Atlas spent a few minutes trying to grab exactly that before pausing in a fit of self-consciousness. From elsewhere in the hall came the rhythmic toll of a clock. Atlas peered around curiously but couldn¡¯t see any sign of it.


    Bong.


    The kitchen door opened to reveal Sanda, smiling as usual, a steaming tray in each hand.


    Bong.


    ¡°Hope you don¡¯t mind some company while you eat, Handsome.¡± Bong. She winked. ¡°Because I¡¯ve got a powerful hunger myself.¡±


    Bong.


    Atlas just smiled as she walked over - Bong - depositing the trays expertly on the table and dropping herself opposite him.


    Bong.


    His smile froze. There, overlaid over the top corner of his eye was a single message.


    THIRTEEN DAYS REMAINING

 10: Checksum

    ¡°You alright, hon? Not big on bacon?¡±


    Sanda¡¯s concerned expression drew Atlas¡¯ attention away from the foreboding message. He gave a weak smile. ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m fine.¡±


    ¡°Mhm.¡± Sanda looked unconvinced. ¡°You sure? I can always grab something else real quick.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s great, honestly. I just had a¡­ bad feeling.¡± He grabbed the fork from his tray absent-mindedly.


    TOOL LOGGED


    [Fancy Fork]


    Damnit.


    ¡°Alright. So¡­ want to talk about it?¡± Sanda took a hearty mouthful herself.


    Atlas tilted his head thoughtfully as he tried to navigate his tool menu under the table.


    What did the message even mean? Remaining until what? Was he here on some kind of time limit? Was his mothership en route? Defeat the Demon King on schedule? Or was it personal? He was hardly what he could call ¡°natural¡±. Did his batteries need charging? Was he going to¡­ die? He didn¡¯t know anything about anything.


    ¡°Could you¡­ tell me about the city?¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± Sanda paused, looking up at him through her lashes as she spoke. ¡°Could have sworn that you¡¯d be able to answer that question better than me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never actually been to the city. I¡¯m from¡­ the west?¡± Atlas shifted uncomfortably. For all he knew the country to the west was some political enemy, but he gambled that it would be more reasonable than any of the various flavours of ¡°alien body snatcher¡± that were his current best guess as to his identity.


    Sanda¡¯s brow furrowed in confusion. ¡°What? West?¡±


    He gambled wrong. How was he going to fix this?


    ¡°Oh, west of the city?¡± Her face went pale. ¡°Moira? Oh my, I didn¡¯t think anyone made it out of there in one piece.¡±


    He¡¯d lucked out. Atlas shrugged noncommittally.


    ¡°Well that sure does explain a lot, especially the name. Don¡¯t worry, your secret¡¯s safe with me.¡±


    Wait, explained what? And what was wrong with his name? He opened his mouth to ask but, on consideration, filled it with bacon instead as Sanda started talking about the city, nodding politely and asking her questions between mouthfuls.


    Apparently the city was the capital of the region, and the main population centre with ¡°almost a thousand people¡± living there, a fact Sanda mentioned as though sharing some secret of monumental import. The lord, Prometheus, was rarely seen by the public, but his grand palace at the centre of town apparently released technological wonders to the public on a regular basis. When Atlas asked about them, his mouth full, she talked animatedly about mechanical workers that never tired, and steel chests that kept food fresh for months at a time. Atlas listened intently to all of it, taking advantage of her enthusiasm to furtively log and recover his mug from the tray while she lamented that more of the ¡°gadgets¡± didn¡¯t end up south of the river thanks to the distance.


    The clock had struck seven by the time she¡¯d finished, and she finally pushed out her chair as a few bearded men, probably farmers, given their clothes, walked into the hall.


    ¡°Well I¡¯ve got to get back to work. Be sure to stop by the grocer¡¯s before you leave town. Old Anders should have what you need for your trip¡­ Oh! And the boss said to tell you if she caught you down on the beach again she¡¯ll give you a whupping.¡± She winked.


    ¡°Thank you for everything, Miss Sanda. And please thank Mrs Damastes for me.¡± Atlas made to stand from his own chair.


    Sanda smiled. ¡°You just take care of yourself, handsome. I think the boss has taken something of a shine to you. Maybe you¡¯ll come back and visit us sometime?¡±


    She walked off with a wave. Atlas jettisoned his fork and laid it carefully on the tray before heading for the door.


    Mrs Damastes liked him? Atlas couldn¡¯t remember her wearing anything but a frown yesterday, but she was probably the one that had given him the boots, not to mention everything else. Apparently she was the gruff type with a heart of gold? The thought made him weirdly happy for some reason.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    The village was even livelier when he walked out of the inn. Women sat working outside their homes or bustled to and fro on errands, while men walked through town on their way elsewhere, a variety of tools on their backs. Children roamed freely, laughing and playing, more than a few with pet otters in their trailing behind them. Everyone seemed to radiate infectious cheer as they greeted one another and went about their day.


    And they all watched Atlas.


    Well, he could think of plenty of reasons why. From what he¡¯d managed to determine from his appearance in the absence of a mirror he wasn¡¯t just pale, he was monochromatic. Nobody seemed particularly hostile though, more¡­ wary? Curious?


    Understanding why didn¡¯t mean knowing how he was supposed to react to the attention though, so he was thankful when he reached the grocers, its sign, a winged staff entwined by two serpents, swinging in the cool ocean breeze.


    ¡°Hello?¡± Atlas poked his head in the doorway. ¡°Are you open?¡±


    ¡°Door¡¯s unlocked, isn¡¯t it?¡± An elderly man with a long beard gazed coolly over a counter, framed by a set of golden scales and what appeared to be a hand cranked shopping till.


    ¡°Well what can I do for you, boy?¡± The man arched a grey eyebrow at Atlas.


    Atlas tapped a finger to his lips. What did he need? More importantly, what did they have? There wasn¡¯t a pricelist, and the only goods that seemed to be here in the front of the shop were mainly food.


    ¡°I need a whetstone, waterskin, travel cloak, cooking pot, a travel grill, tent, hatchet, two pounds of hardtack, a map and¡­ a¡­ tinderbox. Do you sell clocks?¡±


    ¡°Forty-two drakes and five.¡± The man didn¡¯t move. ¡°And no, I don¡¯t.¡±


    Atlas nodded slowly. He hadn¡¯t expected to get everything, but according to his bracers he had exactly one drake. He held it up between finger and thumb, the merchant¡¯s eyes followed it the whole way. ¡°Alright. What can I get for this? Anything broken is fine.¡±


    The man grunted and pushed himself up, walking into the room behind him with clicking knees. Atlas peered around the room while he waited. Black spheres of various shapes and sizes sat in unlabelled jars behind the counter alongside an assortment of cured meats and pickles. One box overflowed with an assortment of straps and string - probably laces, another with strangely shaped wooden sticks - tool handles maybe? Another was full of small metal blocks, probably for the scale.


    Strange how there weren¡¯t any fish.


    The door to the back opened, the merchant laid a distressingly light threadbare sack onto the counter and slumped heavily back into his seat letting it fall open on the counter.


    ¡°I gave you a deal on the tinderbox, they¡¯ve fallen out of favour since the city came out with those spark sticks last season. Gave you a few pastries that have started to turn and all.¡±


    A rock, probably a whetstone - he¡¯d never actually seen one, it was just ¡®the done thing to own¡¯, a badly cracked axe with a broken handle, a small waterskin with a hole in the bottom, a few hard biscuits and a tinderbox - again, he assumed - as well as the aforementioned pastries.


    More than he¡¯d expected. Atlas nodded. ¡°Thanks a lot.¡± He held out the coin. ¡°Can I keep the sack?¡±


    The merchant grunted and took the coin. ¡°May as well.¡± He turned to the shopping till, squinting at the buttons as he laboriously pressed at numbers, turning the crank between each before finally opening the drawer with a loud ring and dropping the coin inside.


    Atlas scooped the bag closed and spun away from the counter, heading out of the shop as the sack vanished from his hand.


    MATERIALS LOGGED


    TOOLS LOGGED


    EQUIPMENT LOGGED


    ¡°Boy!¡±


    Atlas froze halfway to the door. Had he been seen? Was witchcraft a thing here?


    ¡°There¡¯s a bad storm coming tonight. Be careful on the road.¡±


    Atlas smiled over his shoulder. ¡°Thank you very much.¡±


    He stepped out of the store and ducked around the corner.


    He had some coding to do.

 11: Branch

    The proud owner of a great deal of new equipment and three more [Broken] codes, Atlas strode downhill along the dirt track whistling a jaunty tune from something he didn¡¯t remember. Flower speckled moors stretched into the distance, colours muted by the grey clouds overhead but dancing all the same in the cool breeze coming in from behind him. Large birds, too far for his scanner to reach - he¡¯d tried - flew high overhead, black silhouettes against the grey expanse.


    At first, he¡¯d shared the road with the men of the village, a solemn procession of bearded faces that gazed at him with naked interest as they passed by, but as time, and he, marched on - though how much of either he had no way of telling - people grew scarce while nature grew thick. Large ¡°rabbits¡± with dull red eyes and a single black horn on their forehead darted between tangled thickets of heather that dotted the hillside, scattering when he drew too near.


    Looked like he wasn¡¯t going to be recovering any new codes today. Atlas kept walking, following the winding path as moors and scrubland gradually gave way to a carpet of crimson leaves that threatened to obscure the path. He scooped a few leaves into his inventory to idle away the time, identifying the trees from the descriptions.


    Were all adventures like this? His time on the beach had given him more of a¡­ ¡°violent¡± impression of the place, with hostile wildlife and eldritch abominations at every turn. Where were the bandits? The rampaging beasts? He¡¯d half expected some ¡°forest slimes¡± if nothing else, but if anything the woodlands were curiously quiet, birdsong filtering through the trees, the occasional rabbit watching him from the distance..


    Not that he was complaining. Despite his good mood the message from that morning was still nagging at the back of his mind, its meaning as needlessly opaque as everything else about his bracers. The faster he got to the city the sooner he could try and find some answers.


    But eventually the birdsong faded, a few trees showed deep furrows in their bark where something had carved into the wood. Atlas wasn¡¯t sure when, exactly, the atmosphere of the forest changed, sometime after the last signpost, perhaps? But he found himself almost creeping along the path, unwilling to break the oppressive stillness of the forest floor.


    At least the rabbits were still around, their dull brown coats blending with the trees, their red eyes tracking his every move as they scurried between bushes. Atlas raised his bracer, scanning one before it scurried behind a tree.


    SCAN SUCCESSFUL


    NEW CODE ACQUIRED [Beast]


    The yellow bar crept up to a third, the first it had increased since the Scylla so long ago. Atlas scanned another as it bounded into view, but the bar remained static. Was it once per species? He should have scanned an otter while he¡¯d had the chance.


    Apparently the rabbit didn¡¯t care much for the flash of his scanner. It stood its ground and hissed, staying in his field of vision long enough for the description to flash up in his vision, its black horn flashing the same way the giant slime¡¯s had.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    HORNED LAGOMORPH


    THREAT LEVEL: 2


    PEST THAT STEALS FARMERS CROPS AND LIVESTOCK.


    USES SUPERIOR NUMBERS AGAINST LARGER PREY.


    FUR CHANGES COLOUR IN WINTER.


    A predator? Then were they stalking him? Atlas glanced around, over a dozen more rabbits had emerged from the undergrowth around the one he¡¯d scanned. Did they even reach his knees?


    Atlas poked at his status screen. The dive knife¡¯s blunt tip made it a poor choice if they attacked, and it wasn¡¯t too sharp, either. He¡¯d been hoping to sharpen it when he¡¯d stopped for lunch, but his bracers had identified the whetstone as a ¡°tool¡± as well, meaning he couldn¡¯t actually hold both at the same time. He tapped the next line down on the screen, eyes locked on the pack of bunnies fanning out in front of him.


    [Axe Mattock]


    HANDHELD TOOL WITH AN AXE BLADE AND A FLAT BLADE FOR DIGGING.


    GOOD FOR DIGGING INTO HARD SOIL.


    NOT WELL SUITED FOR COMBAT.


    He equipped it and summoned it to his hand, snatching the odd bladed weapon from midair. It was unwieldy, but as long as his forearm and reassuringly heavy. Atlas spun it with borrowed expertise and raised it ready as the lagomorphs crept closer, unblinking red eyes fixed on him.


    Something slammed into his knee from behind. Atlas yelled in surprise as his leg gave way and he fell down on top of it. Tiny claws and teeth tore into his leg. An ambush. The pack charged. More pounced from behind, their sharp horns slamming into his body. Atlas grabbed the first rabbit and swung it into a tree with a crunch, swinging his mattock into the throat of another.


    MATERIAL LOGGED


    The body in his hand vanished. He backhanded another as it leapt for his throat. Kicking his feet to dislodge two more he pushed back and the tree to protect his back, making sweeping slices at the pursuing lagomorphs. One clamped its needle sharp teeth into his arm, dangling as he swung, another three scrabbled at his boots. Everything was a blur of pain and blood as he fought to protect his vitals from their endless wave of attacks. His health bar was dropping fast, practically glowing from the constant abuse, his hands slick with viscera as he tried to get back to his feet.


    A thunderous squeal tore through the trees. and Atlas suddenly found himself swinging at air. The surviving rabbits, their coats and muzzles dripping red, stared at him from the edge of the trees. Still more than half were left. Atlas took the opportunity to force himself up, his injured knee throbbing.


    Was this a hunting tactic? Stinging wounds covered him from head to ankle, soaking into his clothes. Atlas rubbed his cheek with his hand, leaving a sticky smear. Were they trying to bleed him out? Was blood loss something that would actually work on him? His HP bar was down to a third, but it seemed stable


    The thunderous squeal resounded out again, more like a jet engine than a creature of flesh and blood. The lagomorphs scattered. Atlas turned towards the source of the noise, coming from the curved path up ahead. Already he could see the bristly flank of some massive beast through the trees. Atlas raised his bracer and scanned it.


    SCAN SUCCESSFUL


    His blue bar and his yellow one shot in opposite directions, his MP stabilising at barely above a quarter.


    SCAN LEVEL UP


    LEVEL 6


    PHYSICAL CHASSIS UPGRADED: LEVEL 3


    GRID EFFICIENCY INCREASED


    CORE FUNCTION RESTORED: CODE GRID (H¡¯MAN, LEAST)


    NEW CODE ACQUIRED [Wild]


    The XP bar stabilised at two thirds of a bar. Atlas swallowed. If the Scylla had been any indication over a full bar of experience at once meant trouble. The description flashed up a moment later.


    CALYDONIAN BOAR


    THREAT LEVEL: 7


    LARGE ENOUGH TO BE CALLED A CALAMITY.


    FOUND IN THE DEEPEST WOODS.


    HIGHLY TERRITORIAL.


    GOES BERSERK WHEN WOUNDED.


    The boar rounded the corner.

 12: Break

    The boar truly earned its title of ¡®calamity¡¯.


    Eight feet tall and almost as broad, its tusks, almost as long as Atlas¡¯ arm, glowed through a thick coat of dried blood. Fresh cuts criss-crossed its chest and snout, and a black pole jutted from its side, accompanying scores of arrows across its body.


    Despite its heavy injuries and pink foam bubbling at the sides of its mouth, the boar¡¯s eyes were clear, and glaring directly at Atlas. It tore a furrow in the compacted dirt of the path as it scraped its hoof along the ground, snorting balefully.


    Atlas glanced from side to side, looking for an escape route. The side of the path was thick with trees and the heavy brush that the rabbits had fled into. Probably better than trying to race the behemoth down the open path.


    The boar charged, releasing another porcine shriek that set his teeth on edge. He could feel its hooves pounding the earth towards him.


    Atlas ran sideways, ferns whipping his injured legs as he weaved between trees the tank-sized boar couldn¡¯t possibly squeeze between. An enraged squeal came from behind him, hooves scraped loudly into the dirt as it ground to a halt.


    Perfect. He could rejoin the path a little later once he¡¯d-


    ¡°Ah!¡± Atlas ducked down as the branches of a falling tree crashed down around him, smaller branches smashing and scratching over him. The boar¡¯s head thrust through the opening, effortlessly uprooting a second tree as it surged towards him. Atlas barely scrambled away as crooked teeth snapped shut where he¡¯d stood, stumbling over tree branches as he tried to make some distance between the boar and himself.


    No good, the brush barely slowed it down. What were you supposed to do in a boar attack? Climb a tree?


    A poplar fell from behind, getting briefly tangled in the branches of the sycamore above before breaking through a moment later. Atlas barely made it past.


    Probably not.


    What was the other thing with boars? Stubby legs? Atlas racked a brain that wasn¡¯t his for trivia he didn¡¯t know. The boar hot on his heels, Atlas broke through the trees back onto the path, stumbling for a moment as his foot caught on a bramble before twisting and throwing himself to the side.


    Atlas grunted, picking himself up off the floor and forcing his aching body into a run. A long scratch from shoulder to shoulder trickled blood into the already tattered fabric of his shirt. That glancing hit had stripped most of his remaining HP. Horned rabbits ran across the road beneath his feet, completely ignoring him in their blind panic to escape the enormous boar tearing a path through the undergrowth behind them.


    Damnit. It had already turned around. How could something that heavy moving that fast turn around so quick? Atlas reached out with his mattock, hooking a tree to spin him on a sudden ninety degree angle as the boar trampled past him, crushing a horned rabbit with a wet crunch beneath its oversized trotter.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    And why was it following him? He¡¯d been surrounded by dead rabbits if it was hungry. Heck, the boar just made another one. Did it have a grudge against humans specifically? He slipped between two trees into small clearing featuring a number of fallen logs overgrown with honeysuckle. The cloying smell and bright flowers might have been scenic in better circumstances.


    The boar exploded through the trees behind him, sending them crashing down either side of Atlas, stopping him from moving sideways. Atlas spun around and swung his axe across its snout, but the sharp blade left only a shallow mark in its leathery flesh. The boar opened its mouth and squealed in Atlas¡¯ face. Stench and saliva splattered his cheeks and he stumbled back, ears ringing and stomach roiling.


    The boar¡¯s snout slammed up into his ribs like a battering ram.


    There was something eerily familiar about this, Atlas mused dreamily as he watched the world spin by in a blur. Petals flew through the air as the boar rampaged through the clearing. Flowers raced by beneath him.


    His dazed reverie was interrupted when he collided face first with a log a moment later. Atlas saw in intimate detail the rotten wood cave in around him before slamming through it, leaving a deep furrow in the grassy floor.


    AEGIS BROKEN


    The world shimmered as everything warped into various shades of red. Crimson petals floated on a backdrop of dull pink clouds.


    Atlas screamed as something not so much pain as violation engulfed every part of his body at once.


    AEGIS BROKEN


    The words flashed again, right in the centre of his vision. Atlas blinked.


    He wasn¡¯t dead.


    His hand twitched tight around the handle of his mattock.


    He could still move.


    Atlas spat out a mouthful of blood and splinters, gritting his aching teeth.


    He could still fight.


    Atlas rolled back and flipped to his feet, swinging his mattock with one smooth motion at the boar charging across the clearing to finish the job.


    TOOL LOST


    [Axe Mattock]


    LAUNCHED


    The axe tumbled end over end through the air.


    The boar, seeing him rise, let out a furious bellow and accelerated.


    They collided in the middle. The flat digging blade embedded into the boar¡¯s eye with a meaty thwack. The boar let out an agonised shriek, tossing its head from side to side as it ran, trying to dislodge the tool. Its foot caught on the broken log Atlas had struck and it fell forwards. Atlas threw himself towards its blind side, a flailing hoof barely missing his head as the boar writhed, smashing a nearby tree to splinters in its blind fury.


    Atlas let out a grim smile as he stumbled out of the clearing, clutching his ribs. If he survived this, nobody would ever know that he had been aiming for its legs.


    By the time the raging boar had stopped its maddened frenzy long enough to think to look for him, Atlas had already vanished into the woods, leaving the devastated clearing far behind.

 13: Crash

    AEGIS RESTORED


    Atlas shuddered as the red faded from his eyes, colour returning to the world once more. On his status screen a single sliver of red appeared.


    His lifeline was restored, even if he wasn¡¯t. Every movement sent spasms of pain up his torso, every step was harder than the one before.


    He kept walking anyway. One foot forward, then the other. Ignore the ache in his chest, ignore the pain in his legs. Ignore the dread of being injured and alone in a wood where even the rabbits were predatory.


    That first pack had taken most of his health - or shield, as he now understood it - and he¡¯d had a weapon then. Now he had a choice between a rock that couldn¡¯t sharpen and a knife that couldn¡¯t stab.


    Thunder rumbled overhead, and the first drops of rain started to drip down through the canopy into the shadowy forest floor. How long had he been off the path now? Long enough for it to start getting dark, though whether from the storm or the time he didn¡¯t know. He hadn¡¯t heard the boar for awhile at least. Hopefully he¡¯d left it far behind by now.


    The bushes in front of him rustled, and a grand white stag with silver antlers stepped into view, clearly visible despite the gloom as though bathed in a light that illuminated it, but nothing else.


    Atlas froze midstep. He¡¯d seen predatory bunnies, he didn¡¯t have much faith that this was some peaceful forest critter. He tapped his wrist, the scanning beam licked over the beast¡¯s feet.


    SCAN SUCCESSFUL


    NEW CODE ACQUIRED [Vortex]


    The stag startled, seemingly noticing him for the first time. Atlas dropped into a defensive stance as its antlers glowed brighter, ready to dive behind a tree if it charged.


    The deer lowered its head, a swirling orb of faint green light spun into being between its horns, sucking up leaves from the floor before launching towards him at breakneck speed. Atlas raised his arms just in time to block, the impact sending him skidding backwards as the sphere dissipated, dropping its payload fluttering back to the forest floor once more.


    AEGIS BROKEN


    Atlas¡¯ vision turned red once more. He clutched his side, gasping at the heinous feeling of vulnerability as much as the shock to his damaged ribs. The white stag was already gone. He could see no sign of it between the trees, despite its apparent glow. He¡¯d never even had a chance for the identification text to pop up so he had no idea what it had been.


    And what the heck was that glow? Or the wind ball? Atlas rubbed his head. The Scylla and that deer were both clearly something out of the ordinary, even compared to the local megafauna. Was it something to do with their codes? The Scylla¡¯s abyss code and the creeping darkness that followed him, the stag¡¯s vortex code and that ball of air. Atlas grabbed a still falling leaf from the air, peering at it curiously.


    MATERIAL LOGGED


    Atlas sighed, squinting at his status screen. It was hard to see now it was various shades of red on red, but one thing was for certain. He didn¡¯t have the MP spare to experiment either way. It had decreased to half by the time his Aegis had recovered last time, and was now visibly creeping down once more. If he zeroed his MP while recovering, it would leave him in this exposed condition even longer. At least he¡¯d almost gained another scanning level.


    Atlas resumed limping through the woods once more, a little slower than before as the rain continued to drip from above.


    Fortunately his Aegis had fixed itself once again by the time Atlas found the path. Or a path at least. Once he was sure the boar wasn¡¯t following he¡¯d tried to keep travelling in a straight line as best he could while navigating the dimly lit forest in a direction he imagined, more by faith than any evidence, to be more or less the way way as the path had been going before. For all he knew either the path had changed directions or he had and he was now on some lonely track leading even deeper into the woods.


    It was an improvement either way. Out from beneath the canopy was still brighter, clearer and going to be a lot easier on his aching body than the dark undergrowth overgrown with its thorns and bushes. And if it didn¡¯t turn out to be the right direction, he could always turn around at the next sign post. Assuming he could see it. Even out on the road it was pretty dark. He sheltered beneath the edge of the treeline, watching the pelting rain turning the surface to muddy paste. He was probably going to have to do something about his clothes before going out into that.


    Lightning crackled across the sky above, painting the pathway white for a moment. Atlas counted silently for the thunder. About a minute. That was¡­ four miles or so? He couldn¡¯t remember the speed of sound, but since he had no way of telling the time, no idea how far a mile was, and no idea if the speed of sound was even constant in this atmosphere compared to the rough figure that popped into his head, that didn¡¯t really matter. All he knew was that the weather was bad, and probably going to get worse in the near future.


    Anyway. Atlas scanned his arm and his outfit reformatted itself, now clean, dry, and intact once more despite his trek through the woods. He tried hard not to think about where the water went as he fixed his collar and navigated to his equipment screen.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    [Waterproof Sack]


    A LARGE BURLAP SACK FASTENED WITH STRING.


    TREATED WITH SLIME JELLY, WATER JUST ROLLS OFF.


    SORT OF SMELLS.


    Whatever obnoxious force was responsible for creating descriptions wasn¡¯t wrong about the smell. Atlas wrinkled his nose as the bag came into being already clutched in one hand. Still, it was better than pneumonia. He quickly unfastened the string and shook the bag out, converting it into a crude poncho before tying it in place with the string. He twirled before nodding in satisfaction. Give him a few days he could definitely get used to the smell. Maybe if he found another jelly code he could convert the rest of his clothes. They already smelled pretty musty after all.


    Hm. Atlas tapped a finger to his lips as he stepped out into the rain, his poncho performing just as well as advertised in both aspects as he squelched down the muddy path. He had more codes than he had items right now, so he could swap them freely if he had the MP. Which¡­ he will didn¡¯t. Atlas kicked a rock down the path with a grunt. It splashed twice off the surface before stopping with a metallic clang.


    Atlas raised an eyebrow. Had he offended some metal shelled forest emu now? After waiting a moment - with his luck lately that wasn¡¯t an entirely impossible scenario - he walked towards where he¡¯d heard the sound, squinting through the gloom as he reached down to investigate.


    MATERIAL LOGGED


    Oh. Right. Atlas sighed, flicking water from his hair as he straightened once more. Or he could check a menu description, he supposed.


    Lightning flashed overhead, illuminating the road ahead. The thunder came quicker that time, but Atlas had forgotten to count. The scene of devastation ahead consumed all his attention. Fallen trees criss crossed the path, husks of shredded metal and fragmented blades littered the floor about a covered wagon, two of its wheels shattered and scattered amongst the metal.


    No bodies anywhere, not even bones. Atlas crept forward. Even some things he was pretty sure weren¡¯t even close to edible appeared well checked by jagged teeth of extraordinary size. And recently too, none of the metal was rusty. Atlas ran his finger over the slick leather of the wagon, grabbing its sturdy frame for support as he stepped inside.


    Empty. A few splinters of wood where the side had cracked, and a gaping hole in the fabric above that, edges flapping freely in the wind. Rain sprayed freely through the gap,pattering softly against the wood.


    Was this the boar¡¯s handiwork? Atlas hunkered down out of the rain for a moment while he thought.


    It seemed pretty unlikely that there were multiple man-eaters in this neck of the woods. He¡¯d been walking all day, though not in a straight line, so he¡¯d probably covered¡­ forty miles? Fifty? The boar was ¡°highly territorial¡± according to its description, and big enough that it probably roamed ten times that far looking for food. It was doubtful it would tolerate the presence of another large predator within that territory.


    Lightning cracked overhead. Atlas froze, thankful he was hidden in the shadow of the wagon. There, plodding heavily down the path from the opposite direction was the Calydonian Boar itself. There was no sign of the mattock, just a gaping void it its absence.


    Atlas dropped lower inside the wagon already raising his bracer. His red bar was barely above zero, blue barely over quarter of a bar, still nowhere near recovered. He probably wasn¡¯t going to be coding his way out of this one, assuming that it would even help. It wasn¡¯t as though he could whip up some horses to pull the wagon even if he managed to fix it.


    He tapped the equipment menu, keeping the screen concealed below his poncho as he worked. Whetstone¡­ useless. Waterskin¡­ probably the most interesting thing he owned, but not particularly helpful in this case, he had more than enough water available. All he had was the dive knife. Atlas equipped it with a grimace, glancing at the code as an afterthought. It might still be rusty and blunt, but he could try to give it a point at least.


    [Vortex] x1


    [Broken] x4


    [Beast] x2


    [Wild] x1


    [Abyss] x1


    Hm. Atlas sneaked a peak through the wagon flaps. The boar was close, he was running out of time. He tapped in ¡°Beast¡± and saved. Thunder rolled overhead.


    [Dull Hunting Knife]


    A ONCE SHARP BLADE DULLED BY USE.


    ONE OF A HUNTER¡¯S MOST IMPORTANT TOOLS.


    HAS A SERRATED EDGE AND COMPASS FOR THE WILDMAN ON THE GO.


    Better than nothing. Atlas snatched it from the air and pressed against the side of the wagon. Lightning flashed through the gap in the side of the canvas. Atlas held his breath as the boar¡¯s hooves slurped through the mud, its rattling breath audible even over the pounding rain.


    Closer.


    It splashed through a muddy puddle. Atlas glanced around. The bows holding the canvas seemed pretty sturdy, but the shattered wall of the wagon showed how little they might help. He wasn¡¯t sure if they¡¯d hold out if it overturned either. Thunder rumbled over him.


    Closer.


    He could hear how laboured its breathing was. Between his mattock and the spear in the side of its chest the mighty beast was on its last legs, even if it was still more than capable of taking him with it.


    Closer.


    Lightning flashed again. Atlas glimpsed the beast¡¯s flank. It was passing him by. Atlas slowly released the breath he¡¯d been holding.


    The boar stopped, nostrils the size of Atlas¡¯ head flared as it snorted, turning this way and that.


    His poncho. Atlas drew away from the flap, a stream of epithets running through his head as it snuffled towards the wagon. He raised his knife, flipping the blade in reverse as he crept back into the wagon, trying to stay silent.


    The boar grunted, nosing the flaps aside as it pushed its head into the wagon, seeking the pungent smell. There, crumpled on the floor of the empty wagon, was a crumpled square of cloth.


    Atlas heaved himself to the top of the wagon gasping with pain as he perched for a moment at the edge of the slippery leather, the reinforced wooden bow bending slightly under his weight. The wagon rocked beneath him, almost unseating him as the boar tried to reach the object of its interest within. Thunder boomed all around him.


    Now.


    Atlas launched himself forward. Bows cracked beneath his feet as he stepped between them towards the boar¡¯s back, and he leapt for the boar, arms outstretched, knife between his teeth.


    He caught the spear in both hands, his bodyweight wrenching the weapon heavily inside the wound. The boar released a deafening squeal of pain and surprise, dragging the wagon with it as it tried to pull free.


    TOOL LOGGED


    [Scorched Spear]


    Hot liquid joined cold rain spraying over him from what was suddenly a gaping hole in its chest. Atlas fell heavily to the floor, falling heavily on his side as the boar tossed the wagon off its head, sending the vehicle crunching into the darkness. He dragged himself backwards as it turned towards him, its hoof missing his leg by a hair. Atlas found himself face to gargantuan face with the boar, its foul breath hot on his face, its jaw lolling open wide enough to swallow him hole ...


    With a deep and final moan, the Calydonian Boar fell sideways into the mud.


    Atlas still couldn¡¯t think of a one-liner.

 14: Bridge

    TWELVE DAYS REMAINING


    Atlas forced his eyelids apart with a groan, awakened by the grim notice intruding on his reality. Water dripped into the overturned wagon in which he¡¯d sheltered for the night, accompanied by the melodic trill of birdsong.


    Was there a snooze button for apocalyptic countdowns? He remembered vanishingly little after staggering into the wagon and crawling beneath his pungent covers, but surely he¡¯d not managed to sleep at all given how tired he was.


    Atlas yawned, rubbing his eyes as he rolled upright, calling forth the bread he¡¯d logged back in the inn to serve as breakfast. It was still warm, which raised an interesting question. Presumably his bracers were recording every aspect of the items it took as data, disintegrating the item, then reconstituting that data from scratch at a later date.


    The question, Atlas mused as he took a bite of the loaf, was why anyone would create such an absurdly inefficient system. Surely it would take more energy to create bread from thin air than it would to carry it around for a year. But doing so was barely a pixel of blue from his now full bar, which regenerated in seconds - from where?


    Atlas tapped over to his tool menu, calling forth the second most absurd object in his possession, partly to examine, partly because he was thirsty.


    [Endless Decanter]


    A WATERSKIN INFUSED WITH THE POWER OF [WATER].


    PRODUCES [WATER] ENDLESSLY WHEN UPENDED.


    POWERED BY MONSTER CORES.


    CURRENT AMMUNITION: CORE [SLIME] [98%]


    The waterskin looked much the same as it had before he¡¯d messed with its code, but in place of the hole was a socket where, after some experimentation, he¡¯d inserted one of his slime cores changing it to its current state, pouring out fresh water despite never having been filled.


    The similarity was uncanny, though obviously his bracers were an order of magnitude more advanced. Did they have a monster core in them?


    Did he?


    Atlas took a swig and dismissed the decanter along with that particular line of questioning. He could find those answers in the city. Hopefully.


    He forced himself to his feet, nursing his tender ribs. His Aegis might be full, but he wasn¡¯t physically in much better shape this morning than when he¡¯d killed the boar last night. Clambering out through the distorted sideways arch of the wagon Atlas stretched out, blinking in the morning sun.


    Wait.


    He had killed the boar, right?


    Atlas peered about the carnage of the path, no less eerie in the light, with ruined metal breastplates torn apart and stripped of their contents by the dreadful beast he¡¯d fought. A beast that was now nowhere to be seen.


    Where it fell was obvious enough. A deep depression in the ground that last night¡¯s downpour had failed to wash away, leaving a wide and deep pothole filled with water no doubt to the delight of future travellers down this route. Atlas squatted by the puddle, his white face frowning back up at him.


    It should have been dead. He¡¯d spent a few minutes with his knife making absolutely sure of that fact. Unless it regenerated? Atlas looked around. There were no tracks on the¡­ track. Atlas rubbed his chin as he stared down at the puddle. Wasn¡¯t it bigger than the boar had been?


    He poked at the water with a finger, ripples destroying his reflection. There was the deep part where it fell, and here was shallower where it had been¡­ dragged?


    But only briefly. Something had apparently been large enough to simply scoop up the massive corpse, which must have been easily two tons, and carry it off, all without leaving any tracks of its own. Unless it was so big it just straddled the path completely? Atlas glanced nervously at the trees on either side.


    He shook the image from his head and turned away. Better to be out of these awful woods in any case. He pulled out his hunting knife and, with the help of its compass, turned and started walking in the opposite direction than he¡¯d been headed last night. He didn¡¯t want his mattock back badly enough to go back and look for it.


    Thankfully nothing accosted him, though a few lone rabbits eyed him carefully from a distance. He even managed to scan a small wren chirping in the branches, netting him a single [Bird] code and a pixel on his yellow bar.,


    It was still mid morning, as far as he could tell, when the forest abruptly cut off. A waist high stone wall punctuated the sudden change between trees and rolling fields of ripened grains populated by bearded farmers pushing already overloaded wooden carts. Obviously they weren¡¯t wasting any time with the harvest. In the distance he could see the river, glittering in the morning sun, just beyond a few clustered farm buildings. He¡¯d made it.


    But¡­ Atlas peered up and down the river as it threaded between the fields. Where was the bridge? There was a path on the other side of the river from the buildings. Was it missing? Or was there some clever contraption that raised it when it was needed?


    Maybe it had been snatched by the same thing that took the boar, Atlas mused grimly.


    After a comparatively short stroll down through the fields and past the seemingly deserted farm buildings Atlas found his answer. All that remained were a few wooden posts jutting from the surface of the water, broken planks scattered along the distant bank. Apparently it had been washed away in the storm. Atlas stared disconsolately across the serene surface of the river.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.¡°Looking to go on back to the city, boy?¡±


    Atlas jerked in surprise, spinning to face the voice. An old man with a long white beard sat with his back against one of the remaining wooden struts, a pole held between his hands and a bucket of fish sat at his side.


    ¡°Y-yes, but the bridge is broken?¡±


    ¡°Looks that way, don¡¯t it?¡± The man scratched his beard. The pole in his hands didn¡¯t actually have a fishing line or anything, he was just holding it out, staring half-lidded across the water.


    Atlas raised an eyebrow. The man looked like a farmer, but everyone else was working on the harvest while he was sitting here pretending to fish?


    ¡°Is¡­ there another way across?¡±


    ¡°Just waiting for the Charon.¡± The man¡¯s eyes flicked across the water. An otter, slightly bigger than the one belonging to Mrs Damastes, hauled itself from the fast flowing water and trotted over to the man, a flapping fish in its jaws. The man reached into a pocket and traded the otter a small treat and a scratch behind a tiny pointed ear for its piscine payload, throwing it into the bucket with the rest. The otter chirped happily and slid down the muddy bank back into the river.


    Atlas took advantage of the distraction to surreptitiously flick his scan beam over the man and his bucket.


    FORM PARAMETERS UPDATED


    NEW CODE ACQUIRED [Patience]


    OPEN CODE GRID Y/N?


    NEW CODE ACQUIRED [Fish]


    ACTIVATE REMOTE COLLECTION Y/N?


    Atlas tapped no, and again, not sure which was which, but neither was likely to endear him to the locals.


    ¡°So is this ¡®Charon¡¯ coming soon?¡±


    ¡°Soon enough.¡±


    Atlas rolled his eyes. Maybe he should have edited his code after all? There was doubtless a ¡°Congenitally Unhelpful¡± code or two in there. A few women were tending pigs and plump yellow hens in nearby enclosures, but there was no sign of anything or anyone that might help in crossing a river.


    Atlas sighed. It wasn¡¯t like he had anything better to do than wait.


    ¡°Do you mind if I sit with you?¡±


    The man grunted, not looking at him.


    ¡°Fine. Just be sure not to spook Betsy with that fancy gadget of yours.¡±


    Atlas broadly guessed that he was talking about the otter. Impressive, he hadn¡¯t thought the man had seen him. He settled down cross-legged on a patch slightly less muddy than its surroundings and joined the man in looking out across the water.


    Neither spoke. The quiet sounds of livestock behind and the river ahead blended together into a soothing quiet Atlas didn¡¯t care to break. He couldn¡¯t control the loss of the bridge, so he might as well accept-


    Wait.


    Atlas scanned the post behind the farmer.


    NEW CODE ACQUIRED [Shattered]


    OPEN CODE GRID Y/N?


    Atlas tapped yes, a hopeful grin growing on his face. The blue bar started to drop. Atlas glanced at the farmer sat nearby, seemingly oblivious to the fate of his seat. Should he tell the man to move? He had no idea what would happen. Maybe he¡¯d just undo the damage to this single wooden beam, leaving the rest of the bridge in pieces. Maybe he should move, in case the bridge pieces collapsed back into shape and crushed him in the process?


    THIS DEVICE HAS POWERED DOWN UNEXPECTEDLY.


    CODE GRID ACCESS ABORTED.


    Not enough MP.


    Atlas sagged. It had taken comparatively long to run out at least. Perhaps he was close? A level up might be all he needed, and he wasn¡¯t far off the next one. Maybe he could wander back into the forest and see if he could find some more critters to scan?


    ¡­ Atlas mentally filed that particular idea under ¡°last resorts¡± before settling back against the wooden post once more. He couldn¡¯t even spend the time trying out new combinations in his inventory menus now.


    Minutes stretched to hours, the sun climbing along its long arch through the sky above, its slow progress punctuated occasionally by the man¡¯s otter returning with another offering of fish. Warm and comfortable, Atlas eyes started to drift closed¡­


    ¡°Here he comes.¡±


    Atlas snapped awake, hand coming up to the scan button reflexively. At first he saw nothing, just a heron wading the shallows on the opposite bank, but a moment later he spotted the distant black shape coming from downstream.


    With every minute the shape grew closer, and soon Atlas could make out a black figure atop a skiff, only rendered in massive scale. The figure was at least fifteen feet tall, wielding a ferryman¡¯s pole at least twice that to progress effortlessly against the current, while the skiff, which might comfortably have held one or two passengers of the boatman¡¯s enormous size, was easily large enough to accommodate a few dozen people without much effort. Atlas stood, shielding his eyes from the sun to get a better look as it approached.


    The entire craft was made of the same black metal as his bracers, and engraved with large runes that at once repelled him and ensnared his attention, the same as he¡¯d seen on his bracer and the metal platform on which he¡¯d first awakened. If he could only understand...


    A lance of pain ripped through his skull. Atlas turned away, clutching his temple as static clouded the world for a moment.


    With a metallic groan the ferryman arrived on the bank. Avoiding the boat with his eyes, Atlas looked up into the figure¡¯s deep cowl at a gaunt, skeletal face with papery white skin and two glowing red pits staring down at him from where its eyes should have been. A moment later a foul, mouldering stench assaulted his nostrils, eye-watering despite his long exposure to his own pungent clothes.


    DEFINE DESTINATION


    The text, blood red rather than its usual blue, superimposed itself across his vision.


    ¡°Across the river.¡± The farmer spoke up. He hadn¡¯t even stirred in the presence of the figure.


    SUPPLY UNIT WITH TWO TALENTS


    The farmer swore and pushed himself to his feet, rapping his pole against the wooden beam. The otter splashed out of the water and scurried over to him, paying the boatman equally little attention. Atlas¡¯ stomach sank. He didn¡¯t even know what a talent was, but assuming the farmer was getting the same messages it was probably a lot, and a lot more than zero in either case.


    ¡°Coming, boy?¡± The farmer stood, leaning on his pole, his back to the river.


    ¡°Huh?¡± Atlas perked up.


    ¡°You don¡¯t seem like the sort to have two talents flying around, and I don¡¯t figure you¡¯ll get them standing around here. So how about you and I do a deal?¡±


    ¡°I''m listening.¡± Atlas turned to look at the man. He didn¡¯t return the courtesy.


    ¡°We¡¯re short on hands right now, so if you hire on, I¡¯ll let you ride with us to the city when harvest is done. Should be about a tenday.¡±


    Atlas rested a hand on his hip as he thought.


    ¡°Deal.¡±


    That was cutting it close, and he wasn¡¯t sure how long it would take to reach the city from here. But it was his best bet right now, and if he found a better option before then he could always take it.


    ¡°Good. Your first job is to carry the bucket.¡± The man walked off, tapping the path with his pole as he walked, leaving the overflowing container of fish behind.


    Atlas turned back to the Charon, still stood motionlessly staring at him, and hit the scan button on his bracer.


    SCANNING LEVEL TOO LOW


    MORE DATA REQUIRED


    Figured. He logged the heavy bucket and hurried after the man.

 15: Rollback

    Gripping a scythe in his unnaturally practised grip, Atlas swept forward, felling crops with wide sweeping strokes. Swing, step, swing, step, a smooth rhythm from one end of the field to the other, leaving... wheat, in this field, scattered before him. Ten steps, and Atlas turned, sweeping his scan beam across the field behind him.


    ACTIVATE REMOTE COLLECTION Y/N?


    Not a single stalk remained.


    Every tool he touched, he used as though he¡¯d handled it for years. Everything he gathered was stored without the need for a cart or basket. Blades recovered their cutting edge every time he recalled them, and his scanning beam unerringly picked up and separated every grain from the chaff with the touch of a button.


    If he didn¡¯t know better, Atlas would have thought he was built for farming, and in a more literal way than he was necessarily comfortable with.


    EIGHT DAYS REMAINING


    The notice flashed up, same as every morning. Atlas turned to look at the sun rising over trees.


    That time already?


    Dismissing the scythe as he stretched, Atlas gazed over the fields he¡¯d helped clear over the last few days, the brown earth denuded of its golden mantle. Only a few smaller fields were left, a few early risers like him already wheeling a barrow over to one of them.


    A bird flew overhead. Atlas flicked his wrist up and scanned it in one smooth movement.


    Nothing. Atlas clicked his tongue. He¡¯d scanned every pig, every hen, every passing animal, vegetable and mineral since he¡¯d started working here. He¡¯d even scanned Betsy, when Phineus, the farmer who¡¯d hired him, wasn¡¯t around one morning, But his yellow bar had barely budged at all, and only the first of each creature he scanned gave him a new code. Well, except for the people, but the codes they gave him didn¡¯t even show up on his regular code grids.


    Grabbing the handles of an empty cart he kept nearby for appearance¡¯s sake Atlas started across the field for the grain silo, whistling a song he¡¯d heard one of the farmhands singing after last night¡¯s supper. It was considerably more tame without the lyrics.


    Things had gone surprisingly well. The most excitement he¡¯d had since he started was driving off some lagomorphs with two of the other farmhands, sending the animals scurrying into the woods in a panic. There had been another rain shower, which Phineus seemed to think was a disaster, but for Atlas the only difference was dropping the crops off at the drying ovens instead of the storage silo. Unfortunately ¡°materials¡± didn¡¯t have a code grid option he could use to dry them en masse.


    Propping the thick door open with his foot, Atlas wheeled his cart backwards into the building, leaving it blocking the doorway as he cast a glance around the silo to make sure he was alone. He¡¯d tried to keep a semblance of normality as he worked, at least when other people were nearby, and when the rest of the farmhands found that he worked faster on his own they¡¯d been happy enough to leave him to his own devices. Atlas tapped his inventory menu. Grain dropped into the pit with a soft patter.


    But it wasn¡¯t just to conceal the secret of his success that he sequestered himself in the grain silo each morning. Atlas tapped the form menu revealing the sole option within and pressed the scan button.


    OPEN CODE GRID Y/N?


    Unlike with tools and objects this appeared to cost no MP whatsoever, but the screen was significantly different. There was the code box itself, with a list alongside of his regular codes as well as the codes he¡¯d gathered from the people at the farm.


    He¡¯d left this blank so far. Changing his body as dramatically as some of the other things he¡¯d done using codes was one thing, but actually changing his personality with a code like ¡°Patience¡±, or ¡°Craven¡± was an even more worrying prospect. Below the code grid was a series of runes, half of which appeared to be labels the other half, and finally, most interesting, a series of sliders alongside a 2D diagram of himself, which had been the source of the majority of his experimentation.


    The top slider simply toggled the figure between male and female, while the sliders below controlled his hair, face, torso, and legs, with each new person he¡¯d scanned adding new options to the sliders. He¡¯d spent yesterday with the complete body of the farm hand Arastos, a gangly teen with a wispy beard that had apparently been too young for the military but old enough for his family to send south to work. Today¡­ He cycled through the options to settle on the distinctive body of Kleis, whose squat muscular frame couldn¡¯t be more different from Arastos¡¯. So far nobody had noticed any of the changes he¡¯d made, which was either change blindness in action or part of the same phenomenon that nobody commented on his inhuman complexion.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    The runes below changed with every choice. Could they be numerical stats? Some kind of letter grade? Or possibly his three measurements, he had no way of being sure, and no reference to measure against.


    He didn¡¯t even know if this would make him stronger or not. Phineus¡¯ wrinkled arms swung the scythe just as easily as his default appearance, while he¡¯d steered clear of experimenting with the female settings entirely. Especially since discovering the default form was a dead ringer for Mrs Damastes.


    For the legs Atlas went with his original pair, as he did for his head. He had no desire to share a height or a face with the unfortunate Kleis. He couldn¡¯t grow the man¡¯s beard anyway, all of the faces he adopted were completely clean shaven, much to his consternation. Every single man he¡¯d seen so far had facial hair. Even Arastos tended the stubby growths on his cheeks with pride, marking Atlas as the lone outsider.


    Finally he took the Rock code he¡¯d recycled from what were now his [Used Scarecrow Clothes], which were at least moderately close to the outfits worn around the farm, and dropped it onto the vacant code grid, watching the runes change. One of the runes turned into two identical runes side by side.


    Atlas tapped his lips thoughtfully, swapping hands to cancel the changes. He couldn¡¯t remove a code without replacing it, and he wanted to understand exactly what he was getting into before trying anything. He¡¯d need a pen and paper, or whatever their equivalent was in this weird tech level, to try and figure it out. He simply couldn¡¯t remember an entire library of runes without-


    ¡°Atlas?¡±


    Atlas jerked in surprise, slapping the button on his bracer quickly as he looked up to see Arastos peeking his head over the cart, squinting into the dimly lit silo.


    SAVED


    Wrong button.


    Muscles bulged across Atlas¡¯ body as the code change was finalised, rippling into place beneath his flesh. The world shrank in comparison as he grew an inch, and his tattered tunic bulged at the seams trying to contain his newfound bulk.


    ¡°Y¡­ yes?¡± Atlas gave a nervous smile.


    ¡°Phineus wants to see you in the mill.¡± The teen ducked away, his face a picture of idle disinterest.


    ...He didn¡¯t notice?


    Atlas let out a sigh of relief. Either he¡¯d got supremely lucky, or there was some kind of perspective filter obscuring his appearance. Possibly a function of his Aegis?


    Wait. He¡¯d left the rock code on. Atlas peered at the skin on his arm. It¡­ seemed normal enough. For him. He prodded it. A little rigid, like he was pushing against tensed muscle, even where there was none, but he seemed flexible enough.


    Well great, he grunted, straightening and adjusting his clothes before heading for the door. Now he¡¯d never be able to know what the figures were without a code.


    The mill was a cylindrical building with heavy sails attached to a wooden barn filled with burlap sacks of flour and grain piled together seemingly at random. At far as Atlas understood it, it was the undisputed territory of the woman Phineus has introduced solely as ¡°The Wife¡±, a stout grey haired woman with a lined face and a quick temper who alternated between baking the tastiest, and only, pies Atlas had ever tasted, and manhandling heavy grain sacks over the endlessly turning millstone.


    Atlas loitered at the barn¡¯s entrance, beams of sunlight piercing through the thick haze of flour that hung in the air of the windowless barn.


    ¡°Come on in, boy.¡± Phineus¡¯ voice came from inside.


    Atlas complied, carefully threading his way between three grain sacks heaped by the entrance. Phineus stood inside, flanked by The Wife.


    Was he in trouble? Atlas glanced from face to face. Was this routine? His job was harvesting, but maybe they wanted him to carry some things? He settled on a universal opening.


    ¡°How can I help?¡±


    ¡°Well for starters we¡¯ll be needing you to load the cart.¡± Phineus leaned heavily on his cane, not looking at Atlas as usual.


    Atlas raised an eyebrow. Harvest had been going more quickly than expected, but surely they weren¡¯t ready to go already?


    ¡°Don¡¯t get your hopes up, boy. I¡¯ll be heading west, down to New Astros.¡±


    Back the way he¡¯d come? ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the Charon, deary.¡± The Wife interjected. ¡°It wants two talents this season and it don¡¯t take change. We were expecting the peddler to call in by now to trade, but we haven¡¯t heard anything about her. Anders is the closest one as has the coin and we can sell some stock at market to recover our losses too.¡±


    The destroyed wagon. Atlas winced. In the end he hadn¡¯t mentioned the boar to anyone. He didn¡¯t have anything to prove his story anyway, so he¡¯d decided talking about the looted wagon and the massacre surrounding it would have made him look even more suspicious. Now they¡¯d been waiting for days on someone he could have told them was never going to arrive.


    ¡°How long will this take?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you worry about that, boy. Should get back by tomorrow evening, earlier if you want to come and help us unload.¡±


    ¡°We could use an extra pair of strong arms on the road, deary. We haven¡¯t heard from the guard patrol in days either. You¡¯ve been such a big help that we might even be ready to head to the city by the time you come back.¡±


    Atlas bit his lip. Heading back the way he¡¯d come? It wasn¡¯t logical - he had no way of progressing either way - but backtracking felt almost like defeat. At the same time, even if the boar was dead and gone, and he tried very hard not to think about how or where it had gone, the forest was still potentially dangerous and if Phineus never made it back he¡¯d be stuck here at the edge of the water waiting for his doomsday clock to run out.


    ¡°Alright.¡± Atlas nodded. ¡°When do we head out?¡±

 16; Root

    ¡°All done loading.¡±


    The ¡°cart¡± was the exact same style as the destroyed wagon had been, down to the leather material of the canopy stretched over the top. It was enough to give Atlas an unpleasant sense of deja vu, though slightly muted by the assortment of produce now squeezed tight inside its frame.


    ¡°Already?¡± The Wife put her hands on her hips with a smile. ¡°I was happy enough when that fool husband of mine managed to bring back such a strapping lad, but sometimes I swear we¡¯ve brought in a helpful harvest spirit along with you.¡±


    Atlas raised an eyebrow but said nothing. From what he recalled The Wife had snapped at her husband for bringing in ¡°another scrawny stray¡±, but if Phineus wasn¡¯t going to take that rare opportunity to gloat then he could bite his tongue.


    The man in question walked over, tapping his way with his cane, one arm wrapped around a thick wooden strongbox.


    ¡°Move that bag, boy.¡± The farmer instructed Atlas while rapping a sack with his cane, looking at neither. Atlas complied with a grunt. While he¡¯d discovered a time limit to the immunity that jettisoned inventory had from being logged again, it was as far as he could guess about an hour. Phineus pressed at a section of boards with his fingers and a plank sprang open to reveal a small compartment into which he put the strongbox.


    ¡°Alright, put it back.¡± The wizened farmer straightened with a creak after snapping the compartment shut once again.


    ¡°Is that a standard feature?¡± Atlas asked as he heaved the bag into place once more.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you be getting any daft ideas, boy.¡± Phineus shook his head. ¡°Even if you know it¡¯s there you won¡¯t be opening this kind of box without the key.¡±


    Atlas nodded thoughtfully, face blank.


    If that was a standard feature then there was a good chance that the ruined wagon would have it, making their trip considerably shorter than planned even if he had to rewrite objective reality in order to make it happen. He certainly had enough Broken codes for it.


    A porcine squeal derailed Atlas¡¯ train of thought. His had was halfway to his B button when he saw Kleis leading a massive sow towards them.


    ¡°Quit gawping and give me a hand, kid.¡± The man whose shoulders he was currently wearing tossed a bridle at him. Atlas snagged it with a grimace.


    TOOL LOGGED


    Sigh. He turned away as he ¡°caught it¡± and surreptitiously deployed the bridle once more. At least his hands knew exactly what to do with it now.


    Finally the was cart hooked up, Phineus sat up front with his otter staring down her nose from beside him like the driver¡¯s seat was a royal throne, and Kleis and himself settled in the back ¡°for security¡±, something that gave Atlas mild misgivings considering that he was fairly sure that Kleis had been the source of his Craven code.


    Still, there was little enough he needed to do beyond sit on the hard frame of the wagon and watch the farm shrink behind him. Kleis droned on into background noise with endless tales of life in an excruciatingly uneventful village somewhere east of the farm. Atlas had heard them often enough in the past few days to memorise the parts he was supposed to express the appropriate signs of interest, leaving him free to watch the sides of the road for threats, particularly threats he hadn¡¯t scanned yet.


    Soon he¡¯d have to effect a suitable level of surprise at the scene of the boar¡¯s final massacre, find an excuse to check inside the wagon and, if they were lucky, save everyone a trip by discovering the peddler¡¯s ¡°already broken¡± strongbox, assuming it existed and hadn¡¯t suffered the same fate as the rest of the wagon¡¯s contents.


    Except¡­


    ¡°We¡¯re not turning down there?¡± Atlas stared down the unmarked path he¡¯d travelled from on his way to the farm.


    ¡°Hm?¡± Kleis looked up from a tale about scrumping from Phineus¡¯ orchard as a youth. ¡°Nah, not unless we were headed towards Helos, and they don¡¯t generally trade for coin, if you know what I mean.¡±


    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!Atlas had, in fact, no idea what he meant.


    ¡°Anyway, there I was-¡±


    Atlas stopped paying attention to the man, his oversized shoulders slumped as he stared at the turning as it faded from view. Somehow he¡¯d taken a wrong turn, either putting him into the boar¡¯s path in the first place or back in front of the boar once he¡¯d lost it once before. Because it was a wrong turn they were going to pass by the caravan without ever seeing it, and his silence until now stopped him from saying a word about it for fear of raising even more suspicion than he¡¯d been trying to avoid in the first place.


    Though the sow pulling the wagon only managed a speed best described as an ¡°amble¡± it was early afternoon when their uneventful trip through the woods came to an end and the fiery canopy and endless trunks gave way to blue skies and rolling moors, populated by nothing more exciting than a few shepherds and their flocks of scraggly fleeced sheep. Atlas managed to scan one for yet another beast code as they passed, and another form variant from its attending shepherd as she followed close behind, which helped improve his sour mood somewhat.


    ¡°Why are you always messing with those bracelets of yours?¡±


    Atlas blinked, taking a moment to register that Kleis had actually said something that wasn¡¯t one of his banal stories.


    ¡°Because I don¡¯t know how to take them off.¡±


    A technical truth. If he knew how to take them off he¡¯d probably mess with his physics defying bracelets of mystery slightly less than he did now. Besides, if his brain was hijacked to prevent him from removing them himself, getting someone else to help would neatly circumvent the issue.


    Kleis tutted, tapping his bulbous nose.


    ¡°Can¡¯t be trusting all those fancy city gadgets, kid, you take it from me. My cousin Cygnus went to the city last year and never made it home again.¡±


    From what Atlas remembered from his stories Cygnus was, at best, an unrepentant petty thief with a problem with authority, but he frowned gravely all the same.


    ¡°Do you have any idea what happened to him?¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah, they caught him sneaking into the citadel and threw him in the dungeon.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that got to do with gadgets?¡±


    ¡°Well they wouldn¡¯t have caught him if it wasn¡¯t for one of them gadgets, would they?¡± Kleis grunted, rolling his eyes as though that should have been self-evident.


    ¡°Look lively, you two.¡± Phineus called from up front. ¡°We¡¯re almost there. Unload the cart and set up while I go talk to Anders.¡±


    Guess there went his hope for Kleis offering to help with his bracers then. Probably for the best he supposed. What if they stopped working when he took them off?


    By the time Phineus emerged from the grocers with Betsy in tow, Atlas had deposited the wagon¡¯s contents discreetly in a nearby alleyway and almost finished helping Kleis set up the makeshift stall on the side of the street. The old farmer threaded his way through the gathering crowd towards them.


    ¡°Good news. Anders has two coins he¡¯s willing to exchange if we carry some of his stock up to the city for him.¡° He paused midstep, cane hovering in midair. ¡°Done already? You may as well go book us some rooms for the night, boy.¡±


    Phineus reached into his tunic and withdrew a small leather pouch from which he withdrew a handful of coins and dropped them clinking onto Atlas¡¯ armoured palm. Atlas snapped his hand closed around them as they vanished.


    MATERIAL LOGGED


    ¡°And this-¡± Phineus pressed a smaller clump of metal into Atlas¡¯ other hand. ¡°Is your wages to date. Don¡¯t waste it all on drink.¡±


    Atlas blinked in surprise. The matter of payment had never been discussed. He¡¯d thought he was working for room and board, plus passage across the river, now he felt like a child given pocket money for the first time.


    ¡°Thank you very much.¡±


    Phineus snorted. ¡°You¡¯ve earned it. Now get. And don¡¯t you make that face, Kleis, watch the stall while I go make the exchange.¡±


    The farmer disappeared into the back of the wagon, leaving Atlas wondering as usual how he did that while never actually looking at anyone. Still half dazed he pushed his way through the crowd, hands still clenched on nothing as he walked towards the Magic Bed.


    ¡­ Wait a minute. Atlas slowed as he broke through the crowd, raising his status screen with a sense of dread.


    Four golden drakes, fourteen silver talons, and five copper scales. His inventory had combined both piles together with no indication what had been in each.


    Atlas resumed walking with a groan, considerably less enthusiastic than before.


    His bracers had struck again.

 17: Update

    ¡°Well if it isn¡¯t Atlas. I wasn¡¯t expecting to see you again so soon, handsome.¡±


    ¡°Miss Sanda!¡± Atlas smiled at his second oldest acquaintance as she stood, polishing the counter just the same as she had that first morning.


    ¡°Ooo, remembering a lady¡¯s name. You¡¯ll do well to keep that habit right there, handsome.¡±


    ¡°Well, you remembered my name.¡±


    ¡°Someone built like you tends to leave a lasting impression, handsome.¡± Sanda winked. ¡°Besides, it¡¯s not every day someone leaves a chamber pot full of sand for me to empty out.¡±


    ¡°Wha- oh. Sorry about that.¡± So that¡¯s what that pot had been.


    ¡°Hah! Don¡¯t worry about it. Nothing worse than what they¡¯re usually filled with. I just hope you¡¯re not doing that everywhere you go.¡±


    Atlas grinned at her, at least outwardly. Honestly it hadn¡¯t come up. At all. Which considering he ate and drank pretty regularly either meant he was in for a bad time in the near future, he was violating the laws of physics with some kind of digestive disintegrator, or that his bracers had been dutifully logging waste products from his system and he just hadn¡¯t unlocked that particular menu yet.


    ¡°So, what brings you back to this neck of the woods? I thought you were all gung ho about getting to the city?¡±


    ¡°The bridge got washed away in the torm. The farmer there agreed to take me across on the Charon if I helped him with the harvest.¡±


    ¡°Old Phineus? He¡¯s good people. Bad luck about the bridge though. How much is the Charon charging this season?¡±


    ¡°Two talents.¡±


    Sanda gave a low whistle. ¡°Guess that explains why you¡¯re here then. That¡¯s a doozy of a fare.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, we¡¯ve just finished setting up shop out the front.¡± Atlas reached into his pocket. He¡¯d had to jettison all of his coins just before stepping into the inn. ¡°Phineus sent me to get some rooms for the night.¡±


    Sanda nodded, golden brown locks bouncing. ¡°He brought the wagon and the cave troll I¡¯m guessing?¡±


    Atlas thought for a moment. ¡°Kleis?¡±


    Sanda made a face in response. ¡°That¡¯s him. Grabby fella, shorter than me.¡±


    Atlas nodded. It wasn¡¯t the most charitable of descriptions, but he could- wait. Were there actual trolls here?


    ¡°Alright, that¡¯ll be two drakes nineteen, including stabling, breakfast and dinner. Drinks are separate.¡±


    Atlas pulled three golden coins from his pocket and received one silver talon in return. The coin, like its namesake, was a thin silver spike with a hole in one of its rounded ends, presumably so someone could thread a string through. He pocketed the talon thoughtfully. Twenty talons to the drake made sense. So how many scales to the talon? And if three drakes was enough for a party of three to spend the night in what was, as far as he knew, a reasonably high quality inn, what was it that he¡¯d asked for to make Anders ask for over forty?


    ¡°You okay, hun?¡± Sanda raised an eyebrow as she held out a pair of keys. ¡°You looked a little lost there for a minute.¡±


    ¡°Oh. I¡­ sort of put my pay and the money Phineus gave me in the same pocket.¡±


    ¡°Hah. Amateur mistake.¡± Sanda smirked. ¡°And you don¡¯t remember how much he gave you, right?¡±


    Atlas nodded. Lying about himself was quickly becoming a habit, and possibly a bad one, but ¡°mysterious stranger who doesn¡¯t understand even the most everyday information and wants to go to the capital¡± seemed like a bad thing to be in a country in the middle of a war.


    ¡°Well if you wanted to give me a hand in the kitchen I¡¯m sure I could see my way to giving you a free drink. Would that ease your money worries any?¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± After receiving so much already - more than he¡¯d earned in a week as a farm hand at very least - that left him with mixed feelings, but if she needed the help then¡­


    ¡°I¡¯m sure the boss won¡¯t mind. Heck, finding out you¡¯re back here might even cheer her up a little bit.¡±


    ¡°Mrs Damastes, is she here?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s in the same place she always is.¡± Sanda jerked a thumb towards one of the windows with a crooked smile.


    Atlas peered out on the sunlit path leading to the cliff edge, where a figure sat looking out onto the mist shrouded ocean. That dull ache throbbed in his chest for reasons he couldn¡¯t quite understand, static dancing in front of his eyes as he looked away.


    ¡°She sits there every day?¡±


    ¡°Rain or shine. So you going to give me a hand or not, handsome?¡±


    Atlas followed Sanda through to a simply outfitted kitchen, where various cooking utensils hung over a large open fireplace.


    ¡°It¡¯s mostly going to be bringing in wood from the pile out back, but if you get done quick then you can help me with tonight¡¯s stew. I¡¯ll grab you your drink once it¡¯s cooking, sound good?¡±


    Atlas nodded. He¡¯d have rolled up his sleeves except they were already truncated by his bracers.


    Time to show off a little.


    ¡°Well I¡¯ve got to say, I didn¡¯t expect to get done that quick.¡± Sanda remarked again over the foam of her drink.


    Atlas grinned sheepishly. Had he overdone it a bit? The wood had been quick of course, but Sanda¡¯s expression as he¡¯d twirled the chef¡¯s knife had been incredulous.


    ¡°Do you have to do all that on your own every night?¡±


    ¡°More or less. The boss usually gets back and handles the loaves before I¡¯m done.¡± She laughed suddenly. ¡°Got to say, if I¡¯d known you were that handy around the kitchen I¡¯d probably have begged the boss to snap you up before Phineus could.¡±


    Atlas sipped his drink. It was cloyingly sweet and burned his throat slightly when he swallowed, but in the heat of the kitchen it was refreshing all the same. As was the company. Sanda¡¯s ready smile and easy temperament made it easy to relax around her, at least comparatively.


    ¡°So how are you holding up, handsome? Last week you were champing at the bit to get off to the city real quick. Must be eating you to still be stuck down here with in the boons.¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.¡°It¡¯s alright. Everyone¡¯s been very kind to me, and I still have seven days left.¡± Atlas took another gulp of his sweet drink.


    ¡°Seven days until what, handsome?¡± Sanda quirked her head towards him, a dark eyebrow raised.


    Whoops.


    Atlas¡¯ brain raced through lies, excuses and deflections until finally arriving at a bold strategy.


    ¡°I¡¯m not actually sure.¡±


    The truth. Or at least dangerously close to it.


    Before Sanda¡¯s expression could fully transform into a puzzled frown Atlas barrelled on with his explanation.


    ¡°These bracers have a¡­ window with words on sometimes. Every morning it says something like ¡°seven days remaining¡±. He waved his bracer for emphasis.¡±But it never says anything else. I don¡¯t know if I- it¡¯s- going to run out of bat- of the power that makes it work, or if I¡¯m sick and need a doctor, or if it¡¯s counting down to some disaster-¡±


    ¡°Or it¡¯s a calendar?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Atlas blinked.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s a week until the Panpromethea festival, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°... Is it?¡± Atlas kept his face carefully neutral. Was that a possibility? Could his reality warping bracers have pulled the local equivalent of ¡°twelve more sleeps til Christmas¡±?¡±


    ¡°Well, I can sort of see why you¡¯ve so keen to go at least. I¡¯d be a little spooked myself. But I¡¯m sure Lord Prometheus would never have given them to you if they were all that dangerous. Just ask one of the cyborgs to help you when you get there.¡±


    Wait, what? Cyborgs? Sanda had mentioned ¡°mechanical men¡± last time, but cybernetics? When the farm didn¡¯t have so much as a mechanical thresher, and the most complex thing he¡¯d seen to date was the grocer¡¯s hand-cranked till? This place never ceased to astound him, though that was, he supposed, good news. The more things as complex as his bracers and the tube he¡¯d woken up inside there were, the less likely it was that he was some alien invader. Or less likely that he was the only alien invader, at least.


    ¡°You know, it¡¯s a real shame. Before the war you¡¯d see cyborgs all over the place, handing out gadgets to folks. That¡¯s where Anders got that great big counting machine of his.¡± Sanda tapped her jaw. ¡°Say, you don¡¯t still have the manual do you? Maybe there¡¯s something in there about it.¡±


    Atlas shook his head with a frown. ¡°There weren¡¯t any instructions when I found it.¡±


    At least instructions that didn¡¯t need to be plugged in.


    Sanda¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Found? Tell me you didn¡¯t-¡± She took a glance at Atlas¡¯ blank expression. ¡°Didn¡¯t your mother teach you never to touch a lost gadget?¡±


    Before he could reply, Sanda put her hand up to her mouth. ¡°Oh shoot, I¡¯m sorry hon, I didn¡¯t think.¡±


    Atlas tilted his head, confused. ¡°It¡¯s... fine?¡±


    Sanda leaned in close, her mug dangerously close to spilling.


    ¡°Listen, whatever you do when you get to the city, don¡¯t tell anyone you have a lost gadget. Just say you lost the manual alright? Hopefully-¡±


    ¡°Sanda! I¡¯m back.¡±


    Sanda¡¯s serious expression disappeared in the blink of an eye. ¡°In the kitchen, boss! You¡¯ll never guess who came to visit.¡±


    ¡°If it¡¯s Leander then he can stop visiting right now. For the last time I¡¯m a married-¡± The owner of the gruff voice stepped into the kitchen¡¯s open doorway, hands on her hips. ¡°Oh, it¡¯s you. What are you doing back here? If you¡¯re heading down to that beach again-¡±


    ¡°N-no!¡± Atlas held up his hands. ¡°I¡¯m working for mister Phineus! The harvest!¡±


    Mrs Damastes peered at him with an expression somewhere between doubt and¡­ Tenderness? Atlas dismissed the notion presented by his renegade thoughts.


    ¡°Good to see you doing some honest work for a change. I hope you¡¯ve not forgotten to put supper on, Sanda . We¡¯ve the evening to prepare for.¡±


    ¡°All done, boss. Atlas here was a big help. Even finished the loaves.¡± Sanda grinned. ¡°Why don¡¯t you come sit with us for a bit? He was just telling me about his adventures on the farm.¡±


    Mrs Damastes glanced at the wall. Atlas followed her gaze to see a small wooden clock nestled between two cupboards, the numbers one to thirteen on its face.


    ¡°It¡¯s almost five. I need to turn the beds before guests start to show.¡± She turned on her heel and disappeared in a moment.


    Sanda sighed softly.


    ¡°She likes me, you said?¡± Atlas stared gloomily out the doorway she¡¯d vacated, trying not to dwell on the second-hand ache in his chest.


    ¡°Oh, trust me, hun, you¡¯d know if she didn¡¯t like you. It¡¯s just on account of her husband-¡±


    She bit off the rest of the sentence just as Atlas perked up.


    ¡°Her husband?¡±


    He¡¯d never even seen the man, short of inheriting what he assumed was his old footwear. Was he sick? Travelling? She spent all day looking out to sea, maybe he was on a long voyage? Or maybe he¡¯d been drafted into the war?


    Sanda shook her head.


    ¡°It¡¯s not my place to say. Come on, I¡¯ve got to setup the hall. I¡¯ll write you up a receipt for Phineus. Just show it to him and he¡¯ll know how much change there is. And don¡¯t forget what I told you before.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t.¡± Atlas downed the dregs of his drink to conceal his disappointment. He should probably get back and help with the stall anyway. ¡°Thank you for the drink, Miss Sanda.¡±


    ¡°Any time, hun, but you¡¯re paying for the next one.¡± Sanda winked at him and sashayed out of the kitchen. Atlas swept his scanning beam across her heels as he followed.


    FORM PARAMETERS UPDATED


    NEW CODE ACQUIRED [Sincerity]


    OPEN CODE GRID Y/N?


    Now he thought of it, when he¡¯d scanned Mrs Damastes hadn¡¯t there been something about a locked code? He¡¯d scanned over a dozen people at this point, and nobody else had anything like it. What made her so special? Was it just because his scanning level had been too low back then?


    Atlas tapped No with a thoughtful frown. One way or another, he¡¯d try and get some answers tonight.

 18: Block

    ¡°Looks like the wife was right about you, boy.¡±


    ¡°Hm?¡± Atlas glanced up from the mug of mead - bought and paid for - he¡¯d been nursing since the three of them had ordered.


    ¡°Young Sanda told me how you helped with dinner tonight. Looks like there¡¯s a helpful spirit hanging about you after all.¡±


    ¡°I just cut a few vegetables is all.¡± Atlas smiled.


    ¡°And spent half the afternoon drinking when you were done.¡± Kleis grumbled from behind a wall of his own tankards.


    Atlas ignored him. The man had been in a foul mood since they¡¯d packed up the wagon again, almost as full as when they¡¯d arrived, trading wheat and pork for sweetmeats and wool Phineus thought would sell well in the city. There was even a small bag of letters tucked between sacks, villagers paying a few grains each to deliver them to the city while the bridge was out.


    They were the only ones in the crowded common room staying the night. Everyone else, it seemed, were locals gathering for hot food, cold drink, and fresh gossip.


    Atlas eavesdropped shamelessly, watching Sanda and Mrs Damastes - mainly Mrs Damastes, if he was honest - flit from table to table with heavily laden trays. The bridge dominated conversation, along with endless speculation about the missing patrol, the absent peddler, and the possibility that all three events were some scheme perpetrated by ¡°the folk¡±, the group they were currently at war with, or that some dread beast emerged from the wilds far to the east to ravage the area.


    ¡°Here you are, boys. Eat up.¡± Three steaming bowls clinked down onto the table before them. Mrs Damastes glanced between them. ¡°Any of you need a refill?¡±


    ¡°No, but th-¡±


    ¡°Right here!¡± Kleis cheerily raised his half full mug, cutting Phineus off part way.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be right back with another mug for you, let me just clean up a few of those for you.¡±


    Mrs Damastes leaned over, and Atlas took his chance, scanning her beneath the table as she demolished Kleis¡¯ makeshift barrier and carried it away.


    HUMAN


    NEW CODE ACQUIRED [N/A: CODE LOCKED]


    OPEN GRID Y/N?


    Bingo. It wasn¡¯t his scanning level then. Atlas swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry as his finger hovered over the button on his bracer.


    ACCESSING


    The blue bar dropped rapidly to half and a screen similar to his own Form grid flashed up on his monitor, the lone square of the code grid entwined with a chain of gold that ended in a golden heart with a keyhole in its centre. Atlas reached to-


    An elbow jostled his arm.


    ¡°Now don¡¯t say I never do anything for you, kid.¡± A warm boozy cloud misted his face as Kleis¡¯ own ugly mug leaned in close, his loud voice slurring. ¡°Now you get another eyeful on the way back.¡±


    ¡°Wh-what are you talking about?¡± Atlas flinched, covering the monitor with his armoured hand. He already had misgivings about examining something so fundamentally private, letting Kleis see it would be an order of magnitude worse.


    ¡°Come on, you¡¯ve been at it all evening. I don¡¯t think there¡¯s anyone in here that hasn¡¯t noticed.¡± Mead splashed across the table - and Atlas - as Kleis gestured to the room in general.


    Atlas cringed, casting a glance around the common room. A few faces had turned to look.


    ¡°Let the boy be, Kleis. You¡¯re embarrassing him.¡± Phineus waved a stick of seed covered rye bread that had been on its way to his bowl.


    ¡°Hey, she¡¯s a fine woman, don¡¯t get me wrong, but Leander¡¯s been courting her for coming on six years now. Some kid whose beard hasn¡¯t even come in yet doesn¡¯t have a chance.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing wrong with being precocious.¡± Phineus spoke around a mouthful of stew and bread. ¡°Now just eat your stew.¡±


    ¡°He can be as precious as he likes, I¡¯m just saying he needs to pick his targets better.¡±


    The pair diverged into a brief tangent about ¡°precious¡± versus ¡°precocious¡± while Atlas did his best to merge with the table. Mrs Damastes returned, thin-lipped, to unceremoniously dump Kleis¡¯ drink on the table in front of him, shooting Atlas a look that was either pity or contempt before spinning around and marching off to another table.


    It wasn¡¯t helped by Kleis¡¯ obvious wink at him while she was there.


    Atlas slumped over, half tempted to try and drown in his stew.


    ¡°Precocious¡±.


    Every man had a beard. Not a single person he¡¯d met had been clean shaven, while his skin was smooth and hairless, like a porcelain doll, including the colour.


    That was why everyone had been so nice to him. To them he wasn¡¯t just some stranger passing through, but a child, old enough to wander around unaccompanied, perhaps, but still in need of support and protection. And no wonder Sanda had apologised earlier. What had she said? ¡°Didn¡¯t your mother ever tell you¡±? As far as she knew, he was the lone survivor of some ruined village to the North, an orphan.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    And to Mrs Damastes he was some dumb kid she¡¯d found wandering the beach one afternoon.


    The monitor switched off, timed out. Atlas logged his spoon and started eating with a sigh. It defaulted back to the main menu every time it switched off. He¡¯d lost his chance to look.


    It stung, but if he thought about it rationally, he was literally born last week, and not even a full week ago at that, with nothing, least of all knowledge. Whether it was some kind of camouflage by his bracers or some side effect of his unnatural physiology, he¡¯d arguably only survived this long because people, particularly a few of people in the inn at this moment, had gone out of their way for him as a result.


    He never got another opportunity to scan Mrs Damastes that evening. Sanda handled their table for the rest of the night.


    SEVEN DAYS REMAINING


    ¡°Chin up, boy,¡± Phineus called back from the driver¡¯s seat. ¡°We¡¯ll soon be on our way to the city.¡± The village slowly dwindled behind them as they headed towards the rising sun. Or headed towards where the rising sun might have been if it hadn¡¯t been raining. Hard.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine, Mister Phineus. Just thinking.¡±


    Atlas sat alone in the back of the wagon, listening to the pattering rain on the leather above.


    It was half true, at least. He was thinking. He¡¯d spent most of the night doing so as well, the grim message had just given him a new topic to distract himself with.


    Seven days remaining. If they went on the Charon today, which wasn¡¯t likely, what with the last field to clear and store, and the wagons to prepare for the trip, then what, a day to the city? Two? He had no idea, but the plodding sow had a way of making any distance seem further than it was. Even Kleis, who had elected to walk rather than deal with the swaying cart in his delicate state, had no trouble keeping up with its sedate pace.


    Atlas was trying hard to feel sympathetic towards the man as water dripped from his bulbous nose into his coarse beard, their early start only compounding his misery.


    Very, very hard.


    When he arrived in the city, he¡¯d have three days to find someone to help him, with little money or information, while doing his best to conceal what exactly the problem was from the ones that seemed most likely able to help him¡­ when he¡¯d already lost a week due to a single bad thunderstorm.


    And if he couldn¡¯t find someone within those three days... he¡¯d need to spend the last day getting as far away from the city and people as he could, just in case.


    A peal of thunder rolled across the hills as if to punctuate the grim thought. Atlas winced.


    ¡°The Charon isn¡¯t going to sink is it?¡±


    ¡°Nothing stops the Charon, boy.¡± Phineus snorted. Atlas could just about see the back of his hooded head through the clutter of the wagon. ¡°You should see it in winter, just tearing through the ice like nothing.¡±


    Well that was something at least. Atlas sighed, which turned into a yawn, staring out at the village in the distance. The inn stood out as the largest of the village¡¯s few stone buildings, peeking out above the thatched roofs.


    Even if he did manage to find someone to help him, what then? The way Phineus talked about it, he expected to sell most of his wares in a day or two before heading back to the farm, where the next year¡¯s crops would need sowing before winter hardened the soil. The bridge wasn¡¯t likely to be fixed any time in the foreseeable future either, so there was a good chance he¡¯d find himself alone in a city in the middle of a war and unlikely to have much interest in giving handouts to strangers.


    At least being drafted was unlikely, which suited him just fine. A life on the front lines fighting for a country, possibly even a species, that wasn¡¯t his own wasn¡¯t appealing, particularly with no idea who they faced or why. And while he might have the ability to master any weapon in his hands, with no idea in his head how he did it, he couldn¡¯t impart that knowledge to anyone else as an instructor either.


    With his talents he wasn¡¯t too concerned that he could find something he could do. Wars accompanied labour shortages, after all, but what? There were several jobs he simply had no hope of doing. A blacksmith that couldn¡¯t even hold the item they were working on? A chef who juggled menus for every condiment? A builder who could either hold hammer or chisel? Such bizarre scenarios had evidently never occurred to the bracers¡¯ designer.


    Likewise, ¡°knowing¡± how to make a technically perfect cut with a knife didn¡¯t include knowing where that cut was supposed to go, making surgeon and barber, assuming they weren¡¯t the same thing here, equally unviable. So most trades he could actually do physically probably meant learning the traditional way anyway. Was he really born to be a farmer? Or the most overqualified day labourer on the planet?


    Then again, wasn¡¯t he a ¡°child¡±? He might be able to apprentice himself to someone, learn a good trade, and then, when the bridge was fixed or he¡¯d saved up the crossing fee for the Charon, maybe he could-


    ¡°Move over, squirt. I¡¯m coming in.¡±


    Muddy boots trampled his daydreams as Kleis clambered aboard. Atlas scooched away, squeezing between two canvas sacks.


    ¡°Thought I¡¯d take my chances. It¡¯s vile out there. Going to get worse, too. Sky¡¯s near as black as pitch on the horizon.¡±


    ¡°Just don¡¯t throw up in here.¡± Atlas muttered. He couldn¡¯t see out the front of the wagon from his new spot, but it had been pretty grey over Phineus¡¯ shoulder before.


    ¡°I¡¯d aim for your head instead, but I¡¯d not want to get it on the stock.¡±


    Atlas snorted and turned away, his mind churning over his thoughts until the same swaying that tormented Kleis lulled him to long overdue sleep.

 19: Purge

    Warm sunlight shining across Atlas¡¯ face woke him from his slumber, and for a moment he lay there, struggling to remember where he was and why.


    The where came first, and easily enough. The back of Phineus¡¯ wagon, wedged between sacks of cured meats and wool. From the sunshine it seemed that the storm had long since passed. How long had he slept? Where were Phineus and Kleis, and why didn¡¯t they wake him up?


    Atlas¡¯ mind flashed into the everyday panic of the oversleeper: chores undone, work neglected, schedules delayed. He almost leapt from the wagon in a blind rush, but the deeper, more insistent ¡°why¡± had finally arrived, paralysing him where he lay.


    Why was there sunlight inside a covered wagon?


    So instead, Atlas cracked his eyes slowly open, squinting up at the sun peeking out of the clouds, shining merrily down on him through a tattered hole in the roof.


    Great. Hopefully that wasn¡¯t his fault. Atlas carefully pulled himself up into a sitting position, so as not to disturb the heavy sacks on either side of him, and peered over the back of the wagon. The path they¡¯d arrived on snaked through fields of empty dirt, already being raked over for scraps by a flock of oversized crows.


    Well done, Arastos. Atlas raised his eyebrows. Hadn¡¯t he barely started work on one of these before they left yesterday? He must have worked long and hard to-


    That was when Atlas became aware of the sound behind him, ongoing the whole time he¡¯d been awake, but only now piercing through to his attention.


    Chewing.


    Rustling.


    More chewing.


    Slowly he turned, now in a position to see over the tops of the sacks to see one of the vast black avians standing atop the cargo with its back to him, burrowing its face into a bag of grain with distinctly un-crowlike snorting and gulping as it scraped food into its mouth with its claws.


    Atlas was about to yell and shoo it away when a second pair of talons sheared through the canopy above his head, claws, over two inches long and wickedly curved, gouged grooves into the wooden strut that was its perch.


    Two more sets of claws, evidently protruding from the ¡°elbow¡± of the bird¡¯s wings, coiled around the canopy. A misshapen human face, hairless and covered in greasy black skin that was stretched thin over its features, poked out over the hole in the roof, thankfully transfixed on the food and the one eating it.


    The first creature looked up, letting out a guttural squawk-grunt, baring needle-like yellow teeth as the newcomer hopped down, its claws slicing deep into the sack by Atlas¡¯ head. A shower of grain scattered over his feet.


    The two bird-people squared off, puffing out more or less humanlike torsos. Atlas hurriedly scanned one as they began to circle one other, one female, one male, both grotesque, with sunken ribs and distended stomachs wrapped tight with the same black skin that made it hard to tell where flesh ended and feather began.


    SCAN LEVEL UP


    LEVEL 7


    NEURAL NET UPGRADED: LEVEL 4


    TOOL PROFICIENCY UPGRADED


    TOOL ARRAY EXPANDED


    Atlas was already ducking down, rolling over the end of the wagon as the two postured at each other before scrambling underneath as the description text superimposed itself over his vision.


    ERINYES


    THREAT LEVEL: 4


    UNBURIED BOUND BY ETERNAL HUNGER.


    AVENGER OF THE HARPIES.


    PREFERS LIVE MEAT.


    Well that was intimidating. How many had he seen just in the fields behind the cart? Dozens? Had they attacked the others? Atlas shuffled deeper into the shadows under the cart as the scuffle intensified above. The wooden wheels creaked as more and more erinyes were attracted by, and joined, the commotion. A string of sausages bounced to the ground by the wheel, swiftly accompanied by a spray of pungent grey liquid Atlas guessed to be blood, or its equivalent.


    Well he didn¡¯t have to worry about his breathing giving him away. The angry chorus was deafening even through the floor of the cart. More and more food scattering the ground in every direction. Atlas felt a brief pang of guilt even as he rationalised that his only contribution in defence of the wagon would have been to the length of their meal.


    Atlas cast a cautious glance around the fields. The noon sun meant the underside of the cart was shrouded in shadow, but the cart itself wasn¡¯t particularly low to the ground, and there were still enough erinyes in the fields that turning on his monitor, or even just moving around too much, could attract lethal attention. At least the others were probably safe. There was no way he could have slept through something like this.


    Two black claws sank into the earth nearby. Apparently one of the erinyes had decided to focus on the food scattered from the cart rather than join the bloodbath overhead. Atlas gritted his teeth as she stooped over, walking on elbow claw ¡°knuckles¡± towards the sausages piled barely an arms length from Atlas. Halfway there, the monster paused, tilting her twisted visage towards the earth at her feet before lunging forward, scraping jagged teeth along the ground to gulp down a throatful of grain and mud with no sign of either disgust or satisfaction as she resumed her approach.


    That tore it then. Atlas slowly crept a finger over to his B button. What did he have equipped? He cast his mind back across the last day. He¡¯d had the scythe equipped for working in the fields, and he¡¯d never put it back when he left - he remembered feeling bad about that before unequipping it, actually. Then he¡¯d helped in the kitchen¡­ After that was the bridle again? Or a spoon? Did he remember to jettison the spoon?


    The erinyes¡¯ claw scratched deep into the earth by the wheel, Atlas pressed the button with a grimace. He really hoped it wasn¡¯t the spoon.


    The tool materialised in his hand a moment later. Atlas¡¯ expression darkened further.


    Of course.


    He¡¯d been thirsty.


    The erinyes drove its muddy face into the cured meat without a moment¡¯s hesitation, her bald head pointing directly towards Atlas. The only reason he hadn¡¯t been spotted in the first place was her focus on the food in front of her. As soon as she finished and raised her head her beady eyes would be passing right over his hiding place, and he¡­


    Could spray her in the face, maybe? Atlas hefted his waterskin and shook his head. That wouldn¡¯t even buy him enough time to select a weapon. He was going to have to risk opening his tool menu, illuminating himself with the monitor, and call up his knife or something. He¡¯d try and kill the erinyes before it could alert any of the others¡­ At which point he¡¯d still be trapped under a wagon surrounded by who knew how many of the things that would finish eating the rest of the cart¡¯s contents sooner rather than later.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    The sound of breaking glass sounded out across the field just as Atlas reached for his bracer, attracting his attention and the erinyes alike. The one by the wheel peered up at the sound without looking his way, and even the scuffle above fell silent for the moment.


    Atlas twisted around to see the farmhouse in the distance, black shapes layered thickly across its roof now pouring into a broken window. Screams, human screams, sounded out from within.


    Atlas winced. The others had probably left him in the cart to sleep before the erinyes had attacked, then retreated inside the house for shelter from the ravenous beasts. He could already see signs that they¡¯d ransacked the grain silo, its now tattered doors hanging off their hinges. The only place that looked intact was the stone mill and its windowless barn, possibly because the erinyes hadn¡¯t seen its contents.


    The door to the farmhouse slammed open and a handful of figures poured forth, he recognised Phineus, the Wife, and Arastos in front, along with a few of the other hands. Most, including Kleis, were missing.


    ¡°Get to the Charon!¡± Phineus yelled, one hand wrapped around what looked like the coin box, the other around the Wife¡¯s own hand as she swung a heavy wooden rolling pin at an erinyes launching down at them from the roof. Atlas heard the crack clearly from where he was as the bird-man dropped limp to the ground.


    The wagon above Atlas creaked - and croaked - the sound of wings multiplying as more and more erinyes took off, and the beast on the dirt alongside followed suit, clambering up the side of the cart to gain height before launching itself into the air, struggling to gain altitude with heavy beats of its wings.


    Atlas took the opportunity to turn around under the wagon, staring in mute horror as the people he¡¯d worked and lived with over the last week scrambled towards the waiting figure of the Charon stood motionless at the river banks. The scene was made all the worse by the bright of day. The erinyes weren¡¯t particularly graceful or fast fliers, but as they got up to speed they were rapidly gaining on the group, while others simply loped along the ground towards them.


    The rearmost farmhand, Terillos, let out a short scream as the erinyes from the farmhouse caught up to him, drowning him beneath a wave of black. A large chunk of the murderous flock stayed there, red spraying through the air as they tore into the unfortunate man, but more were already closing in from all across the farm, bloated bodies bobbing through the air darkening the sky with their numbers.


    Arastos was next to fall, trying to land a single clumsy swing with a rake before he too was cut down, taking another section of their pursuers into a feeding frenzy. Another farmhand dropped a moment later, tripping over an outstretched wing.


    Phineus shouted something Atlas couldn¡¯t make out over the cacophony of shrieks and squawks, stumbling forward as one of the erinyes slammed talons first into his shoulder before being battered aside by the Wife. The Wife pulled Phineus onward, his tunic already stained dark as they closed with the Charon, still looming unmoving before them. He raised his arm, coin box outstretched¡­


    A streak of black slammed into Phineus from above. Atlas bit back a yell as the box slipped from numb fingers, metal coins glittered through the air as they tumbled from the spinning container. The Wife fell a moment later, still swinging as she was pulled down under the writhing mound of black.


    The final farmhand dropped to his knees, scrabbling in the dirt with increasing urgency as landbound erinyes clambered over their distracted brethren towards him while the Charon looked on, motionless. Atlas turned away just as one pounced, his agonised cry followed by dreadful silence.


    The farm was still once again.


    Atlas crawled backwards out from beneath the wagon, keeping the vehicle between him and the slaughter of erinyes nestled along the river bank.


    ¡°Prefers live meat¡± had been exactly right. There wasn¡¯t even a single erinyes still in the fields between him and the forest. If he moved quickly he could probably get there before any of them saw him. Even if they did, it didn¡¯t look like they could get off the ground easily without gaining some altitude first, and there weren¡¯t many places around the river that they could launch off. He could possibly lose them in the trees before they could reach him, though the woods were hardly free of danger themselves.


    But¡­


    Atlas slowly shook his head, staring at the destroyed cart full of shredded wool and black feathers stained with foul smelling grey and worse smelling brown. Scraps of leather parchment, the occasional fragment of a word still visible, lay across the top of the filth.


    Could he have helped them?


    Not from here, obviously, but in the confines of the farmhouse? Escaping towards the Charon? If he¡¯d been awake when they¡¯d arrived, would he be there scattered along the riverside, or would they all be alive right now, safely aboard the Charon instead of skulking back into the woods once more?


    Water splashed his feet. Atlas looked down to see he¡¯d squeezed the decanter tight enough to send out a spray of liquid. He stared at it, blinking rapidly as his mind reeled between stunned disbelief and guilt-stricken horror at what he had just witnessed before finally settling onto a new emotion altogether.


    Rage.


    These monsters had destroyed the place he had lived for over half his short life, the fields he¡¯d worked, the bonds he¡¯d made, the people he¡¯d made them with. And for what? Some unspecified vengeance? This peaceful farm deserved such a fate?


    So Atlas ran. Not for the woods, but for the stone mill, slinging the waterskin over his shoulder by its strap as he bounded across the fields.


    The erinyes, having started to wander in the absence of food or prey, turned towards him en masse, guttural cries sounding out across the fields as they started towards him, some clambering on top of the others to launch themselves into the air with laborious flapping, slowly gaining altitude in preparation to dive.


    Atlas paid them little mind as he ran, vaulting over a wooden fence that now divided two identical fields of dirt. By the time he¡¯d reached the barn door most of the erinyes had managed to take to the sky using fence posts and one other as launching pads. Unlocked. Atlas threw the door open with all his strength, bouncing it off the face of a charging erinyes as he stepped into the mill, letting the force of the impact slam it shut once more. The wounded birdman shrieked in pain on the other side.


    Atlas took a slow breath of the gloomy barn¡¯s flour-choked atmosphere, holding the door handle tight behind him. He didn¡¯t think they knew how to open doors, but if they did this plan was going to work out very differently.


    Another heavy blow slammed into the door, sending vibrations shivering through Atlas¡¯ spine, but the handle remained untouched. Atlas released it and bolted forward, careening into seemingly ever heavy sack of grain and flour in the dim light as he headed for the stone section of the mill with its still turning mill wheel. Their contents scattered across the floor, worsening the already unpleasant conditions as he ran, slipping across grains in his haste.


    He didn¡¯t have much time.


    Bare minutes later the door gave way, by now more hole than wood, no match for the powerful claws and rabid determination of the erinyes. The first, a large male, burst through the door in a shower of splinters, squinting as it scanned the dark barn. A clattering sound from the other end of the building caught its attention, and it surged forward with a throaty caw.


    More and more poured through the gaps in the door behind it, clambering over and snapping at one another in their haste to find the fresh meat that had momentarily eluded them. Some snapped up mouthfuls of grain from the floor as they surged forward.


    The forerunner reached the stone mill tower barely ahead of the rest, its needle like teeth bared ready to pounce as it clambered over a hastily stacked barricade of grain sacks to poke its head through the doorway, saliva trailing down its chin.


    But there was nobody there, just a waterskin dangling from the turning millstone, bouncing against an upturned wooden bucket as it swung from the force of the water pouring endlessly from its downturned spout, pattering a circular trail along the flour coated flagstones.


    Atlas waited a few moments more for the last of the erinyes to get inside before straightening from his hiding place by the door, his body so thickly coated with wet floury paste his clothes and hair were almost as white as his skin. The perfect camouflage against the flour that covered every surface.


    He tapped his tool into existence just as the lead erinyes let out a croak of anger and confusion, flipped open the small metal box just as the first one saw him, and drew forth a small metal loop and piece of flint as the grim flock scrambled back towards him, their claws stained grey as they scraped through the thick carpet of flour.


    ¡°I hope you things can feel pain.¡±


    Atlas struck the flint and steel together.

 20: Rebuild

    AEGIS COMPROMISED


    The message flashed inside Atlas¡¯ eyelids long before he was conscious enough to comprehend it. Slowly, agonisingly, he forced his eyes open to a bright autumn afternoon, wheezing through lips painted blood red by more than just his failed Aegis.


    He was laying on his side at the end of a long, deep furrow that ran through three fields, two wooden fences, and a waist high stone wall, debris scattered through the dirt in his wake. The barn was gone, its blazing wreckage scattered across the fields, its smoking foundations a burning pyre for the monsters that died within. Even the stone mill building had been blasted apart by the flour explosion, orange flames licking from the partially collapsed wall that remained.


    Probably wasn¡¯t going to be getting that waterskin back.


    Atlas tried to sit upright and regretted it instantly. The pain almost made him black out again. He slumped back down with a groan, lances of agony searing through his chest with every breath.


    AEGIS COMPROMISED


    The line flashed again, even more persistent than the usual message. Atlas frowned. Hopefully it hadn¡¯t been permanently damaged by the blastwave, but he was more concerned about his body than his bracers at the moment. He wasn¡¯t sure how anatomically correct he was, at least internally, but his body was doing a fantastic job at mimicking how a real human might feel after being trampled by an elephant.


    Casting a glance as far around the farm as he could from his prone position, Atlas strained to see any sign of movement across the empty fields. He¡¯d tried to get every one of the erinyes in the barn. They¡¯d had several minutes to swarm around the entrance before getting inside, but if there was even a single one out there - or a lone rabbit wandered onto the field today, attracted by the commotion - he was exposed and helpless here, with no Aegis to protect him.


    He started moving again by twitching a single finger, gradually working up to wrist, forearm, then- ow. Atlas gritted his teeth as he tried to raise the arm. His upmost shoulder was hurt somehow. Broken? It felt stiff, but¡­


    Atlas shook his head, repeating the motions with his other arm until he was confident enough to wriggle it out from beneath him, a process that quickly educated him that he probably had a broken rib or two on that side as well. He shuddered, trying to focus through the pain as he probed his neck and head. His scalp was sticky to the touch, but on investigation that turned out to be mostly flour paste and mud.


    So far so sore. Atlas ventured his hand over to his damaged shoulder, running his fingers along his collar bone, onto the joint, pressing at the muscle and into the bones beneath. Painful, but intact. Atlas winced again as he tried to move it. Shoulder blade? He slowly, slowly twisted to let him reach over and investigate.


    It didn¡¯t take him long to find the problem. No sooner had he reached out than his fingers collided with something hard jutting out of the surface of his skin by almost half an inch. Twisting his head skywards to glimpse the thick brown object in the corner of his eye. A wooden board, probably from one of the fences, ran at a downward angle down the length of his back, its end half buried in the floor.


    Atlas pressed lightly against it, feeling two points of agonising resistance pulling against his back. Biting down a yelp of pain, he explored further until his fingertips brushed against two metal ridges protruding from the gnarled wood.


    Nails. No wonder breathing hurt. What was the right way to treat something like that?


    Well, it didn¡¯t matter. Of the various thoughts and memories floating around his head the only thing he could recall was first aid. Stabilise the injury and wait for an ambulance. Atlas didn¡¯t even know if this island had doctors, let alone ambulances.


    AEGIS COMPROMISED


    What he did know was that he had to get it out. A need as deep and as urgent as the growing urge to cough that he was now suppressing with all of his willpower. Forcing his hand into position, Atlas tapped his fingers against his monitor, calling up his knife and making a quick change to its code before summoning it. The rusted dive knife flashed into existence. His enforced instinct to catch it sent a shudder of fresh pain through his body. He let out a bubbling rasp through gritted teeth and switched hands, sawing through the belt of his trousers in two spots and slotting the partially decayed leather between his teeth.


    It took Atlas a few false starts before he finally dared start. Sliding the blade under the wood was painful, but almost easy in comparison to the whirlwind of suffering flooding his body at every level. Pressing the blunt tip of the dive knife against his skin, he started to push.


    Overwhelming, blinding pain flashed white hot through his entire being. His ears rang with the sound of his screams echoing out over the fields and to the trees beyond. His teeth met through the leather of his belt.


    And still he wasn¡¯t done.


    Metal squeaked in protest across bone. Spots flew in front of his eyes. Flesh tore inside and out and he felt every single moment stretched out forever as the part-liberated wood started to twist under its own weight.


    Atlas felt his shoulder blade crack. Or was it another rib? It felt like both. Finally there was enough space to slide the tip of his thumb underneath, though he could barely reach around his broad, muscular, body to get any force behind it. He finally gave way to coughing, sharp tasting liquid pouring out of his mouth almost drowning him as he tried to force his lungs into obedience.


    He had no idea how long he worked, his fingers slick with his own blood, not quite knowing if some monster would end his suffering part way through. Atlas pressed and teased at the wood, using the flat tip of his knife when he could no longer reach, barely conscious of anything beyond his task and his misery that both stretched into eternity.


    The wooden plank slipped free of his shoulder and fell with a wet slap into what he could only assume to be mud of his own making. Atlas slumped weakly forward, shivering in the sun as red and light both drained from the world.


    AEGIS RESTORED


    It was evening when Atlas next opened his eyes, the dull orange sunset painting the land momentarily confused him before he saw the fading blue in the sky.


    Stolen story; please report.His breathing was shallow and quick, every fresh breath sending fresh twinges of pain through his body, but a ghost was all it was, faint and immaterial compared to what had been before.


    But still enough to haunt him. Atlas shivered, even that faint motion sending a sharp pain through his injured shoulder. From his limited vantage point he could see the smouldering flames of the barn still burning before him, a plume of vile black smoke coiling towards the clouds above.


    Tucking his injured arm into the folds of his shirt, Atlas rolled forward onto his knees, letting out a shuddering cough that caused his monitor to flash on, his already diminished HP bar dropping a few pixels.


    Apparently it wasn¡¯t just external damage it was preventing. Atlas laid still for a moment, trying and failing to catch his breath before forcing his body upright all the same, swaying back on his haunches until his heart caught up with his brain and his dizziness faded. Finally, panting with exertion, Atlas wobbled to his feet.


    He regretted it almost instantly as his trousers slid down his legs, his bifurcated belt flopping down to the blood soaked earth.


    Even sighing hurt.


    Pulling his bad arm upwards Atlas pressed the button, painting his shoulder green.


    REFORMATTING


    His clothes righted themselves, small holes and scratches reverted to their intact, if threadbare, state. The same moment, the collar of his shirt went from loose to buttoned without going through any of the steps in between, and his trousers reappeared at his waist, where they immediately fell down once more.


    ¡°...Shit.¡±


    Atlas stared down at the belt, still in exactly the state, and location, it was before, as the leather stuck between his teeth attested. Apparently, just as his bracers had accepted the sack he¡¯d crudely altered into a poncho, so too had they accepted his ¡°modified¡± beltstrap as the new intended layout for his clothing.


    All while point blank refusing any such change on the top button on his shirt.


    Navigating menus with his chin, Atlas tapped his B button a moment later, wincing as his hand shot forward to catch the scythe the moment it appeared. He switched hands and swung the blade down, neatly splitting the trousers coiled around his legs. If he bent over to remove them he probably wasn¡¯t going to be getting back up in a hurry.


    Shaking his head Atlas limped forward, using the long handled scythe for support as he walked, the useless flaps of frayed fabric clumped around his ankles as he headed straight for the farmhouse. Sunny or not, it was autumn and he was now feeling something of a draught.


    The farm buildings were eerily silent as he approached, a few fallen erinyes the only thing that hadn¡¯t been consumed, and subsequently defecated, by the flock. Atlas picked his way down the path, straining to hear any sign of life, any stray chicken spared its grizzly fate.


    ¡°HELLooo~¡± Atlas¡¯ weak yell broke into a coughing fit. He doubled over, dangling from his scythe as three broken ribs and what he believed might be a collapsed lung made him regret the attempt.


    By the time he straightened once more¡­ Nothing had changed. The buildings stood silent, their doors hanging open, their windows smashed. The barren fields picked clean of life. And the Charon, still standing at the riverside, like a grim statue overlooking the scene. Atlas shook his head and limped on to the open door of the farmhouse.


    At least there hadn¡¯t been any erinyes answering either. Still Atlas kept his scythe as ready as he could as he crept into the familiar unknown.


    The first room was the dining room, a long wooden table at its centre. The last he¡¯d been in here the Wife had had a pie cooling on the end closest to the kitchen, filling the room with the sweet smell of cooked apple. Now the table was ruined, deep splintered gouges from erinyes¡¯ claws down its entire length as they had scrabbled after their prey, and the birds¡¯ foul stench clung to everything.


    Atlas blnked rapidly and looked away, black feathers drifting around his feet as he moved from room to room, from cupboard to cupboard, sliding open drawers and scanning the contents into his inventory wholesale. Pins, a few knives, a few scraps of cloth and food - the birds had apparently been too eager in their pursuit to do a thorough job in the cupboards, though they¡¯d left little unscathed otherwise.


    EQUIPMENT LOGGED


    [Farmer¡¯s Finest]


    EQUIP Y/N?


    Finally.


    Atlas peeled what was left of his clothes - already bloodstained again despite its recent reformatting - off his body with a combination of aching caution and simply cutting the fabric away with the scythe blade. His health bar had already dropped to half, he didn¡¯t need to aggravate his injuries any more. Finally he tapped the button on his bracer, and new clothing blinked around him, a faded green doublet with reddish brown breeches. A feathered hat plopped atop his head at a jaunty angle. Atlas sighed - painfully.


    At least it wasn¡¯t rotten.


    At least nobody was around to see him.


    Atlas jettisoned the shredded farm clothes he¡¯d worn, in one form or another, since the day he¡¯d arrived. They piled on the stained floor. Popping open the top button of the doublet, Atlas stepped over them and left, handle of his scythe tapping against the path.as he headed towards the river, and the Charon waiting for his approach.


    He felt a quiver of trepidation as he stepped past a fallen erinyes, its cracked skull oozing grey, but it didn¡¯t stir. If it could, presumably he¡¯d already have been dead and eaten. They hadn¡¯t seemed capable of restraint when it came to live prey.


    He still sliced its head off anyway, along with two others on the path down to the water, before standing, hanging off his scythe as he glared up at the bony faced giant before him, its foul stench driving off even the smell of death before it.


    DEFINE DESTINATION


    The crimson eyes bore into him. Atlas didn¡¯t blink.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ it?¡± He rasped, gesturing with the scythe at the ground around him still wet with blood. The erinyes had left nothing else of the farmers. ¡°You just stood... there and did nothing?¡±


    Atlas heaved inwards, air bubbled into his lungs and he coughed again, his own blood mingling with the rest. But the rotting giant just looked at him, its gaunt features expressionless. Atlas spat in disgust.


    ¡°Whatever. Two talents, right?¡± Atlas spotted the coin box upended on the bank, glittering coins scattered in every direction catching the evening sun.


    Using his good arm to lift the other from between the buttons of his doublet Atlas pressed the scan button, making long, painful sweeps as a torrent of MATERIAL LOGGED messages flashed up one after another, metal vanishing even before he realised something was there until finally he swept even the box itself into his inventory, leaving only stones and stains behind.


    ¡°I assume it doesn¡¯t... count unless I have it ready... to hand it to you, right?¡±


    The Charon said nothing. It didn¡¯t even extend its hand. Atlas nodded, flicking through his inventory.


    Under better circumstances he might have been happy to have developed such wealth. He flicked past knick knacks and tools to triple digits of the tiny scale coins, seventy talons, two dozen drakes and¡­


    One talent.


    ¡°No.¡±


    Atlas glanced rapidly from side to side, trying to pick out some stray glimmer of gold, some crack where it may have rolled, hidden from his beam before his gaze finally falling on the flowing water again.


    ¡°No.¡± He murmured louder, hobbling forward, gritting his teeth in pain as he yanked his hand out carelessly to grasp his scan button, combing the shallows over and over.


    A few drakes. A talon. A couple of scales. Then nothing. Either it had been eaten by an erinyes and then lost in the burning ruins of the barn, or it had been washed away in the current. Atlas slid down his scythe to plop on the wet mud, staring miserably down into the water. He¡¯d come full circle over the last week, returning here just as trapped and helpless as before. The reflected face of the Charon stared at him from its surface. Atlas scowled and turned away. It felt almost as though the blank faced giant was gloating.


    The view in the other direction wasn¡¯t any more comforting. From here he could see into the animal pens, coops torn open, troughs turned over. The buildings hung open, not a window left intact. Possibly from the blast wave. Grey walls lined pointless distinctions between indistinct fields, the ruined wagon and a few piles of debris the only interruption to the desolate expanse before the backdrop of trees-


    ¡­Wait.


    Shuddering with effort, Atlas hauled himself upright one more time.


    ¡°Don¡¯t go anywhere.¡± Atlas muttered as he started forward. His eyes locked on the distant barrier of brown and orange.


    There was one other place where he might look.

 21: Fork

    Step. Tap. Breathe.


    Atlas settled into the rhythm, trying to find a pace that didn¡¯t aggravate his wounds as he limped through the woods. The tapping of his scythe handle against the stony path carried out into the dull silence of the trees.


    There wasn¡¯t one. Even the slowest of walks triggered dull aches throughout his body that his Aegis couldn¡¯t quite suppress, though it was certainly trying. His red bar was well below half now. Even his mana bar was starting to dwindle from the constant regeneration.


    Step. Tap. Breathe.


    So instead Atlas moved as fast as he could manage, which was still slow enough to leave him wondering if the path hadn¡¯t grown while he slept. Twice as long and half as full? Apart from the quiet, even the foliage and bushes looked less dense, the canopy allowing spots of orange sky through leafless gaps above.


    Not a bad thing for him, at least. He was in no fit state to fend off a pack of lagomorphs, let alone anything larger. Even that silver antlered deer could probably finish him off if that wind ball warning shot hit him in his damaged state.


    Step. Tap. Breathe.


    The signpost. Atlas grimly approached, halting before it to stare at the weathered wood for the second time that day, his feelings even more troubled than before.


    If only he¡¯d told them.


    If only he¡¯d realised how they saw him.


    If only he¡¯d known to look for the cash box before.


    If only he hadn¡¯t fallen asleep.


    A hundred thoughts fought down from his head to his stomach, pooling together in a wave of nausea that had him dry heaving, trying to purge his empty guts of all the guilt and misery that festered there.


    But nothing came. Apparently both were there to stay. A few minutes later Atlas straightened, needlessly wiping his mouth with the back of his gauntlet, and continued on his way.


    Step. Tap. Breathe.


    Whether his speed or his direction, there was something distinctly unfamiliar about the once overgrown path he walked. In some places even the bark has been stripped away from the trees. Deep gouges marked the wood beneath, as though heavy claws, or tusks, had torn into them.


    Atlas tightened his grip on his scythe as he peered between empty boughs to nothing more than barren trees beyond. At this point even a few of the predatory bunnies would have been less disconcerting.


    Step. Tap. Breathe.


    Moan.


    Atlas froze.


    That wasn¡¯t him.


    The offending sound, soft as it was, carried clearly through the hushed forest. Atlas crept forward as best he could, holding his own ragged breathing as he went. His one handed grip on his scythe was tight enough that his knuckles would have been white even if he¡¯d had a complexion to speak of.


    Which was weird, now he thought of it. Wasn¡¯t skin pink because there was blood under it? And he certainly had plenty of-


    Focus. Atlas blinked away the rogue thought, ears straining through the silence.


    There, in the leaf spattered dirt. A spot where the surface had been scuffed. Black feathers plastered into the mud. A trail slightly darker than its surroundings. Atlas breathed out, slow, soft. It tickled his throat and he bit down on a cough, heart hammering in protest as he followed the signs and the sound off the path.


    Another wordless moan, low and strained, came from the thick scrub beside the road, a strip of black fluttered caught in the branches. Atlas crept forward, cautiously peering between the leaves, his whole body tensed ready to pounce or flee.


    Two brown eyes stared back.


    ¡°Wilds, kid. You scared - ngh!! - the life out of me.¡±


    ¡°Kleis?¡±


    The big man, skin clammy and almost as pale as Atlas¡¯, lay in the mud beneath the brush, a bloodstained hand clamped over his stomach in a vain attempt to keep what remained of his innards in place. Atlas winced.


    ¡°Yeah, ¡®s me. Good to see someone... made it out.¡± He grunted. ¡°Even if you do look like a jester.¡±


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.Atlas frowned, crouching down with painful slowness. ¡°How did you get out here?¡±


    ¡°Same way... you did.¡± Kleis waved his free hand. ¡°Saw my chance and ran. Thought I was clear but¡­¡± He trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut against either the memory or the pain. ¡°Barely managed to get away after one got me¡­ Well, guess I didn¡¯t.¡±


    So Kleis had fled, abandoning the farm and all its occupants to their fate, only to find himself an equally grisly one here in the woods.


    Atlas¡¯s frown deepened..


    He wasn¡¯t sure if he was angry. He¡¯d considered the option himself after all. It was rational. But a very irrational, very insistent part of his brain was busily making its case that he should be angry, tempered only by the guilt that he¡¯d accomplished exactly as much for Phineus as Kleis had, and suffered a far less terrible fate doing so. Even if this world had the tech necessary to repair the damaged organs he could see poking between the man¡¯s fingers, it was hardly available in an abandoned forest.


    ¡°... Hold still.¡± Atlas pressed the end of his scythe into the earth and looped his arm over it, leaning heavily against it as he lifted his arm from his doublet and tapped the scan button. The green beam flashed over the wounded man.


    OPEN CODE GRID Y/N?


    He tapped the button once more and the blue bar on his screen began to dwindle. Kleis snorted, laying his head back against the main trunk of his bush shelter.


    ¡°Still playing with that toy of yours I see.¡±


    Atlas ignored him, staring grimly at his dwindling MP bar as though he could will it not to zero out. With his body in its current state it wasn¡¯t likely he¡¯d get another chance if it failed, let alone the consequences to his own aegis with the regeneration rate reduced to minimum.


    10%, the code grid opened, revealing a much plainer screen than Mrs Damastes¡¯ had been, simply a single square with the Craven code at its centre, the bars for changing appearance¡­


    Nothing. There was no apparently no ¡°broken¡± code for people he could simply replace.


    Atlas switched the Craven code for Sincerity and changed the big man¡¯s torso to that of some unknown labourer scanned from the day before.


    SAVING


    He held his breath.


    SAVED


    In a moment Kleis¡¯ body warped and twisted into its new shape, its owner apparently unaware as muscles shrank and elongated, shirt rippling at the changes beneath.


    But the gaping wound remained constant, bobbing around on warping flesh like a boat on the surface of the ocean before settling, seemingly neither improved nor worsened by the drastic change to Kleis¡¯ body.


    Not that it could have got much worse. Atlas sighed, carefully threading his arm back into the makeshift sling of his doublet.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Kleis. There¡¯s nothing I can do for you.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I know.¡± Kleis didn¡¯t open his eyes. ¡°Could have saved you some time if you¡¯d asked.¡±


    ¡°Sorry.¡± Atlas made a face.


    ¡°You already said that.¡± Kleis grunted. ¡°Listen, kid. I know you¡¯re probably scared right now, but you need to... pay attention to what I¡¯m about to tell you, alright?¡±


    ¡°A-alright.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t go back.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Atlas raised his eyebrows, surprised.


    The once big man¡¯s entire body shuddered as he pushed his head forward, staring Atlas in the eye.


    ¡°Don¡¯t go back to the farm, and don¡¯t go back west. The ones that followed me flew west when they left.¡±


    Atlas gasped. ¡°They¡¯re headed for the village?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t try to be... a hero. Go south along this path. Get to... Helos, they¡¯ll take you in.¡±


    Atlas bit the inside of his cheek. ¡°Thank you for telling me.¡±


    Kleis grunted, letting his head smack back against the trunk once more. ¡°One last thing.¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to¡­ go quick, kid. I¡¯d appreciate it if you could spare something to make it a bit¡­ easier for me.¡±


    ¡°... Alright.¡± Atlas nodded, sick to his stomach as he raised his bracer to his face, tapping through menus. A minute later the scythe disappeared. He yelped as he unwittingly grabbed its replacement even as he moved to swap hands. ¡°Here. It¡¯s¡­ your decision.¡±


    TOOL LOST


    [Plundered Kitchen Knife]


    LAUNCHED


    The blade sank into the earth beside Kleis. He coiled pale fingers around it and nodded gravely.


    ¡°Thanks, kid. And remember¡­ what I told you. Don¡¯t try to be a hero. Just go. Get yourself safe. It¡¯s what Phin¡­ it¡¯s what everybody would have wanted.¡±


    ¡°... Goodbye, Kleis.¡±


    Atlas leaned back, rematerialising his scythe and forcing himself to stand. The turmoil inside was much worse than before as he carried on his way, trying hard not to hear the soft moans of pain fade behind him. Trying hard not to listen when they stopped and everything went still.


    Step. Tap. Breathe.


    He¡¯d thought he¡¯d avenged them. Thought he¡¯d stopped anyone else getting hurt. Now he found that the only other people he knew and cared about had either met the same fate or were about to.


    And to pile cruelty on top of cruelty, if he hadn¡¯t sacrificed himself to wipe out the erinyes that had attacked the farm then he might have been able to help the people of New Astros. There was no way he could walk all the way there now, even if he doubled back and took the short path.


    And what could he do now even if he made it? He couldn¡¯t even use both hands, and it wasn¡¯t as though there was a handy flour mill he could use this time around. Perhaps if he hurried he might arrive just in time to see the last survivors eaten once more?


    Step. Tap. Breathe.


    He felt no particular excitement when he reached the ruined wagon. Too numb. Too wrapped up safely away from his feelings, especially the second hand feelings that screamed from the back of his mind. Even the discovery of a small silver inlaid lockbox beneath its vertical wooden floor barely registered. He replaced its silver code with one of his broken codes in a moment, his diminished mana bar finally dropping to zero as he vacuumed its contents, including two more golden talents, from the dirt at his feet.


    Kleis was right. He shouldn¡¯t try to be a hero. He should just head back to the Charon and focus on making it to the city and trying to find out what his bracers were counting down to, try and find out who he was, not go trudging through the woods to throw his life away for people who were probably already dead.


    But¡­


    Atlas started back the way he came, retracing his haphazard footsteps through the silent wood.


    He already had some idea of who he was by now, didn¡¯t he?


    Atlas collected his knife on his way back.


    He was going to need it.

 22: Thread

    The Charon was silent.


    Not just mute. His pole slipped through the water without so much as a ripple on its dark surface.


    And that suited Atlas just fine. He sat in the middle of the vast deck, surrounded by clutter and brandishing a small bone sewing needle at half a scavenged tablecloth.


    He¡¯d already fashioned himself a makeshift sling from the other half, adding a delightful floral motif to his already garish attire. Now he was busily working to fashion a holster for the small pile of throwing knives that he had fashioned from the Wife¡¯s kitchen set, most of his Bird codes, and what little mana he¡¯d managed to recover on his walk back.


    Atlas sighed.


    The idea was simple enough. If he could somehow get his bracers to think of the knives - and if it worked, potentially other weapons or tools - as clothing, he could use them without having to cycle through his inventory for each one.


    It was proving somewhat difficult.


    TOOL LOGGED


    Atlas grunted in irritation as another knife vanished back into his inventory before he could even hold it up to measure.


    The fabric was easy to work with. Like the burlap sack, he¡¯d simply classified the whole material as ¡°equipment¡± that he could then handle freely, but his plan to get his bracers to recognise the knives the same way was hindered by the fact that he couldn¡¯t so much as hold ¡°tools¡± for even a moment. As soon as he did, the supremely unhelpful reality warpers on his wrists whisked them away.


    And every time it happened he had to recall his needle, switch to the knife, make the adjustments, switch back to the needle again, and resume work.


    Atlas grunted. He¡¯d just eyeball it. He gripped the fabric in the fingers of his holstered limb to hold it in place as he worked.


    If it wasn¡¯t for his borrowed expertise, which apparently applied equally to either hand, his progress would have been far slower. But he was already losing light, the setting sun cast long shadows across the deck, and so far he hadn¡¯t even managed to do more than stitch some cloth together and give himself a sore shoulder. Even when he was using the knife as a tool he simply couldn¡¯t release it inside the holster he¡¯d made for it.


    Maybe it was a case of mind over matter? Maybe it was that he thought of the tablecloth as clothing that his bracers into cooperating? There was certainly some kind of mental aspect to it. If he tried to drop the needle then his fingers simply ignored his brain entirely, but he was constantly letting go while sewing. He¡¯d had no problem letting go of the pig¡¯s bridle this morning either...


    ¡°You are clothing.¡± Atlas dragged his mind back on track by snatching another blade off the top of the pile, all the while trying his best to mentally categorise it as some manner of jewellery.


    TOOL LOGGED


    ¡°Damnit.¡± Atlas glanced at the Charon, but it paid no more heed to his outburst than anything else as it steered between overgrown banks and rocky outcrops along the winding river. He reached out again.


    ¡°You are a¡­ Part of this clothing.¡±


    Blade in the harness. Blade in the harness. Blade in the-


    TOOL LOGGEDThis tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Atlas sighed, the breath bubbling from his damaged lung. He was running out of knives.


    And ideas.


    Even the cloth fabric had been logged as ¡°materials¡± first, before he¡¯d jettisoned it and draped it over himself like a makeshift mummy. But for tools there was no way to eject them short of throwing them, they simply didn¡¯t have that crucial grace period to work with. If he held it, he logged it, even if he¡¯d just thrown it, even if he wrapped so much cloth around his hand he could barely move his fingers to pick it up.


    The only time that he¡¯d ever managed to hold anything without logging it had been when he¡¯d pulled that shell out of his back in the cave, and he still didn¡¯t know what had happened then. He¡¯d had other things on his mind at the time. It could even have been a glitch, though from what he knew of the bracers that would make it a first. However bad they were, there had always been a certain approximation of logic to their behaviour. It was just a matter of finding a loophole, like he had with throwing to get rid of unwanted tools.


    Atlas tapped cold finger to cold lips. Could it be that simple?


    In one smooth motion he snatched a blade off the top of the pile, flicked his wrist and released. Metal sailed through the air, straight as an arrow. A perfect throw. Atlas raised his fist in triumph.


    The knife landed in the river with a small ¡°plop¡± and then was gone.


    ¡°... Shit.¡±


    Still, proof of concept. If throwing worked then he had a means, however crude, of inserting the remaining knives into the material.


    Bundling up a pile of scrap cloth his bracers had designated as a scarf, Atlas picked up a fresh blade from the pile and hurled it into its folds, metal piercing deep into the fabric with little resistance. He hurled another before lifting the fruit of his labour from the deck between finger and thumb, metal dangling from his grasp spinning slowly in midair.


    So far so good. Time to check what his bracers thought. He twisted to elbow the scan button, green beam painting across its surface.


    REFORMATTING


    Uh oh.


    The ¡°scarf¡±, blades and all, vanished from his grasp, cold metal pressed sharp against his throat, while another scratched against his ribs. Atlas swallowed drily, adam¡¯s apple bobbing along the edge of a blade. He¡¯d just wanted a description text.


    At least he¡¯d worn it loose. Atlas teased the knife away from his neck, pulling it free from the fabric ready to-


    TOOL LOGGED


    If there had been any birds left in the woodlands on either side of the river, they would have been sent skywards by Atlas¡¯ stream of invectives that didn¡¯t cease until he collapsed into a fit of equally violent coughing. When it had eased, he lay there on the deck, dark blood staining his gauntlet as he stared at the half-finished holster, reinforced by tiny scraps of mismatched leather, only a single strap fixed to it so far.


    Alright. Not the end of the world.


    Atlas snorted grimly to himself. That probably wasn¡¯t due for just over six days. He groaned upright, wiping his hand on his doublet as he thought. It hadn¡¯t logged until it had cleared the fabric, which at least meant that the holster idea would work if he could somehow get the bloody, now literally, thing into the strap in the first place.


    Wait.


    Atlas reached over and picked up the holster, sliding it onto the knife while pinching the handle using the fabric of scarf, just in case.


    A little tight, but¡­ Atlas finally tugged the scarf free, leaving the throwing knife intact and unlogged in the pastel-toned straps stitched for that very purpose.


    Perfect. It might take some manoeuvring but he was pretty sure he could throw the remaining knives into something sturdy enough to simply sew them into place without even touching them.


    Now for the moment of truth.


    Snap. Flick. Thok.


    The blade bounced off the deck of the skiff without leaving a mark, skittering across the deck before coming to a halt a few inches from the Charon¡¯s bony foot. Atlas grunted in satisfaction.


    ¡°And you doubted me.¡±


    The Charon utterly ignored him, but Atlas didn¡¯t care. He scanned the holster. Time to adjust the thing to make sure he could reach it with his limited scope of movement, then to get as many blades hooked into it as he could before the last sliver of sun dipped below the fog on the horizon.


    REFORMATTING


    Like the tattered scarf before it, the holster vanished and reappeared onto Atlas¡¯ belt. He stared at it in surprise for a moment before breaking into a triumphant grin.


    There in the strap sewn for that very purpose, reformatted like any other piece of clothing he¡¯d removed and cast aside, was the knife he¡¯d just thrown.


    He¡¯d found his loophole.


    Now if he could only find two or three more he might actually survive tomorrow morning.