ã€ŠI Fed My Minion a Dungeon Coreã€‹


 1. Prologue to a New Death

    "How did you find this chasm?" The hungry and hollow words pulled at Silver, sitting on his newly formed throne of bones. As much as he wanted to resist the question, the need to satisfy its hunger was greater. The essence of pale gray mana shaped into a perfect celestial stood below him. Silver looked down on his god and filled him full of lies.

    "Fulfilling your Fifth Writ of Absolution, I happened upon the slip that took me here." He stuck to the best type of lie. False honesty, as he liked to call it. No one was better than Silver at lying with the truth.

    Really, it didn''t matter how he found this empty space. He had found it, and the only way he could lose it now was if Death himself wanted to take it from him. The fact that Death was here now was a blessing and a burden.

    He hated his god so much, and yet he loved him. This immortal being full of glory was the great creator of conflict. Conflict was necessary for opposition. Opposition brought defeat. Defeat brought despair and despair brought death. And Death was power.

    As much as Silver hated Death, he loved power. He thirsted¡­ached for it endlessly. Who didn''t?

    Death brushed back his golden mane. His voice, though heavy, was absent of anger. "Absolution? You only just started your service. You already want out?"

    "No, my Lord. The opposite. I seek to complete all seven of your Holy Writs. I want to be your champion." Despite the constant enticement to fall to his knees, to grovel at the feet of the deity before him, Silver maintained his composure upon his throne.

    The violent and empty energy became still for only a moment. Eyes like the abyss itself locked onto Silver. The urge to end his life as a sacrifice was too intense to bear. It took all his willpower not to reach for his dagger and offer his devotion.

    Around his throne, the very air became stiff. Death''s heavy voice became absolute. "If you want to become my champion, you best get started. Once Hollow hears you seek to overthrow her, she won''t be happy. She will find you even if it takes lifetimes."

    Worlds and gods fell to the champion of Death. She was second in power only to Death himself. The very mention of her name should have sent fear racing down his spine.

    His response was certain, if only slightly less absolute than Death. "I will, my Lord."

    Death pinched his thumb and index finger together, feeling the mana-dense air in his fingers. He eyed the particle intensely, giving Silver respite from his glare. "One world will not be enough to complete the Fifth Writ," he said, still eyeing the invisible energy. "Even in this realm of abundance."

    "It won''t just be one, my Lord." One more truth to mask his lie.

    "Oh?" Death¡¯s hollow eyes stared into him once again.

    The air surrounding Silver starved with anticipation, demanding an answer. "Thousands, my Lord."

    Death looked down upon him. "So, the rumors are true. You stole their moons."

    Silver fought back his pride from bursting as he ached to confirm the statement. He stole precious moons and a bounty of resources from all the gods. Then he disappeared. He slipped from time and space to the end of oblivion with all their wealth. Despite his efforts, a smile cracked his lips.

    "Perhaps, I should warn Hollow you are coming for her," Death said with a chuckle and then vanished.

    Emptiness remained, but it was on a level he was more familiar with. It was his emptiness¡­ his power.

    It would take a million years to absorb all the mana in this rich pocket of the universe on his own. He would cut that down to a hundredth of that time with his worlds. Then his promise to her would be fulfilled. He shook his head clear of the thought and focused on the task before him.

    After his creations were completed, his only concern was boredom. For that, there was an easy solution.

    ****

    Vivid nightmares flash in my mind. The images force their way in only to be forgotten a moment later. Moments of terror are followed by dark emptiness. What was I seeing? Was I dreaming?

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    LIVE, a booming voice says in my head.

    What the¡­ My thoughts don¡¯t have time to form. Emptiness claims me, pulling me deeper into the depths of the nightmare. Pain. Cold. Lost. The bitter emptiness holds me in its terrible embrace until at last, it lets me go.

    I¡¯m awake. I think I¡¯m awake. It must be a deep sleep I¡¯m shaking off. The kind of sleep that happens after forcing the body past its limits. Ever so slowly, my eyelids continue to ignore my command to open.

    After a few failures, I try using my hands to open my eyelids. No response. I can¡¯t move my hands. I try again only to get the same result. Maybe my legs will respond. Nothing.

    Fingers¡­Toes¡­My mouth. I try yelling for help.

    Nothing. Panic creeps through me. Despite all my mental efforts, not one part of my body moves. Not even an inch. I need control. This paralysis is more than I can bear.

    Live. The abstract advice plays in my head. Of course, I¡¯m living. Sorta. Life would be better if my body would move.

    Move. I command my body.

    Move!

    I focus on my hands, hoping that maybe I can move them now ¡ª still nothing. My heart is beating harder now. With all my willpower, I try to get my body to roll over somehow. Nerve-racking stillness is the result.

    Panic clinches its grip on me. I¡¯m getting nowhere fast. My coward of a heart is about to rip itself out of my chest and flee. At least one part of me is working.

    Breathe. Focus on the one thing I can control.

    In and out.

    Just Breathe.

    After what feels like a lifetime, I notice a slight painful burn throughout me. The slow burn is bearable at first, then it becomes hotter. My insides are melting and it is incredible. I can feel! Beneath me, I feel the comforts of a familiar bed. Though I cannot move, I feel safe knowing I¡¯m in my home. I focus on my breathing as feeling continues to awaken in my body.

    My eyes finally open, only to close them. The bright sun is showing off, forcing me to let my eyes adjust slowly.

    By the time I can fully open my eyes, I almost have control over my body. My limited power is seized upon as my eyes water, my nose becomes itchy, and my whole body jerks involuntarily. Violently, two sneezes relieve the problem they created.

    On the plus side, the sneezes act as a catalyst for my body. I can now move!

    This is not home. The sun should have been a dead giveaway. Just as soon as that thought crosses my mind, another follows. I¡¯ve no idea where home is ¡ª more questions flood in.

    Where am I?

    Who am I?

    What am I doing in all this sand?

    Who¡¯s telling me to live? Why wouldn¡¯t I live? What does that even mean?

    And why is it so bright for the love of all that is good and holy?

    My mind struggles to stay afloat as the unknown continues to raise question after question. The tide of unanswerable questions is suffocating. I can feel panic seeping back in, slowly drowning any chance for rational thought.

    "Breathe. Remember to breathe," I tell myself, allowing the simple body exercise to pull me out of the depths.

    Calming myself for the second time, I think of what I know:

    One, it is bright. Good.

    Two, there is sand everywhere. A quaint observation ¡ª I must add.

    Three, I¡¯m practically naked. I have nothing, no gear, no shoes, no shirt, my luxurious locks are gone, and no pants. I''m on a roll.

    Positive reinforcement buoys my assessments. Celebrating the small victories helps to keep my destitute situation nowhere near me and my thoughts. Despair is lurking, and I do not intend to let it in.

    Four, I¡¯ve no memories of this place. I''m nailing this knowledge assessment.

    Five¡­well, four observational facts are pretty good. Even considering my missing marvelous mane conjecture was more of a projection, there is no denying that my third assessment was loaded. I can work with this.

    Having successfully assessed the obvious, I take a moment to evaluate the less obvious.

    My body check is a simple stretching technique that I naturally follow. I work through my head, neck, shoulders, and arms, starting from the top. I stretch everything, including my fingers and toes, to ensure that muscles and bones function correctly.

    My flexibility is unimpressive and my movement feels extra stiff, but to my relief, my body works. I complete the rest of the stretching forms, working out lingering stiffness.

    Like the physical assessment, assessing my core comes naturally. It is like another stretch, except nothing is being stretched. It''s more like looking inwards ¡ª I''m stretching my perception of myself.

    I take a deep breath and focus within. "Sweet Abyss... Am I a god?" I stretch forth my hand and unleash my power to smote my vast, ever-gritty nemesis.

 2. Nameless Deity

    "Behold my power," I yell, because I feel dramatic and a foe like the desert deserves a good villain or a hero. There are a lot of gray areas. It is hard to tell who is right and wrong under these circumstances.

    Nothing. I''ve never experienced anything so disappointing. I try again to wield my power ¡ª more nothing. Like a limp body, my power refuses to respond. Maybe I need time?

    As I wait it out, I check my core more thoroughly. The problem could be within. Numerous channels, like my veins, run throughout my body, eventually returning to my core. My core itself is multilayered and empty. That can''t be right, can it? The discovery opens the door to more questions. I shut the door down, hoping to avoid another flood of unknowns. Questions can come later.

    Self-indulgence, possibly more conjecture, led me to believe that I¡¯m powerful... or at least I should be powerful. That is the prevalent feeling I get when I look within. Admittedly I might have jumped on my desire to be special too soon. My core looks complex, like it could hold immense power. Like years¡­lifetimes have been spent cultivating it.

    Proof of diligent training is evident in the foundation of my core layers. Each layer is laced with mind, body, and spirit essences. Additionally, each of these essences seemingly reached a high rank. This understanding leads me to believe I should feel strong. Yet, I do not.  Quite the opposite.

    Baffled by this mystery, I continue to inspect my core. My segmented and layered core is beside my heart, a fraction of its size. The innermost layer, the ninth layer, is empty, as far as I can tell. There is no hint of mana, energy, or substance within. The layer is just there. No matter how hard I focus on it, I find nothing. I repeat this diligent study for each subsequent layer.

    Nothing. Eight times I repeat the process. To my shock, nothingness isn''t precisely the case for my innermost layer ¡ª the original empty core. This core discovery provokes excitement and hope.

    The Center of my core, the innermost layer, is not nothing. Though it looks empty, like the others, it is filled with the faintest hint of energy. Almost as if absence had an aura to it. Indeed, it seems like I¡¯m looking at nothing and seeing something there. The nothingness is quite different from the rest of my empty cores.

    Intrusively, hope forces muscle memory to kick in. I try a basic cycling technique reaching for the nothingness inside me. However, the mana in my first core, the odd-looking one, isn''t responding. No matter how I try to cycle, the absent energy avoids my grasp. Not letting me abandon the fight, hope keeps me reaching within.

    I try again and again and again. Time eludes me as I keep reaching for energy. My power¡­my strength. If I can have this, my situation won''t be so dire. I will have something.

    Eventually, hope fades into stubbornness. From there, it descends into desperation. I¡¯m confident nothing will happen, but as one last-ditch effort, I also try to cycle my empty cores. Still nothing.

    "Well, I''ll be damned." I audibly curse the all-encompassing nothingness and the sands before me, letting my curse carry away my frustrations.

    Somehow, I managed to cultivate nine cores without harnessing mana. Or the mana was drained from within me¡­

    Mana vampires? Is that a thing? Did some mana-sucking leach rob me of my mana and leave me to die?

    Energy-sucking bats! I was on my way to a great party when I was swarmed and swiped up by bats, sucked dry of energy, and left in a desert to dry out and rot because bats are poetic in nature. No, that''s very unlikely. I doubt past me partied or was even invited to party.

    Whatever happened to my past self, I¡¯m baffled.

    My empty cores are most likely a factor in why I feel so weak, but it feels more than that. The foundations of my core feel off. It was as if my entire being was ripped apart, then piece-by-piece put back together. What is going on?

    "Cursed stupid vampire bats. Who needs them and their lame parties anyway." I mutter to myself, shaking my fist defiantly.

    It could be that I need time to recover, or maybe I''m not as powerful as I think I am... or was. I could be misjudging my assessment completely. Not having most of my memories intact further cements that thought.

    Regardless, I don''t feel like waiting around long enough to find out if my strength will return before I dry out and die. On top of that, dwelling on my current weakness is bringing up misplaced anger¡­even worse; despair is still looming.

    If it is up to me, which there is a chance it is, I prefer not to let despair sink in. Those crippling hands would be worse company than my present self.

    Content with my brief self-assessment, I look around me. Sand. In every direction I look, there is sand. "Wait a moment, do bats live in the desert? Maybe the smaller variety. Sure. But what about the giant human-carrying type? I don''t know if this habitat is sustainable for that kind of animal."

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    I continue to observe the desert, becoming more skeptical of my past. Serpentining hills of golden sand stretch out as far as I can see in almost every direction. Towards the west, there looks to be a mountain range within a day-and-a-half walk. From here, only the peaks of the mountains can be seen sticking out softly on the horizon. Despite the distance, I feel a draw to the rugged landscape.

    Not knowing what else to do, I follow my gut and head west. My closest escape from the desert, and perhaps a cult of vampires, is the mountains. "When in doubt, head to the mountains." That''s probably what they would say in this situation. There is safety in the mountains. They being everyone other than the vampires. I''m not an expert on the subject, but I¡¯m certain vampires don''t do mountains.

    Maybe it is the hiking, altitude, threat of exposure, or a combination of the three; whatever it is, vamps just don''t dig it. People on the other hand, they love the mountains. They are called to them like it¡¯s some adventure full of treasures. So, to the people and treasures, I go. Maybe that¡¯s what I need to do in order to live.

    It is a pleasant day. Not an intense temperature, but the sun can afford to turn it down a notch. It is definitely hot enough that it could cause some problems: sun poisoning, dehydration, and heatstroke, to name a few. If not for my darker skin tone, I would be more worried about my total sun exposure. As it is, I''m willing to take my chances trekking practically naked.

    One thing about those vamps: they sure are a modest bunch. To think they would do me the kindness of leaving me my briefs. Maybe it is against their code to leave their prey completely nude. Am I still prey if I''ve already been preyed upon?

    Maybe it''s that they won''t leave the dead undressed. That''s it. That''s the code. A real honorable lot, those vamps. Much more decent than bats. Dress the dead and avoid mountains. Now those are some cult codes I can get behind.

    Walking isn''t bad, certainly not great, just not bad. I prefer this leisurely stroll to the nightmarish paralysis I experienced earlier. Though it takes a mile or three, the stiffness in my body is no longer present.

    Surprisingly, even in my weakened state, the miles pass quickly and I feel like I''m making good time. Optimistically cutting my destination estimates to a day flat. Maybe even less than that if I had shoes.

    Where in the abyss are my shoes? Why couldn''t shoes be a part of the vampires'' honor code? Yeah, this isn''t adding up. It couldn''t have been vamps. I would be much more dressed if it was them.

    I keep walking through the sand dunes barefoot, alone with my foul mood.

    Deserts are definitely a bottom-tier environment. Sand is excellent when it is next to water; when it isn''t, it is next to worst. Each step is a struggle and each climbed dune is more or less similar. Every cactus looks unpleasant. Trees look more like weeds and are as uninviting as the cactus. Thick, prickly, and stubby, offering no shade to anything but themselves.

    Why do deserts have to be barren and hostile anyways? This can quickly become a paradise with just a body of water and some actual trees. Paradise, now that is a top-tier environment. It would have been sweet if I could have been left stranded in one of those nice paradises.

    Countless dunes and cacti later, I''m still walking. My mouth is a bit parched and I feel nasty hunger pangs. The mountains are getting closer and farther away at the same time. My day-and-a-half estimate is increased to at least two days of walking. So, I keep walking, hardly noticing the scenery I pass.

    "You know, in a way, it is a little bit freeing, having no memories and being abandoned," I let myself say out loud.

    "Sure, I have many questions, but I can ignore those for the time being. Right now, all I must do is walk. And walking isn''t so bad. Shoot, come to think of it, I don''t even have to walk. I can sit here all day if I want to. In fact, now that I¡¯m thinking of it, I''m tired of walking in this blasted, uncomfortably warm sand. I''m gonna just wait for the night to walk."

    "I''m sure past me loved long walks at night. Hell, maybe I will be able to recover more strength and be able to walk faster. Might even be able to sprinkle in a jog during this lovely night walk. ''Nothing beats moonlight miles'' is what I imagine I used to always say. "

    Satisfied with my rationale, I find a spot in the desert that is a little less sunny and sit with a dune acting as a prop for my back.

    My eyes snap back open as the ground around me starts shifting. Grains of sand are shaking and falling as the ground around me rises. The shift at the base of the dune creates a small sand slide that threatens to impede my escape.

    Before I can escape my situation, I¡¯m surrounded by five scorpions roughly my size. Pincers are snapping. Tails are raised for striking, and all their hissing is out of sync. They have thick chitinous backs that look like layered armor with a color that closely resembles the sand.

    Eerily, I get a good look into their mouths as they open and menacingly shut them, which is undoubtedly an intimidation tactic. In a way, it works, as gnarly images of scorpion mouths send shivers throughout my body. Picturing them nibbling on my flesh almost spurs me to turn and run.

    "Hello, friends!" I say, trying to shake off the uncomfortable images. "Sorry to bother you all this fine day. I''m a little lost. I don''t suppose you know any local vampire cults or sizable bats you could direct me to?"

    More aggressive hissing and snapping is their response.

    "That''s fine. I figured as such. Well, no worries, I''ll be on my way now." I move to get out of their semicircle. The scorpions countermove to keep me trapped.

    They step towards me closer and closer, snapping their claws and hissing louder now.

    Behind me is the steep dune I recently descended. Though my cowardly self thinks I should run away in that direction, I¡¯ve no illusions that I can climb the dune faster than these inhabitants. I¡¯m forced to either jump over the scorpions or fight.

    By my estimates, I would probably need to jump as high as ten feet to clear the stingers and as far as fifteen feet distance-wise. Then I''d need to quickly sprint away, leaving myself no margin for error. One thing is certain, dying would be bad. That would be counterproductive to the purpose of life.

    Fighting to live it is.

 3. Escape the Pits of Hell

    Pulling my feet out of the piled sand, I settle into a fighting stance. Legs spread apart a little more than shoulder width. My knees are slightly bent. I¡¯ve a solid center of gravity and feel completely balanced. My hands are in front, ready to take on anything within reach.

    As the closest scorpion scuttles forward, I pivot and place a powerful kick to the scorpion''s face. "Sons of scorpions," slips out as I feel the frailty of my exposed foot contacting hard exoskeleton. The scorpion flips end over end, ten feet away. One of its pincers is hanging awkwardly, and it adopts a new hissy tune.

    I quickly note not to rely on my hands or feet as my primary weapon in this fight. Before the remaining killer crawlers can close the circle on me, I use the opening my initial attack gives to sprint out of their trap.

    No longer surrounded, I feel a calmness wash over me. I got this. A few oversized bugs will not be bringing this nameless wanderer down. Sparks of my former life kick in. Fluidly, I adapt my stance to the scorpions'' positioning.

    One of the scorpions, feeling confident, outpaces the pack and strikes first. A tail with a razor-sharp stinger launches toward me. Reflexively, I step to the side. Before registering my next step, my hand has a firm grip on the tail below the stinger.

    The scorpion simultaneously tries to pull back its tail and cut my leg with a viscous oversized claw.

    Sensing the claw strike coming, my legs step back. Dodging the claw causes the scorpion to be dragged in the process. There''s a moment of enlightenment as I realize the bugger is lighter than I expected.

    I look at the scorpion, back toward his partners, and then back at my scorpion. Inspiration rushes in, and a plan starts to form. Grinning like a fool, I whip my hand, holding the tail in a windmill motion bringing the screeching beast to an abrupt crash on the sand behind me.

    Not letting go of the creature, I reverse the motion and bring the disoriented scorpion to a crash in front of me. The scorpion impacts the sand for a second time. Even though the blasted sand is a no-good pillow of nature''s bed, the slams are enough to kill the creature.

    Now, I''m no longer weaponless. A Ball ''n Chain of the Scorpion is equipped in my right hand. And since I¡¯m in the business of creating weapons, I add an imaginary plus five to strength and dexterity. The weapon in hand, if only mentally, becomes even deadlier.

    Swinging my Chain of Stinging Scorpion Claws above my head, I take a more aggressive attack stance. Now it is my turn to take the initiative.

    Stepping forward, I bring the Scorpion Chain swinging over my head down with all my strength on the first attacker within range. With a satisfying thud, the hit lands on the head of the now concussed creature. The impact is followed by my left arm grabbing the tail of the dazed foe. Dragging the second scorpion behind me, I continue to spin my newly named Scorpion Chain of Concussion above my head.

    The three remaining scorpions take a more coordinated approach stepping into the fray together. Their pincers and stingers are ready.

    It doesn''t matter. I¡¯ve become a sandstorm of movement

    The momentum of my dual swinging Scorps of Debilitating Power transfers into a spinning attack aimed at the creature on my left. At the apex of my swing, the right and left Scorp Chain combines into a massive wrecking ball. The jumbled madness smashes into my target.

    The colossal impact hits the scorpion with enough force it collides with its fellow pack member in the middle. I''m rewarded with loud cracks of chitin snapping. One swing knocks out two scorpions.

    Letting the momentum of my swing carry me a couple of steps to my right, I''m now directly in front of the last scorpion. The largest of the bunch and what I assume to be the alpha.

    It attacks furiously as both claws snatch at my legs. I dodge to the left, narrowly avoiding being caught. My trailing Scorpion Whip, however, gets caught in the combo of attacks. As the alpha''s claws snap down on my weapon, its stinger shoots forward lightning fast with much more range than expected.

    Alph, hoping that I step back to avoid the claws, overcompensates with its actual attack. Had I stepped back, I would have been hit. Fortunately for me, I''ve always been more of a sidestepper. Instead of hitting me with the stinger, the scorpion is now tangled with my weapon and is overextended.

    I jerk my right arm just enough to bring the trapped creature into striking distance. With a powerful windmill motion, the scorpion in my left arm descends upon the alpha''s body. My aim isn''t perfect, and I only manage to crush a couple of its legs. Instinctively the predator attacks the cause of its pain.

    Even with its injuries, Alph can still launch a vicious counterattack at my Scorpion Whip. With it distracted, I bring the whip in my right arm down onto its head.

    I''m slightly out of breath. Sand is covering my sweaty body. I''m thirsty, and my bloody heart is acting like a coward again. "Bloody hell, scorpions." I curse my new pile of loot and the heap of work I now have before me.

    Guts and goop poor out as I cut apart valuable resources from four of the scorpions. The alpha scorpion I keep primarily intact, only removing its innards. My thoughts drift as I get to harvesting the scorpions. As rewarding as it is, the unpleasant task isn¡¯t something I want to be entirely present for.

    I wonder around this life of mine. Questioning what it is to live and how I ended up in this mess. My best guess is a coven of witches were bitter about my scathing remarks on their brewery. No witch wants to be told how to brew their potions. When a confident potion connoisseur walks into their shop demanding better, there will be consequences. It is like them to leave a picky customer in a prickly situation. I can practically hear them cackling. Just like they say, ¡®Witches be witching.¡¯ I¡¯m no closer to cracking my memories than I¡¯m figuring out what living is all about.

    An hour of gross work later, I¡¯m left with five stingers, ten claws, five large exoskeleton plating, some meat-like sustenance, and a sled to carry all my material in.

    Packing my gear into the sled, I walk a couple of miles, putting some distance between me and the butchered remains of the scorpions. If there are any large scavengers, I don''t want to get into another fight. I stop walking only when I reach the more solid ground surrounded by small tree bushes. Before I get settled, I quickly check my area, ensuring there aren''t any ambushing predators.

    I estimate that maybe five hours have passed since I found myself lying in the desert and only thirty minutes since the scorpion encounter. The sun is now positioned above the mountains. Probably giving me an hour or two of daylight.

    I''m hungry, thirsty, and tired, and although the fight with the scorpions was quick, my body feels drained from the adrenaline. Lack of nourishment and excessive expenditure of energy are taking their toll. On top of that, the sun has gotten increasingly hot, and only now is it beginning to cool back down. Even if I want to continue walking, I won''t make it much longer if I continue to push on like this. Now is as good a time as ever to rest, inspect my new gear, and take inventory of all my resources.

    Food is an option if I can start a fire. That is at the top of my list. Weapons from the claws and stingers can be crafted, and the shells can be used as a shield for protection. That leaves me in need of water and cover. Just two out of the three basic needs for survival are missing. Pretty good if you ask me.

    Utilizing one of the stingers as a knife, I shape one of the claws into a more useful tool; the bigger, heftier claw makes for a solid wood harvester. Sharp jagged edges towards the bottom allow me to do a good amount of sawing, and the top section is strong enough to split the wood. That is, if I work with wood that isn''t too thick. Thinness happens to be a trait that these blessed desert bushes excel at.

    I use the stinger to create some kindling and tinder. Starting a fire from nothing becomes easier with preparation and suitable material. Preferably the kind of material with an optimistic disposition for burning. None of that damp, soggy stuff.

    After preparing my fuel, I start the process of creating fire from friction. Using a round, sturdier stick, I drill into a thicker branch, applying loads of pressure. Thirty minutes later, bloody hands and a bit of smoke are all I have to show for my work. Sweat keeps dripping into my eyes, making it even harder to maintain a consistent drill.

    I take a moment to reassess. Rather than faulting my technique, I blame the wood for refusing to just burn. The assessment leads me to collect more things to burn, specifically the finely dry hair fibers that cover the scorpions'' claws. I repeat the process by scraping a claws worth of fibers into my drill hole.

    Hair fibers are quick to react to friction turning into tiny embers. Carefully I place the embers into my prepared pile of shredded wood fibers and blow softly. Smoke thickens. Each breath fuels the heat catching onto the fine threads of hair.

    One blow later, the nest for the fiber is covered in smoke.

    The nest begins to glow with another blow, putting off a little heat.

    After two more soft blows, my nest of tinder catches flame. I move the quickly burning tinder to the kindling, providing the fire with longer-lasting fuel. As the fire grows, I add more substantial fuel. Crackling noises ensure the fire is off to a healthy start. Now I just need to feed the flame, a task made more accessible with the bountiful wood stash I collected prior.

    With a pointy stick, I skewer a chunk of scorpion meat and set it over the fire. It takes a little finagling to get the skewer to maintain the proper placement over the flame. All my attempts to lazily spike the stick into the ground proved unsuccessful. Instead, I spike two posts deep into the sand, causing them to crisscross and do the same thing on the other side of the fire. The scorpion meat is slid towards the middle of the skewer, which is then placed on the two makeshift stick holders.

    Fatty juices drip off the roasting meat, letting me know it is in enough heat to cook. While cooking my meal, I decide to take care of my future food. Two more roasters are added that holds the meat in the thick of the smoke. Ideally, the smoke will dry it out, leaving no room for bacteria.

    That takes care of food, leaving me with only water and shelter to worry about. Hopefully, eating won''t make my thirst a more significant threat. I''m not concerned about cover because I don''t plan to stay long in the desert.

    Live¡­ what does that even mean? Am I supposed to take that literally or theoretically? Maybe both? Who sends a one-word message to a man in the desert with no memories? That¡¯s a stupid game. Maybe I¡¯m supposed to make the most of life. Like it is a challenge of some sort. Live it up. That¡¯s my quest¡­ mission ¡ª answer?

    I look to the cooking scorpion steaks in response to my quest. Surely a desert meat fest counts as living. Though a little more variety would be nice. One can¡¯t live off meat alone. I know it is a silly thought. I should be content. But now that I think of that blasted word, I don¡¯t feel like I have enough.

    Maybe more consumption is what I need to live. Thinking of ways to spice up my meat entices me to observe more thoroughly what is around me. Unwelcoming cacti become the focus of my attention. Sure they are a prickly bunch now, but after some depoking and healthy roasting, they will become much more pleasant. Within minutes, I prepare and add cactus to the meat on the roasting stick.

    As dinner cooks, I continue to be productive.

    Technically, I''d say I''m already productive. Not only am I taking care of my current food needs, but I¡¯m also taking care of the next three days of food if I ration¡­. Most likely, I won''t ration. I can think of nothing better to pass the dull time through the desert than munching on my jerky.

    To be more productive, I examine other resources I harvested from the scorpions. Using the scorpion stinger as a blade has been a helpful tool. The stinger is sharp, pointy, sturdy, and about a foot in length.

    My only complaint is that it is unwieldy, with all blade and no handle. Likewise, the severed claw has also been valuable in processing wood. With some extra modifications, I think I can make drastic improvements.

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    Creative thoughts play through my mind as I examine my resources and decide how they will best serve me. Knives with cord-wrapped handles fashioned out of the stingers. Short swords with cord-wrapped handles made from claws. Shields from the shells with a cord to grip onto. Backpack from woven shells, rope, and corded straps to hold my weapons and tools.

    I can see how the items from my inventory can be used. How to modify them, and how to carry all my gear. My only problem is I don''t have any cord. Yet.

    Following the thoughts running through my head, I delicately strip the fibers from the scrub trees and plants around me and begin to weave some cord. Occasionally, as I sit by my fire and work, I catch the aromas of my roasting desert scorpion and cacti kabob.

    No longer able to withstand the enticing smell, my mouth begins to water. Or it would start to water if it weren''t so dry. My mouth attempts to salivate but can''t because deserts are naturally thirsty. That checks out.

    Cord production is running smoothly as I continue to lament my lack of water. Delicate, brittle fibers are woven together to form stronger, longer fibers. My hands are steady and efficient throughout the entire process. This proficiency makes me believe I was likely a rope maker of the highest order in my previous life. By the time I deem my kabab ready to eat, I¡¯ve produced five strands of cord, a foot in length each.

    Removing the hot meal from the fire, I blow on it repeatedly to get the temperature to a manageable level and take a bite of the scorpion.

    Charred meat crunches beneath my teeth, followed by soft chewiness, juices, and flavor. Hungrily, I devour the entire kabob, appreciating the textures, bland flavors, and, most of all, the eradication of my hunger. Desert scorpion kabobs aren''t bad. They aren''t good. They¡¯re edible, and that¡¯s enough.

    After I finish my meal, I get back to work on my cord production. Another hour goes by. The sun is gone, leaving me alone to work by the light of my fire. Piles of cord and a deficiency of nearby vegetation result from my work. Now that I have plenty of cord to work with, I can get to the modifications of my gear.

    Using the Original Sting Blade, I start to fashion a knife out of one of the other stingers. Hard chitin resists as I whittle away at the base of the stinger. Thinking of improving the process, I grab a claw and shape the stinger into something more comfortable to hold.

    When I¡¯m close to the width of the handle I want, I replace the claw for my blade and do some more nuanced work. To add to the durability and grip, I wrap a cord around the handle until it has the right feel. As a result of my efforts, I¡¯m rewarded with something that resembles a hunting knife. This process is replicated two more times.

    On my fourth attempt, I try to make the forming of the handle easier by adding heat. Previously somewhat malleable chitin hardens when exposed to the flame, rewarding me with a stinger too durable to modify and a way to improve my newly created knives.

    Unwrapping the cord, I place my finished knives into the heat and let them harden. Two of the knives I pull out after around the same amount of time as the first hardened blade. The third knife I leave in the heat for the sake of science. A cord is added back on the hardened knives giving me two finished products.

    Satisfied with my work, I take advantage of the last bit of night remaining and rest. The warmth from the small fire is comfortable enough to allow me to relax. Keeping my tools close, my eyes shut. Soon after, I fall asleep.

    Bright beams of yellow sun wake me from my light slumber. Throughout the night, I would wake up cold and had to add more fuel to the fire. On the plus side of that inconvenience, I could keep my meat in constant smoke. A few more hours and it will be done.

    I begin the day with some stretching routines. Pulling on my muscles not only eases me into the grind but also allows me to clear my mind and be empty in thought for a moment.

    Muscles loosen up, and my body relaxes. I feel pretty good. Thirsty? Yeah. Hungry? Sort of, yeah. Other than that, I feel good.

    I finish my forms and then throw some prepared cactus into the flames.

    This morning''s menu will be cactus jacks and scorpion jerky. Cactus jacks are like flapjacks if you take everything in the flapjack and replace it with a mashed cactus. The verdict is still out on whether it will be a breakfast-time hit. I''m guessing it is more of a post-breakfast pre-lunch type of dish.

    My new knife makes processing the cactus much more manageable. I''m already grateful for the time I put into making the tool.

    Thinking about my knives, I check on the one I left in the heat. There is no trace of the extra heated knife in my fire pit. It either burned up, or a thieving knife swiper swiped my knife. Regardless of what happened to it, I decide not to overheat any more of my gear.

    Breakfast over the fire gives me time to tinker with more of the scorpion parts. My next project is working on weapons to protect myself with. Who knows when lurking scorps will decide to do more than lurk? Massive sharp claws will soon become slightly longer machetes.

    All I need to do is smooth out excess bulk, shape the handles, add a cord for support, and cook in the fire to harden. Wait, no, it is set in fire, then add the cord.

    Sloppy thinking almost cost me cordage.

    Following the template, I use the hardened blade to bring the design to life. My knife isn''t precisely slicing through the claws like it is water. However, it no longer feels like I''m carving rocks. Instead, I make reasonable progress and have my first machete hardening by the time my jacks and jerky are ready to eat.

    Cactus jacks, though drier than kabobs, are tasty. Smoke and slight char season the fried mush. Each bite has a satisfying crunch while maintaining enough moisture that it doesn''t dry out my mouth more.

    I enjoy my cactus and undercooked jerky breakfast, savoring each bite. If I hurry, I can take advantage of the cool morning as I walk through the desert. Or, if I linger long enough, the cool morning will turn to warmer temperatures that aren''t conducive to walking. Looking around my small camp is all it takes to motivate me to linger. The key to living is to do what you want right?

    "Rest now; work hard later ¡ª if I have to," I mutter, convincing myself this is the best decision.

    Resting isn''t entirely resting. I do a good amount of pure resting, but that is mixed in with active resting, where I continue to work on equipment.

    I add finishing touches to my machete and test it on nearby trees. I¡¯m more than satisfied with its slicing effectiveness. Happy with the results, I make three more.

    After the machetes, I work on body cover. This takes up most of my rest time and cord as I tie the segmented shells from the scorpion together to create a loose-fitting armor.

    Creating this work of art involves punching holes in various places of the chitin and then hardening them over the flame. Once set, I tie the chitin together to have chitin plating covering my upper body and shoulders.

    I think I do a pretty good job for not being an armorer. Or maybe I was an exotic armorer. Who''s to say?

    Leggings are a little more complicated, but with dedication and a strong desire to not walk during the day, I put in the effort and create some covering for my legs. By mid-afternoon, I look like a desert inhabitant covered in desert scorpion plating and armed with desert-slicing machetes.

    More time is spent working on my gear. To my growing inventory, I add two shields, sheaths for two machetes and the two knives, and a couple of pouches to store the remainder of my gear and food separately.

    I also work on the scorpion sled, making it more efficient to pull through the sand by stabilizing the sides and preventing it from being tippy.

    To my dismay, no matter how hard I try, I can''t figure out shoes. They are either too uncomfortable or impractical. Failed attempt after failed attempt leaves me shoeless and absolutely positive I was never a shoemaker in my former life.

    It is late in the afternoon when I finish my projects. This was a day well spent avoiding walking. I sprawl out and nap on my sandy bed with no more pressing tasks.

    Lightly twinkling stars and an eager moon have replaced the overzealous sun by the time I wake up. Chilly air no longer combats the heat of my now diminished fire. Raising to my feet, I stretch out my body and then pack up my camp. It is time to continue my journey.

    I equip my scorpion armor. Knives are in their corded sheaths tied to my belt. The shield and machetes are slung over my shoulder and rest on my back, held by more cord. Everything else, including my jerky, are placed in my scorpion cart in their designated containers.

    Rested and now equipped with my gear, I continue my heroic pilgrimage out of the infested desert with a mouthful of jerky and a scorpion sled in haul. Five steps and a drier mouth later, I''m already regretting all my life''s decisions that got me to this point.

    "Succubuses!" The thought turns into a vocal curse.

    That is where I went wrong. I fell in love with a succubus. Since succubuses are monogamous in nature, she had to ditch me. No, that does not add up. Succubuses collectively fell in love with me. A whole flock of succubuses and me ¡ª the world-famous roper turned exotic armor maker ¡ª courting. Societal norms be damned.

    However, succubuses are naturally monogamous. They couldn''t cope with the shared relationship. Adopting the all-or-nothing mindset, the flock of succubuses united in their decision. Heartbroken and empowered, the demon seducers stripped me of all my armor and rope and left me unbound in the dry wild.

    It was a long con.

    The succubuses never really loved me. They just wanted me for my discounted goods. Now they have it all and I have nothing. Well, not any more flocking succubuses! This armorer doesn''t need inventory to equip himself. I can do that on my own. Like I said when the demons walked into my shop, succubuses are the worst customers.

    Five steps later, I''m still miserable. Maybe some people just aren''t made for walking. Perhaps deserts are just the worst.

    That''s the nugget of truth I was digging for. Of all my travels, this is the absolute worst. Sure, this is the only trip that I remember. Yet I¡¯ve the utmost confidence that this one is the worst of all my travels, including my previous life.

    Five out of five scorpions would agree.

    First, sand is only good when it is next to a body of water. If sand isn''t next to water, what is the point?

    Secondly, every footstep requires way more energy than it should. It takes two steps to move one pace forward. Forcing your inhabitants to take double the steps is unnecessary and redundant if you ask me.

    Secondly-part-two, why don''t I have any shoes? Who would abandon someone in the desert without shoes? Succubuses have no use for shoes due to their cloven devil feet. On top of that, shoes would most definitely interfere with the witches'' brewing process. Bats are also disqualified due to not belonging to the foot family. That leaves vampires, who have more honor than stooping to boot snatching.

    A soulless act of cowardice. That''s what that is.

    What is the deal with shoes anyway? Why do they have to be so sandblasted hard to make? They are the epitome of the bottom of apparel. They have no right to be so complicated to make.

    On top of everything else, the food is bland, drinks are not included, my lips are beyond parched, scorpions are popping out of nowhere, and there is no shade. Even at night, the desert moon is brighter than it needs to be. I''m certainly not impressed, moon.

    Just then, I lift my head to examine the scenery unfolding before me. Enhanced by the low light-giving moon, the scrub trees, cactus, and dunes give off their most majestic look.

    "I take that back, Sir or Miss Moon. You are doing great."

    Still, desert trips are the worst. Bright lighting or low lighting, it doesn''t matter. It''s all just sand with no water ¡ª definitely a bottom-tier environment.

    In fact, I swear, with the relenting moon as my witness, after I get out of here, one day, I will return. Then I''ll burn this desolate sandpit and all its unwelcoming, unreasonably-giant scorpions to the ground. And when the sand has turned to glass, I will flood the land into an oasis. And then I will make signs that will not permit a single scorpion or scorpions into my beautiful oasis. And there will be trees. Lots of shade-giving trees.

    Yeah¡­ that feels right. Perhaps I let my thoughts run a speck too wild. On the other hand, it''s good to be thorough when it comes to schemes, and my revenge plot is practically perfect. If I know anything, revenge is the best way to fill your life with purpose.

    I¡¯m willing to place my bets. The desert is the only reason I was stranded in the first place.

    Somehow the lifeless desert sought me out, grabbed me while I was in the deepest depths of sleep, and brought me to its dried-out lands. Most likely, the desert was hungry and thought the handsome sleeping man would be a tasty treat. All the minions of the desert are its weird way of devouring food and nourishing its gritty greedy self.

    Well, not anymore, greedy desert. Here is one morsel you will not swallow. Consider me the chink of meat perfectly lodged in your tooth that you will never get out. Now your gums are swollen and bleeding.

    Nope.

    That''s quite gross. I¡¯m the morsel you swallowed and choked on. Your own gluttonous nature is your downfall, and there is no one here to blame but yourself.

    Nameless, thirsty, and lost in more ways than one, I continue to walk towards the mountains blindly with slightly more vigor in my step, pushed by a false sense of purpose. Perhaps near the mountains, there will be more direction. If nothing else, I will no longer be stuck in the desert.

    Step by step, I push forward. Slowly, I escape my capturer.

    With the passing of the moon and miles, the wavy dunes have settled. I can see the tree line in the distance. Sand has turned into the more crusty ground providing better footing and extra wear on my bare feet. The vegetation is more significant in size and growing in variations as I get closer.

    What once was a quiet, peaceful night is becoming louder with wild activity. Curious about the cause of the commotion, I turn my head toward all the noise.

    South of me, a thick cloud of sand is traveling fast in my direction. Sprinting ahead of the sandstorm is an assortment of desert dwellers I haven''t seen before. They try to outpace the storm, only to be swallowed shortly after.

    There is no chance of escaping the sandstorm. It is moving too fast. Without many options, I hunker down, doing my best to cover my face and other exposed skin. Hopefully, I can come out of this storm with my flesh.

 4. Forests are for Fighting

    Abrasive grains pelt me from every direction. Constant rubbing on my skin is causing my flesh to give way. Pain ensnares my entire body, including the places I¡¯ve covered. Restraining from yelling for fear of choking on sand, I grit my teeth and bear it. There is no telling how long I¡¯m in the sand hell. My raw skin is now becoming bloody. Despite my earlier hope, it is certain now a raw fleshy version of me will be walking out of this desert. If I walk out of this desert.

    As sudden as the storm appears, it passes, leaving me prone beneath the empty sky.

    I''m curled up, waiting out the lingering sting when the howling sands are replaced by wild shrieks of pain and anger. Jumping to my feet, I look back towards the south.

    Following the storm are opportunistic beasts looking for easy meals. Giant scorpions hunting in packs. Monster vultures circling dead beasts that didn¡¯t survive the storm and the soon to be dead. Wild hounds as big as the giant scorpions are present. Serpent-like lizard-humanoids are the most numerous. They have a snake''s body, a torso of a human, and the face of a spiked lizard. Also included in the mix are bat-like reptilian creatures, with bat wings spanning ten feet attached to a primarily bat-looking body, and a distinctly lizard-like face and tail.

    It is utter rampaging chaos.

    Not wanting to join the party, I sprint as hard as my overexposed body can muster towards the distant tree line, hoping I don''t get noticed. Of course, I''m seen right away. I''m the only slow, bipedal, and fleshy-bodied fool running from them and I¡¯m alone. Every beast in the sky and on land targets me for the easy feast I am.

    At the moment, I''m apologetic for every mean thought and complaint I had towards the desert before. Maybe a change of views can will this impending disaster away. While at the same time, "What in the actual hell, desert? Why do you have to prove to be the absolute worst?"

    Quickly I ditch my sled and all its wonderful resources except for a few machetes and shields that I strap to my back. Before adjusting the gear appropriately, I book it towards the west.

    There is no illusion that I will escape the beasts. However, I¡¯m at a loss for what to do. Honestly, my split-second decision-making kind of let me down here. I''m running for my life, getting nowhere fast. The storm of wild animals is nearly upon me.

    Flapping wings get louder, practically drowning out the rest of the chaotic uproar. I don''t turn around until the wings'' sounds are flying in my head. I raise my shield and swing high with my machete in one fluid motion. Momentum from my shield increases the force at which I slash my blade cleanly through a lizard bat.

    Immediate threat disposed of, I turn back to the forest and keep running.

    Fortunately, the first batzard, a name I created on the fly, was a solo flier outpacing its pack and the rest of the dinner attendees significantly. Unfortunately for me, the rest of the swarm is sticking together, and I only get a hundred yards further before I must turn back around.

    Twenty batzards dive bomb me at once, forcing me to take cover beneath the shield and armor. The shield deflects one-third of the bat hits as I struggle to maintain my footing. The other two-thirds are clawing and scratching at my exposed raw skin, threatening to tear me apart. More blood falls to the ground enraging the swarming batzards further.

    Finding little protection beneath my shield, I drop the cover and struggle to draw my second machete. Completely exposed, I fall to my knees just as I¡¯ve both blades in hand, the weight of the attack proving to be overbearing.

    The swarm is too thick, and I cannot find the space to even swing my blades. Adding to the dire situation, I hear the footsteps and growls of the rest of the predators closing in.

    Desperate rage-induced defiance rushes through me as I muster the last ounce of strength I¡¯ve left and explode to my feet. Sudden movement shifts the swarming batzards enough that I can wildly swing my blades.

    Both blades slash out violently, cutting through the densely packed bats. Several bats fall to the ground; the rest pull back, giving my blades respectful distance.

    "I''m not even good meat," I shout to no one in particular as I swing my blades, keeping the bats at bay and stepping back.

    By my estimates, I still have two miles to cover before I''m in the woods. Not that the woods will do me any good. I''ll still have ravenous ravagers nipping at my heels.

    "It¡¯s lean at best if there¡¯s any meat on me. Most likely, it¡¯s dry and stringy. There''s no fat, so good luck with the flavoring in this seasoning-desolate landscape." I¡¯ve no reason to be talking. The words just spew out while I continue to swing at bats whose numbers are now in the single digits due to injury or flat-out retreat. "You would think in a land so barren; salt would be an abundance."

    Now that I can see through the swarm, I get a better picture of the dire circumstance. Vultures are flying high, watching and waiting for their moment. Though their swarm is significantly reduced, the remaining healthy batzards continually attack.

    To my relief, some of the hounds and snake-people beast-things are fighting over the injured batzards. However, there are still many creatures seeking variety in their diet. I sense they can sense I don''t have much of a chance against their numbers.

    The giant scorpions are particularly eager to eat me. Not a single scorp stops to capitalize on the wounded. Instead, they advanced as a unit seeking my demise as if I owed them my life. To be fair to the scorps, I¡¯m covered in the burned shell of their fallen. Though in my defense, how was I supposed to know scorpions burrow and are territorial? Or that they care about each other and wearing pieces of their dead is a heinous crime punishable by death? They should at least carry some of the blame. All I¡¯m saying is a simple sign warning others they are sleeping underground would have helped avert much of the unnecessary violence.

    I¡¯m brought back to focus as I back step out of reach from the stinger launching at me. With my right hand, I slice my machete through the stinger, and my left swings upward, cutting through the bat, thinking it could attack unnoticed.

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    "Like the desert, you will also choke on my tasteless, dead corpse." There is no illusion I make it out of here alive. I''m just trying to prolong my life to make it miserable for the rest of the group.

    Combinations of attack and dodge become my new norm.

    Step.

    Dodge.

    Swing.

    Swing.

    And step.

    Eager to shine its light, the sun joins us as we struggle through the desert. Luckily, I¡¯m already squinting, having taken a claw to the eye from a batzard that could pass my guard. It only cost it its life to do so. My other eye, the good one, is constantly blinking from the blood and sweat that drips into it.

    The lifeless repetition becomes crucial for my survival.

    ****

    The morning sun now rises higher in the sky. Resting by my sides are my machetes. The strength in my arms gave out not long ago. I awkwardly swing my body to get the blades to respond. I¡¯m so close to the trees.

    Step.

    Before me, I can partially see the wake of death paving the way from where I¡¯ve been. Bats, scorpions, and snake folk have fallen to my blades, either dead on the spot or soon-to-be-dead from the hounds and vultures satisfied with a more leisurely meal.

    Step. Swing. Step.

    Now that the sun is in full force, the remaining three bats and the snake folk have decided to abandon their pursuit seeking shelter from the sun. The vultures and hounds have made it abundantly clear that they aren''t interested in a fight. Had they joined in, I would not be standing. Instead, they safely feast on the hard work of others.

    "Come and get me." I raspingly taunt angered scorpions still fully invested in my demise, words barely leaving my lips.

    At this point, I¡¯ve given up on dodging, relying on my armor to protect me from most of the blows. Hit after hit, it has proven to be durable. My flesh, on the other hand, is less durable. Wounds from stingers and claws are exposing bones and different disgusting insides I would have been better off not seeing. Poison from the stingers is coursing through my veins, causing me to stumble as I continually retreat to a false safe haven.

    Step. Stumble. Swing.

    I try to get back to my feet only to find the strength gone. Abandoning one of my machetes, I use my free arm to somewhat help me crawl backward. My other arm awkwardly swings, my only defense from the scorpions snapping at my legs.

    Light dims as scorpions take advantage of my slower pace, and the ten completely surround me. I can no longer crawl away, and the machete is too heavy and awkward to wield. Ditching the heavier blade, I grab my two hunting knives.

    All I can do now is rest and wait.

    On cue, the scorpions attack. My only saving grace is that not all ten can attack at once. Stingers slam into my back plating, straightening my bowed resting position. Momentum from the blow allows me to plunge my knife into the mouth of the scorpion, striking at my throat.

    My knife rips through its mouth as I roll over, placing myself below another scorpion. I impale the scorpion''s body with the blade and continue to roll. Loud screeches follow my attack while crushing weight can be felt on my legs.

    I ram both knives down on the scorpion that has me in its grips. Stabbing twice more, my left arm is interrupted by another claw. Impulsively my right arm slices through the claw and follows with a stab to the scorpion''s head.

    My side is pierced by a stinger that I quickly cut free from the scorpion. Pain causes me to gasp. Once. Twice. Pressing their advantage, the scorpions redouble their efforts.

    Rolling, once more, I narrowly escape the onslaught of three stingers aimed at my head. I throw my blade at the scorpion screeching over its lost tail. The knife miraculously lodges into its mouth.

    No longer able to screech, the scorpion panics as it tries to enlist the help of its companions. Panic turns to a frenzy as it loses the ability to cope with the lodged blade, and it more aggressively seeks the aid of its companions.

    Two scorpions distractedly fight the panicked scorpion sparing no attacks to end its life. Slightly less overwhelmed, I throw my fatigued arm into the next scorpion cutting into its back. The newly cut scorpion rolls on the ground, trying to extinguish the pain.

    One scorpion attacks recklessly and I slam my knife into its head before it can hit me. Another claw grips my leg, which I wildly cut through.

    I''m soaked in all sorts of gore. Most of it is my own. Of the ten scorpions, only three are left in the fight, one of which is missing a claw, and the other, the one that killed its panicked mate, has grown. Defiant and desperate ''til the end, I let out a savage roar bluffing the fight I no longer have in me.

    My knife swings a couple times for show. The three scorpions look at me and then at each other. First, the larger scorpion turns and leaves, then the other two follow. I hold my ground as long as I can before letting myself fall.

    Laying on my back, I can barely see the sun forcing its light through the trees.

    Coughing and hacking, I¡¯m now fighting for my last breaths of air.

    Soon I will rest for good and no longer must put up with the damnable desert again. The thought comforts me, and a dry bloody smile forms on my evaporated lips.

    Irritatingly, I realize the scorpions haven''t left me to die in peace. Nor are they trying to attack me. They are waiting for me to die before they consume me. As a last act of defiance, I use every bit of strength I have left and pull myself to my knees. With a death grip, I hold onto my hunting knife with both hands. My smile returns when I think about my ruse causing the scorpions to wait longer than necessary.

    Kneeling, hands clenched around my lifeline, head bowed, and grinning like the fool I am, I breathe my last breaths. The decision to run through the storm was the absolute worst.

    I''ll say one thing about death; it brings greater perspective.

    I believe, most certainly, I ended up abandoned in the desert because of a woman. It''s hard to be sure about these types of things. Still, I¡¯ve an uncanny feeling about this. I¡¯m absolutely confident that there was a woman behind my unfortunate circumstance.

    And I¡¯m positive I was the innocent party.

    Bold, brave, beautiful, and destined for greatness. She was leagues above me.

    Like an anchor, my love was keeping her ship from sailing.

    Tasked with the choice to stagnate on dry lands or sail the greater waters, she broken-heartedly chose the seas.

    "Love is love." I incoherently mutter to my empathetic audience. Or at least, I think that is what I¡¯m trying to say. It very well could be a tsk, tsk.

    Where is the ominous voice telling me to push on when I¡¯m at the end? Have I lived enough already? It all makes sense now. The desert, the sand, the scorpions¡­ they''re all playing their part in a long, terrible goodbye. Tsk, tsk, indeed.

    Alas, "So long, cruel world. I was too good for you anyway. Scorpions, deserts, and sand, be warned. I will haunt you even in death," I utter venomously with my last bitter breath.

 5. Deaths Hollow Embrace

    Genevieve watches with keen interest as the strange islander dramatically kneels, waiting for his death. There is nothing she can do for him. Her powers were long spent hundreds of years ago and the shreds she maintains are for a much greater purpose. A purpose the desert wanderer could have been used for. Now that thread of hope unravels as hope usually does.

    She could comfort him in his last moments. Usually, people don''t like to die alone and this one, if nothing else, is lonely. However, she knows a death promise being made when she sees it, herself being a witness to her own. Another spirit joining her on her island might not be bad after all. Fury would appreciate the new soul.

    The man has a much darker skin tone than the humans she used to interact with. His dark, wavy, short hair, his empty green eyes, and his skin tone indicate he''s from an island tribe. Most likely a tuskless tribe. That could explain how he ended up here. Islanders were notorious for being where they shouldn''t be.

    His appearance was a great mystery to Genevieve. This island of hers has been empty of people for almost a century. Then one day, he appears. On top of that, her shadow fog has started to recede. Perhaps they are connected, perhaps not.

    How the man endured such an extended beating is quite telling. Sure, they are low-ranked monsters but the man by her readings is also low-ranked. And even if he was stronger, his enemies had the numbers. His death was only a matter of time. Watching him struggle and embrace death when victory was close was almost inspiring.

    Acceptance isn''t a weakness.

    Genevieve watches the man breathe his last. Hopefully, her new fellow spirit-walking friend will be a kind one. Who knows, maybe with enough time, she can convince him to drop whatever revenge he holds in his heart that keeps his spirit here. If she still does have time left.

    ****

    Well¡­ I''m not dead yet. Might as well be. Can''t do anything in this broken state. I can''t even open my good eye. That''s the problem with living. You never know which breath is going to be your last. By my count, I¡¯ve had several last breaths.

    Pain from the poison and the injuries grows unbearable. I breathe in deep, thinking death will finally take me. Then I breathe in again, enduring more pain. Maybe living is my curse. I will always be destitute and broken never allowed to reach the sweet escape.

    No. Here it is. This next gasp of air will be my last. I can feel myself stepping into the next stage of life. Whatever that be. Perhaps I''ll become nothing, just a speck in the vast void. My mind goes blank, everything is dark, and a chill rushes through my body. Finally, peace from my torment.

    Waking up not dead can be somewhat frustrating. Still not dead, in a world of pain, and unable to do anything, I ready myself for the last breath one more time. This one is it. This one feels different from the rest. The curse is broken.

    Pain.

    Last breath.

    Then blackness.

    ****

    It is remarkable how long the man drags out his death. He certainly has a flair for dramatics. Gasping for air, blacking out, then gasping for more air, all while kneeling. When Genevieve thought he was indeed dead, he would breathe.

    She pities the dying man. He is in a desperate state; death would be a mercy, yet it keeps stringing him along. At this point, as unlikely as it seems, she will be more shocked if he does die. Finally she turns her back on the dead man.

    For the first time in years, the Lycan has business to attend to, and she isn''t missing out on it. If the new spirit must traverse the planes alone for a little bit, he will be fine. She can throw him a ¡°Welcome to Life Outside of Life¡± party later.

    With a thought, she travels many miles to her foggy borders, where land meets the sea. Her intuition is confirmed to be true. What once was a dense wall of shadow is now pocketed with gaping holes. Years of solitude fabricated by herself will soon be interrupted. Once the shadow diminishes, Genevieve''s island will be back on the maps.

    People will come, the horde will return, and her people will be at risk again. To be sure, Genevieve travels to the major coasts in every direction. The shadow wall is thoroughly inspected at each one. Every border is the same. Her ritual is running out of power, whether it is near sandy beaches, rocky cliffs, swampy inlets, or forest coves. She is running out of time. Her people are running out of time.

    Finished with her inspections, Genevieve pictures the dead man to travel back to him. It only takes thought, and her spirit arrives precisely where she focuses.

    It doesn''t work.

    Focusing on a destination near the man also proves to be unsuccessful.

    She thinks of her cave, knowing that she will arrive back at her home.

    Nothing.

    This is not good. The thought runs through Genevieve''s mind several times.

    Thinking of a closer destination, Genevieve closes her eyes. She reinforces her thoughts with her will, traveling three miles to her intended destination.

    This is not good at all. I am running out of time. Worry, like an estranged friend, makes its way back to her mind. With worry comes all the other emotions she blocked out for all these years. Her thoughts immediately turn to the children. We must keep them safe.

    ****

    Surprisingly when I come back to myself from the void, I can open my eyes. Though somehow, I¡¯m in the middle of a war.

    For a moment, I think I¡¯m still battling the monsters that chased me from the desert.

    My eyes clear, and I realize that this is strangely different. Packed in an unfamiliar forest, people are fighting by my side. Foreign friends are dying by my side. Trees reverberate the shouts of the wounded. Powers are thrown about wildly, creating havoc across the land.

    Trees are destroyed, allowing the trapped screams to escape, only to be replaced by crushing noises from wooden golems. Massive explosions of ice and fire rain down on the golems. Boulders blowing in the wind. Bright light flashes amplified by lightning strikes.

    The forest takes the brunt of the attacks, consumed as a resource for battle, and what''s left burns. Soon the crowded forest becomes nothing more than an open battlefield on a hillside.

    Smoke burns my eyes. My emotions are panic and anger at the unknown enemy and my body is sore, most likely broken. Everything feels so natural, yet I can''t believe what I¡¯m seeing or experiencing.

    Adrenaline pumps through my veins. I need to survive this. I must get up... when did I get knocked down? More explosions, constant shouting of orders and threats, and worst of all, the shrieking cries of pain and despair.

    I can no longer see the chaos, only hear evidence of it as a blanket of blackness replaces the violence.

    Silence.

    A battlefield once filled with horrors of power is now a dark, peaceful night. Casting its borrowed light, the moon highlights the aftermath of the brutal battle. Faint wisps of death linger. The calm air does nothing to dispose of the foul odors, as if wanting nothing to do with the slaughter.

    There is no sound. No cries for help or even rasping breaths of survival. Even the crickets are refusing to play their songs.

    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    There is none of that.

    All there is, crowding the world with its emptiness, is death.

    I¡¯m surrounded by it.

    I try to move, but I can''t. Instead, I¡¯m to lie with the dead. Who are they? Fellow-soldiers? Friends? Family?

    I struggle some more to move. Pulling within myself, I draw whatever power I have and force it into my arms. For a moment, nothing happens. Then within a blink, the bodies around me dissipate.

    What once were solid masses of people now is a stream of pale gray mana swirling in the air. With each rotation, the mana draws closer and closer to my prone body. As the pale mist encloses, it becomes harder and harder to breathe.

    I try to resist, to do anything, even just move. I cling to life hoping it will be a boon in this darkness. Still nothing. I want nothing to do with this hollow energy encircling me, but I¡¯m as helpless as the companions once by my side.

    Again, I focus on the power within me, but this time I push out with all my might, desperately trying to will the death away.

    For a moment, I think that it is working when the dull mana stops circling. Then instantly, it encloses all around. The dense mana restricts my breathing completely. Suffocating, I offer little resistance when death converges all at once, shooting into my chest.

    I wake up in a panicked sweat. A gasping-gurgling yell escapes my body. I''m struggling for air and the awful awakening process stretches on. Finally, breathing comes easily and rapidly. It takes another moment before my breath becomes normal.

    That was horrific.

    Fortunately, it was only just a dream. Unfortunately, death can be a real damnable experience if I put things politely.

    Relaxing my body, I control my breathing and scan my surroundings. Except I can''t. My eyes won''t open. One is swollen shut, and the other, whether it is swollen or not, doesn''t respond. Severe aching pains stagnate in my knees. Whoever decided that dying on my knees was a good idea is an idiot.

    Stupid scorpions. I mentally curse.

    I no longer feel pain from the poison and the pain from my other injuries is more manageable, which I conclude is a win. My most considerable relief comes when I can control my body enough to fall over and give my knees a much-needed break.

    Now on my side, I fall back asleep.

    Sunlight beaming through the trees causes me to wake however long it is later. Sleep has done much to improve my current situation.

    My one good eye can now open. I can feel the wounds covering my body have recovered to a degree. Best of all, I¡¯ve gained limited movement, which I take advantage of and slowly arrange my body in a more comfortable lying position.

    Pine and aspen trees intermixed with desert shrubberies are scattered, and smaller greenery covers the sandy dirt around me. Fresh scents from the pine trees and various life forms in the desert crowd my senses. Laying about in silence, I find myself relieved, to my surprise, to still be alive. More than that, I''m finally out of the desert!

    Shade shifts from one spot to the next as I continue to bask in the pleasant atmosphere. Eventually, I will get up and do whatever needs to be done. For now, I allow myself to rest. In my blank restful state, the surrounding tree shade shifts drastically. While it is not dark yet, it is definitely at the end of the day. Warm air is transitioning into its colder stage.

    Rest has done my body good; my senses are more alert than they were, and my body feels like it will respond to most of my commands. Faint sounds of water rushing over rocks can be heard in the distance. My ears have never heard a sweeter sound.

    Since death won''t accept me, I will accept my curse and struggle to live a little longer. Survive just to spite the exclusive club called death. That is a noble cause I can get behind. I give up on death and start trying to live. Whatever living means.

    Aching, I pull my body from the ground. I¡¯m standing, if only barely. It doesn''t matter. Feet or no feet, if water is nearby, I will crawl towards it if I need to.

    As I leave, I get a good look at my resting spot. Roughly thirty feet surrounding me, there is no life. There is nothing. It looks like everything but me was dissolved into nothingness, wiped from existence. Even the weapons and armor I used are gone.

    Not only that, once again, I¡¯m practically naked and stranded. Thank goodness for invincible underwear. Trudging through the desert and forest with an exposed schlong sounds like a personal hell. Thinking of the ticks and parasites that would target my goods gives me uncomfortable chills.

    Slowly I make my way towards the sound of water. Five hundred hard-fought yards later, the landscape has abandoned all desert affiliations. Semi-sandy terrain is now loose dirt and rock. Forest trees are densely packed, combined with the thick ground vegetation that forces me to wind my way through the woods towards the stream. It feels like I''ve stepped into a whole new world.

    Gone is the constant beating of the sun. The solid ground gives more resistance, making walking much more effortless. The tradeoff being the ground is littered with sticks and pines that are more than willing to pierce my bare feet.

    Overall, I''m happy to be out of the desert and nearing water.

    The crashing sounds of water colliding into rocks grow louder and louder as I get closer. Finally, I step through the dense foliage to see a river cutting through the forest. From side to side, the river looks at least twenty feet wide, flowing from north to south, running parallel to the distant mountains. Further north of where I¡¯m standing, the river is joined by a smaller river that runs from the direction of the mountains.

    Wasting no time, I step past the rocky shore and eagerly plunge into the cool refreshing water. Skin and lips feel like they are desperately absorbing the water as I submerge myself repeatedly. It is risky. However, having just circulated poison as if it were blood, I don''t fear the risk and drink deeply from the cool water. I feel refreshed and empowered. The water is almost like a new life coursing through my body. It feels like my body is mending back together.

    For the moment, I¡¯m good. My body is functioning, my mind is clear, and my soul is still... wait a moment!

    Responding to my shock, my relaxed body jolts upright and stiffens. Something has changed to my core. Paying no mind to the river that barrels around me, I deeply examine my soul.

    Sweet mother of fatherless batzards! Death had its way with me. Next to the dull core, my second layer is now filled with pale gray mana. What once was empty, like the remaining seven layers, is now a death core.

    I¡¯ve no idea how to use it, but that doesn''t matter. I have it! I can access it. Now it makes sense why my wounds aren''t as nasty as they should be. Pale mana is giving me power at the very moment as it ever so slightly provides energy for my body to function.

    Do I feel violated that the pale mana bound one of my cores without my invitation? Yup. Am I going to take advantage of my new source of power? Absolutely. The only way to accept a mockery of a gift is to take it with a heavy dose of gratitude. Besides, if I¡¯m not supposed to have death powers, maybe the live whisperer should have been more specific. Or maybe death is going to help me to live.

    My attention locks onto my core. I can feel the pale mana violently thrashing around in a circular pattern inside. For better or worse, the power of death is now a part of me.

    It isn''t the densest core. I feel that my second layer still has ample room for pale energy. Most likely due to its infant development. On top of that, death did not fill up the rest of my cores. Not that I¡¯m complaining. If I still have seven empty cores, could I bind them to other mana sources? Thinking of more possibilities, I¡¯m incredibly grateful death did not claim more layers.

    Although it is getting late, the excitement from my new energy has left me in a tireless state. Continuing to focus on the dull core, I feel the intensity circling around as if there were a hurricane locked inside a small pocket of my chest.

    I focus hard on the mana, trying to condense the core tighter as if I¡¯m using another muscle. The death resists initially, but as I concentrate, I can will the mana into a tighter ball. I hold the packed power as long as I can. When the strain becomes too much, I slowly release the energy, letting the mana fill the core.

    Giving myself a moment to breathe, I begin the cycle anew.

    Immersed in learning about the mana, a couple of hours slip by. The sun has gone down, and my cold, shivering body demands me to leave the river. However, the foreign energy begins to feel familiar. I can quickly focus on the mana, which immediately condenses upon my command. Now that I¡¯m familiar with the mana, it is time to try and harness the power.

    I begin condensing and expanding the mana within my core, losing myself in the process once more. As I release the power, I attempt to will the mana to flow from my soul and through my body.

    Nothing happens. The mana is still trapped in the core.

    I try the same technique three more times. Each attempt is met with failure.

    I¡¯m grasping at straws. I feel like I¡¯m working off a faded memory, but the details are not lining up. Luckily, I¡¯ve been gifted with an unconquerable spirit and refuse to let a few failed attempts discourage me. I¡¯m close to being able to wield the power death brings.

    Five variations of made-up mana cycling later, and I still haven''t gotten the power through my core yet. I tried focusing on a small section of the core to ease that through my body. After that, I try condensing the core as tight as possible and pushing all the mana out at once. Then I do the same thing, this time only focusing on a tiny section of the condensed power.

    Nothing.

    Since there is no time like the present to give up on a cause and I¡¯m probably suffering from exposure, I throw up my hands and surrender.

    The thing about being unconquerable is knowing when to quit before you lose.

    Satisfied with the flow of thought, I exit the river on the east side. Today, I conquered death. Tomorrow, I will wield it.

 6. Foraging in the Forest

    Wasting no time, I scavenge close by, finding necessary materials for a fire. Tinder from dried-up tree bark is stripped and rubbed together, creating a nest for my future ember. Small twigs found on the ground are used for kindling with a thick straight stick set aside as a friction tool.

    Thicker pieces of wood will be my primary fuel source and I spend most of my time collecting enough to last into the next day. Darkness and cold work against me, causing me to spend more time gathering materials than what is reasonable.

    Sure, it was foolish to get sucked into cultivation like I did, especially in the shrivel-inducing cold. I¡¯ve many regrets. Even more so, as my shivering hands clumsily attempt to create friction with the tools I set aside, my drill and a semi-flat piece of dry pine.

    Practiced hands work the drilling stick creating friction and heat as the drill is rotated firmly into the board. Although the process is tedious and tiring, I stick with it until a nice ember is created from the friction.

    Handling the ember cautiously, I place it into the tinder nest and lightly blow. When the tinder ignites, I set the burning nest into my stacked kindling and blow softly, encouraging the infant flame to grow.

    Moments later, I¡¯m beside a warm, burning fire. My hands nearly become fuel for the fire as I absorb the heat forcing the shivering to subside. Before I can get my temperature regulated, wrenching pain in my stomach flairs. Acting like that isn''t enough to guarantee sustenance, my stomach growls loudly. To be fair to my needy stomach, it has been a while since I¡¯ve eaten.

    As hungry as I am, I don''t bother searching for food tonight. Instead, I drown out the hunger as much as possible by drinking more river water. The water cools my body back down, opening the door to more shivers, which I quickly shut down by huddling close to the fire.

    Tomorrow, I will be better. Tonight, I will rest. I close my eyes and fall asleep to the peaceful duet of cracking wood and the running river.

    It is still dark when I wake up with an aggressive urge to pee. Tiptoeing into the woods away from the river, I curse each stick and needle that hinders my pathway towards relief.

    Between my cursing and the twigs snapping beneath my feet, I can hear critters scampering away, trying their hardest to not be seen. None of the footsteps sound large enough to be a dangerous predator, and I sincerely hope that is the case. Getting eaten at camp while I¡¯m asleep would be the absolute pits.

    Fifty yards away, I find a nice, secluded spot to relieve myself. I''m not sure why seclusion is necessary. I''m alone. I could have peed in my camp, and the only one who would have cared or known would be me. Knowing myself to be a critic was probably reason enough to walk a distance away from camp.

    On my trip back, I take time to gather more wood to add to the burn pile. I feed the fire and fall back asleep, distracting my mind with empty curses about water not having to be so eager to constantly be flowing and more nonsense of that sort. It wasn''t my best cursing and I blame it entirely on my level of tiredness.

    The direct light of the sun warming my body to uncomfortable temperatures causes me to wake. I panic when I realize it might not be the sun causing the excessive heat. My body jolts up and I begin frantically patting myself down until I see my fire is all but burnt out. Exhaustion pulled me into a deep sleep keeping me away from fire maintenance. Luckily there was enough flame to keep unwanted guests at bay, or my deep sleep was me dying and I was spared the experience.

    Heaven knows I¡¯ve already had enough experience dying and that was all in one afternoon. If there is a word for being on the verge of dying and embracing it only to be shunned by death, I would be using that to curse.

    My first priority is keeping the fire alive. Sure, I could create the fire again from scratch, but I¡¯d rather not. I use the waning coals and coax my fire back to life. With the fire burning and enough wood to last for the day, I move on to the next priority: more water. Drinking from the river solves that problem. Now all I must do is figure out what I want to do next. I need a plan.

    However, planning is not what I want to do and I find myself putting the task off by doing anything else. I stretch and do a few exercises to work out muscle soreness. I reflect on recent battles, both real ones and dream ones. And since I really don''t want to plan, I get lost in more cultivation.

    Numerous attempts later, I¡¯m no closer to cycling the death mana than I was when I discovered my core had bonded the pale energy.

    I fail at cycling a few more times before deciding I need a plan. Before I get to planning, though, I make sure to collect enough wood for a proper night or two of burning. When the wood gathering is complete, I feel extra thirsty.

    Sparing not another thought, I drink from the river heavily. Whether dehydration is trauma-inducing or not, I drink enough water to drown any memories of a dried mouth and parched lips. Consequently, the task of relieving my bladder seems extra demanding.

    With every distraction expended, I finally attempt to devise a partial plan.

    Not wanting to be left out of the list of distractors, stomach rumblings interrupt my deep planning session that is well underway. Turns out I''m gonna have to eat my thoughts from last night about hunger pains being enough to remind me that I¡¯m hungry. Mindlessly ignoring the pains all day, I completely forgot about the famished stomach. You win this round, stomach. Touch¨¦.

    My planning session is put on pause, and I go all-in on procuring food. The forest has got to be more bountiful than the desert in terms of food. And well, everything else.

    "Sweet batzards," I say, trying the new curse out. "If death didn''t rob me of my fresh meats and tools, this wouldn''t be a problem at all. Greedy bastards ¡ª " I switch back to a more traditional curse. " ¡ª robbed me of my Succulently Roasted Assorted Meats Kabob."

    Searching for food turns out to be a monotonous task. It is not so much that I¡¯m struggling to find food. There is plenty of edible food if I¡¯m hungry enough, which I am, but I don''t want to settle for the first weed I set my eye upon. What if there is something better like a berry or a grouse that I can hit with a stick? Critters are around here somewhere, I heard them all last night, and if there are critters, there has gotta be nuts and berries.

    My gripe with searching for food is that it is basically walking, but now I must pay attention to details. Stomach cramping intensifies and the pain pulls me from my leisurely stroll through nature''s garden. However, it isn''t until I get light-headed that I quit my search for the good stuff and settle for what is easily obtainable.

    I Head back to my camp, grabbing a handful of leaves off the bitterweeds and the yellow flowers on top, carefully avoiding the bitter white sap contained in the stem.

    Chikroot is also abundant, blanketing the forest floor where the trees aren''t densely packed. Tiny green leaves cover the thick stems. I pull up a few and add them to my bitterweeds.

    I''m about to turn back when I spot a patch of light-yellow mushrooms with a meaty stalk with gill-like ridges and a wide-open cap. Goldshrooms. Jackpot! Well, sorta. It is, after all, a mushroom.

    Once I pick the largest goldshrooms of the patch, I shake loose the pollen that has coated the five shrooms in my hand and dust the goldshrooms left behind. Hopefully, the dusting will help the fungus continue to thrive.

    One more surprise awaits me on my trail back to camp. A thick patch of wild onions is off the path, to the side. This find changes everything. Dinner plans begin formulating in my mind. Bland flavors will be seasoned and enriched with the powder produced from the onions. Wild game that I eventually catch will become so much tastier. I break off a couple large stems from the onions leaving much to be harvested later.

    Forests are so much better than deserts and that is a fact. The food alone is worth the visit.

    Back at camp, I prepare my wild feast. Everything but the mushrooms get rinsed in the river and then placed on a smooth flat rock. A few minutes later a wild salad topped with yellow flowers is laying before me.

    Using the bitterweed leaves, I stuff an assortment of chikroot leaves, halved bitterweed flowers, and hand-shredded wild onions onto the leaf and then roll it up. My salad has turned into an easier-to-eat salad roll.

    Bitter and sweet flavors from the various plants fill my mouth. The intense flavors are hard to take all at once, and I struggle to swallow the roll, resulting in me over-chewing my first bite. Salad roll was a silly idea. I don''t bother rolling any more salads and eat the weeds in smaller, less dense bites, occasionally stopping to drink from the river.

    Lunch, though a little late, is a huge success. I¡¯m mostly full, feel healthy, and have some food saved for later. Unexpectedly, my luck turns for the better. Not too far from my camp, a rabbit is going about its business, paying me no attention.

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    Silent and slow, I reach for a nearby stick, pretending not to notice the rabbit. I grab a nice sizable branch, maybe two inches thick, a foot long, and slightly curved.

    Still not looking directly at the rabbit, I find it in my peripheral vision. A task made more difficult by only having one good eye. Apparently, fixing eyes is beyond the limit of the slow healing powers provided by death.

    Luckily, the rabbit is on the side of my good eye. I draw the stick back as slowly as possible and lock the target in my peripheral. I visualize the throw first and then follow it with action.

    In one subtle motion, I turn my body, aim at my target, then quickly release my stick with a sideways spin. The branch travels fast spinning in the air.

    Noticing the danger, the rabbit shoots to the left. It is not fast enough to escape the stick''s length and fails at its attempt. Adrenaline is rushing as I follow the throw, running towards my downed target. It was a clean shot. I pick up the rabbit, ensure it is dead, and prepare to clean my kill.

    Having no knife is my current dilemma. To solve the problem, we, the dead rabbit and I, head to the riverbed to look for the right type of rock. I pace up and down the rocky river several times to locate the rocks I want. Each potential stone I find I put through a test by smashing another rock against its edge. If it chips away sharply, it passes.

    So far, I haven''t had much luck. Most of the rocks crumble or break instead of chipping. Finally, I find a nice stash of rocks to test. I strike my round rock on the edges of the dark sediment rock and watch as sparks fly and the struck rock''s edge chips away. I continue to chip away at the edge of my new rock until it is nice and sharp, creating multiple sparks in the process.

    Roughly the size of my hand and an inch and a half thick, the new cutting rock holds a nice edge. Since I¡¯m already far enough downstream from my watering spot, I begin working on the rabbit.

    Processing the rabbit is as hard as I expected it to be with a rock for a knife. Rather than slicing, the rough blade must be worked back and forth to separate the fur from the body. Eventually, I¡¯ve enough fur that I can pull on it to remove the fine dark gray pelt from the rest of the body.

    Limitations of my blade become even more evident as I carefully cut away the guts. It is a delicate process, and I try my hardest to not puncture the stomach. Spoiling my meat would ruin the perfect day. When the meat separated from the gross stuff, I take a moment to wash the hide clean in the river.

    All I¡¯ve to say about this experience is that it is stupid.

    I''m not the finest woodsman. Or cultivator, for the matter. I have a death-attributed core with mana to shape and mold to my command, and here I am using a practically blunt rock to clean my kill. There is probably some spell or skill I could use courtesy of death that would make this process so much better.

    Also, I¡¯ve been rubbing sticks together like a fool when I could be knocking rocks to create a spark. So maybe it isn''t the process but rather the processor that I¡¯ve issues with. Either way, criticism still standing, I have issues with what is happening, and I plan to make some changes.

    Plan One: Begin cooking dinner even though I just had lunch.

    Plan Two: Figure out how to cycle death to make living in the wild easier.

    Plan Three: Feast on the spoils of the day''s laborious task of avoiding making a proper plan.

    I don''t know why I was trying to avoid planning so much. Maybe it is the labeling of tasks or the binding nature of plans. It could be that having plans invites the potential for plans to be ruined. In contrast, no plan means nothing can be ruined by unforeseen circumstances. Not only that, there is the pressure put on an ordinary task once it becomes a plan.

    Take cooking a rabbit. I¡¯m going to cook the rabbit anyway. However, now that it is an official plan, I¡¯ve the potential to fail at cooking the rabbit and I¡¯ve a chance to ruin the remainder of my plans as well.

    On the other hand, not planning to cook the rabbit and doing so only because it needs to get done will not set me up for future failure. If I fail this independent task, no other unplanned task is at risk.

    Now, if I fail at cooking, I don''t complete my task and can''t check off the plan from the tight schedule I¡¯ve shackled myself to, and my consecutive planned tasks are all in jeopardy as well. Can''t cycle while cooking if I don''t end up cooking, and I can''t eat what hasn''t been cooked.

    Planning tasks has a peculiar way of taking out the levity in ordinary tasks and I¡¯m not a fan.

    The monotony of the tasks that follow my return to camp allows me to stay lost in thought. I unconsciously restoke the fire and set the rabbit meat on a roasting stick.

    As I go to place the rabbit on the fire, I¡¯m pulled to the present to admire my fire pit, a task I completed earlier to avoid planning. A foot-high wall of rocks contains my fire, while two stacks of rocks holds my rabbit half a foot higher than the wall, allowing it to perfectly roast.

    Catching the juice from the rabbit is another rock with a bowl-like shape to it. In this convenient natural pan, I will cook the remaining food I picked during the day, using the oils from the rabbit to help with the cooking.

    I¡¯m using my rock to cut the wild onions and goldshrooms into smaller chunks. Even though I won''t cook these until the rabbit is about done roasting, I take the time to finish the task now while still contemplating why plans are the worst.

    Planning on its own, I guess, isn''t too bad if you plan to keep your plans minimal to ensure maximum success. The problem with planning is the deeper thinking it pulls you into.

    Give me surface-level thoughts all day long; I can work with that. What I can see I can criticize, and what can be criticized can be fixed.

    Planning, though, forces one to work with the unseeable. Since you can''t see it while you are planning, you are forced to reflect upon it later in a future planning session.

    Reflection is bad. How does one reflect when one can''t remember?

    "Oh, for the love." I express my disgust with the turn of events. Now I¡¯ve stumbled into the depths of the issue. Depths that I rather not wade into.

    Ever since I woke up, I''ve been on the go. I hadn''t allowed myself any time to consider all I had lost. Sure, I like the freedom of not having any memories, but what about my past life? Were there loved ones left behind? Did I have any friends or family? Is anyone looking for me? How did I end up in the desert... alone? What was my name... is my name?

    Successful planning involves experience, experience called upon by a lifetime of memories, and I don''t have that. I don''t even have someone else''s memories to work off. It''s just me, in the woods, alone. No direction to go and no purpose. There is nothing. It doesn''t matter what direction I go or what I plan. Like driftwood in the open waters or a feather in the wind, I¡¯m completely lost... at the mercy of the future.

    I¡¯m not even sure if what I have now is what I had before. For all I know, I put myself in the mess because my life was so miserable before. I return to the prompting to live. Maybe this life is an escape ¡ª a vacation to be enjoyed.

    My thoughts quickly begin to spiral, bouncing from the cold, to the dark, getting lost in emptiness, settling on being alone, and then wanting more. Despair begins to creep into my heart offering some unknown absolution from myself. My breathing is short.

    Let me in, Despair offers. I can conquer all your worries. I can feel myself wanting to give in¡­ accept the offer, to just give up.

    In the darkness, glimmering flames offer refuge from the thoughts I¡¯ve fallen into. I cling to the distraction as I watch the glowing embers. Hypnotic fading red coals hold my attention, coaxing me out of the current blackhole I was diving into. I follow the natural rhythm of the fire. It takes a moment for my nerves to calm and my breathing to return to normal.

    "Damning plans!" I curse, pulling myself wholly out of my head. "Your very existence is to set people up for failures. And here you are, trying to get me to fail at my next planned task by making me contemplate your complexities, filling me with feelings I would rather not feel. It''s late afternoon, and you have me feeling like a lonely cub in the middle of a harsh winter night.

    "And I do not appreciate you stunting my progression. You''re supposed to help people, not hinder them with sad thoughts of lost memories and hopelessness." I mutter aloud with clenched, shaking fists, successfully shifting the blame from myself while simultaneously shaking off the creeping thoughts threatening to embrace my heart with its icy hands.

    I just need to keep my head down and my thoughts simple. There is no need to dig deep in order to live. Just float through the motions and survive. No longer stagnating in thought, I get back to the planned task before me.

    My roasted rabbit looks crispy on the bottom side facing the fire, and I give it a quarter turn to cook the back. Deliciousness wafts in the air. I breathe it in, causing my mouth to water. I¡¯m comfortable sitting beside my fire and I watch the meat roast for a moment longer before I dive into cultivation.

    When I¡¯m ready, I close my eyes and focus on my soul. The lifeless gray energy in my second core continues to violently spin. This is my mana to use. I will figure out how to use it. I don''t attempt to cycle the mana for a long time. Instead, I watch as it storms within me.

    In my first attempts, I tried pulling the power from my core and through my body. There was no reason I knew why I tried that. It just felt familiar. Several variations of pushing and pulling on the core also did not work. Nothing has worked, so that is what I''m doing now. Breathing and watching my core.

    Constricting slightly when I breathe in and expanding as I breathe out. I let a few moments pass as I focus on the mana, noting how it easily expands with the pulling motion of inhaling. Feeling more connected with the power, I continue pulling on the core as if inhaling through my body.

    Mana swells from my center and begins to flow through my body. It doesn''t travel far, only flowing enough to encircle my stomach and chest before running out of steam and returning to my core. Still, the progress is exciting. Already, I¡¯ve begun to hone the technique for my next attempt.

    Focusing on the pale core, I constrict the violent mana once more. As it condenses, I hold the compacted mana as long as possible, refusing to let it burst. When I can no longer hold back, I release the mana with a push.

    Pale mana explodes out of the core and begins to flow through my torso. This time it doesn''t stop circulating. Now I can feel it coursing through my chest and stomach with no signs of stopping.

    For good measure, I release the mana from my channels and practice cycling once more. Now that I have it down, I can cycle the mana without complication.

    I can harness the power of death!

 7. Plans of Varying Distances

    Pale energy courses through my chest and stomach, empowering me with its violent nature. Death feels much like emptiness almost like an insatiable hunger. The mana rages inside my channels. However, instead of feeling the mana rushing through me, I almost feel nothing. The mana is there and even though I¡¯m filled with emptiness as it cycles, I feel full of power.

    After some time spent feeling and observing the violent void cycle, I pull my attention away from cultivating to prepare for dinner. I¡¯m getting closer to being able to wield death but now actual hunger has become a problem.

    My rabbit is now well roasted on the two main sides. All that is left is to add heat to the other two sides and cook up the forest weeds and mushrooms. Lowering my grease-soaked pan-like rock into the fire, I let the oils heat up before adding my sides.

    The ingredients touch the rock with a sizzle that lets me know there¡¯s plenty of heat for cooking. I¡¯ve a thought when I reach for a stick to stir the food. Maybe I don''t need to entirely rely on the woods for my tools.

    A spark of inspiration ignites my mind. Now that I can control my mana within, maybe I can use that mana outside of my body. Death mana practically leaps out of my skin when I think of letting it out. Excited by this new possibility, I immediately begin the summons.

    Fixing an image of a cooking utensil in my mind, I call on the eager mana and will the power to take shape. A bone-white spatula forms in my hand, materializing out of pale energy.

    The cooking utensil is a crude spatula, more a white straight stick than anything. I''m confident that is a problem I will fix as I gain more experience summoning and molding with death mana. Despite its shortcomings, my glorified stick fills me with excitement. I¡¯m the most powerful bone summoner in all the lands!

    Spatula in hand and feeling like a proper chef, I stir the frying vegetation and mushrooms with authority. Heavenly aromas from the sizzling onions and mushrooms combined with the roasting rabbit awaken a deep hunger that was only temporarily pacified earlier by salad.

    Now reduced in size and caramelized in color, my food is ready to eat.

    Like the spatula, I visualize a plate, fork, and knife and will my mana to become so. Each successfully summoned crude bone cutlery is met with the same enthusiastic excitement I have for my spatula.

    After a quick trip to the river and a couple failed attempts at creating a mug, I¡¯m adequately equipped for a meal.

    Roasted rabbit tastes so good compared to the scorpion meat and weeds I ate previously. It is tender, juicy, and packed with smokey pine flavors. I devour chunk after chunk of meat. My mushrooms and onions are tender and rich. Sometimes I get wild with my dish and mix the bites together. Occasionally I take a break for a quick drink.

    I''m fully invested in my meal, not even taking time to criticize or complain. Before long, it is all gone.

    For the rest of the evening, I sit by my fire and practice using pale energy. First, it is a basic knife summons. Then I summon another knife, slightly improved with a sharper edge. I continue to summon blades, honing my skill to visualize and manifest my vision. Feeling drained from exhausting my channels, I take a break from my exercise.

    Piles of bone knives crowd my campsite. Stumbling through the process, I discover how to absorb my blades back into my core. Holding on to the item, all I must do is connect my mana to it. Then it is a matter of willing the mana to come back.

    I recall all the blades except the last two I summoned, keeping them close by. Longer than the rest, the small machete-type knives help to bring me a false sense of security.

    Recalling the bone knives restores the mana lost in my core, relieving some of the strain I¡¯m feeling. Still, my core and channel feel like an overused muscles and need some time to recover regardless of the restored mana.

    "Shoot." I silently reprimand myself, "Why did I not keep a count of the knives I summoned?" That probably is valuable information.

    What if I meet a knife peddler in desperate need of inventory? "I can give you a pile of knives." I shake my head disapprovingly. "How much will you pay for a pile of knives about knee-high? What about ten piles of knives knee-high?"

    This definitely knocks the theory of me being a knifer in my previous life. Any good knifer would know the number of knives he has access to. It is ingrained into their very being. If a knifer doesn''t know all his knives, is he a knifer? Nope.

    Slipping high into the sky, the moon peeks through the trees watching over me as I fall asleep, thinking of the adventures to be had in the life of a knifer.

    When I wake up, the last remnants of the moon can be seen, and the sun is starting to creep over the desert. Wasting no time, I revive my fire and begin my morning with some stretches and exercises.

    Following the body exercises, I run my core and channels through some cycling techniques that should help strengthen my cultivation.

    Body and soul taken care of, I walk towards the river and take a swim. Whether it is swimming, water, chill, or a combination of the three, spending time in the river does much to bring peace to my mind.

    While floating in the gentle river, I attempt to do better than yesterday by tackling my planning session head-on. Though planning tried to hijack my tasks yesterday, I successfully accomplished more than I probably would have if I didn''t plan. Well, that probably isn''t true. Regardless, I¡¯m going to give planning another try. This time a full-day is open to subjugate to the demands of plans.

    It doesn''t work. I''m still as awful at planning. For the life of me, I cannot put a plan together. My morning is spent drifting down the river instead of planning.

    ¡°Hypothetically¡­¡± I¡¯m trying even harder now to get a plan going. ¡°What would I do if I were stranded alone, sandwiched between the desert and mountains with no memory, food, clothes, shelter, and gear? My only equipment is a certain set of skills?¡±

    Well, if that were me, I''d probably find a nice beach-like area and lie down until the situation resolves itself.

    "Great. I¡¯m the worst," I say to myself and the river carrying me about.

    At this point, I¡¯m probably a mile or two south of my camp and am no closer to an actual plan. The trees here are less dense than where I¡¯m camping, but it is still a forest.

    ¡°If it were somebody else in the same scenario... ¡± I continue struggling to think-talk myself through my roadblock.

    ¡°They would come up with a short and long-term plan. Then they would create a purpose that would drive them forward to accomplish their plans. Maybe not necessarily in that order. They are most likely more intelligent than me and would purpose first and plan secondly.

    ¡°So, if they were me, their plan would probably be to regain lost memories and do right any wrongs or something of that sort.¡±

    Since my one plan of action was foiled by a gang of inhospitable scorpions, I choose to try a more competent person''s plan. All I need is a purpose and a few plans of varying distances.

    Short-term plan: Find food and eat. "Nice! Nailed it." I say aloud, sharing my victory with the friendly river.

    Long-term plan: Have enough food for the rest of the week. "Well, it''s not nothing." Though it offers no feedback, I can tell the river is unimpressed, judging by its emotionless gurgles.

    Purpose: To not be hungry. "Damnit!" I¡¯m awful at this. I don''t even bother to consider the river''s current judgmental feedback. More frustrating than the inadequate purpose is that this purpose is enough for me to live. Once again, I¡¯m faced with the life dilemma and I don¡¯t know what to do with it. For all I know, I¡¯m doing everything I need to do to live. I¡¯m surviving.

    Okay, let''s try this planning and purpose creating again. This time I will try not to be so me¡­if I were somebody else¡­what motivating pursuit could I or they conjure? One glaring purpose would be surviving to recover lost memories.

    I try that one for a moment... it doesn''t really fit. For the most part, I¡¯m happy with this life reset. Also, how would I even know where to start to regain my memories? Besides, that is hardly someone else''s purpose. Finding lost memories is very specific to me. I toss that idea out and continue to create a purpose for someone else that I can maybe follow.

    ¡°You know, figment of my imagination, you''d be more helpful if you were real... ¡±

    My words slam into me. I stop floating in the river and I stand as if that will help me follow my current thought. If I can utilize my power to a greater capacity, I could possibly conjure up somebody. Well, sort of somebody. At least more of somebody than I currently have.

    "A minion!" I exclaim to the eager waters. "Yup, I want one of those."

    Finally, finding a purpose, I dive into my death core and begin cycling. Mana at my disposal, I create a concrete image of a skeleton in my mind willing the object to take shape. Various skeleton bones appear and begin to float down the river.

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    That was silly.

    I leave the river and find an ordinary spot in the woods. Dripping with water, I try the same summoning technique again. I''m slightly setback when the pile of bones appears at my feet. I just need to try the same thing again, maybe a little differently.

    Summoning a minion feels like a very death-appropriate thing, especially one made of bones. Despite my two failures, I don''t even question if it is possible or not.

    Examining my bone pile, I think I have everything I need for a skeleton minion. The only thing missing is structure. Following that, I try again. This time I use my hands to shape the skeleton I want.

    Pale energy shapes into a skeleton being. My heart is pumping fast, elated with my success. Before I can say hello, my skeleton collapses to the ground. Right, I need even more structure.

    I try again and fail.

    By now, my soul is feeling strained. Summoning a minion is more exhausting than summoning knives. I estimate one pile of skeleton bones equals roughly two piles of knives. Judging by the amount of mana in my core, the estimate isn''t too far off.

    I¡¯m buoyed by excitement and failure finds no grounds for disappointment. After a moment of rest and evaluation, I push for one more attempt.

    My hands form the outline of the skeleton, replicating the image that is locked in my mind. Pale energy takes shape; once again, a skeleton being is standing before me. This time, though, I don¡¯t cut off my mana. Instead, I continue to fill my minion with power pushing myself past my limits. I¡¯m sapped and worn when I see my skeleton is stable.

    "I did it! I summoned a minion!" I brag to my new friend.

    Sweet magic bones, it worked! First try too. My fists are punching the air wildly in celebration.

    "Behold my glory and fear my wrath, greedy life-devouring desert. Soon, you will burn." Maybe I let the excitement run a bit too wild. It''s slightly concerning that I already want to call myself a necro lord.

    The skeleton is exceptionally basic. Skull, arms, legs, torso, and toes. Everything a skeleton should be. Most likely, it would be outclassed by any other wandering skeleton creature but man alive; that doesn''t matter to me. This standing heap of off-white bones is the most fabulous skeleton in all the land as far as I''m concerned.

    "Bones! I''m going to call you Bones. A name should have meaning and I think this sums you up real nice, Bones." Pride is beaming from me. I can''t contain my grin.

    "Hello, Bones! I¡¯m... um¡­ you can call me Kel." I say quickly, trying my hardest to not botch my first impression. I can''t believe I didn''t have a name ready. That should have been a day one task. Easy to do and very important. We can chalk that up to having the worst planner to grace the desert sands.

    "Yup, that is my name. Kel. And no, I did not create it on the spot. Ask all the scorpions in the desert. They will tell you for sure my name is Kel." I give myself a small fist pump, excellent recovery, Kel. "Anyway, nice to meet you. Glad you are here. If you don''t mind, I will have a better look at you."

    Feeling a connection with Bones, I begin to test out his abilities. Arm up, Bones raises his arm. Hands up, Bones raises his hand on the non-raised arm. Not what I¡¯ve in mind, but I grab his raised hand and settle for a handshake. "You are perfect."

    "What else can we do?" I spend the rest of the late morning giving Bones commands and observing how he completes the actions.

    At first, I keep it very basic, giving similar commands to my first. Lift leg, kick foot, bow, and jump. We spend some time going over simple movements and actions.

    I¡¯m more excited by my companion''s potential when I move to broader commands. He can gather wood and specific plants, fill a shell with water, move and retrieve objects, and other similar general objectives.

    After a few more test commands, I hand Bones a newly summoned short sword and tell him to attack the closest tree. Like all the orders he has fulfilled, he is clumsy. He swings the sword awkwardly, barely scratching the bark. Bones continues to swing and stab at the tree. None of the strikes are impressive. Bones will only be a distraction at best if it comes to a real fight. Still, a good distraction can be a helpful advantage.

    Watching Bones, I feel this summoned ally has much more potential. I commit myself to figuring out more about my abilities for his sake. Musing over these thoughts, Bones and I head back to camp, gathering any edibles we find along the way.

    South Forest has its own type of beauty to it. Coniferous and deciduous mixed trees are spread apart enough that traveling through them isn¡¯t a hassle. Compared to my campsite, this area is much more open, allowing the afternoon sun to spread its light throughout the forest floor. Witnessing the change of scenery gets me thinking. Maybe we should look for a better place to camp.

    There is no reason for my current camp spot. It just so happened to be the place I stumbled upon. It¡¯s got trees, water, and critters, I will give it that. But there¡¯s a chance I¡¯ll find better trees, water, and animals elsewhere.

    ¡°What do you think, Bones, should we find a new camp?¡± I turn to my companion and seek his advice. He looks at me, shrugs his shoulders, and keeps walking in the general direction of the camp. Right. He doesn¡¯t know what the current camp is.

    We keep trekking until we reach the camp, mostly silent, neither of us being big into conversation at the moment, collecting all the forest goods along the way. By the time we get home, we have a plethora of edible weeds, herbs, and mushrooms. Enough food for the rest of the day.

    Bones takes a good look at the camp. He looks at me. Then looks at the fire pit, the only thing this camp has going for. Looks back at me, back to the fire pit, then at me once more. His head nods disapprovingly.

    With no other communication, he drops his armful of food, walks toward the river, and keeps walking.

    Is he trying to off himself? I wonder in shock.

    Of course, I could stop him; he is my minion. I hold all the power in this relationship. I don¡¯t command him to stop. I observe as he disappears into the waters without taking any offense from Bones¡¯ actions.

    Seconds tick by. There are no signs of my minion.

    Maybe I should be offended. I reconsider my lackadaisical attitude. How often are masters slighted by their works of creation?

    A few more seconds tick by before Bones appears on the opposite side of the river a good hundred yards downstream. Dripping wet, Bones turns to me, waves, then walks deeper into the forest towards the mountains.

    More shocked than anything, I let this play out. If my minion doesn¡¯t like me, that is on him. Besides, it¡¯s a fifty-fifty chance he makes it on his own and creates a civilization with a supply shortage of knives. Then he¡¯ll crawl back to me and I won¡¯t even feel obligated to give him a discount.

    Bones is no longer visible, leaving me once again alone.

    My soul is still strained from attempting to create a minion so many times. I give it a moment of rest while I work on reviving my fire. Once the fire is at a healthy burn, I summon a knife which I use to prepare my food and I push through the resistance of my core once more to summon a bowl.

    Water is added to the bowl, which is placed indirectly over the heat. Then I add my chopped forest foods to the water, summon a lid, and cover the bowl. Even though it is small items, I find the repetition from summoning knives and cooking equipment is honing my skill more and more.

    Now that soup cooking on its own, I¡¯ve time to work on other tasks. First, I take inventory of my stock. It doesn''t take long. Couple knives, skivvies, rabbit pelt, cooking tools, rocks, and wood. Even the generous addition of stone and wood countable as inventory leaves me in meager status. I don''t have much but it¡¯s enough to live. So the question is, how to live more?

    I really want some clothes. Shoes would be really nice. My feet are in terrible shape.

    I''m going to need more food, preferably something with more protein and a better way to get that protein since I''m not confident I can hunt with just a couple of bone knives. If I''m lucky, maybe another rabbit will inspect my camp. I''m guessing I''ve used the last of my luck already, so I''m not counting on it.

    I could also use a better shelter. A few nights in the open isn''t bad. A week or longer isn''t ideal. It would be nice to not be at the mercy of the elements or opportunistic nocturnal predators.

    Next, I pick which task I want to work on for the time being, protein and clothing being the primary frontrunners. Two tasks that are somewhat dependent on each other. The shelter is put off for now since I¡¯m considering finding a new location.

    Thinking of clothing, I look at the rabbit pelt that has been drying over the fire since yesterday. Idea in mind, I place the dried pelt under my feet for measurements. I¡¯m pleased to see that it is large enough to cover the bottom of both. Though my last bout of shoemaking ended in a loss, I¡¯m willing to put myself through the wringer again.

    For my shoes, I¡¯m going to need cordage. I will also have to work the hide a bit and cut it in half. Ideally, I would tan the fur creating a more durable leather. Perhaps that is what I will do on my next shoe iteration since I don''t want to wait long to provide my feet with a layer of protection. As awesome as the forest is, and it is awesome, it is doing a number on my feet. I can almost track where I¡¯ve been by following the bloody footprints.

    I leave my camp for a bit searching for the resources to make cordage. Fortunately it isn¡¯t long before I return with some young saplings, which I peel apart, creating long fibers. I begin weaving cord as I sit by my fire and occasionally stir my soup.

    Maybe it was my fault for why I was abandoned. The way Bones just left me leads me to examine my personality. I''m a chipper guy... sometimes, most of the time, with only the most reasonable complaints from time to time, and even then, I keep them to myself... well, for the most part.

    I¡¯m sure a few unwilling ears have eavesdropped on a few of my tangents. I don''t think it is fair to hold me accountable to those, though. It isn''t exactly my fault. They didn''t have to listen, and I didn''t even know they were present.

    Besides, how will things improve if there isn''t a designated criticizer? Someone must take the role upon themselves. As the only human participant in this game of life, I¡¯ve no choice but to do the dirty work myself.

    I¡¯m making good progress on the cord and there¡¯s plenty for my shoes. Since I¡¯m in a good rhythm, I keep making more. Having too much rope is never a problem.

    Suppose we (we being my present self and the memory of Bones'' presence) are being reasonable, which we always are. In that case, I¡¯m more of the hero for paving the way through all this crap and making it better for those who come later. Part of trailblazing is blazing. That is just what I sometimes must do.

    Still, it is most likely my fault I¡¯m alone.

    Maybe I was in some shady business and decided the desert was the best place to establish a shop. The desert after all, is a land desperate for shade.

    Fresh out of the city, I didn''t know a rough crowd when I saw them. Some dirty desert scum got the jump on me, took my wares, and left me exposed in the middle of nowhere without my shade.

    I get the last laugh, though. Back in the city, I''m notorious for running a questionable business. That is why I moved to the desert. Demanding markets would look past my less-than-perfect canopies and buy them at a premium.

    Fools. The whole lot of them. Bones, scorpions, desert marauders, and the batzards. Don''t need them anyway. I have myself to keep me in good company, and that is enough for me.

    Despite my current frame of mind, I¡¯m quite happy with the cord I produced. To add to my mood, my soup smells incredible.

 8. Camp Life

    After creating a ton of cord, I begin working on the rabbit hide. Drying it over the fire has given the hide a rough texture that I work out by folding, kneading, and mashing it up. The finished product is a soft dry pelt that I cut in half. Having no illusions that these shoes will be better than my last attempts, I carefully begin crafting.

    If I had one more pelt, I could use the hardened hide as the sole for my shoes, sewing them together with my cord. The extra support and protection would be dreamy. I get lost in the thought of creating a better shoe as if I had the skills to bring my ideas to life.

    The two hides are placed beneath my feet. Using charcoal, I trace the shape of each foot roughly on the fur side of the hide. Once I¡¯m satisfied with the form, I grab one of the hides and begin weaving the border of the hide with some cord using a needle I create from bones.

    My hope is that the border strap will provide structure for the rest of my straps. With my newly woven border on the shoe, the rest of the process involves adding straps. The toe strap connects to a front strap that arches over my foot. A back strap is anchored with two straps in the back and wraps around my ankle, tying onto the front strap.

    Creating basic shoes is complicated, and I painfully struggle to finish adding the straps, only to repeat the process once more for the other foot. My finished product is two rough-looking hide sandals. I love them. Covering my feet in soft fur, they offer the tiniest barrier, which I¡¯m incredibly grateful for, between the harsh forest floor and my bare feet.

    Lounging in my cozy fresh kicks, I summon a bowl and a spoon and help myself to Wild Goldshroom Soup. Despite lacking proper seasoning, the bitterweeds mixed with oxalis and wild onion reeds pack quite the flavor, which enriches the broth and the mushrooms.

    Oxalis, a clover-like weed with white stems and a pink flower, particularly adds a mild acidic flavoring which I find rather enjoyable. Each bite is a warm treat, adding to the coziness of my current mood.

    Filling my stomach with two bowls of the chunky soup, I¡¯m at the point where I can eat more and be more than full, or I can stop and let the soup cook for another future meal. Showing some restraint, I make a trip into the woods to collect the proper ingredients. When I return, I prepare the ingredients and add them and more water to the cooking soup bowl.

    Since I do not want to eat anytime soon, I move the soup pot into a lower heated fire section. Once I¡¯m finished, I congratulate myself for taking care of present and future food needs.

    I''m running low on firewood and want my fire for the night. I will need to collect some more. Since my short- and long-term plans are completed, I spend the rest of the daylight gathering wood, which is noticeably much easier now that I don''t have to be so careful with each step I take.

    My wood pile grows quickly. I¡¯m confident that I will have enough wood for the next two days even if I get wild and decide to stoke the flames occasionally. And because fire is my entertainment, I don''t doubt that there very well could be some wild burning moments. High flames, red coals, popping wood, the kind of fire you wouldn''t expect to see at some lame lonesome campsite. Excited by the prospects of such a glorious blaze, I add three thick pine logs to the fire. It''s going to get wild.

    Even though it is now dark, my fire is producing enough light that I can see clearly around my camp. I don''t feel like sleeping yet, so I dive into cultivation. Last night I created piles of knives. Tonight I¡¯m really going to stretch myself and see how many sword piles I can make.

    Who knows, maybe some confused customer will walk into my shop not actually wanting knives, but their longer counterparts.

    Huh, as if a sword customer would walk into a shop selling knives. It isn''t his market¡­

    Well, you are in luck, trepid swordsman. Not only do I have piles of knives, I also have a pile of swords. Go ahead and swing away.

    Devious market manipulation thoughts play through my mind. I play the role of the sword customer, swinging my sword in a well-practiced manner. My thoughts seem to fade as I¡¯m completely present in the moment.

    I instinctively run through different forms of cutting, stabbing, and more advanced cutting and piercing. My steps are precise. I never lose my footing, even in varying terrain. Each action is incredibly fast and honed as I work through several maneuvers.

    The sword feels like my intentions made manifest, like perfect execution of my thoughts and desires. I feel good. More than that, I feel like I¡¯m experiencing the person I used to be.

    When I finish my sword forms, I¡¯m breathing heavily and smiling wildly. Wanting to experience the familiar feelings more, I add more wood to the fire and start the exercise again. This time, however, I summon one more sword.

    Both swords are around three feet in length, the hilts just longer than my hand. Bone-white edges gradually slope from the blade''s clunky middle, making the swords wide. A thin cross guard divides the blade from the hilt, extending slightly past the edges on both sides of the swords.

    Despite the imperfections with two swords in hand, I work through different forms more suitable for the two blades. Similarly, the actions are quick and perfect. It feels right.

    So, maybe I was once a devious knifer. Selling knives and the occasional sword to the lost customer. Destined to provide the knifeless with their own set of cutlery, I traveled the world selling my fine blades at discounted prices. Once I reached my goal, life was without meaning. I settled down in the desert, never to set up shop again. If everyone has a knife, what purpose is a knifer?

    That''s the one. That has got to be my backstory.

    I finish the dual sword forms feeling rejuvenated mentally and physically but also exhausted from the intense exercises. Happy with the day and with nothing else to do, I make my bed. It is another delicate process that involves kicking dirt and sticks around until the ground is flat. Satisfied with the smooth grounds, I lay down and fall into a deep, restful sleep.

    Sometime around early morning pre-sun rising, I startle awake with an eerie sense of being watched. Swords in hand and ready for a fight, I do a quick scan around my camp. My heart jumps a beat when I see a decrepit figure sitting by my fire.

    Recognizing the pile of bones for what it is, eases my mind. I¡¯m glad that my minion has returned. More than that, he is preparing food over the fire. Upon closer examination, I can see two decent-sized fishes cooking on a flat rock. I don''t know if I¡¯m happier to see my friend return or food on the fire. It could be both. Either way, I¡¯m happy with how this morning is going.

    "Bones, you''re back. And you''re cooking fish. Welcome back!" Even though I¡¯m not expecting a response, I still greet my companion openly. The skeleton raises his gaze from the fire, motions me to eat the fish, and stares back into the blazing flames.

    Bones'' cooked fish is an excellent start to the day. It is rich in flavor and protein. Devouring the fish quickly, none of it is wasted. I almost go so far as licking the rock it was cooked on. I don''t, of course. That¡¯s dirty. Even in my most feral times, I still have some dignity. Also, the rock is still hot from the fire. I can think of no better way of ruining a great morning than burning my tongue.

    Belly full and rock licking avoided, I thank Bones for the food and for keeping the fire burning throughout the night. Though I can''t see it, I can sense my minion grinning. Letting him relish in his success, I get to my morning routine of stretches, strengthening, and sword form exercises, followed by a quick swim in the river.

    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    While I¡¯m going about my business, Bones is watching me. I can''t tell if he wants to join in or not and make a note to invite him to follow along next time.

    While I drip dry by the fire, Bones taps my arm and motions for me to follow him. I think nothing of it and follow my minion as he takes me back across the river in the direction he disappeared in yesterday.

    Nearly a mile later, we meet up with the section of the river that forks west from the main river back at camp. Bones leads me along the smaller river setting a grueling pace as he is practically sprinting the whole time.

    Three miles in, and I¡¯m gasping for air. I swear I should be in much better shape than this. A reforged body should allow a person to sprint for countless miles. Yet here I am, dry throat and wheezing for air. If I didn''t know better, I would assume I was back in the desert. It certainly isn''t my proudest moment when I slow down to catch my breath.

    Bones is patient as he stands in his superior posture, not struggling at all. It sort of seems like he is making this a competition ¡ª is my minion trash-talking me without using words? I''m not even upset if he is. That has got to be miming skills to the tenth level if he can pull that off. I''m impressed.

    In my defense, he is made of bones and mana. He doesn''t need any air, and his heart isn''t struggling to provide oxygen to his body. He doesn''t even have a heart. Hell, Bones is practically a machine. Plus, the last two miles have been a constant incline; even if it isn''t steep, it is still an incline.

    Traveling at a slower jogging pace, I can appreciate the section of forest we are in. Much like the campsite, the forest here is full of life. Not quite as packed as the area around my camp, the site here has similar pine, aspen, and other trees that I can''t quite identify. Noticeably, the trees here are thicker, and the soil is a rich shade of dark brown.

    The river we have been following is much smaller than the river I¡¯m used to. Four feet wide and waist-deep, the river ¡ª maybe a stream at this point ¡ª has a pleasant gentle flow towards the lower, larger river.

    Two miles and a stream crossing later, we finally reach Bones'' destination... what looks to be the mountain''s base. Leveling out, the forest is nice and flat where we are standing. Directly ahead of us and feeding the stream is a magnificent pond almost the size of a small lake.

    Keeping the pond full is a gradual waterfall taller than the nearby trees running down the rocky mountain cliff. Extending far to the north, the ridge gradually turns into a steep hill towards the south. Surrounding the pond are large oak trees and other lush vegetation with an equal amount of rocky and muddy shorelines.

    It is more rock than mud on the north side of the pond where I¡¯m standing. Further away from the waterfall, the pond water is clear, allowing me to see the bottom ten feet below. Swimming in the large pond is an abundance of fish.

    I''m still dreaming. I¡¯m sure of it. I must be. This place is too amazing to be real. My minion returns with food and then leads me to paradise. I''m ready to wake up from this pleasant dream when I see Bones grinning as much as he can with his skeleton face, gloating, both fists pumping in the air.

    Nope. This isn''t a dream. This is real. I¡¯m being outplayed by my minion, and he is flaunting his superiority.

    "Well played, Bones." I concede. Turns out that losing to my minion isn''t a bad deal when I reap the fruits of his labor. "Thank you," I add in for good measure. I may be a loser, but I¡¯m probably the best loser here, so I guess that kind of makes me a winner.

    For my own reason, I also join in on the fist-pumping session, though I¡¯m much more reserved and only commit to one fist in the air. As if his victory is diminished by celebration, Bones exits the fist dancing party early, leaving my lonely fist to tango solo.

    With the celebration ceremony ending early, I inspect our new home. Next to the waterfall, I see a depression in the cliff. Walking towards it, I take a closer look. Sure enough, this site comes with its own cave.

    Tucked into the mountain, the cave is about twelve feet deep, seven feet high, and eight feet wide. We are close to ten feet away from the waterfall and slightly further away from the pond. There is enough of a slope that I have no worries about flooding.

    After inspecting the cave, I look at Bones. I don''t know how he has done it, but his skeletal face has an even smug look of victory. He knows that I know that this place is precisely the better spot I had in mind yesterday.

    Bones'' moment of victory comes to a close when I instruct him to return to our original camp and recover what little supplies we have. Which essentially equates to retrieving our cord and soup¡­ maybe some wood and any blades left behind.

    I know it is trivial and a waste of time. I just need to exert my authority a little to remind myself I¡¯m the master. To make the fetch quest a bit more productive, I task Bones with bringing back some of the fire if he can. Even if it is only a matter of smashing rocks together, I prefer not having to start a fire from scratch again.

    Bones takes off at a quick sprint following the stream following the received orders. At least that is what I hope he is doing..

    I take a moment to inspect the cave more thoroughly. It is nice having a roof over me. However, if the cave turns out to be the feeding grounds of fierce predators, I''m going to ''nope'' right out of here.

    Seeing no signs of life present in the cave is almost more suspicious than if there were signs. Instead of scattered bones, footprints, or even scat, there is nothing. It almost feels like the cave has been avoided by life altogether and the lingering stale air only reinforces this thought. I brush the feeling aside and add home security to the list of things to do.

    Shelter situation taken care of, I pause to consider my next steps.

    I want to improve my shelter but don''t feel that is necessary. I''m not even convinced I want to make the stale cave a long-term sleeping arrangement. If no one else wants it, why should I? Sure, I can live in a cave the rest of my life but is that actually living?

    My current gear status is rough. My all-encompassing, incredibly durable loincloth and my new soft shoes are the only thing stopping me from frolicking in the forest naked. My arsenal isn''t much to brag about either. However, that can be easily fixed thanks to the pale energy cycling through me.

    What I need now and for the next foreseeable future is food. More specifically, I would like a way to obtain the tastier meats of the wild and wear their hides. Well... that came out rather dark. Still, food and clothing are what I need most. Both of which will require a bit of exploring to obtain.

    Stepping out of the vacant den and into nature''s kitchen, I examine my surroundings with a new purpose. With fish swimming up and down the stream, creating a trap using sticks wouldn''t be difficult. Moving on from the pond, I gaze upon a fallen tree; nestled in its shade is an abundance of goldshrooms.

    Walking through the trees near the pond, I gather several sticks for my fish trap. During the task, plenty of wild onions, bitterweeds, and oxalis are spotted ¡ª and to my great joy, some red berry bushes!

    When Bones returns, I will be sure to properly thank him for finding a fantastic location. Maybe I shouldn''t have sent him away like I did.

    Oh well. We can count this as character growth for both of us.

    Carefully using a bone knife, I whittle sharp points on the end of the sticks, preparing them for the trap. Only after I carve the last stick do I catch the foolishness of my ways.

    I could have just summoned bone sticks. Another lesson learned.

    Sticks prepared, I search for the best spot to place the trap in the stream. Ideally, my trap will be set in a narrower part of the stream where it will be easy to guide the fish into the corral without using an absurd amount of sticks.

    The stream''s flow is divided by a large rock not far from the pond. Jutting out of the water, the small boulder sits about two feet away from either shore. Using this barrier as part of my trap will effectively block off half of the stream. Sticks and rocks are used to create a funnel from the rock that leads into a fish corral.

    Once fish swim inside, jagged rocks and pointy sticks shoot out, crowding the exit dissuading fish from leaving. If set up correctly, the fish will swim into the corral, where they will remain until I catch them.

    This trap could be a great passive food source. I¡¯m happy with my creation. I could do the same on the other side of the stream and increase my chances of catching fish, but that seems unfair to the fish. If things get desperate, I might change my mind. As it is now, I¡¯m not concerned about a lack of food.

    I spend the next couple of hours creating deadfall traps using mashed-up red berries as bait. Sticks are used to hold up large rocks while also holding the bait. When a critter nibbles at the bait on the stick, the rock will fall, trapping the creature.

    Building the traps takes a reasonable amount of time. The sun is now on the decline, and I estimate I only have three hours of daylight left. Numerous traps set, I get back to foraging in the forest.

    My plan of action is to gather some of the dandelions and then inspect the mushrooms. I''m careful to not over-harvest the bitterweeds, being sure to only take what I need for the night. After gathering a couple handfuls of weeds, I move on to the mushrooms and then the wild onions, harvesting the bulbs of the larger onions.

    I¡¯m not particularly hungry, so I drop the food off at my den and continue exploring and searching for more food sources.

 9. The Climb

    Looking up at the cliff above my shelter, I can see more vegetation and I decide to explore the higher grounds. Walking to the other side of the pond, I take the less cliffy approach to my destination.

    A few steps into the hike and I''m gasping for breath. I take a few more steps, pause for a breather, take a few more steps, and gasp for air. Is the hike even worth it? The climb is much steeper than I anticipated and I have to persuade my legs to take step after step. This is a lot of effort for some chance at more weeds and grass. Reluctantly, I let myself be drawn up the hill, forcing my body to pay the price for my curiosity.

    Luckily the vegetation covering the hill provides enough stability to the soil that I never lose my footing. I''m not sure if my overworking heart would put up with any slip-ups. Creeping up the hill, I''ve only got about a third left to go. Turning back and reaching the top another day is the current theme in my mind.

    Pride no longer intact, I conquer the hundred-yard hike to the top of the cliff. I''m bent over, begging my lungs to do their job better. I''m still unsure why I¡¯m exploring this perched-up woodland. Only when my heart calms and my wheezing subsides do I get a chance to look up.

    The greenery is bursting with life up here, almost overwhelmingly so. Trees and vegetation densely fill the hillside, obstructing my path toward the cliff. It takes a lot of work to get through the thick brush to the waterfall and I must hack through a few spots using a bone machete. Worn out from the hiking and bushwhacking, I practically crawl the remaining few feet towards the cliff above the pond.

    Standing by the waterfall, I get a good glimpse of my mountain peak. Obnoxiously, it is nothing noteworthy. Completely dwarfed by a massive mountain behind it, whose peak is lost in the clouds, my mountain seems insignificant.

    Even though I''m not particularly interested in learning about my past and being shackled by my memories, finding other people has been a distant goal of mine. Finding civilization was the main reason I used the peak as my destination. It was a stretch, sure, but maybe scaling this mountain would help me find others. If nothing else, it could give direction and direction could make living easy.

    More direction is probably the reason why I forced myself to hike. The cliff obscured my mountain peak, and I wanted to better understand what was ahead of me.

    Seeing my mountain being towered over by the mountain in the background is, for lack of better words, more than I expected. I''m unsure if I¡¯m glad my distant goal has become more distant or a bit discouraged by the mountains before me. For now, I¡¯m not willing to expend the thought power needed to find a solid position on my feelings.

    Maybe I can let myself be a little bit of both.

    I let that thought transition me back into my task of observing. Flowing in a winding path and hounded by greenery on all sides, the stream wraps around several smaller hills along its course down the mountain. As small as my mountain is, the base seems to stretch. Turns out I will have a good hike ahead. Not only do I have a way to go to reach the peak of my mountain, but it also isn''t even a significant peak amongst its mountain peers.

    "Freaking mountains," I audibly curse, making sure the mountain peaks, their deceptive nature, and their steep inclines all feel the wrath of my disdain.

    On top of my mixed emotions, this upper camp area offers little benefit to my current needs. It wouldn''t be easy to find food in the thick foliage. Fighting the forest as I forage isn¡¯t something I want to do.

    Lifting my fist and shaking it, I curse the deceptive peaks one more time. It''s good to be thorough regarding these types of things.

    Letting the upper hills get the better of me, I turn around and turn my victorious pre-climb into a brave retreat. It takes all my balance and coordination to keep myself on my feet as I let gravity pull me quickly down the hill. Ungracefully, I make a speedy retreat.

    On my way back to camp, I hear twigs breaking and movement toward the east. Pausing in my tracks, I listen carefully for the intruder to make its presence known. A few seconds later, I can see Bones walking beside the stream through the clearing. He appears to be dragging behind him a log raft created using my cord and some larger unprocessed wood from my burn pile.

    Walking towards my minion, I meet him as he comes out of the clearing of the trees. Surprisingly, he has the very fire we left at camp sitting on a flat stone on the raft, including the rocks placed around it. Not only that, my pot of soup is still cooking, and roasting over the fire is what appears to be a raccoon.

    Looking at Bones, I see he¡¯s wearing the coon pelt upon his head, confirming that he is indeed roasting a raccoon. Bones sees the shock on my face at his successful quest completion and gives the biggest victory grinless grin yet. Adding to his celebration, he flexes his right arm, pumping his fist in the process.

    I don''t even care about his excessive celebration. I was not looking forward to my foraged meal. More meat is a welcomed treat and I let Bones revel in his victory without interruption. My minion has more than earned it.

    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    We head back to the cave and drop off the fire, placing it just past the cave entrance. I take a few bites out of the roasting meat, savoring its deliciousness and increasing my growing appetite. I want to question Bones on how he captured the raccoon. Unfortunately, he can¡¯t communicate back to me.

    Communication was the whole inspiration for Bones'' creation. Still, I¡¯m satisfied that he has ultimately failed his entire purpose of existence.

    Bones begins to take apart the raft, neatly stacking the wood on the shore to dry and coiling the cord while I start making meal preparation. Since I already have soup cooking and meat roasting, I¡¯ve a moment to spend on creating seasoning.

    Taking the onion bulbs, I finely dice them up and then place them near the fire to quicken their drying process. When thoroughly dried, I will mash the diced onions into a fine powder. Unfortunately, the seasoning won''t be ready for tonight''s meal.

    I do the same thing with pine needles and oxalis leaves, mixing the two finely chopped greens together. Hopefully, once they dry, I will have a nice acidic seasoning to go with the onion powder.

    Working on the two seasonings gets me thinking of more flavors that I could possibly bottle. An image comes to my mind centered on the hickory trees present in these woods.

    Rushing out of the den, I find the nearest hickory tree and cut off one of its exposed roots. It takes a few whacks from a bone ax and digging before I harvest the root successfully.

    Before returning to the den, I stop by the stream and collect a large pot of water.

    Once back in my den, I begin cutting the hickory root into as small chunks as I can manage. The small pieces of root are placed in my new bowl of water on the fire, and I make a mental note to remove the roots before the water thickens later in the night.

    After the water boils down, I will be left with black salt. My mouth waters as I think of my perfectly seasoned meals in the near future.

    I finish my food tasks just as night begins to fall. Now I¡¯m looking forward to resting and eating by my fire.

    Having long ago taken apart his raft, Bones has gathered enough wood to last a couple of days and has piled it surprisingly neatly by the fire. He has repeatedly proved that my previous assessment of him being simple was way off.

    There is much more to this manifestation of my death mana and I plan to make the most of it. The potential of what Bones can be gets me excited thinking about it. I almost get lost in the vast possibilities.

    Now, however, surviving is my priority, and with that thought, I get pulled back into reality. Bones is already working on the next task he has assigned himself while I think of what I need to do next.

    I can feel the toll of the day catching up to me. Lack of water and food and constantly being on the go weighs heavily on my tired body. Keeping my mind occupied worked wonders to properly neglect needs and creeping thoughts of despair.

    The problem is the needs never go away and despair will eventually find the center of attention. One way or another, they come back and are usually greedier than ever, demanding more attention. I can feel all those needs now as my mind and body hunger for more.

    Hunger pangs being as aggressive as they are, I no longer can keep them at bay. Not that I was purposefully neglecting my hunger, there were just other things to be done. Cutting off several chunks of roasted meat, I rip them apart and add them to my large bowl of soup.

    Before I sit down, I take a trip outside. Under the waterfall I wash my greasy hands, fill a large cup full of water and then return to my fire.

    Lost in the warmth of its blaze, I watch as flames dance to a song only they know. The hypnotic rhythm takes away all my distant thoughts and worries. For the moment, I''m calm. Life as I know it is perfect. All the hunger and need I was feeling earlier has dissipated. There must be natural magic to a campfire.

    I¡¯m caught up in the brilliance of it as I eat the chunky, meaty, flavor-rich soup and sip refreshing water.

    Raccoon never tasted so good. That could just be my irrational appetite thinking. Each bite is full of smokey flavor enhanced by the soup broth. Even though it is a little tough to chew, I discover that I particularly like the charred bits of meat the most.

    The delicious flavors of charred meat combined with the tender bitterweeds and mushrooms has me wolfing down my soup faster than I intended, burning my mouth in the process. And just like that, I ruined the perfect end to the perfect day.

    Cursing myself for sloppiness, I replenish the soup pot with water, forest weeds, mushrooms, and the remaining bits of the raccoon meat.

    Bones enters the cave right when I finish my meal with the last haul of pine leaves. The final task I had given him ¡ª and by that, I mean he assigned himself the job, and I allowed it ¡ª was to gather pine leaves and grasses and bring them into the cave. Working nonstop since he was given the order, Bones has nearly filled half the shelter with what will now be bedding.

    "Bones, you beautiful pile of bones. Thank you." I let my sincere gratitude towards my minion fall on his nonexistent ears.

    In response, he nods his head in a cool, nonchalant manner and walks out of the cave.

    Not letting his hard work go to waste, I begin organizing the leaves and grasses. I want my bed to be comfortable and provide the most insulation between me and the cold ground.

    Laying the leaves in an organized manner turns the once half-full cave pile into a much less impressive pile. The pile is even less impressive when I lay down and compact the bedding further.

    Seduced by the comfort of my new dwelling, I cozy up in bed, approve whatever tasks my minion has given himself, and drift off to sleep.

 10. Camp Intruder

    Resting the entire night did my body good. I''m feeling completely rejuvenated and ready for a new day. Hearing my belly groan when I stand up reminds me of my commitment to keep myself nourished. I collect some water to boil and pine leaves to create tea.

    I help myself to a bowl of soup while I wait for the tea to finish doing what tea does. Soup is still tasty and maybe even tastier on the third day. Belly full and tea still teaing, I start my morning routine.

    Stretching is the best way to start the morning. I don''t care who you are. If you don''t take the time to stretch, you''ll pay for it eventually. With that in mind, I call Bones over and have him follow my lead.

    As I observe bones doing the stretches that he doesn''t need, I can''t help but think he isn''t reaching his potential. Sure, he¡¯s great, better than me even. However, Bones is still a creation of my first summoning. He is the embodiment of my unrefined mana. There is no way my first attempt at summoning a minion is a masterpiece.

    Our stretches end when my tea is done¡­ boiling...? I''m not sure I quite understand the tea endgame. Maybe it is extracting¡­I finish my stretches when my water finishes extracting extract from the tea substances.

    If I find an herbalist, I''ve got questions.

    Piney, hot, and lightly flavored, I drink the warm beverage. I can almost feel the nutrients from the pine leaves being absorbed into my body. I slowly drink the beverage carefully to not scald my already burned mouth.

    After tea, I take bones through exercises and sword forms, watching as he tries to follow my every action. It would be convenient if he could communicate back to me. Maybe he could pitch in an idea or two. I''m tired of always being the one with the plan.

    After we finish our forms, I say goodbye to Bones and vanish him back to my core. Unlike minor summons like swords and knives, when I have Bones summoned, the mana it costs to create him is never returned. Instead, I¡¯m at a constant deficit maintaining around sixty percent of available mana. When he is unsummoned, death mana surges within me, restoring my pale core to full capacity.

    I figure this is the case because Bones is an active summon. For him to exist, he needs an active connection to his host, hence the mana tether of sorts.

    Minor summons ¡ª like a bone sword ¡ª on the other hand, are not active summons. Once mana has been used to summon a simple object, it is no longer a part of me. This would explain why I can restore mana after minor summons and why I need to touch the summons to absorb them.

    My focus is on mana as I practice cycling. Like my earlier cycling sessions, I start with breathing.

    In and out.

    Breathe in. Exhale out.

    When my rhythm becomes natural, I exert the mana inside to follow. Constricting and expanding.

    In ¡ª I pull on the mana, constricting it.

    Out ¡ª I push on the mana, expanding it into my middle channels, the stomach, and chest.

    Satisfied with my limited control, I stop the exercise and start over. Cycling death mana will become as natural as breathing before morning is over.

    Roughly one thousand breaths and hundreds of cycle initiations later, I''ve got it. Now, like a muscle, death mana responds to my will, filling my middle channels on a thought.

    Even though I''ve been sitting, I feel drained. Accessing my core over and over is exhausting. Taking a momentary break, I drink a healthy amount of water and eat a tiny amount of soup. Feeling refreshed, I dive back into cycling. This time I work on the cycling process.

    Constricting my core as tight as I can, I let the mana build until it is about to burst. When I can no longer hold it, I allow the mana to disperse slowly. Even though it takes extra focus, I can feel the power refining as I learn to master the technique.

    In.

    Hold.

    And slowly out.

    Repeat.

    At first, upon releasing the constricted core, mana would rush outside of my core and circulate in my middle channels. After much practice and repetition, I can get the mana to flow through the entirety of my middle and lower channels. Soon it will be my entire body. Each new channel my mana cycles through, the more refined it becomes.

    Refined mana, I find, is easier to command and is overall better. A sword I summoned with raw death mana breaks when hit against a sword summoned with refined death mana. Likewise, refined mana will be lackluster when compared to mana cycling through the entirety of my three main channels. I keep working at cycling until finally, I reach the culmination of my cycling, absolute death mana.

    To test the mana, I summon a short sword. Barely larger than a long knife, the short sword closely matches my pale gray death core mana rather than the bone-white I¡¯m used to. I also find that the sword formed more accurately to my design. Gone is the thick clunkiness I couldn''t avoid in previous summons.

    I¡¯m ecstatic with my progress and anxious to see how it improves my minion. Unfortunately, after all the cultivation, my soul is too strained to allow me to summon Bones. I''m disappointed that I don''t get to immediately reap the sweet fruits of my hard labor. As soon as I can, I¡¯m summoning Bones.

    My focus returns to the present. Inside my cave is dark, damp, and smokey. Much of the same can be said for me. It¡¯s time to get out. I quickly check my home, ensuring nothing is out of order. Satisfied with my assessment, I make my way outside.

    Outside is the opposite of my cave ¨C bright, dry, and refreshing. It''s mid-afternoon and the sounds of the forest can be heard in full.

    The wind is causing branches to stir slightly, rustling leaves around. The occasional bird makes its presence known, chirping and chattering. The predominant vocalist of them all, the waterfall, makes sure it''s clear to all who the main act is.

    Brightness from the sun causes me to squint. Defiantly, I glance back at the sun to better judge the time of day. I feel its spell take hold of me. My nose is tingling, tension is building, and then the release. My eyes are forced shut, my mouth opens without my consent, and two sneezes escape quickly and violently.

    In response to my sudden outburst, the birds quit their sporadic chirping and the wind seems to calm. There is almost complete silence, except for the waterfall, which has been waiting, performing patiently in the group until it could break out into its solo performance.

    Son of a ¡ª That was uncalled for.

    The bastard sun sure is a bully. Long walk through the desert? Let me just burn extra hot. No clothes to cover your skin? How about I roast you alive? Want to make eye contact? Nope, teary eyes for you. Oh, you are extra sensitive? I will draw out some violent sneezes to go with your blindness. What is that, you¡¯re cold? Too bad. I''m done trying to be warm.

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    Yup. The sun is a bastard, and the desert is its spoiled unloved offspring, Junior b-word. Somehow relegating the desert to a simple ''b'' seems most appropriate. And if one thing is for certain, I¡¯m thorough in my pettiness.

    Wiping away the water from my eyes, I continue my short journey to the pond and return to my original train of thought. It sure is nice to be outside. Fresh air, warm breeze, no smoke, and just the stunning surroundings of the forest.

    Slowly wading into the chilly pond, I finally get to do what I¡¯ve wanted to do since I got here. It''s time to wash off the days of filth. Cultivation, it turns out, is a filthy process, and I feel like I¡¯m covered in what I now refer to as the death sweats.

    Cool refreshing water engulfs my body, and I feel almost totally rejuvenated, as if wading into the waters restored my energy. Of course, it hasn''t. My channels are still recovering and my body is sore from the previous day''s hike. It just feels like I¡¯m already better.

    Scrubbing my body clean is a process as I must scrape off layers of dirt and grime. The intensity of the scrubbing that I endure is worth it. Feeling clean has given me another boost to my morale.

    More than that, I continue to have an overwhelming sense of life as I swim in the pond.

    I¡¯m alive. I can feel, taste, move, learn... I can live.

    Swimming in the pond opens the door to these incredible emotions, once again rejuvenating my body, mind, and soul. I fully embrace the moment, letting myself be absorbed in the water.

    Swimming feels more than natural. I¡¯m having a hard time getting myself out of the water. I''m floating on my back and decide that this is as good of a time and place as any to make plans for the rest of the day. Really, I should have done that in the morning. Yet I have no regrets.

    What are mornings for if not to waste?

    Turns out, after a moment of planning while floating, there isn''t much to plan that hasn''t already been planned. I need clothing and food.

    Food will hopefully be easy. Weeds and fauna can be harvested, and if lady luck is on my side, maybe my traps will produce results. If nothing else, I can eat the contents of my soup since the ingredients need to be cycled out.

    Clothing will be difficult. I already have a small pelt on my feet. I could use Bones'' hat for something, but I don''t want to take that away from him. If I can get a few more pelts, I might be able to make a rough cloak or vest, maybe some pants. Really, I''d settle for anything more than just frolicking around in my underwear.

    Admittedly the underwear does seem to be of the highest quality. I must have paid a fortune for them in my former life. Easy to clean, odor-resistant, quick-drying, non-abrasive, and highly fashionable. It must have been woven from unicorns or some other rare mystically magic creature like a beaver...

    Yeah, that sounds right.

    Wait. No.

    Not a beaver.

    Weasels. More correct, a weasel-looking rat beast swimming towards my fish trap. The rodent intrudes on my thoughts, bringing me back to the world.

    A long and proportionately slender body of a weasel with the head and tail of a rat, a tail long enough to induce shivers. Wait a moment, is it just an athletically shaped beaver? No, beavers don''t have gross rat tails. This is definitely a weasel rat.

    Instantly I turn towards the weasel rat, then head back to the closest shore. Even though I''m almost out of the water, the weasel, closely resembling a beaver, cuts through the water nearing my trap.

    Reaching the shore, I grab a couple stones and throw them at the thief, now perched on the large rock at the top of my fish trap. Large rat teeth are gleaming right back at me.

    The weasel rat dives into my trap just as my stones collide with the rock. A moment later, it emerges with a sizable fish in its mouth.

    "My fish!" I shout at the rat, giving it a warning.

    Ignoring my warning disguised as a statement, the weasel rat attempts to retreat the way it entered, fish still in its mouth. Unable to get a foothold on the rock, it falls back into the trap, giving me plenty of time to close the distance.

    There is a moment of sheer panic as the weasel thrashes around in the trap, struggling to escape. It stubbornly refuses to let go of the fish, making its escape all the more difficult.

    A part of me wishes to hide and not experience the subsequent events. Pinning the weasel rat down with a conveniently accessible forked gray bone, I keep it from escaping. Not wanting the creature to die an awful death by drowning, I summon a bone spear and quickly end its life.

    Knife in hand, I begin processing both the fish and weasel rat. Even in death, the long slender tail still haunts me, forcing more shivers through my body.

    Processing the fish and weasel is made much easier with my bone knife. Now that I¡¯m channeling the pale energy in all three major channels, the blade I can summon holds a much sharper edge. This sharp edge makes quick work of this tedious process.

    I have a sizable, cleaned pelt, fresh meat, tendons I stripped from the weasel, and a collection of bones when I¡¯m done. I leave the rest of the guts and innards in my fish corral as bait. As an afterthought, I keep the weasel brain as well, placing it in a small bone pot of water.

    Back at the entrance of my pit, I summon Bones. Instead of his white coloration, he is formed with pale gray bones, and even though I did not spend any more mana creating him, he looks thicker and more durable.

    Most noticeably, his awkwardness in movement is gone. I haven''t even tried to improve his form yet and he is already looking better ¡ª evidence that my cultivation earlier is paying off.

    Before he can run off on his own, completing his tasks, I instruct him to prepare the hide to be tanned. This process includes creating the tanning solution from the brain, removing fur from the hide, stretching the hide out, and drying out the tendons. Without hesitation, he gets to work on his tasks.

    I start preparing my fish and weasel. For both, I summon a rack made up of bones. Thin strips of weasel and fish meat are cut and placed on the stand, which is positioned in the smokiest place of the fire. Ideally, I will be able to preserve this meat to have a backup for when I''m not so fortunate with my accidental and purposeful trapping.

    Since I¡¯m already working on food, I take the time to finish creating my seasonings. Dried diced wild onion bulbs are placed on my bowlish rock Bones retrieved from Lower Forest Camp. I use a smaller round rock to mash the onion into a powder. When I¡¯m satisfied with the consistency, I summon a container to hold the powder. Following this process, I do the same for the oxalis and pine mix.

    Removed by Bones late in the night, the pot that once held diced hickory roots has boiled down. The only remains in the pot is a black gritty residue.

    I now have the one seasoning above all other seasonings: Salt! I collect all the black salt, careful not to drop any of it, and place it in an extra durable bone container.

    Finished with my seasoning, I put the last touches on my smoking meats by applying onion powder and salt to the weasel and salt and acidic seasoning to the fish. Then I help myself to all the remaining chunks left in my soup, leaving the broth to flavor a new batch of meats and forest goods.

    While I eat, I watch as Bones finishes his given tasks. Impressively, he followed all the instructions I had given him, even taking an extra step by applying the tanning solution to the stretched-out weasel rat hide.

    The hide is too small for clothing, so I think I will use it for my next iteration of shoes. The shoes I have now work but could be better. Specifically, it was foolish not to remove the fur from the rabbit pelt before turning it into a shoe.

    Having just worked on the hickory roots, hickory trees are still fresh in my mind. "Good work, Bones." I break the eerie silence between us. Most of my commands have been given mentally, and by most, I mean the only commands I recently gave him.

    "Do you mind looking for some hickory logs this thick?" I create a ten-inch circle with my hands. "And six feet in length?" I raise my hands a few inches above my head.

    Bones nods his head.

    I question whether he understands the task because he doesn''t leave immediately. He is just standing there. Moments crawl in silence.

    Finally, Bones motions like he is swinging something, and I realize the hold-up. Delaying no further, I summon the finest wood processing tools for Bones. He nods his approval and takes off into the forest towards the amplest grouping of hickory trees.

    Exploring the south side of the pond is my next task. Before I leave to walk through the forest looking for food sources, I stop at the pond and pick up my now clean, dry underwear and shoes. Having experienced the thrill of running in the wild naked, I now know for a fact that life isn''t for me. Images of taking a weasel swipe to the scrotum still give me the willies.

    Nope. Hanging loose isn''t for me. I''m not like the wild bunch, just letting it hang out for all to see. Sure, they might have the best ventilation. Sure, they are bursting with unfaltering confidence that carries them through life. They can keep their ventilation and confidence for themselves. Secure and safe is my preference and that is a cause I''d go hungry for. Yup. Safe and secure. That''s my motto.

    I look for unexplored forest with briefs and shoes equipped and head in that direction.

 11. The Worst Kind of Company

    Yesterday, I explored the north side of the pond and attempted to explore the cliff side a bit further west. Today I want to check out the south. My goal is still the same, gather resources, look for threats, and get to know my camp area better.

    Food, tools, remarkably useful rocks, and maybe some clothes or something to make clothes with are at the top of my list of things I would like to find. Essentially, I''m searching for survivor basics.

    A couple hours have gone by, the sun is beginning to set, and all I¡¯ve to show for my exploration efforts is a real neat walking stick and some more forest food, mostly bitterweeds. I''m done with my expedition for the day and head back to camp.

    South Pond Forest is much like North Pond Forest. Maybe, just maybe, it is an inch greener on this side. Maybe not. Shoot ¡ª I could even go as far as to say that it is like Lower Forest Camp and South Forest. Trees are thick and plentiful, signs of animal life are abundant, and weeds are plentiful and ready to be harvested.

    Noticeably lacking are the fruit trees, bushes full of berries, or town. Even a village or a house would have been neat to see in the woods. Alas, the forest is as woody as the rest of the woods, devoid of all signs of civilization. Not that I was expecting to find people here. If anything, they are on the other side of the mountains.

    Of course, they¡¯re on the other side of the mountain! Why would they be over here when they could be over there? That would have been convenient, saving me a trip through the abundantly thick upper woods and over the mountains, which apparently stand taller than the sky reaches.

    "Lousy, inconvenient city locations are always placed on the other side of the mountains," I say aloud. Finally, letting myself indulge in some overdue cursing for the day. "What good are you over there when I need you over here. Good for nothing. That''s what I say."

    Cursing doesn''t last long. Walking back to camp has been made abundantly easier by my sturdy walking stick, and it is hard to sour my mood. Even though it isn''t a productive use of thoughts, I let my mind wander along with me.

    As far as sticks go, this one is the prettiest, most straight stick I''ve had the pleasure to walk with. I''d even venture to say that this stick has been training its whole life so that it could serve this higher purpose. And now all the stick''s hard work is paying off. Most likely beaming with brightness as it passes all the other sticks by.

    Negative Nancy, those sticks are. "No, you''re just a stick," They say. "You''ll never walk," They say. "Your purpose is to rot and nourish the worms," They say, being ever so thorough, sticking it to the fallen branch with dreams of grandeur.

    "Foolish sticks," Shaking its rotting limbs back at them. "I only fell so that I could learn to walk." It says right back, defiant and hopeful as ever.

    And that there is a lesson we can all learn from the stick. We, being me, my thoughts, and the sticks. The power of purpose... "Damn!" I curse, realizing I had been betrayed by my thoughts¡­ and the stick. The stick isn¡¯t innocent here¡­ and now we are back to having a purpose, despite my best efforts to hang loose and live free.

    What if I¡¯m happy to rot? Nourishing the forest isn''t a lost cause. Why do I need a bigger purpose? I can drift through the rest of my life content that I can no longer bring harm to those close around me. No longer able to hurt or disappoint them.

    My hollow thoughts fall silent on the unwelcoming forest floor. I know I can''t stay here forever. As easy as this life is, it won''t last long... I won''t be satisfied with it for long. I¡¯m already beginning to question my sanity. Most of the time, I question if I¡¯m still dreaming or not. Fifty percent of the time, I¡¯m confident Bones is a figment of my imagination gone utterly wild.

    If I''m honest with myself, which I''m not, I will grow tired of the solitude within months. If I haven''t found people by then, I might not be able to recover from the toll this loneliness has been taking on me.

    One can only hope that either Bones or I can come up with my own riveting purpose. Else we rot like sticks and become food for the worms. Life of wasted potential. Wandering deserts and cursing suns. Maybe just finding others is enough¡­

    "Phew," I let out a dramatic breath-like sigh. "Betrayed by my own stick. Just because you strive for more doesn''t mean the rest of us have to. We can be content with our lives here on the ground... level." This time it is my words that fall empty.

    All things considered, this melodramatic trip into the fruit-barren south lands isn¡¯t an entire waste. I got a sturdy stick and a lecture on reaching potential. So maybe it is a half-win, half-lose scenario. A win-lose trip. Sort of like my trip up the steep hill yesterday.

    Maybe the real lesson is don''t go exploring if you aren''t ready for discoveries? No, that is absurd. Nobody explores without the intention to discover.

    Maybe the lesson is the more you know, the more lost you become. Too contrived. Much too much of a stretch.

    Maybe there is no lesson, and I¡¯m just using this as a bridge to pull myself out of my head.

    A rope! If you are going to go exploring, make sure you have rope.

    Content with the takeaway, I leisurely stroll back home, admiring both my stick and my vast amounts of wisdom.

    The rest of the evening goes smoothly. Bones finishes quartering the hickory log he found. I collect a few more mushrooms, berries, and onions from North Pond Forest. Afterwards, I check the fish trap, make repairs to it, and check my deadfall traps. Both fish and deadfall traps are empty. I then retire to my cave to craft some items.

    Dinner consists of saut¨¦ed greens and mushrooms and roasted weasel legs with red berry jam. All seasoned to taste. Complimenting my sophisticated forest dish, I prepare a chilled pine tea. The food is exquisitely edible. I will be sure to add this to the list of my growing recipes.

    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    Tomorrow, I think I may try the same thing but with more of a soup twist. Soup is a real sophisticated dish. The kind of dish scholars and wizards eat at a fancy feast. Yeah, it''s decided tomorrow is soup day, and my broth is nothing if not flavorful.

    A camp chef! I was a renowned camp chef in my former life. Hence my knowledge of forest foods and comfort in camping settings. If you were camping, I was the chef you wanted. Even my practiced sword skills make sense since I usually had to play the part of a butcher as well. And customers love flashy knife skills.

    Spin your knife a couple times while you are preparing your meal and you¡¯ll have your audience captivated. And, of course, I had an audience. Why would you hire a camp chef if you don''t intend to watch him do his cheffing ¨C cheffing being an industry term used only by the highest quality camp chefs.

    I was betrayed by the competition. Upset that I was getting the highest paid jobs, they set up a desert excursion. When I showed up, they ambushed me and left me to rot. A bunch of crooked butchers. Most of them probably camp in tents and consider rat meat a delicacy. Frauds and a disgrace to the arts.

    I let myself indulge in some backstory layering while I eat. I might not have my memories but I won''t lack character if and when I meet someone. Being a renowned camp chef seeking to serve up the ultimate dish of revenge sounds pretty spicy too.

    After dinner and fantastical plotting, I find myself with some free time. Without hesitation, I dive into my death mana.

    First, I go over the steps I practiced this morning. Morning practice has paid off as my core acts more as a muscle than foreign energy. With the mana coursing through my body, I begin the next step of summoning. Tonight is about quantity. I want to know how many times I can summon my Bones consecutively.

    Visualizing his form, I shape his form using my hands to direct the mana and summon my minion. As soon as he appears, I dismiss him and start the summoning. This practice will help me understand how many times I can summon in a row, give me a measurement of casting time, and the repetition is good. I complete the casting, and Bones reappears.

    At three summonings, I notice that the mana is slightly more resistant to my command. The fourth time the resistance is more apparent. My final consecutive casting of the night, number seven, takes all my willpower to will the pale energy to comply.

    Much like a muscle, cores and channels have their limits. Mine is at seven consecutive castings and around ten seconds to complete each summons. I can work with this. Now I want to test how long it takes for my core to recover. I dismiss Bones and wait for my soul to regain its strength.

    An hour later, the strain is less severe. Figuring I recovered enough, I try unsuccessfully to summon Bones. I can, however, manage to summon smaller objects. After spending another hour hacking a quartered hickory staff into a bow, I try again. Still no success.

    Thirty minutes later, I still get no results. For the sake of knowledge, I push through my extreme exhaustion, continuing to whittle and summon Bones.

    Two more hours go by before I can summon Bones once more.

    No longer able to keep my eyes open, I drift into sleep.

    ****

    Instinctively my eyes snap open. My cave is dark, too dark. Our fire that was burning when I fell asleep is now out. Odd.

    Staying very still, I listen for the eeriness that disrupted my sleep. Deep heavy breathing or rather sniffing and slow steps can be heard outside of the den. Even in my dark den, I can feel a presence nearing the entrance. Large sets of feet indiscreetly scrape on the rocks that pave the entrance to the cave.

    As quietly as possible, I get myself to my feet, bone knives in hand, and begin cycling my core. I don''t want to summon bones... wait, Bones was already summoned when I was falling asleep. Sure enough, I can feel the mana is still being used by my minion.

    Silent and still, I wait in the dark of my cave, peering out into the night, trying to see my company.

    Footsteps are growing louder, and the growls are more intense. Just outside the cave, I glimpse the massive animal as it dashes past the cave. Loose dust and rocks fall from above when the beast lets out a huge roar. Silence follows. The entire forest tries to stay unnoticed. Breaking the silence is the sound of crushing bones. Mana returns to my core.

    Tightening my sweaty grip on my blades, I rush towards the entrance of my den. Fifteen feet. Ten. I''m close to the beast and closer to escaping from my trap. Then I see it. A massive bear-like creature covered in thick wooden plating turns back towards me and steps towards the entrance.

    I''m almost out. All my strength and energy are directed in my legs. If I can get out, I have a chance. I''m about to escape when another ear-shaking roar pushes me back, nearly knocking me off my feet. Still roaring excessively, the beast pushes off its front feet and tries to stand.

    The bear is easily twice my height and many times heavier, wide enough that it nearly covers the opening of my cave. It is only five feet away when it lands on all fours. It opens its fierce mouth showing its salivating daggers for teeth. Another roar is let loose, shaking the entire cave and causing rocks to fall. A small part of me wants to freeze in place, to become as still and small as possible.

    Refusing to be stilled, daringly, I roar back and hurl my two daggers at its open maw. One is swatted away, and the other glances off the face of the plated bear, causing no damage. I summon a hefty spear and charge.

    Closing the remaining distance between us, the bear lunges its oversized paw directly at me. The bear''s claws intercept my spear strike, shattering my weapon. I dodge to the right, avoiding the bear''s attack and try to run past the hulking beast.

    I now must avoid its follow-up attack from its mouth. I step against the wall, hugging it with my body. The quick positioning puts me out of range of the mouth for the moment.

    Escape is my only plan of action. I can¡¯t die now. I¡¯m starting to figure out how to live.

    I try to use the small moment I need to squeeze past the bear before it can attack again.

    Halfway past the hulking beast, my luck runs out. Cleverly, the beast body checks me into the side of the cave. My body hits hard, followed by an even harder hit to my head. Crushing weight is pinning me against the wall. This is bad. My mind is murky. It¡¯s a miracle I''m still channeling mana.

    Persistent and rude as ever, the armored bear continues to crush me with its weight, not giving me the space to escape. Panic overwhelms all my senses, urging me to move, but there is no response from my lower half. In fact, I can''t feel pain in my legs anymore.

    Summoning a long dagger, I plunge it into the back of the bear, drawing out a wild, angry roar that explodes through the cave. Now it applies even more weight. Sounds of cracking ribs are drowned out by heavy growling, followed by more falling rocks.

    Mouth open and snarling, the bear turns its head toward me and tries to bite any part of my body. I summon another dagger and bring the blade down with all my strength. Quicker than I thought possible, the bear releases its body pressure. My knife is about to land, however, the beast instantly lashes out with its mouth and bites down on my arm. Bone cracks.

    Pain and nausea rush through me. I want to scream. I don''t even get the chance to do that. Holding my mangled arm in its mouth, the bear whips its head to the left, pulling me along. I try desperately to keep my feet. It''s a foolish attempt. A massive claw swipes at my face and neck as I¡¯m whipped across the cave.

    Pain significantly lessens. Rocks crush the ground and my body. I can no longer breathe. Consciousness is lost. Life fades away.

 12. Neighborly Revenge

    Genevieve senses more than witnesses the demise of the drifter. Confined in her lair, her worry has been immense as of late. Since the diminishing of her shadow barrier, she has been growing weaker and weaker. She used to be able to travel on her island freely. Any spot she pictured; she could travel to. Now her spirit walking demands more mana, which she needs to keep the weakening barrier from completely falling.

    Genevieve had found that the more she observed the drifter, the less she worried and the more she began to hope. Perhaps this is the one who can help her and her people, she had thought. While she didn''t love the idea of seeking aid from a human, he is the only human that has walked these lands since she cloaked the island. For all her resentment towards people, the drifter was a much better option than demons.

    Now, even her small hopes are dashed as she watches the monster enter the drifter''s new camp. T foolish man camped in the forest druid''s domain. The enlightened beast has long since ruled over the forest between the desert and the mountains growing in power and sentience as it devoured all that foolishly got caught in its realm.

    To his credit, the drifter lasted longer than she thought he would. It wasn''t exactly long. She just had real short expectations. Genevieve tried to send Fury to his aid, but there was not enough time. Besides, her totem has been patrolling the barrier, a task that is now much more important.

    Perhaps there is still hope. She still has Fury and maybe they can find a decent demon together. Maybe they will get lucky and find a suitable candidate to complete the ritual before her barrier falls. While she is lost in the illusions of hope, she imagines the horde will not return.

    Out of respect to the fighter, Genevieve watches as the forest druid finishes him off. If only she were stronger... Much of her strength was spent years ago fighting for her survival.

    "Farewell, Drifter. May you find better peace for your soul."

    ****

    Torn apart. Piece by tiny piece. As if I¡¯m a wave crashing upon the rocks, water exploding in every direction. I¡¯m ripped into thousands of parts and scattered like the mist lost in the wind.

    Reality fades in and out. Live. The ever-provocative word is planted in my mind.

    My body doesn¡¯t stagnate in this scattered state. Like the river assembling its mass into a body, my life flows back together. Piece by tiny piece. I¡¯m collected.

    Finally, I wake up from the nightmare. Of all the dreams in my existence, that one was the most intense and vivid. Osmosis of all things. I didn''t even know I knew that word. Not that I understand it, but if I did, I would use that dream as a prime example.

    Did it have to feel so real? I''ll be the first to say it. Dreams can be a real B-word. As far as ranking goes, dreams can be uppercase B, leaving the desert to be lower case b.

    My body doesn''t respond to my commands at first. A wicked case of sleep paralysis, most likely due to the intensity of my dream. At least I''m back in my bed. The mattress is so soft it is molding to my body.

    Slowly, I regain control. I can open my eyes now, and unlike my dream, I can open both. It is good to be able to see again.

    Rat bastard!

    The sun. And sand. "No. No. No," I yell. I''m back in the desert¡­

    The nightmare was real? That beast of a bear ate me for a midnight snack. What the freaking heck! What was that all about? If anything, I should be in the belly of the beast. Why am I in the desert? Damn bear! Sure, we all get the munchies, but that seemed entirely inappropriate. In my house nonetheless!

    "Rat bastards, all of them. The sun, sand, Munchy the Bear, and scorpions." The sudden rush of frustration and realization awakens me completely.

    Indeed, I¡¯m back in the desert. The sun is still showing off as bright and beamy as ever. Sand is just as sandy as it was when I left it. Only thing missing from the slumber party is the scorpions which, no offense, I''m glad aren''t present.

    To my relief, my body is functioning as it should, even putting in the extra effort to ache everywhere. I sense my cores and find them as they were. Nine cores. Seven are empty, one is filled with death mana, and the other is just¡­well, it''s something.

    None of this makes any sense.

    I died.

    At least I''m pretty sure I died. How does one wake up dead?

    Why am I back in the desert? And why do I have no memories of my previous life? Who¡¯s telling me to live? Again, what does that even mean? Also, what the hell, random bear? And for the love of all that is good and holy, where are my shoes?

    "Sand-blasted bear, and the sun-blasted desert, and the sun-blasted heat!" Despite not being a good cursing session, it conveys my frustration adequately.

    Well, one thing is for sure. Kel was a real stupid name. And bears are the worst. Freaking Kel can''t even escape an overgrown bear. He had one purpose and couldn¡¯t complete it.

    Ken!

    That''s right, my name is Ken. Always have been and will be a Ken. Ken is objectively alphabetically and phonetically superior to Kel. And unlike Kel, I''m not going to be beaten by a silly wooden bear. And on top of that, I, Ken, now have a life''s purpose.

    Revenge.

    And it''s not some silly revenge on the desert plot conspired by dead people like Kel. Nope.

    This is real.

    I¡¯ve a purpose and I''m super motivated. It''s bear-slaying time, and I''m on the hunt. Yup, things are looking brighter for Ken.

    Full of purpose, I turn to the mountains and head west. The hunt begins.

    ****

    Interesting. He isn''t dead. How did he end up in the desert? Very peculiar. Focusing her senses, Genevieve reaches out and examines the drifter more thoroughly.

    Very peculiar indeed. What is going on with the drifter''s cores? It isn''t the death core that brought him back to life. Maybe he could resurrect if he was a high-powered life core of sage rank. Drifter, however, is only at the rook rank, and yet. She digs deeper taking advantage of the years of training she spent honing her soul perception. His cores¡­?

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    In all her years, Genevieve can''t recall seeing a soul like the drifter¡¯s. Nine layers, one of them being the prime core. Very few cultivators make it as far as this man apparently had. Yet only the second layer is filled with mana and the others are empty. How?

    Most absurd is his prime core. The drifter''s prime core, his first layer, isn¡¯t attributed to death mana like the second. It isn''t attributed to any mana. It is filled, but with what?

    Who is this man? How did he end up here?

    Once again caught up in the stranger''s company, Genevieve finds herself observing as much as she can with her spirit senses.

    ****

    The walk is pleasant. Sort of. I¡¯m pretty upset about not having my shoes. However, I''m setting a much better pace than the first desert stroll. Even noticing more things now than I did back then.

    Kel must have been real tunnel-visioned. There are cactus and sage scattered all throughout. The sand isn''t too bad once you get down to it.

    Sure, it''s hot and incredibly uncomfortable to walk in. And yet it has its own unmistakable beauty. Maybe it''s the dunes or the local flora refusing to give in to the heat. It could be all of it. This place isn''t bad.

    Certainly isn''t great, but it''s not bad.

    Ken is a lover of all things dry and warm. I decide for myself.

    I summon bones and take the opportunity to review all my thoughts with him, from the confusing rebirthing, new name, and finding a purpose ¡ª to the beauty of the sands. He probably doesn''t want to hear any of it. However, he has yet to voice any objection and I''m tired of keeping all my thoughts to myself. Sometimes it''s nice to be heard.

    "Just look at this beautiful world we have to explore. We got sand. There''s cacti and variations of cacti. Sage can be used as a source of fire. The ground is soft enough to sleep on. Why would we leave? We could stay here if we wanted. We could leave the forest behind.

    "Maybe water will be a problem. We could build a trench from the river out into the desert... Hmm, maybe not a trench. That is a lot of work. You could build a trench! Maybe I could summon two or three of you. You will be my trench man. Turning this sandy pit into an oasis is a new goal of mine." I say, directing my new ambitions towards Bones.

    "Maybe revenge isn''t a great purpose. That''s the problem with my new self. So full of life and quick to embrace a cause. What if the previous self had it right? Turning the desert into an even more pleasant place not only serves a just purpose of retribution, but it also seeks to improve rather than tear down.

    "He was lazy, but Kel was wise. I''ll give him that." Despite my words, we keep hiking the desert dunes towards the forest. Bones is quiet, and though a few steps ahead, he stays close by, listening like an interested friend. Or so I assume. It is hard to tell with skeletons. Bones'' expressions are void of life.

    "The current lack of bear beasts is also comforting. Though a bear hide lining the desert mattress would be a fantastic bed¡­ No... maybe. What if," I pause for the dramatic flair, "we go back to the forest, collect a hide, return to the desert, turn it into a luxury oasis and then charge a premium on this wonderful destination get away?

    "That¡¯s it. I was an innkeeper in my former life. I lived to keep people housed and comfortable, offering the best night of sleep and breakfast in all the lands. Tired of the dreary locations, I came to the desert looking for the next big getaway. To get the freshest ideas, I tampered with my mind. I might have accidentally tampered too much, causing me to forget my memories instead of just overused industry standards.

    "That''s got to be it. Now, I don''t even need to seek my memories. I have them all here. Mostly. What I have can be enough for me.

    "Life in the desert isn''t bad, Bones. It just isn''t. People will love it here. I¡¯m sure of it." I try convincing my walking companion and maybe a little bit of myself. "The lack of competition alo ¡ª " Just as I''m about to finish my closing argument, an abomination of a beast crests the dune we are hiking.

    Before I can determine what it is, the monster begins charging at me, excessively aggressive. Stampeding down the dune, the monster kicks up a ton of dust, blurring my vision.

    Bones stands at the ready. I''m a brave six feet behind him. Quickly descending the hill, the cloud of sand gets closer and closer along with whatever monster is inside.

    Exploding from its cover, a behemoth of a scorpion catches Bones in a claw bigger than the skeleton''s entire form.

    "Welp." Escapes someone''s lips.

    Snapping its claw, the scorpion breaks my skeleton in half. Maniacally it simultaneously bites and stings, ravaging Bones in a matter of seconds. Remains of my once livelier minion dissipate as I recall and begin to summon my minion once more.

    Time is ticking, and I need more of it.

    One second. I start running, willing my mana to take form.

    Two seconds. My heart is pumping, my hands are creating the outline of Bones.

    Four seconds. I can hear the sand parting a short distance behind me. The beast is closing in.

    Six seconds. I''m running even harder now, cursing the sand for its lack of resistance, forcing my pale energy to take shape. Every step is more time.

    Eight seconds. Noises from behind come to a stop. I spare a glance behind to see the space is now empty. I turn my head back in time to see the monster scorpion erupt from the desert sands blocking my path.

    Every step now leads me closer to death.

    I jolt to a stop.

    Before me, the monster scorpion is easily five times larger than the scorpions I had encountered previously. And faster. Much faster. Maybe even a little more clever too.

    In the moment between action, Bones finally appears. Instantly he rushes toward the monster.

    Tactfully I turn and retreat, fully embracing the cowardness of Ken. Maybe if I wasn''t just mauled by a bear, I''d be more inclined to go fist to claw with such a spectacular monstrosity. As it is right now, I''d much prefer not to engage. And so, I''m booking it.

    Bones has the command to distract the scorpion as long as possible. Hopefully, he will forgive me for abandoning him. He''ll see reason in my survival being the best for the both of us... hopefully. If we survive.

    Sweating profusely, I sprint through the desert, retracing my steps. I''m desperately trying to come up with a plan. I need protection. A shield forms in my hand. I need a way to defend myself. A long sword is summoned for my other hand. Marginally better equipped, I keep running, hoping for a better plan. Living hell, I''d even settle for a place to hide instead of a plan.

    Running has taken me a reasonable distance. I''m a bit shocked to see that I¡¯ve outlived my stamina to sprint. More of a surprise, mana from Bones has yet to return. I''m hopeful he''s still distracting king scorpion.

    Setting a slower pace, not so much by choice, I''m looking for somewhere to hide. I might be able to bury myself... Intense pain ignites in my back and then explodes to my chest.

    I can''t take another step. More pain bursts through me. Everywhere hurts. No part of my body will respond. Catching a glimpse before they darken, my eyes see the massive stinger piercing my heart and chest.

    It won''t be long now.

    If I were forced to pick the better death experience between bear and scorpion ¡ª well, for one, I wouldn''t because that sounds like the world''s worst game ¡ª but let''s say I was forced at claw point to decide. If that were the case, I would have to say that death by scorpion is my preference.

    At least with the scorpion, melodious sounds of screeching and snapping accompany the sting of death.

    The demon sings its farewell song as I fade out of existence. My only regret is that I''m robbed of my ability to party and my limp fists fall.

    ****

    "No!" Genevieve watches the end of the mystery man. "Not like this. Not again." She wasn''t aware of the newfound hope she placed in the stranger now being crushed again. This time she keeps hope alive. Maybe he will find a way to live again.

    Hours pass, and no signs of the drifter. The day turns to night. Genevieve expands her senses to cover her whole island. Still no signs of him. Night returns to day only to return once more. He is gone¡­ and with her acceptance, her hope fades.

 13. Sand Demon

    It can''t be. How¡­? Genevieve watches as the man reforms back in the dark desert. Methodically, the tiniest pieces of life are put back together until the drifter is fully formed. Amazing! Like before, hope goes unnoticed as it slips back into her heart.

    ****

    Dying isn''t fun. I recommend it to no one. On top of that, being cognitive during this dying process is unnerving and incredibly uncomfortable. I''d even venture to say it is awkwardly painful. Why am I torn to bits only to be placed together again? Is this normal for everyone else? Gut feelings tell me it''s not and I very well should be dead, twice over now, maybe even thrice.

    Once again, I¡¯m told to live when dying doesn¡¯t seem to be an option. Making the one word that is supposedly supposed to be a lifeline irrelevant. Also, if I¡¯m supposed to live, don¡¯t keep putting me back in the lifeless desert.

    This somewhat proves my earlier theory that I¡¯m a reject of death and its exclusive club wants nothing to do with me. Jokes on them. I¡¯m setting up my own private club only for the living. We will be so exclusive that only the liveliest people get an invitation to try out for membership. Bones can be our bouncer, but he will never be allowed indoors.

    To remedy Bones'' exclusion, he and I can start another private club, just for the two of us and the other people we invite ¡ª almost like a club within a club. This club will extend past the strict rules of the private life club ¡ª making it more exotic and premium.

    My mind gets a little off track with grandeur visions of club ownership. Eventually, I get to more productive thinking¡­ self-assessments.

    Man, Ken was such a dope. Couldn''t even make it out of the desert. And the way he ran away from one scorpion. Pathetic. Kel might not have been impressive. Compared to Ken, though. Legendary. He killed like fifty of them on his own.

    Who even likes the desert anyways? Probably the same type of people that confuse wood-plated armor as a comfortable hide to spread across the desert floor. Yeah, good luck sleeping on a tree, Ken.

    What a piece of work that guy was.

    Waking up isn''t so confusing this time. Sure, I''ve got my questions. But this time, I have some experience to go off of. It takes a moment for my body to respond.

    First, my eyes. Check.

    Then my arms. Check.

    Legs. Check.

    Through it all I remain on the ground. I haven¡¯t convinced myself to get up. So after making sure my body works, I linger longer contemplating my life failures.

    It''s nighttime anyways. I don''t feel comfortable walking around with giant spiteful scorpions sinking stingers into people''s backs. Nope, that''s more of a Ken thing to do. If I''m going to be the poetic slayer of scorpions, I need to plan and prepare. I need armor, weapons, maybe a plan, and support.

    Support and weaponry are covered.

    Right now, I could use a bit of armor. Bone armor might not stop a full-blown attack from the scorpion, but it might help. Would definitely make me feel safer. I indulge in the thought and get to work pushing myself to figure out how to manipulate my mana into armor. I can already summon various items. Armor is trickier in how I get it to attach to my body and not restrict my movement.

    Armor experimenting is demanding, and each failure takes a toll. Fortunately, the attempted casting isn''t as demanding as summoning a minion. This allows me to fail repeatedly.

    I believe success is within my grasp, so I throw my will at the stubborn mana inside. In my mind, I can see the pale energy molding around my body, covering me in protection. It is only a matter of figuring out how to get the mana to work.

    So far, I¡¯ve been able to coat my arm entirely, even adding cover for my fingers. However, the armor is a cast restricting my hand and fingers from most of its movement. Completely encased, the armor sits on my arm without slipping. When I try to segment the armor to allow more mobility, the segmented pieces quickly fall or slide out of place.

    Late into the night, I take a break from my experiments. Still sitting, I find myself in a trance as I''m entirely focused on my cycling mana. Death is raging all throughout me. However, it isn''t a wild rage. The mana is smooth and orderly in its powerful, violent nature.

    Summoning Bones requires will, mana, and a combination of physical and mental manifestation. Summoning armor based on my most successful attempts proves to be similar. I¡¯ve the most success structuring the armor creation with my hands.

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    What am I missing? It feels like it is an issue with the mana ¡ª or maybe it is the armor ¡ª or both.

    Focusing my thoughts on a newly created gauntlet, I force mana into it. As mana rushes into the protective glove, my fingers gain the ability to move once more.

    Mana is the key to armor! The simple discovery does much to improve my attitude, diminishing the day full of failures in an instant.

    To test this, I thoroughly coat my arm with the pale bone plating and push extra mana into it. Like the gauntlet, once mana enters the armor, I can move my arm.

    For the next hour, I practice creating armor for my entire body. Some pale energy is lost in practice, and my casting stamina feels low. However, I¡¯ve gained more than I lost.

    Through trial and error, I learn to push mana from my channels into my armor. While this is an active strain on my mana similar to Bones, I can be completely covered in armor. Not only that, I still have complete mobility without having to focus on each individual piece of armor. Mana-fueled armor also is the key to keeping segmented armor pieces in place. This allows me to apply armor only where I want it, reducing the overall weight.

    I¡¯m wearing arm guards, pauldrons, bone boots, leggings, and a chest plate. There is no mirror to confirm this, but I''m pretty sure I look good. So good-looking, if anyone saw me in my lifeless gray armor, they would instantly want to be a part of any club I¡¯m in. At the very least, I¡¯m more intimidating in armor than without it and intimidation is handsome in its own way.

    Right? Probably not right.

    Not only does it look good, it feels good. Mana, somehow, makes the bone protection feel more comfortable than it should. Even the shoes I¡¯m now wearing feel like a nice fit, though they still have a long way to go to be a good shoe. For now, they are functional.

    After all the trial and error, I let my emotions of success prevail. Success! I learned a new casting, I''m more protected than before, and I have shoes. I''m smiling and laughing as happiness engulfs me. I didn''t realize how much I needed this success. Dying twice must have taken a toll on me. Tears are threatening to wash my face when I reign them in.

    That''s more of a Ken thing anyway.

    After my brief silent celebration is over, I get back to work. Bones is summoned next. The ashen gray skeleton appears seconds later. Between Bones, my active armor, and the mana used up in practice, I have roughly thirty percent of the mana left in my core available to use. More than enough to summon some weapons and shields. Not only that, the lost mana used up in practice is slowly being restored.

    Gear-wise, I have armor, a shield, and a spiked poleaxe. The poleaxe doesn''t feel as natural as the sword. Still, I think the ax will be more effective against the tough armor of the scorpion we are going to hunt, and it will improve my range. Bones has a similar setup minus the armor. We are looking gruff and ready for a fight.

    Even though it is still dark, I''m not tired and don''t intend to sleep. Say one thing about dying; it sure is restful.

    Success breeds success and we continue to work. Now we are focusing on a plan and preparation. Gear alone won''t win us this fight, I''m afraid. We need some type of advantage. Something that will cause the scorpion to be put off guard.

    Some type of trap is what I¡¯m thinking. Rope traps would possibly work. That would be a lot of cord to make, though, and I''m not convinced the material here will be strong enough to restrict the scorpion beast. There aren''t any resources for a fall trap of any kind. Spike traps aren''t reliable.

    Traps aren''t looking too promising in this case. So maybe not so much of a trap, but an ambush is what we will create.

    Mindset on an ambush, we spend the rest of the night preparing for the attack.

    A location giving us a tactical advantage is picked, wood is harvested, fire is created and hidden, and a few torch spears are made. The last piece of the ambush involves us burying a plate of bone beneath the sand. The plating gives us better footing and hopefully stops the scorpion from burrowing once we launch our attack.

    After all the preparation work, I¡¯m just about empty of mana. We take a break going over the plan mentally one more time, allowing for mana and channels to be restored.

    Ready for a fight, Bones runs out to find the scorpion while I wait and hide.

    Not like Ken hiding, though. He was a coward. Not that I¡¯ve anything against cowards. You gotta do what you got to do to live. It was more that he was a failure with his cowardice. What good is running if it gets you the same results? Might as well sit and wait or die swinging.

    My hiding is more to increase my chances of winning a tough fight. More like a Wayne kind of move. Yeah, Wayne ¡ª That feels right.

    Around the time the sun begins to rise is when I sense the mana from Bones return to my core. Wasting no time, I strain my soul to summon Bones once more. When he appears, he gives me a nod, and we get into position.

    Our backs towards the sun. Standing a few feet from the buried platform, we are in a large depression. It was the largest level area we could find.

    Sandy clouds appear above the dune in front of us. Reflexively, I tighten my grip on the weapon hidden behind me. Bursting out of the dune in front of us is a fiend of a beast. Somehow the scorpion has transformed.

    "Well... Shoot." involuntarily slips from my mouth.

    Bones spares a glance from the side and gives me as much of a grin as he can. His message is clear...

    "Chin up, Bones." I find myself filling the brief void of silence with words more meant for me. "There is a good chance this fellow is all show and no tell."

    What once was an average-looking, abnormally large scorpion is now a more enormous, uglier scorpion. The Demon has thicker armor, three stingers, and nightmare-inducing pincers leading into a terrifying mouth. Each leg of the beast is covered in thick protective chitin; to make it even more threatening, they all look sharp as a sword. The monster had evolved.

    This is going to get ugly.

 14. Sand Devil

    The demon scorpion burrows in the sand, attempting surprise attack after surprise attack. Lucky for us, the burrowing scorpion creates small sand wakes allowing us to track where it hides. We just need to focus on staying clear of its attack when it does surface. We dodge, run, and dodge some more.

    Besides staying in the fight, our main struggle is keeping our spears ready for the attack. Though survival has been relatively easy, counterattacking has been out of the question.

    Frustrated with its lack of results, the sand devil changes its strategy and no longer attempts surprise attacks. We backpedal as the scorpion darts towards us.

    Almost there.

    We hold back our attacks until the ground below us gets firmer. A few more steps back. We are in place. When the scorpion steps onto our buried plate, Bones and I release our volley of burning short spears at the approaching fiend.

    Thick chitinous plating prevents the spears from doing more than barely sticking. This works to our advantage. Flames spread quickly, hungering to consume more and more of the dry hair.

    Covered in flame and smoke, the sand devil ¡ª Sande, panics. Roaring with rage and frustration, it loses focus on us and does all it can to put out the flame. A world-shattering screech consumes the air when the heat intensity becomes too much and again when Sande tries to burrow and finds that it can¡¯t.

    Wanting to end all of this quickly, Bones and I start attacking both sides of the panicked monster. Sande and its many eyes easily track us as we attack from both sides and counters with its own attacks.

    Three stingers ¡ª proving extra formidable ¡ª act like relentless spears being rained down upon us. While the two claws simultaneously attempt to slash and grab. Adding to Sande''s attacks are the sharp legs that randomly slice at no particular target.

    Fortunately, we hold the advantage. Our solid footing allows us superior positioning, keeping us from the most threatening attacks. My armor and Bones'' shield negate attacks that we can''t avoid. On top of that, Sande is burning, giving the scorpion devil a minor buff in intimidation and presentation but consequently debuffing its focus, strength, and accuracy.

    Constantly circling, we force the scorpion to focus primarily on Bones while I attack from behind.

    Despite being unnatural in my hand, the spiked poleaxe keeps us in the fight. Bones deals with claws and mouth while I ward off the stingers and legs. The range of our weapons gives us the spacing we need, keeping us from serious harm.

    Bones and I become systematic in the fight. We block blows and make desperate swings with our axes in retaliation as the scorpion weakens. Careful with our spacing. We are never next to each other. More often, we are on opposite sides of the scorpion. When one is being overwhelmed with attacks, the other attacks more aggressively.

    Bones has the direct attention of our foe, proving himself to be more than a distraction. He''s light on his feet, dodging razor legs and claws. I''m behind Sande trying to land a critical strike. What is actually happening is that I''m either too far away to attack or dodging and blocking the relentless strikes from the three stingers.

    It''s hot. Between the sand, sun, and Sande, I feel like I¡¯m in an oven. Sweat is pouring into my eyes, and my ears feel like they¡¯re bleeding.

    Most of all, I''m tired of the scorpion getting the better of the exchanges. Though it has kept me in the fight, I''m getting nowhere with my poleaxe.

    Stepping outside of the striking range briefly, I dismiss the weapon. Even though it is a small amount, I still feel refreshed as the mana returns to my core. With the freed mana, I focus my thoughts and, with my hands, summon a great sword.

    At least my height in length, the ashen gray sword is massive. Six inches wide, with sharp edges on both sides, the great sword is complete with a long hilt that is comfortable to grip and balances out the rest of the sword. Tightening my grip on the handle, I step back into action.

    Due to my quick respite from the fight, Bones isn''t doing so well. One of his arms is clutched in the claw of the scorpion. A few of his ribs are looking out of place. Yet, he''s still aggravating Sande, jabbing his spear with his free arm. Due to his efforts, Bones manages to hold most of the beast''s attention.

    Stepping within striking distance, Sande ¡ª not knowing or not understanding the change in my weapon ¡ª carelessly launches a volley of piercing tails at me. We have tangled together long enough that I''m familiar with the scorpion''s attack. Waiting for the perfect moment, I slice straight through an outstretched stinger.

    Out of pain, the remaining two tails rear up. Before it can turn around, I step closer to the beast. Fueled with all my pent-up frustration, my blade slices into the remaining tails and severs them completely.

    The screeches grow from world-shattering to universe-shattering. Knowing it has lost the fight, the monster is now awkwardly sidestepping away from Bones and me.

    Pressing our advantage, I follow closely. Bones, keeping a healthy distance from me and the attacking creature, steps to cut off the scorpion¡¯s sideways retreat. In desperation, the scorpion swings two razor legs at me. I again time my counterattack just right and cut the legs at their exposed joints.

    The wounded scorpion tries to burrow one last time with few options remaining. It still can''t get through our buried bone plating. Bones goes all in, rushing the scrambling scorpion.

    Turning to face the oncoming threat, the scorpion strikes out at Bones. As Bones is caught up in claws, I step into position. A couple missing legs, lack of focus, and the missing stingers mean a very exposed back.

    Quickly, I dismiss the great sword and summon a war hammer with a nasty spike on one end. Bones is being shattered by claw strikes by the time my weapon appears. Still attacking my minion, probably happy to be dealing its own damage, the scorpion is utterly unaware of me.

    Closing the gap, I run and launch myself over the back of the scorpion. When I land, I bring the total momentum and weight of my hammer, pike first, onto the head of the monster. Sande staggers. The scorpion''s remaining legs give out. With an exasperated stomp, I drive the pike in further.

    Energy is rushing through me. More than what I felt from previous engagements. It is empowering. I feel stronger, healthier, and renewed. I can feel my death core being reinforced from the fight that has finally come to an end.

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    As I look down at the impaled creature, it seems to be dissolving into my Warhammer. I decide to watch what happens. Moments later, the scorpion, including the severed tails and legs, is completely gone.

    I might have been able to remove the hammer from the corpse. A lot of scorpion resources were drained into my pike. However, I wanted to see how this was going to play out. I''m rewarded with enlightenment.

    Decay and Absorb: Using death mana, decay the corpse and absorb its perks. Decay and Absorb requires mana to obtain skills. Summoning material can be upgraded with absorption. Skills can be upgraded, removed, and replaced.

    More information comes to my mind:

    Absorbed Skills: None.

    Available Skill Slots: Six.

    Material Summoning: Improved bones.

    Available Material Slots: Six.

    More profound knowledge fills my mind as I''m filled with information about my new skill, Decay and Absorb.

    Weapons summoned with death mana allow me to Decay corpses and Absorb perks. Perks come in the form of being able to upgrade my summoning material or gaining a skill. However, it takes a mana investment to acquire a skill. Sande has three options: minor earth manipulation, poison handling, or chitin upgrade to summoning.

    Knowledge flows through me, allowing me to comprehend what is going on. Because of my newly discovered skill Decay and Absorb, I¡¯ve the option to pick a perk from the monster I just decayed and absorbed. However, I need to have enough mana to claim the skill and I can only pick one from a decayed source.

    Minor Earth Manipulation: Minor earth manipulation based upon touch. Using mana, one can manipulate land, trees, rocks, and other earthly things in a minor way.

    Poison Handling: Poison resistance and summoning. Pain-inducing poison can be summoned and used at the cost of mana. Also enhances poison resistance.

    Blackened Chitin Summoning: Upgraded summoning material. Chitin is lighter and more durable than bones. However, unlike bones, chitin can''t hold mana long-term. Blackened chitin is chitin exposed to flame. It is more durable than chitin.

    Hands down, minor earth manipulation is the skill I want. Being able to shape my environment even in a small amount would be a significant advantage. Unfortunately, the mana investment for the skill is out of my reach. Poison handling and blackened chitin are the only choices I can choose from.

    Poison Handling could be a major advantage in a fight. Not only will it increase my weapons'' lethality, but it will also increase my defensive power. The biggest detractor is that the poison is a pain amplifier. Having watched the scorpion suffer from fire the entire fight was enough to make me feel sick. Call me a ninny, but I don''t think I can stomach causing more pain than necessary in a fight.

    I accept the new upgrade to my material summoning. Blackened chitin is added to the list of my available options putting me at two. Similar to available skills, there is a limit to the number of material upgrades I can have. Right now, they are both at six.

    Even though killing the scorpion replenished my core, the fight was physically exhausting. With no more adrenaline-pumping, I¡¯m starting to feel the wounds I received. Bruises mark where I had taken hits from the stinger and cuts where the sharp legs and claws slipped past my protection. Fortunately, none of the injuries are severe and should be healed by my mana within the day.

    It''s getting hotter now. The sun will be directly above me in an hour. I want to sleep, though that''s not too realistic. The screeching scorpion undoubtedly attracted attention and I¡¯ve been here too long already. Ditching the notion of sleep, I turn towards the mountains and begin my trek back home.

    Unlike my previous version, I¡¯m not impressed with this environment and want to get out of here fast. Besides, Ken was mostly afraid of the bear, and there is no way it is more terrifying than the sand devil we just defeated.

    While I walk out of this forsaken paradise, I focus on my cultivation to pass the time. My second core, the one holding death mana, feels fuller. Sure, it could be my imagination. On the other hand, I¡¯ve been using the core and pushing it to its limits. Not only that, the scorpion was no regular beast. Upon killing it, I felt an abundance of mana transfer into my core.

    A smile sneaks onto my lips. Turns out what kills you also makes you stronger.

    "Oh man, that was awful," I admit out loud.

    Realizing I don''t have to be miserable alone ¡ª I strain my core and channels once more ¡ª summoning Bones to my side. Bones arrives eight seconds later, dull gray fists raised victoriously in the air. For the next hundred yards, he keeps his arms in the air extending his lavish celebration. Side by side, we walk through the desert. Bones transfers his celebration to his legs, putting an extra skip in his step.

    I continue to focus on cultivating the pale energy running it through my three channels and into my core, where I work to compound the mana into a dense ball. When I can''t compound the mana anymore, I let it return to my channels. I keep the mana flowing until I¡¯m ready to compound the mana some more.

    If I¡¯m fortunate enough to slay a few more monsters, I risk the mana expanding from my second layer into my third. Usually, that would be good... I think. A higher layer means more power and abilities. That isn¡¯t what I want.

    I''m not sure if it is possible but having non-mana attributed layers could mean I¡¯ve a chance to bind with other energies. If that is the case, I don''t want death mana to expand into other cores. To me, that would be a waste of opportunity.

    So instead of letting the mana expand from the second core, I work to compact the pale energy tighter and tighter in the core. Miles pass while I repeat this process over and over. Slowly the mana becomes denser creating room in my second core for more.

    Pilgrimages, it turns out, are good for the soul.

    Half a day and a night of walking cultivation later, I''m finally out of the desert. The peaceful trip was very productive in cultivation and practicing material summons.

    I¡¯ve got a good handle now on summoning gear. Naming items appropriately and giving them mental images has gone a long way to reducing casting time. Summoning a short sword and shield are now only a second away from being instant. I even got to practice with the chitin.

    Lighter, more durable, and sharper when formed into a blade, chitin is better in all ways than bone except for mana efficiency. As it is, with Bones summoned, I can equip myself fully with chitin armor, shield and blade and have thirty percent of my mana left to spare.

    Lower Forest Camp is like how I left it, except it lacks a fire. Admittedly, that was the only thing Lower Forest Camp had that made it a camp and now it is more of a Lower Forest Site. What it lacks in fire pits, it more than makes up for in bear vacancy.

    I''m exhausted and starving. Lower Forest Camp is as good a place as any to make camp. No scorpions, no bears, and far from scorpion battlegrounds. I feel comfortable making this my resting spot. Though it is morning, I don''t feel comfortable traveling the last few miles to my home. Fighting a bear in my current condition, if a bear is still around, will not end well for me.

    Mind made up, Bones is equipped with a black chitin spear and shield and sent out to scout nearby, ensuring our safety.

    At camp, I don''t bother making a fire. Instead, I summon two walls of bones, a foot longer than my height in width and length and create for myself an A-frame shelter. Stabilizing the wall and keeping them from slipping, I dig a slot in the ground for each side using a pick that I create out of black chitin. Though the work is quick, I can''t help feeling envious of the Minor Earth Manipulation skill I had to leave behind. A skill like that could have done wonders for Lower Forest Camp.

    When Bones returns, I have him stand guard. Creating the shelter pushed my body to its limits. Physically and spiritually, I¡¯m drained. The only thing keeping me from collapsing is insecurity. Inside my cover with Bones standing guard, I feel somewhat safe. No more time is wasted and I quickly fall asleep.

 15. Desert Demon

    I wake up not dead or dying early in the evening, to my relief. The sun is still intense though it is beginning to tire. I feel much better than I did in the morning. I only feel hunger. Bones is still close by. He is sort of patrolling my shelter in a circular pattern. Proof of his diligence can be seen in the worn ground where he trotted.

    Feeling refreshed, I armor up and equip myself with a weapon. Bones still has his spear and shield I gave him last night. Together we make our way back to Base Camp, occasionally stopping on the way to eat some forest shrubbery. It doesn''t matter how many dandelions I eat, though. My stomach isn''t satisfied and demands more. Nonetheless, I feel the tiniest bit of strength being recovered, assuring me that eating flowering weeds isn''t empty calories.

    Before we travel the last quarter mile to camp, I send Bones out to scout. While he is away, I try my luck at spearing some of the fish in the stream. Though there aren''t many of them, the stream is shallow and clear enough that I can get a good view of them.

    Fish spear in hand, I stab into the waters. It takes a few tries. The fish are quick and skeptical of my presence, fleeing at the slightest movement they sense. With time, patience, and stillness, I lure them into a sense of security.

    My spear is inches from the water, waiting for the right moment. A brave fish swims underneath. I don''t strike. It swims by again; still, I wait. On the third pass, I stab the spear forcefully into the water. Feeling safe and confident, the fish was a touch slower to react.

    Bless the waning sun! Fish is back on the menu. I feel like I¡¯m a creator of miracles, having successfully skewered a fish. At no point was I confident fish spearing was going to work. First try too. I gladly clean the fish and prepare it for dinner using a summoned knife.

    Bones returns not too long after. He motions me to follow, giving me the clear to return to camp. We make our way home. Even though Bones scouted out the area, we still travel cautiously.

    Stepping out of the thicker forest, I can finally see the pond, waterfall, and cave. It is good to be back home. We step out into the clearing, and I hear the snap of what might be the largest twig in the forest. It wasn''t me or Bones that broke the twig. My body freezes up. I remain dead silent.

    Slowly I turn my head toward the sound. Instantly, I regret my choice to look, wishing to unsee what had just been seen. Foolishly, my eyes linger longer, taking in the horror in its entirety.

    Thirty yards south of where I¡¯m standing is a corruption of a bear. Twice the size of the bear that killed me before, it has massive claws that look like they can sever trees. Along its body are thick patches of dense wood, creating a tough armor in what might have been weak spots. And it has two heads.

    What in the bloody hell does a bear need two heads for? To say I''m frazzled is a vast understatement. I drop the fish. My hands clench the sword, and shield I summon tightly. I''m once again caught off guard despite being cautious. Once again unprepared for a fight despite being well-armed and equipped. This isn¡¯t going to be pleasant. I''m bringing bones to a monster bear fight.

    Since running hasn''t worked the last couple of times, I commit to the fight. Standing between the bear and the stream, I don''t have much room to maneuver. Hoping it will have better results, I summon a long spear, replacing my sword and shield. What good is a shield going to do against claws like that? Any hit we take from this beast will be fatal regardless of what protective gear I summon.

    Flight tendencies kick in, but Bones and I are running in the entirely wrong direction. Side by side, we charge the two-headed monster. As if we''ve practiced the maneuver before, we simultaneously ram our spears as hard as we can at the bear.

    Without flinching, the bear swipes a massive claw intercepting my attack, breaking the spear. I catch a glimpse as I see one of its heads snatch Bones'' spear and, with a twist, yanks it out of Bones'' hands. Well to be more precise, the bear manages to rip the arms right off of Bones. There''s a joke in there about dead limbs, I''m sure of it.

    The unnatural bear lets out a terrific growl.

    "Stupid two-headed abomination of a bear. Go find a hole and hibernate ''til you rot," I yell back, almost silencing the bear with my cutting remarks. That''s all I can do at the moment. And then I''m met with a gruesome end.

    None of this experience is pleasant. I really hate dying. Three separate occasions, and all of them individually horrible. The worst time ever. There is no good part of this process. The actual dying part has been an inescapable nightmare. Then there is the destruction of my body, mind, and soul.

    Somehow, I''m aware of it all happening and even though I don''t exist, I can still feel it all happening. Excruciating pain. After I''m torn apart, the tiny pieces of me are reassembled. Bit by little bit, the excruciating pain is revisited from a different perspective.

    ****

    Three deaths and yet he still lives. Genevieve had thought the man was going to live much longer this time. She was planning to use the fading mana she had to visit him. The corrupted forest druid caught her off guard. Somehow, the monster even escaped her perception. To think the drifter charged headfirst into death.

    She hoped in vain he had a chance. What can a man do against a monster? And now, the corrupted bear grows in power. If he was wise, the man would never return to the forest. To Genevieve''s surprise, he does. Only a couple days later, the foolish man and his minion return.

    Staying hidden in the forest, the drifter nearly escapes Genevieve''s perception as he works in the forest''s shadows. Spears are summoned and hidden, and large rocks are placed in trees. Holes are dug and lined with spears. Another massive hole is in the works when the bear discovers the intruder''s whereabouts.

    Carelessly running towards its prey, the bear sets off many traps and takes on multiple injuries. It looks like the drifter and the minion will pull it off when the bear shakes the earth and pounces on the man.

    Later the drifter reappears in the desert. He curses everything and the sand, summons his minion, and returns to the forest. Even though the corrupted bear becomes more powerful after each victory, the encounters between the man and the beast grow longer and longer.

    Drifter is light on his feet and has incredible agility. With a sword in his hand, he is elegant and deadly. If it weren''t for the thick armor plating of the druid, the man would have a fighting chance. Though the fights last longer, the results are the same. The bear lands a blow taking the man out of the fight.

    The man returns a fifth time. Then a sixth. By the time he returns for his seventh encounter, the bear is hardly a bear anymore. If Genevieve''s perception is correct, the beast is close to reaching the awakened stage. That could be a problem or prove to be a new opportunity for her.

    However, she much prefers this human to the monster. Something about his ability to take a beating and keep going is¡­ well, it is something.

    Watching the man experience defeat after defeat only to rise again has inexplicably made her feel a connection to him. And with that thought, Genevieve began to feel awkwardly creepy. Maybe I will tone down my watching. She knows that thought is as empty as the drifter''s attempts to kill the bear. Her people¡¯s future could depend on this man¡¯s existence.

    As sad as it is to see the man die, the seventh fight is quite the spectacle. The man rushes into the forest with no armor. Quicker on his feet, the swordsman lands several blows on the bear, chipping away its armor. With zero margins for error, the man expertly dodges tooth and claw. When the bear is completely focused on the drifter, he summons his modified minion almost instantly without moving his hands.

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Unnoticed, the minion unleashes its fury, stabbing its razor arms into the bear. All the while, the drifter counters, dodges, and sends attacks of his own.

    Furious, the bear lets out a roar and rampages. Even in its aggressive state, the drifter stands toe-to-toe with the beast, at least for a while. Eventually, the bear lands a hit, and that was all it took.

    It makes no sense, but it occurs to Genevieve that it seems like the man was using this monster for training. That, however, is a ridiculous thought. It loses all standing when she sees the frustration building in the man when he reappears in the desert to curse the lands and life once more.

    She feels worst about his tenth death. Watching him abandon the fight in the forest to head east only to get lost in the fog, her fog, is enough to break her heart. Genevieve doesn''t know how long he struggled in the shadow fog. Judging by the time it took him to reappear, it was no less than a week. Having taken a passive part in his death makes her feel terrible.

    Now, as he struggles with his existence in the desert, the least she can do is provide some shade. Even if that means she must use up the mana she is saving to eventually pay the man a visit. Pulling a bit from the barrier, a shadow cloud is created for the time being in the desert.

    She watches as the drifter lays in the desert for hours. Perhaps now he is truly defeated. She feels sorrow for his despair. How could he not be broken by now?

    Finally, the motionless body moves. A fist tightens. Despair turns to rage. Not the usual rage ¡ª the common uncontrollable rage that leads to more harm, destruction, and ultimately more despair ¡ª No, this rage was different. Genevieve could almost feel the cold billowing from him. Controlled, directed rage continues to build.

    She watches as the defeated man picks himself up once again, full of resolve. Like he had done time and time again.

    "Uh oh... " her thoughts force their way to her lips.

    ****

    As I said, none of this dying experience is pleasant ¡ª from dying to death and then the resurgence. All of it is awful. I would know. Ten deaths. And ten lackluster lives. I''ve managed to die ten times now. Not a single one of them fatal, if that makes sense. To me, it doesn''t. I''ve died once to a vengeful scorpion, eight times to a power-hungry bear monster, and one time to the desert. There has been no rest for me.

    Each death I''m hoping is my end, only to be brought back and told to ¡®live¡¯ again. Each time I leave the desert, I''m greeted by an uglier angrier bear or the abyss. Sure, I gained much from fighting the bear, probably not as much as I lost. Still, the tradeoff hasn''t been one-sided. Granted, experience and practice can only go so far compared to life and death.

    Tired of dying or, more so, not dying, I tried taking the path to the east. I found nothing. I was confident I would at least reach the ocean. Instead, I got lost in a shady fog. I walked until I could no longer walk, barely seeing the immediate path before me.

    Losing the strength to walk, I crawled until my arms gave out. I passed out when crawling became too much, then woke and crawled some more. Hoping desperately for some water or at least a way out of the abyss until finally, I slept for good.

    Slept for good, that is, until my curse cycled me through the death process once again.

    Now, I lay here where the desert seems to like to deliver me and I just stay laid out, completely exposed. If there are Gods, they have taken pity on me. Usually, I wake up, and the relentless sun is handling its job far too seriously. This time, however, there is respite in the form of thick clouds. Finally, overcast weather. I take full advantage of the weather by doing nothing. I just lay here. Not thinking, not caring, just lying about.

    This was, of course, one of my original plans. It is good to get back to the basics.

    What was the point in trying now anyway? There is a demon of a bear actively hunting me to the west and actual nothingness and death to the east. Who knows what is to the north or south. Most likely more desert abyss, death, and freakish animal beasts. To be fair to the desert abyss, it is nice when it is shady.

    Hours pass. Still, I remain. I¡¯ve no idea how long I''ve been lying here. Long enough to have fallen asleep a few times. Even though it took a while, the frustration and defeat finally wear off. I¡¯m ready to at least consider a plan.

    Reflecting on the bear fights paints a clear picture that I was and am outmatched. This revelation is super frustrating. Being a high-leveled cultivator, I should have no problems with any of these creatures, certainly not a basic bear. My only guess is that my essence has never truly recovered from my shattering, which is what I now call my dying cycle.

    The fights have all played out differently but yielded the same results. A few times, I could score some hits on the bear, yet the bear would win in the end. I would die. Then I return, willingly or not, I''m not sure what my stance is on life.

    Every fight I lost to the bear, it would grow more powerful with no signs of injury from the previous encounters. Each growth resulted in the bear looking uglier and meaner. The beast was sporting three heads and bone armor in the last encounter. It also seemed to have developed more abilities: a paralyzing roar, ground-shaking stomps, and some sort of ghost claw.

    A couple of my closest fights were my last one and the third one. In the third fight, I set up a series of traps. Had I enough time, I would have finished a pit that would have possibly led to the end of the bear. As it turns out, the bear discovered my whereabouts before my final trap was completed.

    The charging bear triggered a series of traps, each doing a bit of damage. When the two-headed beast got near me, it growled a savage roar. Knowing the paralyzing effects of this roar, I jumped to the side and out of direct danger. Not letting the bear get another gaudy fear-inducing gurgle out, Bones and I pushed our advantage, attacking immediately.

    We both wielded a spear, with a second spear and a sword in reserve. I threw my spear at one of the heads. Bones rushed in to engage, keeping a safe distance striking savagely with his spear. The bear backed away, and I saw several areas on its fur that had been torn from my traps and spear attacks. Most notably was the crack in the bone armor where a successful deadfall trap hit the bear''s spine, reducing the monster''s maneuverability. Pressing our advantage, I joined Bones at his side. Together we forced the beast back.

    Seeing the bear pull back its head caused me to jump back to avoid another boisterous assault. The roar never came. Instead, the bear began thumping the ground with its paws sending shockwaves. Unprepared for the new attack, I lost my balance. That''s all the bear needed. Ignoring my minion, the bear charged straight for me. I could not move fast enough. The fight was over instantly.

    The last encounter was a much faster death. At the forest''s edge, the monster stood upright and rested on a tree. It kind of felt like the bear was actively waiting for my arrival. Which, in a way, is sorta sweet if all things are not considered. The now smaller bear was sporting three heads and was as menacing as ever.

    The transformation the bear had undergone from its last victory was tremendous. No longer was it a bulking two-headed bear. It was still very sizable but now more the size of a typical, more giant bear. It looked quicker, stronger, and smarter.

    What was most astonishing was that it now had more humanistic features. It was as if the bear and a person merged into a freakish creature. Notably, the bear mainly kept bear features with a few human characteristics that could help carry out more complex tasks that it couldn''t do as a bear. The bone armor covered the beast from head to toe. The nightmare had gotten out of control.

    So far, I¡¯ve lost all close engagements. This time I¡¯m more conservative. I summoned Bones and sent him to attack. I conjured throwing spears and began circling and maintaining distance as I threw spear after spear. Bones never lasted long in close encounters, so I was ready to resummon him every time he was destroyed, each time draining a little bit more of my mana and overtaxing my core.

    The strategy was working. The bear had to keep focusing on Bones while I could sling spears. Even though I''m not the best spear thrower, I was succeeding as the bear had three spears sticking out of it. One in the leg, one in the arm, and the other by the neck.

    The spears slowed the bear down a little. Bones had an easier time dodging the attacks. Then unexpectedly, the bear swiped its claws in the air, not in the direction of Bones. It was aimed at me. Surely, the bear would have known it was a useless attack from this distance. Maybe it was getting desperate? Then I felt the strike. Unseen claws ripped into my chest.

    The stupid bear, with its stupid tricks, won again.

    After that fight, I tried to find the ocean. Having successfully found another path to death, I now find myself relaxing in the comfort of the shade at my shattering point with no clue what to do. Currently, I''m no match for this demon bear. It¡¯s faster, stronger, uglier, teethier, and always has a trick up its furry sleeves.

    If I''m going to reclaim my forest home and continue my journey, I need to be much more powerful. In all of my lives, I still feel a pull toward the mountains. Even when trying to ignore that path, I still wonder what is on the other side. However, I¡¯ve yet to make it to the mountains.

    Calm anger builds as I think about my failures and deaths. Right now, the bear is at the gate, keeping me out. I want to move forward to progress, yet it won''t let me. The bear is the dam. I''m the water surging to break free.

    "Well, damn the bear! I took down the devil of the desert and will take down the devil in my forest." My fist is clenched. I can feel it wanting to rise in defiance. I cool my anger and focus on the mana within. It''s time to be powerful.

    With little resources, I won''t last long in the sands. Still, I''m determined to get stronger in the desert, even if it kills me. I will not lose another fight to that damnable bear.