Dawn crept over the swamp like a filthy veil, the fog so thick it felt like the air had congealed into a rotten stupor. The distant geyser bubbled with a steady rhythm, like a pot forgotten on the fire, and a stench of sulfur and decaying flesh rose from the puddles, clinging to the throat like a sticky coating. Renn Tork leaned against the shack’s wall—a rickety mess of crooked sticks and damp branches that barely held together—the remains of the Mutant Alpha Toad rotting a few yards away, half-sunk in the muck like a grotesque reminder of the previous fight. The beast’s warty skin oozed a bck liquid that reeked of a busted sewer, and flies the size of coins buzzed around it, weaving an irritating chorus that echoed through the humid air. Renn’s worn boots squelched as he shifted, dislodging a glob of mud that stuck to his pants like a stubborn stain. He scratched his beard, flicking off bits of dried grime, and thought: Level 3 yesterday, and now this. Either I’m climbing out of the trash, or the trash is catching up to me.
Across from the shack, in a puddle glowing faintly green thanks to some slimy, dangling mushrooms that looked like gooey nterns, the Mudcroaker—no longer a shadow but an imposing figure of sludge—lounged with her glossy skin gleaming like a gem bathed in toxic slime. Her long legs twitched with pent-up energy, and her bulging eyes watched him with the arrogance of someone ciming a kingdom, even if it was one made of garbage. The core in Renn’s neck hummed, a tingle racing down his spine, and his mental screen fred to life before him, casting a blue glow into the mist:
[System: Victory over Mutant Alpha Toad recorded. Lord Renn Tork has ascended to Level 5]
[Lord: Renn Tork. Level 5. HP: 100/100. Strength 12, Agility 17, Endurance 23, Filthy Magic 16. Resources: 145 Toxic Sludge]
[Strength: 8 → 12 | Agility: 13 → 17 | Endurance: 19 → 23 | Filthy Magic: 12 → 16]
[Territory Upgrade Avaible: Shack → Reinforced Stink Shack (Level 1). Cost: 100 Toxic Sludge]
[World Chat Unlocked | System Shop Unlocked]
“Well, damn!” Renn let out a dry ugh, like he’d coughed up some swamp dust. “Level 5, poison croaker. Check this out—Strength 12, Endurance 23. I’m not some weakling who colpses at a breeze anymore.” He jabbed a grimy finger at the frog. “And you, you smug croaker? Bet the swamp pumped you full of venom just to make my life hell.” She leapt from the puddle with a plop that spttered mud on his face, nding in front of him with a pose that screamed dominion over the muck. “I’m an absolute marvel, you clumsy oaf!” she croaked, smacking her chest with a webbed hand that made a wet sp. “Look at me—queen of this stinking pit! You’re still a mess with a core that’s good for nothing!”
The screen flickered again, fshing her stats with an arrogant glow:
[System: Mudcroaker has ascended to Level 5]
[Troop: Mudcroaker (Mud Rarity, Level 5). Strength 19, Agility 33, Endurance 23, Venom 27]
[Strength: 11 → 19 | Agility: 21 → 33 | Endurance: 16 → 23 | Venom: 15 → 27]
[Abilities: Mud Control (Active), Corrosive Venom (Passive)]
Renn wiped the mud off his face with a sleeve that was more dirt than fabric, grinning at first, but then his expression twisted into a scowl of outrage. “Agility 33? Venom 27? What an absurd injustice!” he shouted, throwing his hands up like he was compining to the sky. “I scrape by with a measly four-point boost total, and you get a truckload per level! What’s going on here? Does the system hate me or something? This is a mockery—I work just as hard as you, you conceited croaker, and you end up a queen while I’m still the garbage collector!” She croaked, a sharp sound like a snapping branch, and kicked up a small wave of mud that soaked his boots. “Because I’m a marvel and you’re a weak, useless lump!” she shot back, hopping in a circle like she was marking her turf. “My venom melts mountains—yours just wets rags!”
“Oh, sure, what a fair life!” Renn growled, sarcasm dripping like the mud from his boots. “Me out here wrestling giant toads, and you scoop up the big prizes. I should file a compint with the system for favoritism!” He tapped the screen, checking the territory upgrade. “Look at this—Reinforced Stink Shack, Level 1. Costs 100 Toxic Sludge. Let’s level up this disaster, shall we?” He hit the accept button, and the core in his neck buzzed harder, like it was finally waking from a nap. The shack shuddered, the ground beneath his feet bubbled, and the mud started crawling up the walls like a living mass. The crooked sticks straightened slightly, fusing with a thick yer of hardened muck that formed solid—if still rough—walls. The roof reinforced itself with a web of braided vines and sbs of toughened bark, held up by dark wooden beams that seemed to sprout from the swamp itself. A makeshift door of branches and dried mud formed at the entrance, and the interior expanded just enough to not feel like a colpsing box. It wasn’t a pace, but it had a rugged dignity now, like a fortress built by someone who didn’t know what they were doing but gave it a shot anyway.
Renn stepped back, eyeing the transformation with a low whistle. “Well, this actually looks halfway decent. Not just four sticks and a spped-together roof—it’s got walls that won’t fall over from a sneeze.” Mudcroaker hopped onto a root, crossing her arms with a regal air that cshed with the swamp’s stench. “About time, you oaf!” she croaked. “A queen needs a proper pce, not a pile of twigs! Make me a puddle inside—I’m not staying out here with the flies.” Renn let out a raspy ugh that bounced off the new walls. “Proper pce? This ain’t a castle, you pompous croaker—it’s a shack with delusions of grandeur. But fine, I’ll make your royal puddle.” He sloshed over to a corner, pouring dirty water into a shallow hole. “There you go, Your Muddy Majesty. Don’t drown.”
She shot him a withering look but leapt into the puddle with a spt, settling in like it was a liquid throne. “Better than nothing, useless,” she croaked, wagging a webbed finger at him. “But don’t think this impresses me—it’s still a dump compared to what I deserve.” Renn flopped against the wall, feeling his aching bones ease up a bit now that the wind wasn’t sneaking through the cracks. “What a joke,” he muttered, still stewing over the stats. “Her with Agility 33 and me with 17. It’s like the swamp wants me to be the eternal loser!” Mudcroaker croaked a mocking ugh. “Obviously, you oaf, because I’m the star and you’re the mud-sweeper!” Renn grunted, but a smirk slipped out. “Yeah, sure, mud-star. At least my core’s good for more than a neck ornament now—look, I can even use it for chat without that old orb.” He tapped the core, and the mental screen projected in front of him clearer than ever. Level 5, a decent shack, and a frog with queenly stats while I’m still gging behind, he thought. Two weeks ago I was scavenging trash for coins, and now I’m… what? Lord of the dump? Better than dying in a puddle.
Noon rolled in zily, the sun barely cutting through the fog to cast a sickly yellow glow over the swamp. The Reinforced Stink Shack loomed behind Renn like a makeshift fortress, its walls glistening with wet mud that smelled of aged rot. He sat on a log outside, the core in his neck humming softly as it projected the mental screen, the busted orb long forgotten in a corner of the shack. Mudcroaker lounged in her indoor puddle, croaking orders like she was leading a royal parade. The air buzzed with flies and the distant glorp of the geyser, a constant soundtrack to the swamp’s misery. Renn tapped the core, and the world chat—freshly unlocked—unfolded before him, the letters glowing sharply.
“Let’s see what these fools are whining about today,” he muttered, sliding his finger through the air to scroll the screen. Mudcroaker poked her head out of the puddle, her eyes narrowing with curiosity. “What’s that, useless?” she croaked, hopping out with a plop that spshed mud on his boots. “Those fancy lords still crying over their shiny toys?” Renn grinned, pointing at the core. “Check it out, you smug croaker. My core’s finally useful—now we can see the chat from here. Bet you could stir up a mess with that venomous tongue of yours.”
She sidled up, brushing the core with a webbed foot, and the screen flickered, registering her instantly: [System: New User Registered - Swamp_Queen]. She let out a cackle that sounded like a rusty hinge snapping. “Swamp_Queen, perfect! Let’s show these idiots who rules the muck!” Renn leaned back, crossing his arms with a smirk. “Go for it, Your Majesty. Troll ‘em ‘til they choke on their own griffins.”
The chat was already a mess of boasts and gripes:
[Lord_Korr]: “Lost three griffins in the east. Need wood now. Who’s trading?”]
[Lord_Torm]: “Mines under attack again. Iron’s up—pay or scram.”]
[Lady_Vex]: “South front’s a mess without crystal. Move it, you useless lumps!”]
Swamp_Queen croaked with glee, tapping the core to type. Her message popped up in jagged green text:
[Swamp_Queen]: “Hey, morons, the swamp queen’s here. Korr, your griffins couldn’t peck a fly off my ass. Torm, your ice dragon’s a sniffling lizard—my mud melts it. Vex, cry louder, your crystal’s worth less than my trash.”]
Renn barked a ugh so loud he nearly fell off the log. “Holy hell, you crazy croaker! You’re gonna piss ‘em off so bad they’ll come hunting us!” The chat exploded in seconds:
[Lord_Korr]: “Swamp_Queen? What’s this, a big-mouthed toad? Crawl back to your puddle, freak.”]
[Lady_Vex]: “Mud, huh? Sell me some of that toxic crap, frog-face, or shut it.”]
[Lord_Torm]: “Who’s this swamp rat? Bet her ‘queen’ comes with a crown of flies.”]
[Swamp_Queen]: “Korr, your feathers are a joke—my flies eat ‘em for breakfast. Vex, I’d sell you mud, but you’d drown, you priss. Torm, my crown’s venom, and your dragon’d be soup in two seconds. Keep crying, losers—I rule the real trash.”]
[Lord_Grenn]: “This Swamp_Queen’s got guts. Who’s the Stinker she’s running with?”]
[Lord_Mira]: “They say the Stinker’s already dead. This frog’s delusional—probably ate him.”]
[Swamp_Queen]: “The Stinker lives, you blind idiots, and I’m his queen. Grenn, your demons would choke on my venom. Mira, I’d eat you, but you taste like dirty water.”]
[Lady_Vex]: “Queen? More like swamp clown. How stinky’s your ‘lord,’ froggy?”]
[Swamp_Queen]: “Stinkier than your dragons, Vex, but with more guts than all of you combined. Keep talking smack—my swamp’ll swallow you whenever I want.”]
[Lord_Torm]: “Crazy bragger, bet her ‘kingdom’ is a puddle of filth. How much for your mud, fake queen?”]
[Swamp_Queen]: “Torm, I’ll give you mud free if you swim your dragon in it—melts in three seconds, weakling. What’s next, whining for more iron?”]
[Lord_Korr]: “This frog’s delusional. My griffins could rip that venomous tongue out in a second.”]
[Swamp_Queen]: “Korr, your griffins couldn’t pluck a feather from my ass—my venom’d leave ‘em bald before they take off. Keep dreaming, feather-brain.”]
[Lady_Sys]: “Who does this Swamp_Queen think she is? Bet her swamp’s a dump even rats won’t touch.”]
[Swamp_Queen]: “Sys, my dump’s worth more than your dry nds. Bring your soldiers here and watch my mud turn ‘em to soup—if they don’t trip over themselves first, you clods.”]
Renn wiped a tear of ughter, genuinely impressed. “You’re a menace, you smug croaker! You’re tearing ‘em apart—they don’t even know how to cp back.” Serilda croaked smugly, hopping onto the log beside him and thumping her chest. “Obviously, useless! My tongue cuts sharper than their shiny swords. Let ‘em come if they dare—I’ll bury ‘em in mud and ugh while they drown!” Renn chuckled, but a shiver ran down his spine. “They’re already talking about me, Serilda. What if these fools figure out where we are?” He gnced at the fog, which seemed to swirl like something was moving in the shadows. She croaked a dismissive ugh. “Let ‘em try, you oaf!” she said, flexing her legs like she was ready to brawl. “I’ll drown ‘em in mud and spit venom in their fancy faces!” Renn grinned, but his eyes lingered on the mist. Attention’s fine ‘til someone stabs you in the back, he thought, shaking off the bad vibe. “Keep trolling, Your Majesty. Just don’t turn us into roast meat.”
Dusk stained the swamp a bloody red, the sun sinking behind the fog like it was done dealing with the stink. The Reinforced Stink Shack stood in the gloom, its walls gleaming like wet scabs under the light rain that fell with a steady tap-tap. Renn sat outside on a cracked sb, the core projecting the screen before him, while Serilda lounged on a nearby root, her glossy skin catching the crimson light like a poisoned ruby. The air reeked of burnt toad meat from their st meal, mingling with the swamp’s usual bouquet: rot and despair. Renn chewed a twig, spitting splinters into the mud, and watched her stretch her long legs like she was parading for a throne.
“Hey, crazy croaker,” he said, voice rough as an old saw, “you’ve hauled my ass out of the muck more times than I can count. That Alpha yesterday—without your venom, I’d be a smear in the puddle.” He smirked, recalling how she’d leapt onto the beast’s back, spitting death while he stabbed clumsily. “Guess you’re not just a smug croaker with a big mouth.” She croaked, hopping closer with a plop that spshed mud on his boots. “Of course not, you oaf!” she snapped, jabbing a webbed finger at him. “I’m the queen keeping your hide alive! Without me, you’d be rat food.”
“Yeah, I know,” Renn said, scratching the back of his neck. “Without you, I’d have been dead day one. How’d it go with that lord who ditched you? Was he as useless as me?” She croaked, a sound that mixed contempt with something deeper. “Worse, useless. Drayce used me as a shield and left me in a puddle when I wasn’t useful anymore. You at least try—not as big an idiot as him.” Renn raised an eyebrow, surprised. “That a compliment, croaker? Careful, I might get emotional.” She shot him a gre that promised venom. “Don’t get your hopes up, oaf. Just saying you’re not the worst disaster I’ve seen.”
Renn leaned back with a creak of joints, chuckling softly. “Well, guess I should give you a better name than ‘Mudcroaker.’ How about… Toxic Croaker? Queen of the Muddy Tits?” Her eyes fred with venomous promise, and she kicked up a wave of mud that hit his chest with a wet sp. “Call me that, useless, and I’ll bury you ‘til you’re spitting mud!” she croaked, hopping onto the sb beside him. Renn coughed, wiping the mud off his face, and grinned wider. “Alright, alright! How about Her Muddy Majesty? Sounds fancy!” She leapt again, smacking his shin with a long leg that stung like a solid whack. “I’ll rip your tongue out, useless!” she croaked, her voice echoing through the swamp.
“Ow, damn it!” Renn yelped, rubbing his leg but ughing harder. “Fine, you smug croaker—something serious then! How about Serilda? Sounds like a queen who dishes out beatings and takes names.” She froze mid-hop, nding with a spt that spshed everywhere, and tilted her head, her bulging eyes glinting between suspicion and curiosity. “Serilda, huh?” she croaked, tasting the word like it was a shiny coin. “Sounds like a queen who’d crush you, oaf. I’ll take it—but don’t think we’re buddies.” Renn grinned, leaning toward her. “Serilda it is. Queen Serilda, boss of this stinking hellhole and my favorite headache.”
She—now Serilda—croaked a ugh that was half mockery, half triumph, and strutted across the sb like it was her coronation. “Serilda, swamp queen!” she procimed, raising a mound of mud beneath her feet for emphasis. “Better than your dumb names, useless! Now bow to me, you filthy wreck!” Renn snorted, chucking a glob of mud that she dodged with a nimble twist. “Bow? I’d rather kiss the Alpha’s corpse, you pompous croaker. But Serilda suits you—no more calling you ‘toad-face’ all day.”
For a while, they sat there, the rain drumming a soft rhythm on the roof, and Renn’s smile softened. She’s a nutcase, but she’s my nutcase, he thought. Pulled me out of that rat fight, melted the Alpha’s guts—even trolled those lords like a pro. Serilda’s more than a name; she’s a lifeline. He gnced at her, noting the faint pride in her stance, and muttered, “What, we sticking together, Serilda?” She croaked, a sound gentler than her usual venom, and hopped closer. “Don’t get sappy, oaf,” she said, shoving him with a webbed hand. “You’re still a wreck, but I’ll keep you alive—to ugh at you.”
Before he could reply, the core’s screen flickered again: [System Shop Unlocked]. Renn tapped it, and a list glowed:
[Rusted Iron Sword: 50 Toxic Sludge]
[Simple Health Potion: 20 Toxic Sludge]
[Poisonous Puddle: 30 Toxic Sludge]
“Look at this, Serilda!” he said, pointing. “We can spend our sludge on something useful!” She croaked, peering over. “Buy me the puddle, useless! A queen needs a proper bath!” Renn ughed, purchasing the Poisonous Puddle for 30 Toxic Sludge. The floor inside the shack bubbled, forming a green puddle that stank of acid. “There you go, Your Majesty,” he said, mockingly. “Now bathe like a queen.” She leapt into it, croaking approval. “Not bad, oaf. Still small-time for me, though.”
A low roar cut through the swamp, distant but sharp, slicing through the rain like a lost growl. Renn snapped his head up, scanning the fog as a chill crept up his spine. “What the hell was that?” he muttered, squinting into the mist. Serilda twitched her ears but shrugged with a croak. “Probably the wind, you jumpy oaf,” she said, though her eyes lingered on the shadows. Renn grunted, wiping rain from his face. “Yeah, sure,” he said, but the words felt hollow. Wind doesn’t growl like that, he thought, shaking off the unease. “Let’s get inside, Your Majesty. This rain’s making me itch.”
They ducked into the shack, the roar fading into the swamp’s endless hum. Renn flopped onto a pile of damp vines that served as a bed, while Serilda settled into her new puddle, croaking a smug little tune. The fog pressed against the walls like something alive, and Renn stared at the ceiling, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. Level 5, a queen named Serilda, and a swamp that might eat us alive, he thought. Not bad for a trash-picker. Not bad.
Current Resources: 15 Toxic Sludge (145 - 100 for Reinforced Stink Shack - 30 for Poisonous Puddle)
