My Stamina was barely recovering.
I needed calories. I needed to repair the damage.
I scanned the immediate vicinity. My vision, sharp by design but blurred by concussion, filtered the gloom.
Movement.
Three yards away. Near a patch of bioluminescent fungi.
A shape shifted. It was bulbous, segmented, and glowed with a faint, rhythmic blue pulse.
I froze.
[Analysis]
Target: Mana-Grub
Level: 1
State: Grazing
A Mana-Grub. The Matriarch had one of theses into the nest. They were soft, chewy, and full of easy XP.
In the nest, they were dead.
This one was alive.
It was the size of my torso. Its skin was a translucent, rubbery membrane that shifted as it crawled. At the front, a pair of black mandibles clicked against the wood, shearing off strips of moss.
I watched it eat.
Crunch. Squelch.
It stripped the bark with terrifying efficiency.
I looked at my own weapons.
My talons were needle-sharp but small. My beak was still soft, the keratin not yet hardened by age or calcium. I was a butter knife trying to cut a steak.
But the math was simple.
If I didn't eat, I died.
If I fought and lost, I died.
The probability of survival decreased with every second of inaction.
I lowered my center of gravity. I tucked my wings tight.
I crept forward.
Step.
The moss dampened the sound of my claws.
Step.
The Grub paused. Its body rippled. The green light beneath its skin intensified.
It sensed something.
I stopped breathing. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat that felt loud enough to echo across the basin.
The Grub returned to its meal.
Crunch.
I closed the distance. Two yards. One yard.
I needed a critical strike. I needed to hit the nervous system before it could react.
I lunged.
I didn't fly. I threw myself forward, a ball of desperate feathers and claws.
My target: the soft tissue behind the head.
I landed on its back.
The Grub felt like cold, wet rubber.
I dug my talons in.
[Combat Initiated]
I squeezed. My claws punctured the outer membrane.
Blue ichor spurted out, hot and sticky.
The Grub shrieked. It was a sound like tearing metal.
It thrashed.
The force was immense. It wasn't a soft worm. It was a muscle tube. It bucked, throwing my weight around like I was nothing.
I pecked.
I drove my beak down into the wound my claws had made.
Thud.
My beak bent.
Pain shot through my face. It felt like I had headbutted a wall.
[Damage Dealt: 1]
[Warning: Beak Durability Low]
The Grub rolled.
It threw its weight to the side, trying to crush me against the log.
I released my grip. I scrambled backward, flapping my wings for balance.
The Grub slammed into the wood. The impact shook the moss.
If I had stayed on, my hollow bones would have snapped.
The Grub righted itself. It whipped its front end around to face me.
It didn't look like food anymore. It looked like a monster.
Its mandibles clicked rapidly. A gland beneath its mouth swelled, glowing an angry, toxic green.
Data flooded my mind.
[Ability Detected: Acid Spit]
[Range: Short]
[Lethality: High]
It reared back.
I dove to the left.
Pfft.
A glob of green slime shot through the air where my head had been a microsecond ago.
It hit the moss behind me.
Hiss.
Smoke curled up. The moss blackened and dissolved into sludge.
I scrambled to my feet. My claws slipped on the damp wood.
I was at 1 HP. One drop of that acid would melt through my feathers and eat my skin.
The Grub turned. It tracked me.
It was slow, but I was exhausted. My stamina bar flashed yellow.
[Stamina: 3/10]
I couldn't dance forever.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
It reared back again.
I didn't retreat. Retreat was death.
I charged.
The Grub hesitated. It expected prey to run. It didn't expect the prey to run into the kill zone.
It fired.
I saw the gland contract.
I dropped flat. My chest hit the cold slime of the log.
The acid glob sailed over my head, singing the tips of my crest feathers.
I was inside its guard.
I pushed up with my legs. I launched myself upward, aiming for the underside.
The belly was paler. Softer.
I slashed with my talons.
Riiip.
I opened a gash in its underbelly. Blue blood sprayed over me. It smelled like copper and ozone.
[Damage Dealt: 2]
The Grub convulsed. It slammed its head down, trying to bite me.
The black mandibles snapped shut inches from my wing.
I rolled away.
I was panting. My vision swam. The exertion was burning through my remaining energy reserves.
The Grub was hurt. It leaked fluid onto the wood. Its movements were jerky.
But it wasn't dead.
It coiled its body, protecting its soft belly. It turned its head toward me, the acid gland swelling for a third shot.
I had no cover. I had no stamina to dodge again.
I looked at the Grub. I looked at the environment.
To my right, a cluster of Iron-Root knots protruded from the log like jagged teeth.
I looked at the Grub's eyes. Small, black beads on the side of its head.
Blind spots.
The Grub fired.
I didn't dodge left or right. I flapped my wings, generating just enough lift to hop backward, out of range.
The acid splashed harmlessly between us.
The Grub screeched in frustration. It charged. It abandoned the ranged attack for a melee rush.
It moved like a battering ram.
I waited.
My heart rate monitor in the System interface was a blur.
Wait.
It opened its mandibles.
Wait.
It was two feet away.
I sidestepped.
I poured my last ounce of Stamina into a lateral hop.
The Grub barreled past me.
I didn't let it go.
As it passed, I lashed out with my left leg. I hooked my talons into its side.
I leveraged the inertia.
I pulled.
The Grub's balance failed. It tipped.
It crashed into the Iron-Root knots.
Crunch.
The jagged wood didn't pierce its hide, but the impact stunned it. It flailed, upside down, exposing the pale, bleeding belly.
This was it.
I jumped on top of it again.
The smell of ozone was overpowering.
I didn't peck. My beak was too soft.
I used my feet.
I stomped.
I drove my talons into the existing wound in its belly. I put all my weight behind it. I tore.
I ripped the soft tissue apart. I searched for something vital.
The Grub thrashed wildly. Its tail whipped my side.
[-0 HP] (Glancing Blow)
I held on.
I found something hard inside the soft jelly of its gut. A pulsating node of mana.
The heart.
I squeezed.
Pop.
The Grub went rigid.
A final, high-pitched whistle escaped its throat.
Then, it slumped.
The blue light beneath its skin flickered and died. The rubbery body went limp beneath my claws.
Silence rushed back into the basin, heavy and suffocating.
I stood on the corpse, chest heaving. Blue blood coated my legs. My beak throbbed.
I waited for the ding. I waited for the rush of power.
Nothing happened.
The System remained silent.
I stared at the dead Grub.
Right.
[The Larder].
[KILL CONFIRMED]
Target: Mana-Grub (Lvl 1)
XP Gained: 0
Note: Prey must be fermented.
I looked at the notification. I wanted to scream.
I had fought for my life. I had bled. I had nearly melted.
And I got nothing.
Zero.
I looked at my HP. Still 1/10.
I looked at the corpse. It was heavy. Dead weight.
My stomach convulsed. It was a violent contraction, a physical demand from a body running on fumes.
I looked at the Mana-Grub.
Steam rose from the tear in its belly. The blue ichor pulsed slowly, leaking onto the moss. It smelled sweet. It smelled like life.
My logic centers fired.
Variable A: The Larder requires fermentation.
Variable B: I have no spikes.
Variable C: I cannot lift this corpse. It weighs three times my body weight.
Variable D: If I leave it to find a spike, something else will steal it within minutes.
The math was a dead end.
I looked at my health bar.
HP: 1/10
I was broken. My ribs ached with every breath. My skull felt like it was packed with wet cotton. If a gust of wind hit me wrong, I would die.
I lowered my head.
I buried my beak into the open wound of the Grub.
I tore.
The meat was tough. It had the consistency of raw squid wrapped in leather. Rubbery. Resistant. Simple tearing wouldn't work. The fibers held together with an unnatural, mana-infused strength.
I needed leverage.
My talons scrambled for purchase on the slippery Gloom-Moss. No solid grip there. I hopped onto the grub's side. I dug my claws into the ridge of its exoskeleton. The chitin was cooling, turning rigid against the humid air. I anchored myself.
I clamped my beak tight.
Force application.
I whipped my head back. My neck vertebrae popped. The stretch was agonizing. I was a small bird fighting a slab of dense muscle. The blue sinew pulled taut, vibrating like a plucked instrument string.
Snap.
A strip of blue, translucent flesh came free.
I swallowed it whole.
It burned.
It wasn't heat. It was mana. The raw, unrefined energy of the Iron-Root Basin hit my stomach lining like a shot of alcohol.
My vision blurred, then sharpened.
[Consuming Biomass...]
[HP Restored: +1]
The pain in my chest dulled. The sharp edge of the broken rib softened as the system accelerated my natural regeneration.
I took another bite.
This time, I went for the gland. The acid sack.
It tasted sour. Bitter. Like licking a rusted battery. My tongue went numb.
I didn't stop. I couldn't stop.
The hunger hijacked my motor functions.
Peck.
Swallow.
Peck.
Swallow.
I ate the muscle. I ate the organs. I scraped the inside of the chitin shell until nothing remained but the hollow husk and a stain on the log.
I sat back, heavy and bloated.
My crop was full. The warmth of digestion spread through my limbs, chasing away the cold damp of the forest floor.
I closed my eyes. I waited for the chime.
Maybe the System was wrong. Maybe there was a loophole. Maybe, just maybe, killing something this dangerous granted a pity bonus.
Ding.
A blue window floated into my view.
[DIETARY REPORT]
Source: Mana-Grub (Fresh)
Volume: 0.4 kg
Status: Unfermented
Effect:
- HP Recovery: Complete
- Stamina Recovery: Complete
- Satiety: 100%
XP Yield: 0
I stared at the zero.
It was a perfect, round, mocking circle.
I checked my status.
STATUS: REND
Level: 1
XP: 0 / 100
Nothing.
I had risked death. I had utilized tactics. I had overcome a superior opponent with higher stats and a ranged weapon.
And I was exactly where I started.
I looked up at the canopy. Far above, hidden by layers of iron-hard leaves, was the nest.
Right now, the Biter was eating. The Matriarch would drop a grub. The Biter would eat it fresh.
Ding. [Level Up].
The Screamer would eat a beetle.
Ding. [Level Up].
They would grow. Their stats would inflate. Their feathers would harden into armor. They played by the standard rules of the universe: Kill, Eat, Grow.
I was playing a different game.
I was playing a game where the rules were written in invisible ink and the referee hated me.
I stood up.
My legs felt strong. The HP restoration was real. The concussion was gone.
[State: Healthy]
At least I wasn't dying. That was a variable I could work with.
But "Healthy" wasn't enough. Here, "Healthy" just meant you were a fresh meal for something else.
I looked at the hollow husk of the Grub.
I needed XP.
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