The first warning was sound.
A low droning hum rolled through the forest, so deep it rattled in the chest cavity.
Leaves trembled. The air itself seemed to vibrate.
Then the hum sharpened and turned metallic.
Shapes tore through the treetops in a blur of green and black. Wings like glass saw blades sliced the air.
A cascade of [System] windows flashed to life.
[Green Scythe – Level 2]
[Green Scythe – Level 2]
[Green Scythe – Level 2]
[Green Scythe – Level 2]
[Green Scythe – Level 2]
[Green Scythe – Level 2]
[Green Scythe – Level 2]
They made low passes.
“There’s too many!”
“What are they?!”
Barrett’s eyes struggled to track the blurs. Green insectoid wings a blurring and claws flashing like razors.
Then, a scream cut sharply through the din. One boy toppled to the dirt, clutching the bleeding stump of his leg.
Barrett’s jaw tightened. “Shit.”
Screams rose all around as the swarm cut through the group, leaving shallow gashes.
To his right, the woman in the pantsuit hurled fire, bolts of flame streaking skyward and knocking several monsters off course.
Barrett lowered himself into a stance, exhaling tension in one steady breath. He tracked the sound, not the sight.
One blur darted past. Too low. His machete missed, and claws raked across his thigh. Blood splattered hot down his leg.
“Sweet mother of liberty!” he roared, collapsing to one knee.
“Mister Donovan!” the redhead cried, running to him.
“Get behind me, kid,” he growled, forcing himself upright with his machete as a crutch. She scrambled behind him, wide-eyed.
Barrett took note of the field, it was still a disaster. The other survivors were getting into a formation around the fallen boy. The suited man, Fred, had picked up his axe and was directing some defense against the bugs.
Barrett smirked through clenched teeth. “The weak must always band together in confederacy.”
“Mister Donovan?”
“Something my grandfather used to say,” he muttered.
The buzzing grew louder. Another bug barreled toward him, wings beating like helicopter blades. Barrett sank lower, machete steady, heart hammering.
And then, time bent.
The roar of the swarm dropped to a muffled hum, like sound underwater. Every wingbeat stretched into individual flutters. The Green Scythe loomed before him, close enough to count the jagged ridges on its carapace.
Barrett grinned. “Gotcha.”
He swung. The machete split the bug clean in two, ichor spraying warm across his coat as both halves spun past him.
[You have slain a Green Scythe]
Time snapped back. Gasps rose around him.
Barrett rolled his shoulders, hiding the tremor in his hands. “Next!”
Four more peeled off from the swarm, angling straight for him.
“Oh, my bad,” Barrett barked out a laugh. “Was he a friend of yours?”
He dropped into a stance again, gripping the machete like the only real thing in the world.
Come on. Come on.
The hum returned, thick and bassy. The world slowed. He could see each insect’s trajectory, each flicker of claw and wing.
Barrett surged forward. His first swing cleaved down through one bug’s skull, his return arc carving the second midair.
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[You have slain a Green Scythe]
[You have slain a Green Scythe]
He pivoted, boot snapping up into the third creature’s mandibles. The impact crunched bone. Barrett brought the machete down in a brutal arc, splitting it from head to thorax.
[You have slain a Green Scythe]
The fourth shrieked and darted in. Barrett spun on his heel and caught it across the midsection. It fell in two twitching pieces at his boots.
[You have slain a Green Scythe]
[LEVEL UP!]
Congratulations, you are now Level 3.
Barrett stood there, chest heaving, blood pouring down his leg, grinning like a man who’d just been baptized in violence.
He lifted his machete high, pointing it at the retreating swarm. “Hell yeah! You see that, kid?!”
No answer.
But when he turned, the redhead was sprawled on the grass, fainted cold.
Barrett threw his head back in a roaring laugh. “Little tyke must’ve passed out from the excitement.”
Some of the survivors were looking at him stunned with mouths agape.
“That guy’s a monster…”
“Who the hell is he?”
They spoke low amongst each other, awe mixed with fear.
A fresh scream snapped his head toward the survivors’ circle. The group was huddled tight around something on the ground.
Barrett’s grin faltered. “What now?”
He limped closer, machete dragging a faint line in the dirt. The buzzing had gone silent. Even the river seemed to hold its breath.
—
Barrett strolled over to the crowd, smoke curling from the cigar clenched between his teeth. The survivors had gathered in a ragged circle around the screaming boy who’d lost his leg. A few people moved aside as Barrett approached, giving him the kind of space men give to something dangerous.
A younger kid with messy blond hair and a gaming T-shirt spotted him and grinned through the chaos.
“Yo, nice quadra-kill, man.”
Barrett didn’t break stride. “Damn right.”
The boy on the ground thrashed, face pale, eyes glassy. “It hurts! It hurts so bad!” His makeshift tourniquet, a blood-soaked T-shirt, was already turning dark. The dirt beneath him glistened red.
Barrett glanced down at his own leg. His cut still stung, but it was shallow. Nothing compared to this.
The woman in the charcoal pantsuit knelt at the boy’s side, voice firm. “Any doctors? Nurses? EMTs? Anyone?”
Silence. Just the drone of insects in the trees and the boy’s ragged sobs.
Barrett leaned toward the gamer kid and muttered, “Actually? That was a penta-kill.”
“Donovan!”
Fred’s voice cut through the noise. He shoved forward, sweat streaking his face. “You hauled half a supply store in that pack. You got any medical gear?”
Barrett didn’t like his tone. “I do not.”
Fred’s eyes narrowed. “Huh? Seriously?”
“How many times do I gotta tell you, old man?” Barrett snapped. “I didn’t know this was going down!”
Fred jabbed a finger toward him. “Then what’s in the damn pack? Snacks? Souvenirs?”
Barrett’s grin cut sharply. “That’s none of your damn business.”
The air thickened until a frail voice broke through it.
“One of my skills,” said an older woman in a floral blouse and white bun, “might be of some use.”
The crowd parted for her automatically. She looked like somebody’s grandmother lost on her way to church.
The pantsuit woman gestured her over.
She crouched by the boy and rested a hand on his trembling shoulder. Her other hand hovered over the mangled stump. Everyone watched in silence.
For a long moment, nothing happened.
The forest seemed to hold its breath.
Fred sighed. “Okay, we need to move him or—”
“Yo!” the boy next to Barrett hollered as everyone looked to him. “Let her cook!”
Then.
Light.
A warm glow spread from her fingertips, bathing the wound in golden light. The boy’s cries softened to whimpers, then to silence. When the glow dimmed, the bleeding had stopped. The leg was still gone, but his color was returning. His chest rose evenly.
The crowd exhaled as one. Relief rippled through them.
“Amazing…”
“It’s a miracle!” another survivor exclaimed.
The old woman smiled faintly. Her hand trembled as she withdrew it.
“First one’s free,” she said.
Barrett tipped his shades down, watching the old woman with interest. He barked a laugh. “Damn, nice one, granny. You got anything left for my leg?” He tapped his thigh where the bug’s claw had raked him. “Could use a tune-up.”
“Sure, just a moment, dear,” she said softly. “You’re gonna owe me one.”
She leaned back, breathing shallow, eyes half-lidded.
“Fine by me,” Barrett chuckled, “cash or card?”
“Favors,” she replied.
Barrett examined her more closely now and couldn’t help but notice a more calculating mind beneath her harmless granny persona. There were certainly people here who were more than they seemed.
—
Barrett walked back feeling like a new man — leg solid, stride easy, cigar burning steady between his teeth. The old lady’s magic had done more than close a wound; it had put the spring back in his step and the swagger back in his bones.
He stopped beside the redheaded girl and gave her a nudge with his boot.
“Yo, you good, kid?”
She stirred, blinking like she’d just woken from a long nap. “Wha–what happened?”
Barrett barked out a laugh. “I opened up a can, that’s what happened!”
She leaned up quickly. “Really!? Wow, so cool!”
Barrett just grinned and flicked his fingers. “Status.”
A faint blue light shimmered before his eyes. Numbers and bars appeared — his name, his stats, a blinking prompt.
Six free points were available now.
Without hesitation or thought, he quickly allocated them. The screen pulsed once, then faded.
The younger girl gave him a questioning look.
“Did you just spend your free points?”
“Yup.”
“That was fast; you look like you didn’t even think about it.”
Barrett slid his shades down just enough for her to see the edge of his grin.
“Write this down, kid: the more time you spend thinking, the less time you have for kicking ass.”
She stared at him, awestruck. “Mister Donovan, you’re so cool!”
Barrett looked off toward the river.
No more thinking; it’s time for action.
Memories of his past bubbled to the surface, causing him to grip his machete until his hands whitened and shook.
“Mister Donovan?”
He blinked, glancing down at the girl.
“You seriously didn’t even think about your stats?” she asked.
“Nah, I just put most in strength and sprinkled the others wherever.” He waved her off.
She considered for a moment. “Interesting,” then with renewed vigor she proclaimed, “I read in a book once that ‘Over-thinking kills more dreams than failure ever could!’”
Barrett nodded, half-listening while he stared off toward the river. The old guy in the Aloha shirt was trying to catch fish with a net-looking thing.
He blinked as he saw the girl still staring at him with wide eyes.
“Yeah, no more over-thinking. Anyway, try not to pass out next battle, and you might learn something.” He patted her and walked off.
