Mike woke to the chirping of unfamiliar birds and a sharp pain in his side. The makeshift bandage had stuck to his wound overnight, dried blood cementing fabric to skin. He peeled it away gingerly, wincing as fresh blood beaded along the reopened edges of the cut.
"Great start to the day," he muttered, rebinding the wound with another strip from his sacrificed work shirt.
His second shelter had served its purpose—one night of relative safety—but staying put wasn't an option. The Void Ripper's appearance, the goblin camp downstream, and the general vulnerability of his position all pointed to the same conclusion: he needed to move.
Mike packed methodically, assessing each item for its utility. The goblin club he discarded—too awkward compared to his hammer. The spear, however, stayed, along with the damaged spyglass. Food remained a concern. The fish he'd caught yesterday wouldn't keep, so he ate them quickly despite their half-raw state. The dried meat strips and what remained of his original supplies went into his pack.
After a final drink from the stream, Mike studied his options. Downstream led to the goblin camp—a definite no. Heading away from the water meant losing his primary navigation reference and water source. That left upstream as the only logical choice.
"Upstream it is," he decided, sealing his fate.
The day was clear, the morning sun filtering through the canopy in dappled patterns. Under different circumstances, Mike might have appreciated the beauty of this alien forest. Instead, he kept close to the stream bank, alert for any sign of threat, pressing steadily upstream against the gentle current.
As the morning progressed, the terrain began to change. The forest grew less dense, the underbrush thinning to reveal rocky outcroppings that increasingly defined the landscape. The stream bed narrowed and deepened, the water moving more swiftly around smooth boulders.
Mike paused at midday to rest and check his bandages. The wound had mostly stopped bleeding, though it throbbed with a dull heat that suggested infection remained a possibility. He used a small amount of water to clean it as best he could before applying a fresh strip of cloth.
A rustling sound from nearby underbrush interrupted his ministrations. Mike grabbed his spear, freezing in place as he scanned for the source.
A creature emerged from between two large ferns—something like a wild boar, but with six legs and forward-curving tusks that nearly touched in front of its snout. It was smaller than an Earth boar, perhaps the size of a large dog, with a bristly rust-colored hide.
The boar-thing hadn't noticed Mike yet. It moved toward the stream, obviously intending to drink. Mike stayed motionless, weighing his options. He was hungry, and this was potentially a significant food source—but his spear-throwing skills were untested, and a wounded boar could be dangerous.
The decision was made for him when the wind shifted slightly, carrying his scent to the creature. Its head jerked up, nostrils flaring. Small, dark eyes locked onto Mike with unmistakable hostility.
With a squealing grunt, the boar charged.
Mike had just enough time to brace his spear against the ground, angling it toward the oncoming creature. The boar, displaying more intelligence than its Earth counterpart, twisted mid-charge to avoid the spear point. Instead of impaling itself, it slammed into Mike's legs, sending him sprawling.
Pain exploded from his wounded side as he hit the ground. The boar wheeled around for another charge as Mike scrambled to regain his footing, abandoning the spear for his hammer.
The creature's second charge was more deliberate. It feinted to one side before cutting sharply toward Mike's exposed flank. He swung the hammer defensively, connecting with the boar's skull but at an awkward angle that robbed the blow of its potential force.
The boar staggered, shaking its head, then came at him again. This time, Mike was ready. He sidestepped like a matador, bringing the hammer down squarely between the creature's eyes as it passed. The impact produced a sickening crack, and the boar collapsed, legs twitching.
Mike didn't wait to see if it would rise again. He delivered a second, fatal blow to ensure it wouldn't.
Standing over the dead creature, Mike felt the now-familiar ping of experience gained—the subtle warmth, the small notification. Still not enough to level, but progress nonetheless.
"Thanks for the food," he told the boar, retrieving his spear before settling down to the grim task of field dressing the carcass.
His construction knowledge included only basic hunting skills picked up from coworkers who hunted, but necessity proved an effective teacher. Using his utility knife, Mike managed to butcher the most accessible cuts of meat. Without a way to preserve most of it, he had to leave much of the carcass behind, taking only what he could reasonably carry and consume in the next day or two.
The small fire he built to cook a portion of the meat felt like a risk, but the protein would be necessary for the journey ahead. As the meat sizzled on an improvised spit, Mike used his phone to record an update.
"Day four. Left the shelter. Heading upstream. Terrain's getting rockier, less forest cover. Killed a six-legged boar thing after it attacked me. Side wound from yesterday's goblin fight is holding together, but painful. Battery at 23%."
He paused, watching thin tendrils of smoke rise from his small fire.
"I keep checking the notifications, hoping something will make sense. Most of them are still gibberish, but occasionally there's an English word. [SKILL]. [DANGER]. Why some words translate and others don't, I have no idea."
After finishing his meal and extinguishing the fire, Mike wrapped the remaining meat in large leaves and continued upstream. The terrain grew steadily more challenging, the gentle slope of the morning giving way to a more pronounced incline. The stream now fell in small cascades between rocky shelves, forcing Mike to climb rather than simply walk.
By late afternoon, the sound of rushing water had grown considerably louder, suggesting a significant waterfall ahead. Mike pushed on, curious and hopeful—a waterfall might mean caves or rocky overhangs that could provide defensible shelter.
The trees thinned further, opening to a rocky slope leading up to a ridgeline. The stream emerged from a cleft in this ridge, tumbling down in a series of small falls before reaching the relatively flat ground where Mike stood.
"Worth checking out," he decided, beginning to climb.
The ascent was steep but manageable, with plenty of handholds. Mike's construction experience served him well—he knew instinctively which rocks would bear his weight and how to distribute it effectively. Still, the exertion pulled painfully at his wounded side, forcing him to take frequent breaks.
Near the top, he paused to use the cracked spyglass, scanning the surrounding landscape. The forest stretched away below him, a green carpet broken occasionally by meadows or rocky outcroppings. Far in the distance, a thin column of smoke rose—the goblin camp, perhaps, or some other settlement. There was no sign of the Void Ripper or any other large predators.
The ridgeline, when he finally reached it, revealed a stunning view. The stream originated from a large waterfall about a quarter-mile further upstream, where it dropped at least sixty feet from another, higher ridge. Between his position and the waterfall, the stream widened into a series of pools connected by smaller falls.
More importantly, the area around these pools showed promising features—rocky overhangs, small caves in the cliff face, and elevated flat areas where a shelter might be constructed with good visibility in all directions.
"Jackpot," Mike murmured.
He made his way toward the larger waterfall, moving from pool to pool. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the landscape, giving the scene an ethereal quality. For a brief moment, Mike felt something beyond fear and survival—a sense of wonder at the alien beauty of this world.
At the third pool, a flash of movement in the water caught his eye. Fish—large ones, at least a foot long, with silvery-blue scales—were leaping up a small cascade. The pool below teemed with them, apparently engaged in some kind of spawning behavior.
"Dinner solved for the foreseeable future," Mike said, making mental notes of the location.
He continued toward the main waterfall, drawn by both the spectacular sight and the prospect of shelter in its vicinity. The path grew narrower, hugging the edge of a drop-off that became increasingly steep. On one side rose the cliff face, on the other fell away to a rocky streambed thirty feet below.
Mike edged along carefully, testing each foothold before committing his weight. A loose stone shifted unexpectedly beneath his boot. He stumbled, windmilling his arms for balance. For one heart-stopping moment, he teetered on the edge, nearly regaining his equilibrium.
Then the entire section of path crumbled.
Mike fell, a shout of surprise torn from his throat as he plummeted toward the rocks below. By sheer instinct, he twisted midair, aiming for a deeper section of the stream rather than the jagged stones at its edge.
He hit the water with stunning force, the impact driving the air from his lungs. The cold was shocking, disorienting. The current immediately seized him, tumbling him over and over. His pack was torn away, along with his spear. Something hard—a rock, a sunken log—struck his head, sending starbursts across his vision.
Desperately, Mike fought to reach the surface, lungs burning for air. His hand scraped against stone, and he instinctively grabbed hold. Using this anchor, he pulled himself up, breaking the water's surface with a gasping breath.
The current yanked at him relentlessly. His grip began to slip. With his last reserves of strength, Mike heaved himself toward a small eddy behind a large boulder. The water was calmer here, allowing him to drag himself onto a narrow strip of gravel.
He lay there, coughing up water, every muscle screaming in protest. Blood mixed with the stream water—from his reopened side wound, from new cuts on his hands and face, from a significant gash on his temple where he'd struck the underwater obstacle.
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When the world finally stopped spinning, Mike took stock of his situation. His pack was gone, along with most of his supplies. The utility knife remained strapped to his belt, but both the spear and the spyglass had been lost in the current. The hammered hung from its loop on his belt, a small mercy.
"Just great," he croaked, voice raw from coughing.
Pulling himself to a sitting position, Mike examined his surroundings. He'd been carried a considerable distance downstream from where he'd fallen. The cascade of pools was no longer visible, hidden around a bend in the stream. Ahead, the water continued its journey through increasingly rugged terrain.
Mike checked his pockets. The phone was miraculously still there, protected by its waterproof case, though dripping wet. The leather water skin hung limply from his belt, half-torn from its fastening but still attached.
With monumental effort, Mike got to his feet. Vertigo washed over him immediately, forcing him to grab a nearby rock for support. The gash on his temple throbbed in time with his pulse. His side wound had definitely reopened, blood soaking through the sodden bandage.
He needed shelter, dry clothes, and fire—in that order. None seemed immediately forthcoming.
A low rumble from upstream froze Mike in place. It wasn't thunder or falling rocks. It was a growl—deep, resonant, and unmistakably predatory.
Turning slowly, Mike looked back the way he'd come. Standing on a large flat rock overlooking the stream was the largest predator he'd seen yet in this world. It resembled a panther in its general shape, but with key differences—six legs like many creatures here, a longer, more serpentine neck, and two tails that whipped independently of each other. Its coat was a deep, midnight blue, almost black, with faint bioluminescent spots running along its flanks.
Most terrifying were its eyes—four of them, arranged in a diamond pattern on its face, all fixed directly on Mike. They glowed with the same bioluminescence as the spots, giving the creature an otherworldly appearance.
"Shit," Mike breathed.
The creature—Mike mentally dubbed it the "nightpanther"—lowered its head, muscles bunching visibly as it prepared to pounce.
Mike took the only option available. He ran.
His boots slipped on wet stones as he scrambled along the streambed. Behind him, he heard the splash of the nightpanther hitting the water in pursuit. Despite its cat-like appearance, it clearly had no aversion to water.
The stream turned sharply ahead, carving through a narrow gap between two rock faces. Mike sprinted for this bottleneck, hoping it might be too narrow for his pursuer. His lungs burned, his vision blurred from pain and exhaustion, but fear drove him forward.
He reached the gap and squeezed through sideways. It was indeed narrow—barely wide enough for a human. The nightpanther skidded to a halt at the entrance, growling in frustration. It pawed at the opening, trying to reach Mike with one clawed limb.
"Too big, you bastard," Mike gasped between ragged breaths.
The victory was short-lived. The nightpanther backed up, surveying the rock face. With shocking intelligence, it began to climb, clearly intending to go over the obstacle rather than through it.
Mike didn't wait to see if it would succeed. He pushed on through the narrow passage, emerging into a small grotto on the other side. The stream pooled here before continuing through another, smaller gap. The walls rose steeply on all sides, offering no obvious exit except the way he'd come in or the small waterway leading out.
Scrambling sounds from above told him the nightpanther was making progress on its climbing attempt. Mike looked desperately for a weapon, a hiding place, anything.
A dark opening in the rock face caught his eye—a small cave entrance, partially hidden behind a curtain of hanging moss. Without hesitation, Mike dove toward it, pushing aside the vegetation to squeeze inside.
The cave was tight but extended back farther than he'd expected. Mike crawled deeper, putting as much distance as possible between himself and the entrance. The absolute darkness enveloped him, but he pressed on by feel, ignoring the sharp stones digging into his palms and knees.
After what seemed an eternity, he reached a point where the passage widened enough to sit up. Mike collapsed against the cool stone wall, gasping for breath, every part of him throbbing with pain.
From outside came the sounds of the nightpanther entering the grotto, its growls echoing off the stone walls. Mike froze, scarcely daring to breathe. Would it find the cave entrance? Would it be able to follow him inside?
Minutes passed in tense silence. Occasionally, he heard splashing or snuffling sounds as the predator searched the grotto. The creature passed near the cave entrance at least twice, but the hanging moss and the narrow opening seemed to conceal it effectively.
Eventually, the sounds faded. The nightpanther had either given up or moved on to search elsewhere. Still, Mike waited, unwilling to risk emerging too soon.
In the absolute darkness of the cave, time lost meaning. Mike's wounds throbbed, his wet clothes clung uncomfortably to his skin, and hunger gnawed at his stomach. He allowed himself to check his phone for light and time: 18% battery, 7:23 PM.
The dim light revealed little—just rough stone walls narrowing back into the passage he'd crawled through. Ahead, the cave appeared to continue, though whether it led anywhere useful was impossible to tell without exploration.
"Seems like the choice is stay here and hope that thing leaves, or go deeper and hope there's another way out," Mike told himself, his voice sounding unnaturally loud in the confined space.
A distant dripping sound suggested water somewhere deeper in the cave system. Thirst made the decision easier—Mike would follow the sound and hope for the best.
Moving carefully in the near-total darkness, using the phone's light sparingly to conserve battery, Mike made his way deeper into the cave. The passage twisted and turned, sometimes narrowing so much he had to squeeze through sideways, other times opening into small chambers. The dripping grew louder.
Finally, the passage opened into a larger cavern. The phone's light couldn't reach the ceiling or far walls, but it revealed a small pool of clear water in the center, fed by a steady drip from above. More importantly, the cavern wasn't completely dark—a faint blue-green glow emanated from patches of what appeared to be moss or lichen growing on the walls.
"Bioluminescent," Mike realized. "Like the nightpanther's spots."
The dim light was just enough to navigate by once his eyes adjusted. Mike approached the pool cautiously, testing the water with his fingers before risking a drink. It tasted clean and pure—better than the stream water. He drank deeply, then set about cleaning his wounds.
The side gash had indeed reopened, though it didn't appear to be bleeding heavily anymore. The head wound was more concerning—a two-inch laceration that went nearly to the bone. Head wounds always bled profusely, and this one was no exception. Mike used the last clean strip of his shirt to bind it as best he could.
With his immediate thirst quenched and wounds tended, exhaustion crashed over him like a wave. The adrenaline that had kept him moving was gone, leaving only bone-deep weariness. The cavern seemed safe enough—no sign of animal habitation, a water source, and partial illumination.
"Just rest for a bit," Mike told himself. "Get some strength back, then figure out the next move."
He settled against the cave wall, positioning himself to keep the entrance to the cavern in view. His hammer lay across his lap, a meager defense but better than nothing. As his eyes grew heavy, a notification box appeared in his vision—incomprehensible as usual, but with a small icon that looked like a tent or shelter, followed by a plus sign.
"Cave counts as shelter. Good to know," Mike murmured as his consciousness faded.
---
He woke with a start, disoriented in the dim blue-green light. For a moment, panic seized him—where was he? What had happened? Then memory returned in a rush: the fall, the nightpanther, the cave.
Mike had no idea how long he'd slept. His phone showed 14% battery when he checked, but the time—3:48 AM—meant little in the subterranean darkness. His wounds had stiffened painfully, and hunger twisted his stomach. The last of his food had been in the pack lost during the fall.
As he shifted position, trying to ease his discomfort, something caught his eye—a faint gleam among the rocks near the far wall of the cavern. Curious, Mike used his phone's light to investigate.
Half-buried in the gravelly floor was a metallic object. Mike carefully excavated it, revealing a hammer—not a modern tool like his own, but something ancient and ornate. The head was made of what appeared to be bronze or copper, etched with symbols similar to those in his notifications. The handle was some kind of dark wood, wrapped in leather bindings that had partially rotted away.
"Someone else was here," Mike realized. "Someone who could read these symbols."
He picked up the ancient hammer, expecting it to be fragile with age. To his surprise, it felt solid and balanced in his hand. Despite its obvious antiquity, the metal showed no significant corrosion, and what remained of the handle was sound.
As his fingers closed around the grip, a familiar notification appeared: [SKILL].
"My hammer skill applies to this too?" Mike wondered aloud. "Or is this hammer special somehow?"
He set the ancient tool aside carefully and continued his exploration of the cavern. The phone's light revealed more evidence of previous habitation—faint markings scratched into the walls, a circular arrangement of stones that might once have been a fire pit, and in one corner, a pile of what appeared to be shattered pottery.
"Some kind of outpost? Hideout?" Mike speculated, examining the wall markings. They matched the symbols from his notifications and the ancient hammer—further evidence that whoever had been here could understand the system that remained opaque to him.
A new sound interrupted his investigation—footsteps, heavy and deliberate, approaching from the passage he'd entered through. The nightpanther had found him.
Mike grabbed both hammers, backing toward the far wall of the cavern. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. If the predator entered, he would have to fight—a prospect that seemed hopeless given his weakened condition.
The footsteps drew closer, accompanied now by a low, rumbling growl. Mike raised his modern hammer, muscles tensing for the confrontation.
The creature that emerged from the passage wasn't the nightpanther.
It stood nearly eight feet tall, its broad shoulders almost brushing both sides of the opening. In the dim bioluminescent light, its features were shadowed, but Mike could make out a vaguely humanoid shape with disproportionately long arms and a massive, misshapen head. It moved with a rolling gait, powerful muscles shifting beneath what appeared to be rough, stone-like skin.
"Oh, come on," Mike breathed. "What the hell is that?"
The creature paused at the cavern entrance, massive head swinging from side to side. It appeared to be scanning, though Mike couldn't make out any obvious eyes. When its attention fixed on him, it emitted a louder growl and took a heavy step forward.
Mike's [DANGER] notification appeared immediately, pulsing with urgent red light. As if he needed the warning.
With nowhere left to retreat, Mike did the only thing he could—he attacked. Lunging forward with a desperate shout, he swung his hammer at the creature's midsection.
The blow connected solidly, but it was like hitting concrete. The creature barely flinched. One massive arm swung toward Mike, who barely ducked in time to avoid being decapitated. He scrambled sideways, putting the pool between himself and the monster.
The creature pursued with surprising speed for its bulk. Mike continued to dodge, looking for any vulnerability. Nothing presented itself—the stone-like hide seemed impervious to his hammer strikes, and the creature's reach advantage meant he couldn't get close enough to target more sensitive areas.
In desperation, Mike switched to the ancient hammer. It felt lighter than it should, almost eager in his grip. He feinted left, then dove right, bringing the bronze head around in a perfect arc toward the creature's knee joint.
The impact was profound. Where his modern hammer had barely scratched the stone hide, the ancient weapon bit deep, producing a spiderweb of cracks across the creature's leg. It bellowed in pain, momentarily off-balance.
Mike pressed his advantage, striking again at the damaged area. This time, chunks of the stone-like material broke away, revealing something like glowing magma beneath. The creature howled, dropping to one knee.
"Yes!" Mike exclaimed, emboldened by his success.
A notification appeared, larger and more elaborate than any he'd seen before. In the center was that word again: [SKILL], followed by what appeared to be an activation prompt.
Acting on instinct, Mike shouted, "Skill activate!"
A surge of energy flowed from the hammer up his arm, filling him with strength and purpose. The ancient tool began to glow with an inner light that matched the symbols etched into its surface. Mike felt knowledge flooding into him—not conscious understanding, but muscle memory, as if he'd trained with this weapon for years.
The creature lunged again, but now Mike moved with new confidence. He sidestepped gracefully, bringing the glowing hammer down on the monster's extended arm. The bronze head sheared through the stone flesh like it was clay, severing the limb at what would have been the elbow.
The creature reeled back, its roars of pain echoing deafeningly in the confined space. The severed arm crumbled to dust where it fell. Glowing material like lava dripped from the wound, hissing where it touched the cave floor.
Mike pressed forward, hammer raised for another strike. The creature, sensing its disadvantage, began to retreat toward the passage entrance. Mike followed, unwilling to let it escape to potentially return.
In its haste to flee, the monster misjudged the width of the passage. Its good shoulder struck the stone wall with enough force to dislodge a shower of rocks from above. The ceiling began to crack ominously.
"Cave-in!" Mike realized, backpedaling rapidly.
The creature made it partway into the passage before the ceiling gave way completely. Tons of rock crashed down, catching the monster mid-escape. Its final roar was cut short as it was buried under the collapse.
Mike threw himself backward, barely avoiding being caught in the avalanche himself. Dust filled the cavern, choking and blinding. When it finally settled, he saw that the passage was completely blocked by fallen rock.
"Great," he coughed. "Now I'm trapped."
The ancient hammer had stopped glowing, though it still hummed with a subtle energy in his grip. The [SKILL] notification had disappeared, but Mike felt different—stronger, more capable, as if the brief activation had permanently changed something within him.
More importantly, he now had a weapon that could actually harm the monsters of this world. Whatever the ancient hammer was made of, it was clearly special.
With the passage blocked and no obvious way out, Mike returned to the pool to drink and consider his options. The conflict had reopened several of his wounds, and exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him again. But a new sense of possibility had awakened within him—he had activated a [SKILL], had felt its power. Perhaps he could begin to understand this world's system after all.
As the adrenaline faded, a familiar *ding* sounded, louder and more resonant than previous level-up notifications. A warm sensation washed over him, more intense than before. A notification appeared before him, showing the number 3 transforming into 4.
"Level four," Mike whispered, staring at the notification with surprise. "From defeating that stone monster."
The implications were significant. If this hammer had been deliberately preserved here, waiting for someone to discover it, then perhaps his arrival in this world wasn't entirely accidental. Perhaps there was a reason a builder had been pulled through that portal on the construction site.
As he sat beside the pool, trying to formulate a plan, a new notification appeared. This one showed a simple arrow pointing to a section of the cavern wall he hadn't explored yet. Curious, Mike approached it.
What had appeared to be a solid wall from a distance revealed itself, upon closer inspection, to have a narrow crevice running vertically from floor to about seven feet up. Air flowed through this crack—fresh air, carrying the scent of vegetation and open spaces.
"Another way out," Mike realized.
The crevice was narrow—he would have to remove his tool belt to squeeze through—but it was passable. Before attempting it, he returned to gather the ancient hammer, unwilling to leave such a valuable find behind.
As he picked it up, Mike felt a sense of connection to whoever had owned it before—another traveler in this strange world, perhaps just as confused and desperate as he was. Had they learned to read the notifications? Had they found a way home?
These questions would have to wait. With renewed determination, Mike made his way to the crevice, removed his belt with both hammers attached, and pushed it through ahead of him. Then, turning sideways, he began to squeeze himself into the narrow opening.
The passage was tight but navigable. Mike inched forward, guided by the fresh air current. After about twenty feet of claustrophobic progress, the crevice widened. Another ten feet, and Mike found himself emerging onto a narrow ledge overlooking a verdant valley.
Dawn was breaking, painting the landscape in soft pinks and golds. Below, a gentle stream meandered through meadows dotted with unfamiliar flowers. In the distance, what appeared to be ruins of stone structures poked above the treeline.
"Civilization," Mike breathed. "Or what's left of it."
He secured his belt, both hammers hanging from it now—the modern one that had served him from the beginning, and the ancient one that had revealed the first [SKILL]. His wounds still pained him, his clothes were torn and filthy, and hunger gnawed at his stomach. But for the first time since arriving in this world, Mike felt something beyond fear and confusion.
Hope.
