The tiny yet hardened horn rams into my left knee.


    Again!


    It hits all the nerves and that exact spot. The dull pain surges all the way up, making me feel almost paralyzed.


    My brain just shuts down for a moment—I definitely wasn''t here for a second.


    It feels like pulling the RAM stick out of a running computer. My already weak, bruised knee can''t take it anymore. I lose my balance and drop to one knee.


    The bug spins around after the hit and is ready for another attack. It’s still on four legs, not the six anymore, but those hard, spiky chitin legs are a massive red flag for me.


    The next attack might not just be a dull ram into my face—it could be the same type of attack that got Mike earlier. I can already picture those claws gouging into my eye sockets.


    Harald knows what’s coming next. I''m down on one knee, eye level with the furious creature. If its next strike hits, it''s over for me. A direct hit to the face would be both fatal and gruesome.


    But, I guess I''m lucky to have him. The old man reacts quickly, swapping his shotgun for the glock once again.


    *Bang, bang, bang*


    Three or four quick shots slam into the creature’s shiny backplate, forcing it to back away and shift its attention toward Harald.


    At least for the moment. But the health bar barely moves. The damage from those bullets is still negligible.


    The pain in my knee is unbearable. Taking more damage to the same bruised knee is more than enough to make me furious.


    I use the time Harald bought me to channel and focus my power again as it shifted away, while I got slammed. My rage should replace the dull pain.


    While Focus sucks away the the muscle mass and flesh from my bottoms an interesting idea sparks in my head.


    “Yep, I’m definitely collecting these,” I mutter.


    My knees will thank me later.


    <hr>


    The first droplet of my blood drips from under the thumbnail of my right hand, splattering against the dark brown hardwood handle of my hammer.


    A second droplet begins to form, I halt the power down immediately.


    If I can control this that well, I might not end up destroyed as before.


    I swing my arm in a wide arc, building momentum, and I slam the hammer right between the bug’s wing covers.


    *Bang*


    The same scenario repeats, and a wave of satisfaction starts washing over me.


    Like a car explosion, the wing covers blow apart, pieces flying in all directions.


    "Hell yeah!" I mutter victoriously.


    I don’t rest, not even for a second. The hammer slides down, and I spin it again, this time with only the power that remains in my arm—the power that hasn''t been retracted.


    The hammerhead buries itself deep inside the now-exposed body, and white, creamy substance sprays out.


    “Yuck.” I probably overdid it this time.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    But it doesn''t matter. The health bar is depleting at the same pace as the white liquid is draining. And as a cherry on top, I hear the notification.


    *Ding*


    I shake the hammer clean, wiping the disgusting liquid off the soaked handle, and I embrace the victory.


    Poor Mike is already awake, checking out the damage. I glance at his four wounds. The man must have some seriously thick skin and excellent blood clotting because the wounds are pretty deep, yet he’s not bleeding at all.


    Harald is already pulling out the first aid kit, with Astrid assisting him.


    I lock eyes with Astrid, letting her know that I care about what''s happening and she does not think I’m ignorant.


    But I’m struggling with my own wounds, and my bloody fingers won’t be much help in giving first aid right now.


    I need the points, like salt.


    Endurance, endurance, I repeat in my head, fantasizing about what possible skills and effects it could give me. Crazy scenarios start flashing through my mind.


    I’m never quiet. Well, at least not in my head. People probably think I’m some sort of quiet creep—barely talking to anyone, always staring into the distance, lost in the future, cringing at the past, but never truly in the present. Inside my head, though, it’s a constant, bohemian party of thoughts, vivid and wild, hiding behind my poker face.


    Excitement and terror pulse through me, fear of experiencing pain and dishing out pain. Afraid of dying, yet here I am, sowing death and destruction.


    This wild mixture of emotions is coursing through me, clouding my perception of reality—barely controlled power, hungry for results.


    My brain wants to keep going, but my body protests. How long can I overwork my arms like this? I need to find a stable and easy source of experience points.


    I pull up my weathered sweatpants to reveal my left knee. My leg trembles as the dirty, light brown fabric peels away, pulling a few scabs with it. Blue, purple, and green hues paint my swollen knee.


    A crazy idea hits me: What if I could increase the blood flow there? Would it break down the bruises faster, or would I just end up with a blood clot? I wonder and decide to splash it with water first.


    I glance over at the bug’s carcass as I think, searching for parts that could aid in my master plan: Knee protectors.


    Below its head, the bug has a thick, round part that looks like it could perfectly shield a knee.


    Now, I just need to figure out how to mount it and mold it a little.


    But first, I take a drink and cool off my bruises.


    I gently hold the plastic bottle and manage to twist the cap open.


    The water starts shaking violently inside, so I screw it back on quickly.


    Guess I can’t even exhale.


    We’re interrupted immediately.


    I know what it is. Everyone does.


    A loud rumbling echoes through the air, followed by the sound of birds squeaking and taking flight from the treetops.


    Mike, barely able to sit up, gasps for his weathered saber.


    None of us are dumb. We all know what this means. The matron.


    “Hide behind the balls!” shouts Harald, as he crouches behind a massive dung boulder.


    I stifle a chuckle, trying not to look immature or dumb. I glance at Mike, and he’s on the verge of bursting into laughter. I’m not even mad.


    Astrid drags Mike behind one of the dung balls, but he refuses any help. Clenching his teeth, he withstands the pain.


    His wounds seem patched enough for him to barely move and hide with the help of his girl.


    I follow their lead while maintaining eye contact with Harald.


    The thudding gets louder, closer.


    One, two, three, four, five. Six thuds, rapidly approaching.


    Then a brief pause, followed by even louder thuds.


    The only thing I can imagine is a massive spider crawling toward us, which terrifies me. But deep down, I know it’s just another giant bug.


    Harald’s hands tremble as he carefully loads red shotgun shells into his gun. He slides the rest into a side pocket for easy access.


    “Fuck me!” Mike mutters, leaning toward the dung ball and peeking from behind.


    His headband is pulled low, covering his normal eye. Guess he’s seeing what’s coming before the rest of us.


    “Young man?” Harald asks, concern lacing his voice.


    “Do you have enough ammo?” Mike responds, keeping his voice low.


    “Harald?”


    I glance at him with a smile and raise my hammer, flexing in front of him.


    We’re not alone in this. He’s not the only one with correct weapons. I tense the muscles in my arms and shoulders, pushing them to make my body look as buff as possible.


    <hr>


    The thudding stops right behind the dung ball where Mike and Astrid are hiding.


    I peek out cautiously from the side.


    “Motherf—”


    There it is. But what terrifies me even more is what’s stuck to the dung ball as I notice it now.


    Is that fur?


    Strands of grayish and bloodstained fur hang from the ball, sticking out between chunks of flesh. I blink, realizing these must be the remains of the wolves Harald warned us about.


    <hr>


    A black, shiny armored leg is buried deep into the ground, its pointed end piercing the hardened soil like a pillar.


    The bug is massive—a full-grown adult version of the ones we’ve been fighting. Six thick, sturdy legs support a body the size of an army tank. Its backplate is even thicker now, with a leathery texture.


    I scan its physique quickly but thoroughly. Its head looks like a cattle skull, but it’s covered in glossy black, like it’s been dipped in tar.


    Its eyes are integrated into the armor itself—pitch black and likely impenetrable, just like the skull.


    Strong mandibles hang menacingly from the sides, ready to crush bone and flesh alike.


    But then my eyes are drawn to its most prominent feature.