The beast’s shriek split the world.

  Its beak—a bone-colored scythe—plunged toward Jess. She threw herself sideways, rolling behind the thick trunk of an ancient oak. Dirt and shredded roots rained down where she’d stood.

  From the camp: panic.

  “It got Vanguard! WHAT IS THAT?” Roxy’s voice, stripped of its earlier arrogance.

  “I—I don’t know!” Xero, fumbling with his suitcase terminal.

  “USE THE TREES AS COVER! NO STRAIGHT LINES!” Jess shouted, not for them, but because chaos got everyone killed.

  Jake burst into the clearing, energy rifle raised. He fired. A pathetic sputter of plasma fizzled into cyan sparkles meters short of the creature.

  The bird turned its head, slow and predatory.

  “Fall back, Phantom. That’s an order.” He threw the useless weapon down.

  “I can do this,” Jess snarled, nocking an arrow. “It got one of us. It needs to die.”

  “HELP ME!”

  The cry was Roxy’s. She’d tripped, scrambling backward as the bird’s three-taloned feet stomped through the grass toward her.

  Jess hesitated.

  Let it have her. Clean. Simple.

  Her fingers tightened on the bowstring.

  Against her better judgment, she let the arrow fly—not to kill, but to sting, hitting the beast’s feathered flank.

  It shrieked, whirling back toward her.

  “Miri, calculate my odds,” she sent mentally.

  “Simulating. 56% chance of success.”

  Not good.

  “Just leave her if she wants to die! I’m out! I’m not going to be bird poop!” Roxy screamed, finding her feet and bolting.

  Xero was already gone, terminal tucked under his arm. “Let her play bait for us!” he yelled from somewhere safe.

  “Jake, help me—just distract it! Miri, odds with fire, eyes. It has poor neck motion!”

  Jake’s face was cold stone. “I will never recover my rating losing three members day one. Do what you want, reckless tag-along.”

  He melted into the trees after the others.

  Alone.

  “Then alone. Thanks for nothing. Miri, recalibrate without team assist.”

  The bird focused, a giant, feathered engine of hate. But behind it, in a nest of snapped branches, something glowed—a soft, pulsing orb, cyan like the energy choking the air. Not an egg. A prize.

  I want to see it.

  And she knew, bone-deep, she could take the thing.

  Come on, give me odds. Tell me I’m not crazy.

  “Simulating. Fuel source missing. Without team distraction: 86% chance of success.”

  That’s more like it.

  Fuel. Fire. Her eyes darted—moss, damp wood, nothing dry enough.

  “Any terrain obstacles? Crevices? Vines?”

  “Nothing, Phantom.”

  Think, Jess.

  She flexed her arm; the black biosuit strained over Orc muscle. Fine. Do what you didn’t want to do. Get inside the reach of that beak.

  “Its eyes or my bow—which gives first, Miri?”

  Another charge. She rolled, dodged, pressed against bark. Breath ragged.

  “Cancel that. Highlight the sturdiest, easiest-to-climb tree on the HUD.”

  A map flickered in her vision. One trunk glowed green, broad-limbed and tall.

  She jumped, a two-meter spring without a run-up.

  Good.

  Let’s see how much the thing likes melee.

  She stepped into the open, bow held low. Not exa-grade metal but sturdy enough as an improvised pickaxe and her arms and body were strong.

  “YOU DUMB, OVERSIZED CHICKEN! COME ON!”

  The bird’s head tilted. It charged.

  Jess stood her ground until the last second, then sprinted not away, but past it, toward the glowing tree. She leapt, fingers finding grooves in the bark, and hauled herself up, branch to branch, as the beak slammed into the trunk below.

  The tree shuddered.

  She climbed higher, into the canopy, until she was level with the creature’s furious, glassy eyes.

  The bird’s eye was a black pool the size of her head, reflecting a distorted, green-skinned figure clinging to a branch. It blinked, a nictitating membrane sliding sideways with a wet, leathery sound.

  It knew she was there.

  No more running.

  Jess braced her boots against the branch. She didn't nock an arrow. Instead, she reversed her grip on the bow, holding it like a short, rigid pole. The composite material wasn't meant for this, but it was all she had. Her Orc physiology thrummed with adrenaline, muscles coiling like steel springs.

  The beak shot toward her, a blur of bone and malice.

  She didn't try to dodge. She jumped.

  Not away. Down.

  She dropped directly onto the creature’s neck, just behind its skull. The impact drove the air from its lungs in a startled HOOONK. Feathers, thick as fingers and slick with some natural oil, were her only handhold. She wrapped her legs around the thick column of its neck, locking her ankles. Her left hand clawed into the plumage, fingers digging for purchase.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  The world became a violent, spinning gyroscope. The bird shrieked and bucked, thrashing its head to dislodge the parasite on its neck. Jess was whipped side-to-side, her spine slamming against the hard muscle. She held on, teeth gritted, vision blurring.

  With her right hand, she raised the bow, grip tightened near the lower limb. Not to shoot. To stab.

  She drove the upper tip of the bow, where the arrow nock sat, straight into the bird’s nearest eye.

  It was like punching through a tough, wet gourd. The nock sank in with a horrible, rubbery resistance, then a pop as it punctured the orb. Ichor, hot and salty, sprayed across her face and chest.

  The bird’s scream reached a deafening, brain-rattling pitch.

  It wasn't dead. It was insane with pain.

  It slammed itself sideways into the giant tree. The impact crushed Jess between living muscle and unyielding wood. Ribs creaked. She gasped, seeing stars, but her grip on the bow held. She twisted it, grinding the composite deeper into the socket, feeling it scrape against bone.

  The orbit. Get through the orbit.

  Bracing against the bird’s frantic jerks, she put all her weight, all her Orc strength, into a final, brutal shove.

  There was a sickening crunch of thin bone giving way, and the bowtip plunged deeper, into something soft.

  The creature’s convulsions changed. They became erratic, uncoordinated. Its remaining eye rolled wildly. It took two stumbling steps, its great wings flapping uselessly, and then its legs simply folded.

  It crashed to the forest floor, throwing Jess clear.

  She hit the ground in a roll, coming up on her knees, breath sawing in her lungs. The bow was still buried in the beast’s skull, a grotesque antenna.

  The massive body twitched once, twice, and was still.

  Silence rushed in, broken only by the thump of her own heart and a faint ringing in her ears.

  Blood dripped from her chin. Without thinking, her tongue darted out, catching a drop.

  Salty.

  Well, one problem solved. Not that I wanted to become a vampire.

  She stayed there for a long moment, waiting for the shaking in her arms to subside. A hysterical, gamer-brain thought surfaced: No notification. No surge of power. No "Level Up."

  Just the iron taste of blood, the ache of bruised muscles, and the cooling corpse of a monster.

  "Threat neutralized," Miri stated, blandly.

  "Yeah. No shit."

  Jess pushed herself to her feet. Every part of her hurt. She walked to the carcass, placed a boot on its feathered head, and wrenched her bow free with a wet, sucking sound. It was slick with gore and vitreous fluid. She wiped it clean on the grass, her movements methodical, detached.

  Where did that strange thought come from, first monster she had slayed in reality? Cybernetic freaks, genetic mutants yes, but not something this wild and primordial.

  "Status", she felt silly for saying it. The gamer in her, the one who spent decades of free time between real missions in Myriad Expanse Online eating pizza and theory-crafting builds. That life was a ghost. This was the reality: brutality, salt-blood, and a broken team.

  Her gaze moved past the corpse to the nest.

  The cyan glow pulsed softly, undisturbed by the violence. A prize. Intel. A potential resource in a world where tech was dying.

  She approached. The "orb" was a lump of crystalline resin, warm to the touch, humming with the same energy that suffocated their gear. She pried it free with the bent bow. It was lighter than it looked. She handled it with a large leaf to avoid touching it directly. Not following protocol for exogenetic material, yes yes, corporate was a dimensional rift away. Even mercenaries had to follow rules, no fines leveled via Miri—they were really blind.

  "Miri, how long until the data package of the bounty is unlocked?"

  "22 sol hours."

  "Going to be night time by then."

  Rolling her shoulders, throwing the bow away. "Looks more like a fishing hook than a tool to launch arrows with."

  It breaks as she throws it against the next tree. Not good for the environment, not that it was hazardous.

  Something cyan emerged in the corner of her eyes. A small geyser of cyan mist was revealed from under the nest as she picked the orb up. For safety, she jumped back.

  "Analysis, Miri."

  "Compound unknown. High ambient energy signature. Non-radioactive. Caution advised."

  I pocket it through the large leaf.

  "Mission debrief, Miri."

  Time to be a professional again.

  "Miri confirmed training data; the odds were simulated well. Did partner concur with mission success assessment?"

  "Yes. How did you calculate that my chances would improve when they ran?"

  "Past mission parameters and Phantom's actions during the hostile encounter."

  "Fair enough. Not nice to call me a loner, even if you imply it with a percentage tag."

  She was Phantom. She worked best alone. Or rather with her trusted companion Miri. Once, now nearly 300 years ago if her math was correct, she had done better with a team, her private crafter. A guy who was obsessed with playing, the best she encountered, always playing a female elf.

  She looked at her bow, unusable. Scrap.

  With one last look at the giant bird—How does this thing taste?—she turned and vanished into the deep green shadows of the forest, not following her team's trail, but setting her own course toward the distant, impossible landmarks: a wall that could be seen from space that would be her goal, not towards the tree that touched the clouds in the southwest.

  To the north should be the crater, southeast she saw 5 mountain peaks, no six, the sixth was covered in mist. Not her target.

  She went to the southwest. Civilization or maybe ruins. The broken branches and trampled grass told her that she followed the team.

  Great, not a reunion I looked forward to.

  Her hand slipped off the orb, touching it with the surface of the entire palm by accident.

  The world dissolved into light and sound.

  A torrent of possibilities, first it was three then thirty, it stopped at sixty pushing through her mind, flashing in images. Missions, orbital drops, combat training. Weapon skills. Experience and decades of war all being combined into each segment as one.

  Each choice crisp and clear: precise aims and training. From cook to swordmaster. Assassin. Archer, sharpshooter.

  Compared to my training they seemed to be mundane, as if an archivist sorted my experience into sections this world could understand or experience with a twist.

  One thing I noticed: not a single magical class.

  I look at my green hands. Like my body, maybe I was destined to be a brute.

  The torrent united, then separated but into fewer and fewer strings. Her mind and the orb's function narrowed. It displayed four compatible choices. To Jess, it was four cups filled with red liquid. Each of the golden vessels resonated with something deep within herself.

  Is this? Was that what she thought it was? A class selection.

  No way.

  They looked sweet, but not all were appropriate for her situation.

  [Neet Gamer (Error Alien – Class consolidation failed, not available, second time error occurrence, create class block list)

  A useless person, can accumulate gains of modest nature by doing nothing, draws hatred from society and those hard-working alike... bzzzt class deleted from the archive, nexus prime denied access complaints.]

  What did it mean? One cup of the four vanished.

  Second time? How many people could this description fit on this strange planet?

  It vanished before she could be tempted to pick it. Not that she wanted to, and hey, what did it mean Neet? She just took some decades off between missions.

  The next one appeared.

  [Skyfall Sharpshooter (Unique)

  You do not walk into the fire; you are the fire that falls. Your power is born of momentum, of impact, of converting altitude into annihilation with deadly projectiles. Gains terrifying force in descending attacks, the ability to withstand crushing impacts, and to channel kinetic energy into shattered ground and broken foes. Requires a bow or other ranged weapon.]

  Unique were nearly always the best classes, but sometimes they were broken in a bad way. My gaming experience could only give me... What a crazy world. She looked at the emerging blue haze. Was that the legendary mana? A different world, different rules.

  Now all that was left was not making stupid mistakes you could not take back. Jess, you got this.

  She glared at the broken bow. Then at the chicken, no, the terror bird. "You did that."

  Mpph, ruled out.

  [Emerald Atavism (Legendary)

  You faced your prey alone as everybody abandoned you. The hunt is your lifeblood and the danger of your prey fuels your strength.

  You are an experienced hunter and mock danger. A savage divinity in the making. Tools are not your preferred choice; if you have to, you use claws and teeth to prevail.]

  The kill of the bird earned her that. Legendary, so others on this world got it. Likely strong.

  She wanted to see the third choice.

  [Frontline Huntress (Unique)

  A huntress who abandoned her dignity with her training, to survive. Countless missions; ranged combat should be your forte, yet you somehow always end in melee combat. More than five hundred Orbital drops and you never retired. The power of armor, of fists, of daggers, and of getting too close to be comfortable. An incarnation of controlled demolition.]

  Which should she choose? She had no good ranged weapon. Picking wrong could mean she died. What even was this game system? Did the orb initiate her into the baseline of this universe?

  She stared at the orb in her hand accusatorily. She thought about dropping it, but the orb flared up as if it was angry. A tiny flick of her finger.

  Well, there goes nothing.

  I pick...