I let out a shaky breath and glance at the flattened, bloodstained grass.
I should process this. The numbers. The sheer scale of it.
But if I start, I might not stop. So instead, I turn to humor.
It always worked before.
“Well, Mischief, I’m basically dead on my feet,” I mumble, forcing a smirk. “I need a nap before the next stage. You’re not going to eat in my sleep, right?”
Mischief’s ears flick sharply.
For a second, I swear he looks… offended. Like he actually understood what I just said.
I blink.
Mischief blinks twice. Then, slowly, he rests his head back down. I might be imagining it, but his gaze softens.
Like he’s reassuring .
I lean back against a broken tree stump, my body sinking into the dirt. My eyelids feel like lead.
“Wake up before it starts, yeah?” Who am I kidding? I should just stay awake. Eh, there is always a big DING anyway. It’ll be fine.
Just before I drift off, sothing shifts at the edge of my vision.
Mischief’s head lifts slightly. A slow, deliberate nod. I don’t know if that’s real. I don’t know if I imagined it.
Everything is too heavy. I feel it pressing down, my eyelids sinking with it. My thoughts blur, slipping between waking and sleep.
Maybe I’ll wake back up in my college dorm?
Is that what I want...? No. I want this new world.
-
A gentle nudging on my arm tugs out of blissful darkness.
I stubbornly cling to sleep, but the prodding continues—more insistent each ti. Then, without warning, sothing yanks my leather jacket.
“Hey!” I yelp, jolting upright. “What the hell—?!”
The first thing I see is Mischief’s wide, whiskered face, practically filling my entire vision.
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If a giant cat could smirk, he’s definitely doing it.
My heart slams against my ribs.
“Gah!” I scramble back, hand over my heart. My pulse is racing.
Mischief lets out a weird snorting noise—almost like laughter. It’s unsettling. And kind of endearing.
But that’s not the only change. He’s bigger. A lot bigger.
His shoulders are broader, his tail thicker, his fra more defined. At least twenty or thirty extra pounds of pure muscle.
I rub my temples, trying to process it.
“Uh… good morning. You’ve changed.”
I run a hand over my face. Then my arms. Do I feel stronger? Oh yeah. Bigger? …No
I got a massive boost from titles and stats. But Mischief? He’s evolving in a completely different way. Honestly, it’s kind of bullshit.
Mischief bobs his head, then glances toward the open field.
Taking the hint, I check the interface ticking away in my vision.
Taking the hint? From a mountain lion? Am I really sure I am awake?
1 Minute Until Wave 5 (Stage 2).
I exhale. “So you know it’s almost ti,” I say, eyeing him. “And can you understand ?”
Mischief nods. My pulse spikes. Who the hell taught him the aning of a nod?
Part of suspected it. But seeing him confirm it—even in such a simple way—sends my thoughts racing.
He’s not just a fighting machine. He’s aware. Changing.
In so ways, more than I am.
I should be even more shocked by this revelation, a cat that understands words? I really am incredibly shocked. But with everything else that's happened? It seems par for the course.
“How—when?” This was so interesting to . “Was this a system reward or so function of the intelligence stat?” Mischief tilts his head but doesn’t respond.
“Got it,” I murmur. “You can understand , but you can’t talk back. Or don’t know how.”
Another nod. At least he figured that part out. I try to smile, but there’s an edge to it now.
My jokes aren’t cutting through the unease.
“You know, I have so many more questions.”
I shake my head, still dusting myself off. This is a lot to wake up to.
Not that I’m complaining—a way to communicate with Mischief, even if it’s just one-way, is a massive upgrade.
“I’d love to dig into what all this ans,” I say, rolling my shoulders, “but first, we need to survive this wave. Sound good?”
Mischief indicates his understanding. I swing my club a few tis, warming up.
Then, just for fun, I test my leg strength—a casual warm-up jump. Bad idea.
I barely push off the ground—and suddenly, I’m ten feet in the air.
My brain barely registers the movent before I start plumting.
I twist mid-air, but I’m off balance. I crash flat on my back with a solid oof.
Mischief lets out another snort. I bounce back up instantly. The fall didn’t hurt, not even a little—but my pride is another story.
I dust myself off, pretending nothing happened.
“If we survive this, I’m erasing that from history.”
Mischief just stares, unimpressed.
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