’Beast Forge? What the hell is that?’
The voice in his head went quiet, but the power thrumming under his skin felt real, too real to be so kind of head trauma hallucination. He stumbled out of the alley, expecting the world to look different sohow, like maybe the sky would be purple now or buildings would be floating.
Nope, sa grimy city with the sa broken streetlights and that familiar sll of piss and shit.
The streets were mostly empty now, everyone either hiding indoors or already evacuated while a few scavengers picked through the rubble where the panda monster had torn apart that delivery truck.
They moved like rats, quick and nervous, grabbing anything that looked valuable before the cleanup crews arrived.
Old habits kicked in and Vell automatically started walking toward them, his brain still running on survival mode - find food, find money, find shelter, always in that order.
He bent down to grab a piece of tal that might be worth a few credits at the scrap yard when a black screen popped into existence right in front of his face.
"Jesus!" He flinched back, nearly tripping over his own feet.
The screen just floated there, following his vision when he tried to look around it while glowing white text appeared line by line.
[Beast Forge System Activated]
[User Successfully Registered]
[Scanning User... Done]
More text appeared, and this ti it made his stomach drop.
[User Has Not Awakened. Cannot Use Beast Forge.]
[Analyzing for Possible Solutions... Done]
[Mission: Run 80km before 00:00]
[Reward: Forced Awakening]
[Failure: Loss of the Beast Forge System]
[Will you accept this mission: YES / NO]
He stared at the screen for a solid ten seconds, his brain refusing to process what he was seeing before he walked over to a crate and sat down hard, his legs suddenly feeling weak.
"Eighty kiloters," he said out loud, just to hear how insane it sounded. "That’s like fifty miles in nine hours."
He looked down at his body where his ribs were visible through his torn shirt and his arms were thin, muscles eaten away by months of barely eating. When was the last ti he’d run anywhere, really run, not just shuffle away from store owners or dodge other holess guys trying to steal his spot?
The other scavengers were giving him weird looks now, probably thought he was having so kind of breakdown, talking to himself and swatting at invisible flies.
’But what if this is real?’
He examined his hands and the dirt was gone, not just surface dirt but the deep, ground-in gri that never ca off no matter how much he scrubbed in public bathroom sinks. His skin looked healthy and the cuts from digging through trash, the infected scrape on his palm from last week, were all gone.
The golden tube, whatever that thing was, had done sothing to him and changed him.
’Forced Awakening.’
Those two words stared back at him from the floating screen because awakening ant becoming a player, having powers, getting into dungeons, making real money. It ant not dying in an alley like a sick dog and maybe finding out the truth why Kana lied.
The thought of his dead friend made sothing twist in his chest since Kana had lied about that night, turned an accident into murder, but why? What did she gain from destroying his life?
’Only one way to find out, need to get strong enough to make people listen.’
His finger hovered over the YES option while this was insane and his body couldn’t handle this, he’d probably die trying.
But what was the alternative, go back to sleeping under bridges, eating from dumpsters, waiting for the next group of bored kids to beat him up for fun?
’Fuck it.’
He pressed YES.
The screen shimred and disappeared, replaced by a small tir in the corner of his vision showing 8:57:43 and counting down.
He stood up, his knees protesting, and a few experintal stretches made his joints pop like bubble wrap while his muscles were tight, everything stiff from sleeping on concrete for weeks.
"Which way?" he muttered, looking around.
The smart move would be finding the shortest route possible, maybe run laps around a park or sothing, but sothing about that felt wrong because this wasn’t just about completing a mission, this was about proving sothing to himself.
He picked a direction - north, toward the river where everything had gone wrong - and started moving.
The first few steps were awkward, but after a block or two, muscle mory kicked in and his breathing found a rhythm while his arms started swinging naturally.
For the first ti in months, he was moving with purpose.
The sun felt different on his skin, not the harsh, burning thing he usually hid from, but sothing almost pleasant while the wind didn’t cut through his clothes anymore. It was like his body had reset itself, gone back to factory settings.
People stared as he passed, a holess guy in torn clothes running like he had sowhere important to be. So of them pointed while others quickly moved out of his way, probably thinking he’d stolen sothing.
’Let them think whatever they want.’
After about twenty minutes, his legs started complaining as the initial rush wore off and reality set in. He checked the tir.
[Distance: 3.2 km. Ti Remaining: 8 hours, 31 minutes.]
’Only three kiloters? This is going to be a long day.’
By the ti he hit 10 kiloters, his shirt was soaked with sweat and his breathing was getting ragged while a stitch in his side made every step painful.
He slowed to a walk, just for a minute to catch his breath.
A group of kids on bikes rolled past, laughing about sothing on their phones when one of them looked up, saw him, and made a face.
"Ew, Mom, look at that guy."
The woman pulled her son closer, shooting Vell a disgusted look before hurrying away.
’Right, still look like a crazy holess dude.’
He started running again, using the sha as fuel while his body protested, but he pushed through because this wasn’t about them, this wasn’t about anyone but him.
The tir kept counting down as the kiloters slowly added up.
15 km and his legs were screaming.
20 km and his lungs felt like they were full of broken glass.
25 km and he had to stop and throw up in a trash can, though nothing ca up but bile.
He leaned against a wall, watching the tir tick down to 6 hours and 42 minutes left, making decent ti but his body was falling apart.
’Need food and water.’
He dug through his pockets and found his ergency stash - one crushed chocolate bar he’d been saving that was supposed to last him three more days.
He ate it in two bites.
The sugar hit his system like a weak shot of adrenaline, not much but enough to get him moving again.
As the sun started setting, he reached the bridge over the canal, the sa bridge where he used to hang out with Rynn and Kana back in high school when they were just kids with stupid dreams about becoming famous players.
He stopped for a second, looking down at the dark water below.
’Wonder what you’d think of this, Rynn, your loser friend trying to beco a player, bet you’d laugh your ass off.’
[Distance: 30 km. Ti Remaining: 5 hours, 18 minutes.]
Halfway there, but his body was already at its limit.
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