The forest cracked very close now, no longer a warning, but a harbinger of something inevitable. First, I caught movement, then I saw a mass, and only then did my brain assemble the pieces into a single image. It tumbled out onto the crest of the hill.

  A humanoid illuminated by the last rays of dying light. Standing nearly three meters tall, shoulders as wide as a wardrobe tipped on its side, its entire body covered in matted clumps of brown fur. Nature seemed unable to decide whether it was creating a bear or a man, and in the end, it slapped together something that incorporated the worst of both species.

  The creature's head was elongated, and shaggy locks of hair framed its face in a way that made it resemble Abraham Lincoln (what the hell am I thinking at a moment like this?!). Its arms hung below its knees, fingers ending in broken nails that had never known scissors, and as for the feet, it was better not to look at all.

  It was absolutely naked, save for a layer of filth that seemed to have accumulated since the moment of its birth (or however it came into being). This scared me the most. Firstly, it excluded any possibility of a high-budget prank (a hope for which, as it turned out, I still harbored in my soul): such a sight could never be shown to a general audience and, consequently, could never turn a profit. Secondly, it was a humanoid giant devoid of even the rudimentary shame or intellect required to weave a simple loincloth. Something physical and mindless.

  "Abe" noticed me too, and apparently, he didn't care to ruminate on shame or pranks and immediately set his mind on dinner. He emitted a sound like the screech of rusted hinges and lunged downward. However, the giant failed to account for inertia, slipped on the scree, and went tumbling head over heels down the slope, kicking up a cloud of earth and leaves.

  I did what any... anyone would do: I turned and bolted through the forest as if I’d been promised a free ticket home for a world-record marathon. The opponent's mass exceeded mine by five times, and his musculature by ten, what did you expect? Behind me, a furious roar erupted (hauntingly human, but three times more powerful in decibels) followed by the thud of massive feet on the hapless earth. I didn't want to look back for a multitude of reasons.

  "Fair chances of survival!" So, everyone's chances are equally low?!

  "You have sticks, after all. And even 'something sharp.' Oh, and spells too," Valtar informed me cheerfully. "Newbies always forget about them in the first fight. I blame your imperfect, organic way of storing memory."

  "Right! Thanks!" I exhaled, barely conscious of the words, and frantically activated [Energizer].

  The world seemed to tilt slightly; my legs filled with springy power, my breathing leveled out, and my movements became sharper. I lunged forward, and the first few steps were so fast I nearly slammed into a tree. The forest turned into a green blur of a corridor. A new bar in the corner of my vision began to deplete rapidly, likely showing how much time remained until the spell ended. But at least I stopped feeling the weight of my own body, especially the unaccustomed heaviness of those stupid boots.

  "Oh!" Valtar perked up. "Achievements incoming. I'll just open them myself; you're a bit busy at the moment."

  The notification dot, which I had noticed but couldn't care less about, vanished. So, Valtar really could mess with my interface. Great. Just wonderful.

  "Achievement 'Main Character Syndrome' received! You discovered a roaming mini-boss all by yourself. Congratulations! There is no reward, why waste resources on a potential corpse? You can tell your grandkids about this achievement, provided you don't die in the next five seconds."

  Encouraging, in his own way.

  I leaped over deadfalls, ducked under hanging branches, and weaved between trunks. The giant behind me didn't bother with such complexities; he simply demolished everything that couldn't get out of his way. The sound of splintering wood and his greedy roar didn't fall behind for a single step.

  "Achievement 'Tactical Retreat' received! You realized in time that combat was not on the list of rational decisions." And then Valtar, mockingly to the tune of some bawdy tavern song, began to chant:

  ?Oh, our brave Lex, see how fast he flees,

  Trembling with fear from his head to his knees!

  When the giant showed off his toothy grin,

  Lex wisely decided to save his own skin!

  His soles are a-glimmer, he’s hitting the trail,

  Lest he end up as lunch in a belly so pale!

  Our hero skedaddles with all of his might, Because...?

  "Shut the hell up...!" I barked, adding a very expressive epithet at the end.

  "Fine, run in silence then," he huffed. "And there were nine more verses... By the way, the achievement doesn't provide a material reward either."

  Ahead, in a gap between the trees, a ravine appeared. On its edge, a flimsy outpost had been constructed from branches, mud, and various debris. Small, nimble creatures were scuttling about inside, anthropomorphic ones, of course. Monsters always have to have human proportions, don't they?

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Using the last seconds of [Energizer], I took to the air, vaulted over their fortifications while dodging the jabs of sharpened sticks, and vanished into the thick undergrowth on the other side of the hollow. The pursuer, unburdened by grace, simply plowed into the outpost with his full mass. Screams, the crunching of sticks, and a satisfied roar followed. It seemed "Abe," having worked up an appetite with the run, had found himself a more accessible snack.

  I ran for another hundred meters and collapsed into the tall grass, gasping for air. PE: 5/100. My heart hammered against my rib cage like a trapped bird. A ringing pulsed in my ears, mixed with the echoes of that monstrous roar.

  "Seems you gathered those sticks for nothing," Valtar sighed sadly. "They didn't help you much. By the way, a friendly tip to my Anointed: if you keep running at zero Physical Energy, I'll start subtracting from your base Dexterity. And restoring core attributes isn't like opening a jar of pickles. Even a mother with a towel won't help you there."

  The fear, having lost its immediate threat, now sounded in my head as a dry report: "Autonomic nervous system in a state of extreme arousal. Cortisol spike beyond normal limits. Limb tremors expected." Thanks, [Flameborn], very helpful.

  I lay in the high grass, catching my breath, watching the interface out of the corner of my eye. The Physical Energy bar was filling up surprisingly briskly now that I’d stopped jumping over everything. The fatigue in my muscles melted away like frost on warm skin. Mental Energy, however, even though I’d only spent it on [Energizer], was recovering reluctantly, as if doing me a favor. The logical conclusion was obvious: PE is a tactical resource, spent and replenished in the thick of things. ME is a strategic resource and must be hoarded and applied with surgical precision.

  Meanwhile, night had completely enveloped everything. Once my breathing evened out, I raised my head and began to study where I had brought myself. The forest resembled a living illustration from old European fairy tales—not the sanitized, paperback versions, but the grim originals illustrated by Gustave Doré. The lights that had danced cheerfully during the day now glowed with a cold, cadaverous light, drifting slowly through the thick gloom. They didn't light the path; rather, they made the shadows deeper and meaner. Somewhere far away, wolves howled, making me instinctively look for the moon, but it was nowhere to be found among the alien constellations.

  My gaze caught movement on the roots of an old oak, which resembled a coil of petrified snakes. A child was sitting there. A boy about seven years old, dressed in leaves and leather. He sat in the wooden cradle in the pose of a lazy monarch surveying his domain: torso half-reclined, one leg tucked under his body, chin tilted up. Too calm for a lost child. And too confident.

  It was a bad idea to approach. A very bad idea. A gold-medal winner in the "bad ideas" category. Но [Flameborn] suppressed fear, not curiosity, nor the instincts of an adult. A child in the woods at night is wrong. That needs to be fixed.

  I rose slowly and, treading carefully so as not to crunch any branches (I wasn't doing great—[Acrobat] or not, experience must be earned), I moved toward the tree. The child remained silent. So did I, feeling the air grow thick with tension. Even Valtar shut up, which was a doubly bad sign.

  When I got close enough, the boy finally deigned to grace me with a look. A deep mockery swirled in his large, almond-shaped eyes, though at that moment I dismissed it as a trick of the night shadows. From under his tousled hair, an ear peeked out. Sharp as a knife blade. I froze.

  His hand blurred in the night darkness with unnatural speed, snatching something out of the air. From the vague shimmer of transparent wings, I assumed it was a large dragonfly. The boy brought his fist to his face, curiously examining the fluttering prey. And then he shoved it into his mouth and bit down blissfully.

  Crunch.

  The sound was wet and sharp at the same time, as if an overripe fruit had been crushed. And it wasn't a dragonfly. Dragonflies don't have red blood. A thick dark stream ran down his chin, dripping onto his leafy doublet. Not bothering to wipe himself, the "boy" gave me a wide smile. In the light of a passing blue spark, bloodstained teeth flashed—not human baby teeth, but a row of piranha-like triangles. A tiny, twitching translucent wing and a miniature hand still protruded from the corner of his mouth.

  I shifted my gaze to his hand and discovered a tiny body still writhing in his fingers. It was a tiny flying person. Or rather, it was in the agonizing transition between "is" and "was." I was seized by a primal terror compared to which "Abe" seemed like a generally pleasant man you could knock back a few mugs with by the fire.

  "Aww," Valtar crooned, as if watching a kitten play. "I love these guys. Quick, use [Analyze]! Find out what he is before he gets bored of you."

  I didn't answer. I was already backing away.

  "Ah, right," he continued with regret, "you have zero [Analyze]. That's a Wild Elf. My favorites in this biome. They're bloody marvelous, charming, mischievous, clever, and beautiful..." He paused, savoring the moment. "But no one who has ever met them has ever called them good. Spiteful little bastards," the System concluded affectionately.

  By the time Valtar finished speaking, I was already running. No [Energizer], just pure adrenaline, still hearing that wet crunch in my ears. I raced desperately through the forest in the pitch black, but I simply couldn't not run. If I had turned around and seen that the roots were empty, my heart would have simply burst. It seems [Flameborn] has finally broken.

  "Achievements are not issued twice," Valtar noted as I vaulted over a rotten stump. "If you want to hear my song about your flight again, just ask. It has a couple of soulful passages."

  "Who..." I wheezed, breaking my stride. "Who are those things?!"

  "Well," Valtar drawled lazily, "I'm not supposed to give out such information. It's a violation of the protocol of self-directed world discovery. But..." Pause. "You are my Anointed, and this information is guaranteed to disturb you. So, fine. That furry giant you so shamefully fled from? That was a wandering mini-boss, a half-troll, half-fomor named Urgbalor. Very strong and phenomenally stupid. Quite your polar opposite; you're like literary foils."

  "And those... in the ravine?"

  "The ones he is currently smearing into a thin layer over the logs? Hobgoblin bandits. Nasties, robbers, and murderers. A very social act, thinning their population. I commend you. You already know the Wild Elf. He just had a pixie-thief for dinner."

  "Oh..."

  "See, Lex?" Valtar's voice sounded like a lecturer at a chalkboard. "Everything here is harmonious: everyone has their role. Pixies steal from elves, elves eat pixies, hobgoblins rob wayfarers, half-trolls squash hobgoblins... And your role in this ecosystem so far looks like that of an undecided dessert, scurrying between tables, unable to decide who gets to eat you."