Vincent twirled the black coin in his fingers, inspecting it closely. It was about the diameter of a Coke bottle cap and completely featureless—no symbols, no portraits, no text. Just a dull, black disc.
"What am I supposed to do with this?" he muttered to himself.
Coins were usually for trade, but in the state this world was in, Vincent doubted it had much use. Still, since it came from the creature he had killed, he wondered if there might be something more to it. Maybe, like in games, there could be other useful things to loot from the corpse.
The creature's death hadn't fazed him much. He guessed that was because of his upbringing. His family owned a farm, and his father regularly butchered animals for food. Vincent and his siblings had been forced to help—not because they were expected to take over the business, but because their father believed it would toughen them up.
In some ways, he had been right. Not that Vincent had ever admitted it, nor would he.
Not that it mattered anymore. Vincent stared at the coin, his thoughts drifting to his family—his father, his mom, Sermia, and even his annoying little brother. He'd never see them again. Never have the chance to tell them anything.
"Yeah…" he whispered, shaking his head.
He inhaled deeply, forcing the thoughts away. I wasn't even close to them anymore, he told himself. All that panic about never seeing them again? Just desperate thoughts.
Still, he hovered his hand over the pile of dead, twitching metallic insects, hoping the dark energy from before might activate again.
"Come on," he whispered. "Give me a power. Or a super sword."
Nothing happened.
Vincent groaned, disappointed. The energy clearly came from that strange caller. Either they were trolling him, or there wasn't any more power to be had. He frowned.
"That can't be all," he muttered.
A creaking sound interrupted his musings. Every hair on his body stood on end.
He gripped the sword tightly and turned toward the sound. It came from a triangular steel door on the far side of the room, partially blocked by shattered tables.
If that dinosaur-thing existed, there are definitely more. He pressed his back to the wall, moving cautiously to get a better angle on whatever was behind the door.
Then he saw it. A leg—a shifting mass of metallic bugs, forming a shape both familiar and grotesque. His heart hammered in his chest. He had two options: flee or attack.
Common sense told him to run, but panic would likely attract more of the creatures outside. No, he decided, gripping the sword tighter. I have to kill it.
Vincent advanced cautiously, weaving through the torn-apart chairs and broken tables. Every step was slow and deliberate. His left shoulder throbbed from the earlier injury, but adrenaline kept the pain manageable.
Finally, he reached the door. With one swift motion, he kicked it open and lunged, sword ready to strike—but his blade met no resistance.
Instead, two bodies fell out of the room.
Vincent froze. These weren't more of the metallic creatures. The larger figure was cradling a smaller one, shielding it. Their heads were shaped like three-dimensional triangles, their bodies vaguely humanoid but with four arms each.
The larger corpse, likely the parent, had clearly used its body to protect the smaller one—a child.
Vincent's stomach churned. He stumbled back, bile rising in his throat until he vomited.
"Toughen up," he muttered bitterly. "What a joke."
The monster from before hadn't bothered him because it was just that—a monster. Something without innocence. But these two…
They must have died terrified, in pain and fear. The longer Vincent stared, the more unsettled he felt. He forced himself to turn away, his breath shaky.
"I'd bury you if I could," he whispered. "But I don't have that kind of time."
Vincent moved to a nearby wall, peeking through a hole to scout for more monsters. The one he killed earlier had made that eerie screech when it saw him. Could he rely on hearing that again to detect others?
No. That would be stupid.
He didn't know why the creature screeched. Was it a hunting call? A warning? Something to induce panic? If it was the latter, that meant more were on their way.
And then he heard it. The same screeching sound.
Vincent gasped, heart pounding. But this time, it wasn't just one screech. It was many.
Through the hole in the wall, he saw a pack of them—at least eight—dashing toward the building where he had fought and killed their kind.
"So that's it," he muttered. "They call others to where they think prey is…"
His chest tightened. I need more than just this sword, he thought. I need something long-range. I need powers.
He left the building, moving stealthily from one structure to the next. It was nearly impossible to stay quiet with broken glass and debris scattered everywhere, and the further north he went, the more corpses he found.
Each one he passed was a reminder of the horrors that had happened here. Vincent forced himself to push those thoughts aside and keep going.
Eventually, he reached a small building with star stickers adorning the exterior. A dirty mat lay in front of the door, stained with blood and dust.
Inside, the building was eerily quiet. Broken stools and shattered furniture littered the floor. Vincent moved from room to room, hoping to find some kind of weapon.
Instead, he found dirty bedrooms, a bathroom with a strange toilet-like structure, and nothing remotely useful.
Until he spotted it: another loot box.
Finally, something useful. Vincent hurried over and opened the lid.
Inside was a small red pill.
Vincent frowned, confused. The inside of the chest was green this time, not white. Did the colors mean something? Rarity? Potency?
Think this through, he told himself. But in the end, he picked up the pill.
"This is stupid," he muttered.
Still, he sniffed it. No smell. He touched it to his tongue. Nothing.
Taking a deep breath, Vincent swallowed the pill.
The effect was almost immediate. His entire body tensed, every muscle tightening as if energy surged through his veins.