Earlier bird catches the worm

  The sound of rushing water has a smell to it. Unlike the ocean, which reeks of brine and salt, a river’s scent is more grounded—damp stone, wet soil, and decaying leaves. The pleasant aroma urged me to move quicker to my goal.

  I arrived by the riverside and all but collapsed into the riverbed. The fear of drowning in the rushing current was the only thing that kept me from diving in headfirst. Still, it didn’t stop me from submerging my face into the lukewarm water.

  I drank in long, thick gulps, and when I finally surfaced for air, I nearly coughed up a lung trying to clear my airways.

  Deep breath. Deep breath.

  I leaned back over and cupped some water in my hand to bring to my lips. My initial thirst was quenched—I could afford to be more civilized.

  I drank and drank and drank until I was bloated with water—it was a good feeling. Two days without water in such a humid hellscape had left me dehydrated.

  With my thirst forgotten, I turned my attention to my surroundings. I was still deep in the jungle so the flora present was more diverse than the endless palm trees and broad-leafed bushes near the beach.

  The riverbank itself was a patchwork of bright green moss and a nice assortment of colorful flowers sprouting from the rocky soil. The trees near the river’s edge—crooked cypress, as I decided to call them—bore clusters of red and blue fruit.

  As if on cue, my stomach groaned at the sight of the fruit, shifting my focus to a more pressing concern—figuring out whether it was safe to eat.

  I sat my sword and the vine-rope I’d collected down near the riverside and walked to the closest tree. The fruit on the crooked cypress hung from the higher branches, most of which dangled over the water. It would be risky to go after them, but I needed to eat.

  I started the hard climb up the cypress tree with every intention to fulfill my hunger, but I was let down by the weakness of the branches. I couldn’t climb no matter how hard I tried.

  “You will be in my belly one way or another,” I muttered.

  I turned around to look back at my belongings—I wanted to use my sword as a tool to climb—only to see a small animal fiddling with my things.

  The animal was covered in dark blue fur, and was a facultative bipedal. The closest comparison would be the earth chimp except the blue haired creature had webbed fingers and toes. Its face was hidden by its fur but I could still see tiny canines and a pair of eyes.

  I paused for a second in shock. We, the creature and I, were locked in a staring contest. The animal didn’t seem intelligent, merely curious. As was I.

  I puffed up my chest, raised my hands above my head slowly, and said, “Hey bear. Go away, bear.”

  I kept my voice even-keel. I was afraid to shout and put the animal into a rage.

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  Instead of backing away as I hoped, the animal picked up my sword and started to wave it around in the air.

  “Hey! That’s not a toy!”

  The creature disagreed. It started to run around the riverbank with my sword raised over its head, hooting and hollering like a chimpanzee.

  I watched, in genuine fear as the creature edged closer and closer to the rushing river. It looked like it was going to jump in. The fear of losing my blade was enough to spur me into action.

  I rushed at the creature who stopped running and turned to look at me. The creature saw I was rushing right at it and bared its teeth and let off a shriek meant to deter me from approaching.

  “Hey monkey! Hey monkey! Drop the sword monkey!” I said as I skidded to a stop in front of it. It's funny that I thought changing how I referred to the creature from bear to monkey would elicit the action I wanted.

  It didn’t, of course.

  Instead of dropping the sword, the creature decided to run at me in retaliation, and I did what any sane man would do—I ran in the opposite direction. Well, not exactly the opposite direction. I angled my path a bit toward the rope, hoping to use it in some way.

  The creature couldn’t outrun me while carrying the sword. I was quick and athletic, having done gymnastics until my mother died—my father put an end to it because he thought the sport was ‘for queers’, as he uncouthly put it. But no amount of training could prepare me for fleeing from an enraged alien monkey.

  I ran hard and I ran fast, but it still wasn’t enough. The second I got a hold of the vine-rope, the chimp-like creature was on top of me, fumbling with my sword while trying to pummel me. Thankfully, it wasn't successful.

  We crashed to the ground, face to face, the sword trapped between us. The creature’s arms had gotten tangled in the rope when we fell, leaving it and the weapon stuck while it straddled my chest.

  I twisted my body hard, forcing a barrel roll. I wanted the top position—and I got it. The creature in frustration let out a sputtering shriek, splattering my face with warm saliva.

  Yanking hard on Widower’s hilt, I wrenched the blade free and stumbled back. And then, In one swift motion, I unsheathed Widower and leveled the tip at my adversary, who was still struggling to untangle itself from the rope.

  “Hey monkey! Hey monkey! Hey fucking monkey!” I shouted as a pseudo battle-cry.

  The creature shrieked again but still couldn’t break free from the rope—it was that strong.

  Upon seeing my trapped adversary, my next action was easy to take. The instincts of survival encoded in my DNA by the earliest of man spoke to me without speaking and I dashed forward, piercing the chest of the tiny blue creature.

  The shrieks, oh the shrieks! These I can’t forget. I remember them as if they were only bellowed yesterday.

  The dying creature cried out for a long while until I worked up the courage to end its misery. But from its death I was awarded a gift, a soul stone, a tiny marble crystal present only at the death of a monster or a sentient. It hovered above the dead body of the amphibious creature and sang to me like a siren’s song.

  I plucked the crystal from the air and formed a tight fist around it and when I opened my hand the marble was no longer on my palm.

  A system pop then appeared before my eyes. It said:

  [Monster Slain!] [The first step is often the hardest. Assign stat point.]

  The three major stat point options appeared right after the message: Body, Spirit, and Mana. I chose body for obvious reasons—the other two while good sounding were unknown to me. Body was at least something I could rationalize.

  [Designation: Hiro Johnson 0000127460118]

  [Level: 0]

  [Class: unchosen]

  [Active spells: 1. Unchosen 2. Unchosen 3.Unchosen]

  [Passive spells: 1. Unchosen 2. Unchosen 3.Unchosen]

  [System Arts: 0]

  [Body: 1.1]

  [Mana: 0]

  [Spirit: 0]

  I got a point one addition to the body stat which didn’t amount to much, but like all progress, it compounded as time went on. The effects of a stats compounding nature while having no bearing on the present would soon prove vital to my rise in power.