"It is extremely hard to find exploits in NWU, they said," Hydrion muttered in an Amelia-mocking voice, tapping furiously at the tablet.
The office was gone. One blink, one tablet grab, and he'd been dumped into a featureless gray chamber, holding Amelia’s tool.
He didn't understand a single glyph on the screen. The language looked like ancient Egyptian waking up in China and trying to write by smashing hieroglyphs into Mandarin characters. Total nonsense—except for one thing: one universal symbol, apparently recognized across galaxies and realities: an arrow pointing up.
"Intelligence thirty-five they gave me..." he grumbled, jabbing the arrow again. "It's unlikely you'll find any exploits... highly unlikely my swampy ass—ah, shit."
The tablet began to sag in his hands, its edges softening, screen bubbling like wax under a flame. He kept hammering the arrow until the thing finally gave up, sizzling into a warped lump. With a sigh, he dropped the spent tool to the floor.
The gray room pulsed red and amber, warning lights strobing across the walls. A voice—definitely not Amelia's—crackled from speakers that hadn't existed a moment before:
"UNAUTHORIZED CONSULTANT TOOL USAGE DETECTED. UNSUPPORTED ITEM DETECTED. ITEM DELETION."
The ruined tablet sparked once, twice, then crumbled into pixelated dust that scattered and vanished.
Hydrion smirked. He'd known it was a long shot, but the urge to screw around and find out had been irresistible. The whole consultation had been about walking a tightrope—annoying Amelia without tipping her into outright rage, squeezing out information, then striking when she thought it was over.
Hopefully, there hadn't been a save button he was supposed to press. That would be a giant waste of time. Still, he was pretty sure it had worked—his body felt different. Internal shifts rippled through him, shockwaves rolling under his skin every so often after he'd hit the arrows enough times.
"And they say my Wisdom is only thirty-three." He shook his head. "That must've been the quickest and most efficient higher education in history."
Grinning, he summoned a stat sheet with a thought. A translucent screen popped into view—only to be immediately buried under a cascade of pop-up windows. He found two of them really interesting.
New Achievement Unlocked!
New Big Name: "Wacko"
New Achievement Unlocked!
Two new stories have been added to your profile: Primordial Exploiter and Pain in the Ass.
Hydrion's eyebrows shot up. "Well, that was quick," he muttered, watching the glowing windows stack up like error boxes on Windows.
He waited for them to fade, arms crossed, tapping one finger against his robe. The smug warmth in his chest wasn't unusual—being a swamp hydra came with a natural understanding of greatness. But it was still nice to have the almighty system confirm what he already knew: he was awesome.
As the last pop-up dissolved into pixels, he leaned forward eagerly. "All right, let's see what genius looks like 'on paper.'"
A translucent stat sheet unfolded before him.
[System Scan: Subject – Hydrion]
Race: Swamp Hydra / Human
Racial Level: Omega
General Level: 1
Faction: Earth2
Class: Healer
Adventuring Style: Melee
Big Names: Wacko
Stories Attached: Primordial Exploiter, Pain in the Ass
Core Attributes
Constitution: 88 (97)
Mana: 70 (77)
Strength: 79 (87)
Dexterity: 60 (66)
Intelligence: 45 (49)
Wisdom: 44 (48)
Charisma: 25 (28)
Speed: 45 (49)
Hydrion's eyes flashed green as he admired his gains—his improved stats, his precious attributes.
Skill Registry
[Unique] Hydra/Human Transformation
Cooldown: 15 minutes
Cost: None
Effect: Fully or partially shift between forms.
Description: You can fully or partially transform into and out of your core being and human form.
[Basic] Identification
Cooldown: 10 minutes
Cost: 1 Mana (Arcane affinity required)
Effect: Analyze a person or object, revealing hidden details.
Description: By focusing your arcane senses on a creature or object, you draw forth concealed truths. This may reveal properties, origins, enchantments, or hidden conditions depending on your stats, the level of the spell, and your familiarity with the target. The clarity and depth of information scale with your Intuition, Perception, Sagacity and familiarity with the object.
[Basic] Minor Healing Touch
Cooldown: 10 minutes
Cost: 10 Mana (Life affinity required)
Effect: Heal a living being for 15-150 HP.
Description: By placing your hands—or forelegs—upon a living being, you channel restorative energy through direct contact. Your understanding of anatomy and magical proficiency determine healing potency, restoring 15-150 HP. Greater familiarity with a creature's physiology increases effectiveness.
[Basic] Acid Breath
Cooldown: 36 hours
Cost: 50 Mana (Corruption affinity required)
Effect: Unleash a torrent of corrosive acid from one or more maws.
Description: You exhale a stream of corrosive acid. Range and damage scale with your current form and your Accuracy stat.
"Thirty-six hours!?" Hydrion exclaimed in dismay. "We'll see about that."
[System Registry: Stories]
By Mistake
Your world wasn't scheduled to be assimilated. The system scrambled to adapt.
Award: Hydra/Human Transformation. Human form limited to 10% stats.
Primordial Exploiter
It took you 0.73 seconds to find and abuse an exploit. Uncommon. Impressive.
Award: +10% to all stats.
Hydrion grinned. That's right. He was a walking exploit—a bug that thought it was a feature.
Pain in the Ass
Your consultant found you infuriating. You ranked in her top three most frustrating players.
Award: +5% to Influence abilities, –1 to Social Skills.
Both of those stories contained longer descriptions underneath, which Hydrion skipped reading for the moment, as the memories were still fresh in his mind.
[System Registry: Big Names]
Wacko
Effect: Erratic behavior disrupts predictive analysis.
Award: Attempts to cast [Identify] on Hydrion yield incomplete or corrupted data.
[System Registry: Special Equipment]
Mighty Hammer of Doctorial Help (Basic Weapon)
Effect: +1 melee damage, +1 accuracy, 5% chance to cause involuntary muscle contraction for 2 seconds.
Description: Awarded for your unusual Class and Adventuring Style combination. This small but sturdy reflex hammer delivers precise strikes and carries a chance to send shockwaves through an enemy’s body, briefly locking their muscles.
Hydrion hefted the hammer, lips curling into a grin. "Perfect. Monsters will tremble at my sight."
He tried sticking his new weapon behind the robe’s belt, but it didn't want to stay there, so he placed it in his front pocket.
There was so much to unpack that his inner heads spun. Where were the mana types listed? Where were Energy, Influence, Social Skills? How was experience even supposed to work for him?
Hydrion shook his head and dismissed the window. No point obsessing. He had work to do, and he couldn't let being a gloriously overpowered swamp hydra distract him from all the fun waiting inside the game.
He examined the small, square chamber that he stood in, with its walls a flat, monotonous underground-parking-lot gray. No doors, no windows—just a single exit: a doorway-shaped shimmer of pale blue and gold, the colors twisting together in a slow, hypnotic spiral. Gone were the alarm lights, and a low static hum filled the air, vibrating in his chest, a reminder that this was no ordinary threshold.
The message couldn't have been clearer.
For a moment, he considered lingering, testing the boundaries, maybe poking the walls just to see if they were as fragile as the office had been. But in the end, he decided not to tempt the system. At least not yet.
With a steadying breath, he stepped into the swirl. No stomach lurch, no dizzying rush, not even a tingle. Just one step, then another, as if walking through a curtain of light.
He almost felt cheated. Where was the nausea, the vertigo, the cinematic collapse of reality? A flicker of disappointment crossed his face, but he brushed it aside.
One moment he was in the gray room. The next, he stepped into a hellscape.
The ground was cracked earth, lifeless and barren. Charred husks of trees clawed at the blood-red sky, heavy clouds sagging low with suffocating weight. Jagged hills and blackened mountains loomed in the distance, scarred as if fire had once rolled across them and never left. The air was metallic and dry, tinged with ash.
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Not far ahead—perhaps a hundred feet—stood a fort. Its palisade was built from the very same trees that surrounded him, their husks hacked down and repurposed into a wall of blackened spears. Splintered timbers bore the same charred texture as the skeletal trunks, as though the forest itself had been burned alive and pressed into service as a barricade. The gate yawned only slightly open, a narrow slit of shadow framed by two guards.
They stood rigid, segmented armor catching the red light like dull iron scales. Short swords hung at their hips, crimson shields strapped to their arms, blending with the sky. Helmets shadowed their faces, cheek guards narrowing them into stern masks. With identical ridged crowns, they looked less like men and more like extensions of the fort itself—disciplined, unyielding, waiting.
Above, crossbowmen leaned over the wall, their weapons angled downward, silhouettes sharp against the blood-colored clouds. The soldiers below did not fidget or shift their weight; they simply stood like statues carved from iron and will, as if the very act of guarding was a ritual older than the fort itself.
Every so often, a head shifted along the top of the palisade, the movement betraying the presence of more soldiers stationed on hidden platforms. The fort was alive with watchful eyes, and though the gate was ajar, it felt less like an invitation and more like a warning.
Hydrion put his hands on his hips. Maybe the scenery wasn't too unique, but it sure reminded him of his past days, making him almost nostalgic.
A sudden boom split the air. From the rocks, a yellow-skinned imp hurled a fireball that burst against the palisade, flames licking harmlessly across the blackened wood.
The response was immediate. A bolt whistled down from above, striking the creature squarely. The imp shrieked as fire consumed it, the blaze so fierce that in seconds nothing remained but a pale skeleton. The brittle frame collapsed, breaking apart like charred branches crumbling to ash.
Before the echoes of the imp's scream had faded, the air shimmered. In a flash of blue and gold, another figure materialized on the scorched ground.
He looked wildly out of place—jeans scuffed at the knees, sneakers dusted from city streets, a faded hoodie half-zipped. A messenger bag still clung to his shoulder, strap twisted as if he'd been yanked here mid-stride.
Not that Hydrion looked much better. He stood amid the apocalyptic wasteland in a plush black robe—the system's gift after his clothes had shredded during his hydra transformation—with the silver head of his reflex hammer poking from its pocket like a kinky accessory rather than a weapon.
The newcomer blinked hard, coughing as the acrid air hit him. Eyes watering, he turned in a slow circle, confusion etched across his face.
From above, a voice cut through the tension—rough, commanding, edged with concern.
An old man leaned over the battlements, his long white beard stirring in the dry wind. Gray, ash-stained robes draped heavily from his shoulders, and a tall, pointed hat shadowed his lined face. In one hand he gripped a staff of dark metal, its surface etched with faint patterns that caught the red light like embers.
"What are you doing out there?" he barked, his tone carrying the authority of someone long accustomed to being obeyed. "It's death to linger in the open. Inside, quickly—before you draw worse upon us."
His call, like everything else, sounded and looked convincing at first—the grit of stone, the acrid sting of ash in the air, the weight of the crimson sky pressing down. It all felt real in every sensory detail.
Then another imp darted from the rocks, shrieking as a bolt tore through its chest. The creature ignited instantly, flames devouring it in a blaze far too clean, too theatrical. In seconds, it collapsed into a familiar looking, pale skeleton that crumbled apart moments later, in exactly the same manner as its predecessor.
A game, after all. Hydrion admired the craftsmanship but shook his head at how much more work it would take to feel truly natural.
Gathering up the hem of his bathrobe, he broke into a jog, plush slippers slapping against the scorched stone as he made for the fort.
"I hope they'll work on it as the game goes on," he muttered, feeling every sharp edge of every single rock he stepped on.
"Oh, they will," he heard a familiar voice in his head.
Voices in his head were a familiar occurrence, but rarely were they so hissy. To outhiss a hydra was an achievement in itself. Also, never had those voices been distinctly female.
He froze mid-stride.
"Amelia?" he asked sheepishly.
"We might have forgotten to go over one tiny detail," she said, venom dripping from her every word. "I'm your consultant. I'll be with you throughout the game. You, and only you, because I got to work with nobody else."
Her voice sharpened further. "Your very own, very pissed, personal consultant. I should probably add 'at your service,' but honestly? Fuck you. I hope you get eaten by an imp."
"Oh, come on, have a sense of humor."
The guy who’d spawned just after him shot Hydrion a wary glance, unsettled by someone arguing with thin air. Apparently, not only Hydrion’s consultant had failed to mention the ongoing cooperation with system liaisons, leaving players to discover the ever?present hotline for themselves.
Amelia's voice hissed in his skull. "There will be plenty of fixes as the tutorial calibrates itself to new realities. You are prohibited from hurting or killing other players on this floor. And for the record, I hope a dragon flies by and relieves itself all over you. Enjoy your game. Bye."
Hydrion blinked. Wow. That was rude. A dragon? Amelia was a meanie.
Sure, he'd wrangled some extra stats, but there were always consequences, and this one was brutal: he was going to play the game with a furious woman lodged directly in his head.
That gave him pause. Wait... if she could talk into his brain, could he talk back into hers?
Now that was worth exploring.
Hydrion shook his head and started toward the gate. Two more imps died in bursts of fire before he reached it, their screams fading into ash. None of them so much as glanced his way, as if he didn't exist. That suited him fine—though he couldn't help thinking it would've been hilarious to see some poor newbie spawn in just to get clocked by a fireball and die on the spot.
Soldiers on the watch barely acknowledged him, their eyes fixed on the horizon as they scanned for danger. The ones inside, however, were a different story.
They looked at him with exasperation, as if he had arrived late to a meeting they had been forced to endure and their patience was on the brink of running out. Usually he was not the one to shy away from the attention, but this one rubbed him the wrong way.
His brows furrowed slightly, forming a faint frown. He opened his mouth to add to their frustrations when, with his next step into the fort proper, the air around him fractured into pixels that gathered and knitted themselves into human figures at his side. There was no dazzling flash of blue and gold; instead, they emerged as though two worlds were overlapping at the threshold. Hydrion’s frown deepened at the sight, and the new arrivals mirrored his unease, stiffening as the realization spread that something was off.
"Move along, move along," A soldier said, giving him a shove forward. "Don't block the passage." He was one of many lining up the sides of the gate, hurrying people in to make place for new pixels.
Did the game just push him?
The game just absolutely shoved him!
He stood there for a second, frozen in shock, before his feet began to walk on autopilot, following the flow of bodies being herded forward.
Even Comcast didn't have customer service this bad. Hell, even *Spirit Airlines* would at least apologize before shoving you toward wherever.
Instead of anger, a chuckle bubbled up from his chest. When was the last time someone had actually shoved him? Must've been over two centuries ago. Or wait—no, it was last century when he was crossing the Atlantic. His Kraken buddy had given him a friendly shove, curious what the hell a swamp hydra was doing in salt water.
Which, fair question. Salt baths were not his thing, they never worked as advertised. Maybe because they were cold instead of steamy warm? Either way, Hydrion preferred his stagnant freshwater pools above all else.
He glanced back at the guard, who was already manhandling the next arrival, completely oblivious to how close he'd come to becoming a teaching moment about workplace conduct.
Hydrion filed it away. Once he figured out the rules, maybe he'd come back and provide some feedback.
Those were NPCs, obviously. And NPCs were like landmines: step on the wrong one and you either got a hidden achievement or a permanent ban. If he killed one now, he might miss a quest later or not be able to interact with any other NPSs. Better to wait, learn the rules, then break them properly.
The fort was already filling with people, more streaming in behind him, gawking at their surroundings as soldiers herded them between rows of hastily built wooden barracks toward a central square where taller, older stone structures loomed. It was obvious these had stood long before the fort itself. The only thing they shared with the timber around them was their blackened state. Jagged cottages of charred stone, their walls threaded with faintly glowing veins of ember?light, ringed the square like watchful relics. Their doors had been crudely reshaped—small, circular arches hacked into larger rectangles—yet the stubborn curves still clung to the frames, a reminder of the village that had been here first.
Once on the plaza, the soldiers seemed to forget them entirely, leaving the crowd free to mingle and mind their own business. As a result, milling about the square were thousands of people in a patchwork of clothing. Some had thrown scraps of leather armor over their street clothes, others clutched weapons—most hanging sensibly at their hips, though to Hydrion’s dismay, far too many had chosen the theatrical absurdity of strapping swords across their backs.
"Hail, great and mighty Hydra!" a familiar voice called from ahead, snapping him out of his musings, and Hydrion grinned.
