The moment he selected Pugilist, something changed.

  Not like the level-ups. Those had been warmth, gradual, a gentle knitting of muscle and bone. This was different. This felt like someone had reached inside his chest and rewired him from the ground up.

  His hands burned—not with pain, but with awareness. He could feel his knuckles individually, feel the bones in his fingers, the tendons in his wrists. His whole body felt more present somehow, like he'd been living slightly out of focus and someone had finally adjusted the lens.

  A notification appeared:

  CLASS ACQUIRED: [Pugilist] — Grade E

  You have chosen the path of the fist. Your body is your weapon. Your will is your edge.

  Skill Acquired: [Impact] — Grade F

  Channel focus into a single strike. Increases damage based on commitment and timing. Most effective when fully committed to the blow.

  Status Updated:

  Name: Nate Rowe

  Level: 5

  Grade: F

  Class: Pugilist (Grade E)

  Stats:

  Strength: F

  Speed: F

  Durability: F

  Perception: F

  Willpower: F

  Skills:

  [Impact] — F

  Nate read it twice. Then he looked at his fists.

  Channel focus into a single strike. Most effective when fully committed.

  He didn't know exactly what that meant. But he knew one way to find out.

  The forest around him was quiet. The alpha's body lay where it had fallen, already starting to dissolve—breaking apart into motes of light that drifted upward and vanished. The other hounds had done the same, he realized. Nothing left but bloodstains on the moss.

  He should leave. He'd completed the tutorial. The smart thing was to exit, rest, figure out what was happening in the real world.

  But the forest stretched on beyond the clearing. He could see more trees, more shadows, more places where things might be hiding. The tutorial had asked for ten kills. That didn't mean there were only ten.

  Nate rolled his shoulders, wincing at the wounds that hadn't fully healed. Then he walked deeper into the forest.

  He found another hound within five minutes.

  It came at him the same way the others had—fast, low, going for his legs. But this time, something was different. He saw it coming earlier. Not faster reflexes exactly, but better reading. The way its weight shifted before the lunge, the tension in its haunches, the angle of its eyes.

  He sidestepped and threw a right hand.

  This time, he focused.

  Not on the punch itself—he'd thrown ten thousand punches in his life, his body knew how to do that. He focused on the moment. On committing completely, holding nothing back, putting everything into this single point of contact.

  Something clicked.

  The punch landed and the hound's skull caved in.

  [Feral Hound] defeated.

  Experience gained.

  [Impact] used successfully.

  Nate stared at his fist. The knuckles weren't even torn this time. The strike had been clean, efficient—more damage with less effort. Like the difference between swinging wild and hitting the sweet spot on a baseball bat.

  So that's what the skill did. It wasn't a magic power or a special move. It was... optimization. Taking what he already knew how to do and making it count more.

  He could work with that.

  The next thirty minutes were education.

  He hunted hounds through the forest, testing the limits of [Impact]. It didn't work on every strike—he had to mean it. Jabs didn't trigger it. Defensive punches didn't trigger it. But when he committed, when he threw a shot with genuine intent to end the fight, he felt that click and the damage multiplied.

  It was exhausting, though. Not physically, but mentally. Each [Impact] took something out of him—focus, maybe, or willpower. After four or five in a row, his head started to ache and the skill stopped activating no matter how hard he tried.

  He learned to pace himself. Lead with normal strikes, save [Impact] for the finish.

  [Feral Hound] defeated.

  [Feral Hound] defeated.

  [Feral Hound] defeated.

  Experience gained.

  Level Up! Level 5 → Level 6

  The level-up warmth spread through him again. His headache faded. The wounds on his arms and chest pulled tighter, newer skin forming over raw flesh. He checked his status—still F-rank across the board, but he could feel the difference. Stronger. Faster. More durable.

  Right now, he was still weak. He still had more levels to gain before he could ascend to the next floor. That felt like a lot. But if the scaling kept up, if he kept finding things to kill...

  A scream cut through the forest.

  Human. Female. Close.

  Nate was moving before he made the conscious decision to run.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  He found them in a ravine.

  The kid from outside—the one with the tire iron and the scared eyes—was backed against a rock wall, weapon raised, blood running down his face from a gash on his forehead. Behind him, pressed into a crack in the stone, was a girl. Younger than him, maybe eighteen or nineteen, clutching a kitchen knife with shaking hands.

  His sister. He'd said he needed to find his sister.

  Four hounds circled them. One was already dead at the kid's feet—he'd gotten at least one—but the other four were spreading out, cutting off escape routes, working together the way the pack had done to Nate earlier.

  The kid swung wildly as one of them darted in. Missed. The hound's jaws closed on his calf and he went down screaming.

  Nate hit the nearest hound at full sprint.

  He didn't think about it. Didn't plan it. Just saw the opening and committed—a flying knee that caught the creature in the ribs and sent it tumbling. [Impact] triggered on instinct, and he felt bones shatter under his leg.

  The other three turned.

  Good.

  "Get up," Nate said without looking at the kid. "Get your sister. Move."

  He was already closing with the second hound. It lunged and he slipped left, threw a right hand into its skull. [Impact]. The click, the multiplied force, the crunch of bone. The hound dropped.

  Two left.

  They came at him together—coordinated, one high and one low. Smart. The same trick that had nearly killed him earlier.

  But he'd learned from that.

  Nate dropped under the high one, letting it sail over his head, and met the low one with a knee. Not [Impact] this time—he could feel that he didn't have another one in him yet—but enough to stagger it. He grabbed it by the throat as it reeled and used it as a shield, spinning to catch the second hound as it came back around.

  Jaws closed on its packmate instead of him.

  Nate let go and stepped back, watching them tangle. One was wounded from the knee. The other was confused, mouth full of the wrong target. He waited—one breath, two—until they separated.

  Then he stepped in and finished them.

  [Feral Hound] defeated.

  [Feral Hound] defeated.

  [Feral Hound] defeated.

  [Feral Hound] defeated.

  Experience gained.

  Silence.

  Nate stood in the ravine, breathing hard, surrounded by dissolving bodies. His hands were bloody again. His knee ached from the flying strike. But he was alive, and so were the two people behind him.

  He turned.

  The kid was on the ground, clutching his leg where the hound had bitten him. The wound was bad—deep, ragged, blood pooling beneath him. His sister had crawled out of the crack in the rock and was pressing her hands against it, trying to stop the bleeding.

  "Oh god," she was saying. "Oh god, oh god, Tyler, stay with me—"

  Tyler. The kid's name was Tyler.

  Nate crouched beside them. "Let me see."

  The sister—young, dark hair, eyes wide with terror—looked up at him like she didn't know whether to thank him or run. He didn't blame her. He'd just beaten four monsters to death with his bare hands. He probably looked like a monster himself right now.

  "It's okay," he said. He tried to make his voice calm. "I'm not going to hurt you. Let me see his leg."

  She moved her hands. The wound was deep, but clean—no torn arteries, no exposed bone. The hound had bitten and let go, hadn't had time to shake and tear.

  "He'll live," Nate said. "But we need to get out of here. Can you walk?"

  Tyler gritted his teeth. "I can—I can try."

  His sister helped him up. He was taller than her, heavier, and she buckled under his weight. Nate moved to his other side and took his arm over his shoulder.

  "What's your name?" he asked the girl.

  "Mira." Her voice was shaky but not panicked. Holding it together.

  "I know you," Tyler said through gritted teeth. "Outside the tower. You're the guy who went in alone."

  "Yeah."

  "I told him not to," Tyler said to his sister. "Told him to wait. He didn't listen."

  "Good thing he didn't," Mira said quietly. She looked at Nate. "Thank you."

  He didn't know what to say to that, so he just nodded.

  "You're both alive. That's what matters."

  They moved through the forest slowly. Tyler was heavy, and every step made him hiss in pain. The hounds had stopped coming—maybe Nate had cleared out this section, or maybe they were being cautious now, watching from the shadows. Either way, he kept his head on a swivel.

  "How did you do that?" Tyler asked after a few minutes. His voice was strained, but curious. "Those things—you killed them like it was nothing."

  "It wasn't nothing."

  "You didn't even have a weapon."

  Nate didn't answer right away. How did he explain six years of training? The thousands of hours, the amateur fights, the obsession that had consumed his early twenties before his body had betrayed him?

  "I used to fight," he said finally. "Before all this. It's what I know."

  "Used to?"

  "Injury. Had to stop."

  Mira looked at him. "But you're not injured now."

  "No. The System fixed it."

  They walked in silence for a while. The trees began to thin, and Nate could see something ahead—a shimmer in the air, like heat haze. The exit, maybe. Or something else.

  "Why did you come back?" Mira asked quietly.

  Nate frowned. "What?"

  "You finished the tutorial. I saw the notification—we all got one when someone completed it. Said a challenger had cleared the first floor." She was watching him now, studying his face. "You could have left. Why did you stay?"

  He didn't have a good answer for that. He'd stayed because he wanted to test his new skills. Because he wasn't ready to leave. Because some part of him wanted to keep fighting, keep killing, keep feeling like himself for the first time in six years.

  Not because he'd planned to save anyone.

  "I heard you scream," he said. It was true, even if it wasn't the whole truth.

  The shimmer ahead resolved into a doorway—the same pure darkness he'd entered through, but framed now by an arch of pale stone that hadn't been there before. And beside it, another arch. This one was different—the darkness inside it swirled faintly, and above it, carved into the stone, was a number.

  2

  TUTORIAL FLOOR 1 COMPLETE

  Exit available. You may leave at any time.

  Floor 2 available. Recommended Level: 5-10.

  Note: Other challengers remain on this floor. The tutorial will remain open until all challengers have completed or died.

  "That's the way out," Nate said, nodding toward the first arch.

  Tyler straightened a little. "Thank god."

  Mira was looking at the second arch. "What's that one?"

  "Next floor."

  She stared at it, then at him. "You're not coming with us. Are you."

  It wasn't a question.

  Nate helped Tyler the rest of the way to the exit arch. The kid was pale, sweating, but he'd make it. The wound had stopped bleeding. He'd need rest, food, maybe stitches if anyone out there still knew how to do that. But he'd live.

  "Thank you," Tyler said. His voice was rough. "I mean it. We'd be dead if—"

  "Don't mention it."

  "You should come with us. Rest. There's got to be other survivors, people organizing. You don't have to—"

  "Yeah." Nate stepped back. "I do."

  Mira was watching him with an expression he couldn't read. Not fear, not gratitude. Something more like recognition.

  "Why?" she asked.

  Nate looked at the second arch. The swirling darkness. The number carved above it.

  He thought about the alpha, and the way it had fought him. The challenge of it. The way his blood had sung when he'd finally choked the life out of it.

  He thought about [Impact], and what other skills might be waiting on the floors above.

  He thought about the cracked sky outside, and the towers rising from the earth, and the world that was never going back to normal.

  "Because I need to know what's up there," he said.

  Tyler opened his mouth to argue, but Mira put a hand on his arm.

  "Come on," she said quietly. "He's made his choice."

  She helped her brother through the exit arch. Just before the darkness took them, she looked back at Nate one more time.

  "Don't die," she said.

  Then they were gone.

  Nate stood alone in the clearing. The bodies had fully dissolved now—nothing left but flattened grass and fading bloodstains. The purple sky pulsed overhead through the canopy.

  He walked to the second arch and studied it. The darkness inside was deeper than the exit, more absolute. He couldn't see anything through it. Couldn't hear anything. Just that slow, hypnotic swirl.

  Floor 2. Recommended Level: 5-10.

  He was Level 6. Wounded. Tired. Low on whatever mental energy fueled [Impact].

  He should rest. Should leave. Should be smart about this.

  Nate stepped through the arch.