Fog still clings to my vision, thick enough that I can’t tell if I’m standing or falling for a moment. It tastes like cold metal and damp earth, heavy enough to feel physical. I blink hard, once, twice, until the haze pulls back like curtains.
A clearing forms around me.
The trees here aren’t quite right. They lean inward, their tangled branches forming a jagged crown overhead. Moss crawls up trunks like grasping fingers, and patches of trampled grass suggest that something—perhaps many somethings—have passed through here often. A light breeze carries the scent of wet leaves and… fur.
There’s a circular stretch of bare dirt in the center, almost too perfectly shaped to be natural, like the forest deliberately made space for something that didn’t want witnesses.
My system window flickers into existence.
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You have challenged an area boss: The Bramble Brothers
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Of course I have.
The wind goes still.
A rustling noise cuts through the quiet, followed by a chittering sound that is far too smug for anything without eyebrows.
The ground trembles—just slightly—and two large shapes push their way out from behind the ring of bushes lining the clearing.
A giant squirrel bounds forward first, not monstrous, but absolutely oversized in the “someone fed you magical steroids” way. Close to a dog in size, its fur is sleek chestnut, its tail floofier than should be legal, and its expression is… offended? At me?
And then, as if the universe wanted to spice things up, its companion waddles forward. A titanic badger. Mottled black and white fur, claws long enough to qualify as architecture, and approximately SUV-sized. Giant isn’t accurate. Try: apocalyptic wildlife expansion pack.
My tail goes still.
I slap Inspect so fast I might’ve discovered a new input method.
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Thistle (Level 5 | Tier 0)
[Area Boss]
Species: Greater Timber Squirrel
A territorial squirrel empowered by the Bramble Brothers pact. Agile and aggressive.
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Thump (Level 5 | Tier 0)
[Area Boss]
Species: Greater Forest Badger
A stubborn badger granted strength through the Bramble Brothers pact. Slow, but durable and powerful.
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Giving my adversaries a dead-eyed stare, I react in the only way acceptable. I throw my hands up in exasperation, utterly done with whoever designed this world.
“A duo fight? For the first boss? Fantastic. I’ve spawned into a clearance-bin Souls-like.”
They don’t say anything, but I can feel the stars agreeing with me.
I nod solemnly.
“Exactly. Ridiculous design choice. Someone should be fired.”
One of the two beasts shifts, just enough to break the stillness.
That’s all the warning I get.
The badger's muscles coil, and the squirrel’s tail twitches like an over-caffeinated fast-food worker. The air tightens, charged and expectant.
Right. They’re not here for my critique.
“Okay then,” I sigh, rolling my shoulders as I unsheathe my sword. “Let’s get this over with.”
The squirrel launches first, a blur of fur and murderous enthusiasm. I see the intent, the angle, the trajectory. And it… is completely off mark?
It closes the distance fast—shockingly fast—but not accurate. The squirrel sails past me by a generous few feet and slams its claws into the ground like it’s punishing the grass for existing. Soil sprays. Leaves scatter.
The squirrel freezes.
Slowly… the squirrel swivels its head left. Then right. Then down. Then up.
Offended. Betrayed. Possibly questioning its life choices.
I blink at it.
Then, with all the dignity of someone pretending they meant to trip, it goes perfectly still… like maybe if it stops moving, reality will undo the embarrassment.
I glance up at the sky.
Ah. Right.
Squirrels don’t have night vision.
I turn my attention to the badger.
It is staring at the squirrel with bone-deep disappointment.
Then it feels my stare and looks at me.
We stare. We judge. We experience a moment of cross-species mutual suffering.
Then we both sigh.
At the same time.
It’d be funny, if it weren’t so pathetic.
Then the badger rolls its shoulders, claws extending with a metallic scrape. The mood shifts, annoyance evaporating into threat.
I exhale and slip into stance, gravity curling around me like a well-trained dog waiting for a command. The night sky responds, quiet power humming under my skin. Everything feels sharper. Lighter. Easier.
The night is my domain.
The badger lowers its head.
It moves.
Slow at first—heavy, deliberate steps—
Then faster.
Faster.
Faster.
Charging like a living battering ram aimed directly at my chest.
And finally—finally—the real fight begins.
A grin quickly adorns my facial features.
Ignoring the squirrel entirely—because embarrassment is punishment enough—I sprint toward the badger with the confidence of someone absolutely certain they’re about to win.
Turns out confidence does not equal wisdom.
The squirrel goes from statue-still to ballistic missile in a single frame, exploding forward in a blur. I barely clock the motion before instinct takes over and I vault upward, gravity enthusiastically enabling my bad habits.
I soar almost two meters into the air.
World record? Probably. Someone notify the Olympic committee.
I land lightly, smug and graceful.
…for about half a second.
Because the squirrel bolts at me again, slower this time. Definitely a movement skill earlier.
I pirouette out of the way—dramatic, stylish, better form than half the ballerinas I’ve seen online—and prepare to punish it for missing.
Then the badger arrives with the energy of a poorly maintained truck skidding down a mountain, choosing violence by way of roadkill physics.
It tries to run me over.
Absolutely not.
I refuse to die to the fantasy equivalent of a drunk driver. I dash out of its path, barely escaping getting converted into Lyn jam.
The squirrel is waiting for that opening and blitzes forward again, fast again, because of course it can spam its skill. I abandon retaliation, throw myself to the ground, and narrowly avoid becoming squirrel chow.
The badger skids. The squirrel charges. Again.
I roll away, then push off the ground and spring back to my feet.
My skirt flutters dramatically.
I judge myself.
“Eight out of ten.”
Barely passing.
The duo stare. Unimpressed.
Rude.
The squirrel lunges again. The badger lines up another charge. I twirl away from the squirrel— elegant as a murderous figure skater—and that’s when the truth hits me:
It’s not seeing me.
It’s sensing me.
Vibrations.
It heard my voice earlier, sure, but couldn’t lock onto direction. Every hesitation before each dash… it’s recalibrating through the ground.
Great. Love that. My enemy is essentially a fluffy seismometer.
I don't have time to appreciate the realization.
The badger is upon me again, this time choosing to swipe at me with its long, blunted claws. His paw dramatically speeds up as it rushes towards my stomach, signaling the use of a skill similar to Slash.
I barely dodge, proving once again that Dexterity is the best stat. The badger comes to a halt much faster this time, not having as much speed as last time.
My ear twitches.
I spin around immediately, swinging my sword in a wide arc.
“Slash!”
My guess was right, and my aim is true. My sword sweeps towards the squirrel like the reaper's scythe.
And the squirrel just—changes direction mid-air like it downloaded an anime protagonist physics patch.
There are rules to reality and that thing just violated at least seven.
Briefly stunned by the bullshit, I react too slowly to the badger, losing my chance to dodge. It bears down on me, swinging its claws horizontally, threatening to disembowel me.
A dozen strategies whirl through my head like frantic birds trapped in a chimney, some clever, some stupid, some deeply concerning, and all of them wildly risky.
Naturally, I pick the one with the highest chance of success.
Not the least painful though. I’m not that optimistic.
So instead of trying a hopeless dodge, I commit, charging straight in and taking the hit. The badger’s paw slams into me, thankfully blunt instead of clawed… but far stronger than expected.
Oh, and my gravity is still lowered.
Which means the outcome is obvious:
A fox girl takes flight—gracefully, majestically—like a gamer launching their controller after a rage-inducing PvP loss.
Not that I would know such a feeling.
I am, after all, a flawless prodigy who has never lost, never raged, and has certainly never thrown anything in a perfectly controlled display of emotion.
My tail flicks with regal superiority.
Then reality arrives.
The ground rushes up and I land with a noise that can only be described as a strangled duck trying to file a complaint. I bounce. Twice. Hard.
My outfit? Ruined.
My hair? A disaster.
My dignity?
…Pending resurrection.
Vengeance will be mine.
But first—
—I roll through the grass, barely dodging the hyper aggressive rodent.
I scramble back to my feet, ribs burning, eyes sharp. My sword has launched itself into the grass somewhere, but grabbing it would require being alive long enough to reach it, and right now the squirrel has other plans.
It uses its speed skill again.
I dodge. Barely.
The badger follows up with a sweeping charge.
Again, I slip out of its path.
Still barely.
There’s no escape, only momentum. Their momentum.
Soon we fall into a rhythm: a humiliating, exhausting, absurd rhythm.
My pulse thrums with astral energy. My heartbeat becomes thunder in my skull.
The squirrel darts in.
I sidestep.
The badger swipes at me.
I duck and try to make space—
—no good. The squirrel is already back on me, a furry ballistic missile powered by pure spite.
I regret—deeply, spiritually—not picking the Dash skill.
But somehow, I dodge again.
It isn’t skill. It isn’t elegance. It’s desperation wrapped in leftover reflex.
We are locked in a deadly dance.
My weapon is gone, and the duo holds the reins.
Unstoppable aggression from the squirrel.
Overwhelming strength from the badger.
The clearing is wide, open, full of room to maneuver—
—and yet I’m completely trapped.
The bonus regeneration from the stars is healing my wounds and replenishing my stamina, but not fast enough. I need to flip the script, now.
Astral energy surges under my skin, and I reach for the heat aspect. My hands ignite in iridescent flame—warm, contained, like slipping on gloves made of a supernova.
I aim at the badger, ready to fire a blazing projectile—
—or not.
No matter how hard I try to imagine it, the starfire won’t leave my hand. My strangely convenient instincts tell me why immediately. It can only be channeled, not fired. At least, for now.
Worse yet, the flame illuminates the clearing.
Sight restored, the squirrel lunges, erratic, serpentine, no longer relying on straight-line charges.
I click my tongue and extinguish the flame.
Too late.
With a burst of skill-induced speed, the squirrel sinks its teeth into my shoulder, tearing away a chunk of flesh.
Blood blooms from my shoulder, staining the right side of my tunic crimson.
Pain spikes, but clarity overrides it. I twist, narrowly dodging the badger’s retaliatory charge from behind.
Note to self, actually test abilities before relying on them in life-or-death situations.
The dance resumes—relentless, vicious—but now I’m bleeding, slower, and both monsters know it.
They press harder.
Predictable patterns remain, but momentum isn't on my side. If I continue like this, I lose.
And I refuse to lose to the first boss like some average tier peasant limping home from their nine-to-five.
So I reach for the final branch of Astral energy. The one I haven’t touched.
Starlight.
My will diverts the flow, channeling part of it into the light aspect. Instincts follow a heartbeat later.
The squirrel charges. The badger closes in.
It doesn’t matter. I’ve already won.
Instead of dodging, I raise my hand and point.
Starlight flares on my fingertip, exploding in an incandescent radiance so bright I can’t help but cheerfully call out.
“Flashbang!”
The effect is instant.
The squirrel panics, immediately activating its movement skill to flee.
The badger halts mid-charge, head snapping away, eyes seared with celestial agony.
They’re blind.
I’m not.
Time to shift momentum.
I sprint straight toward the badger.
The squirrel recovers quickly—faster than expected—lunging again. But I know its patterns now. I weave past its strikes, closing the distance.
The badger reacts, rearing up, claws poised to turn me into decorative forest confetti.
Then its body glows dull gray.
Its paw accelerates, faster than before.
A combination of two skills, one of which I haven’t seen yet.
It doesn’t matter. It doesn't understand.
The badger's claws make contact, tearing into my body, and ripping me into multiple pieces.
Frankly, even I barely understand it.
The paw ruffles my hair as it flies in front of me, having struck at nothing but air. At least, from my perspective.
Starlight isn’t simply radiance.
Starlight is information.
It can blind, but it can also lie.
I surge forward, and the badger hesitates—confused, afraid—processing the impossible.
But even weirder—
—it can be condensed.
My fingers curl into a loose cylinder, and the starlight gathers, condensing into something tangible. A crystalline spike forms, solid energy, weight and sharpness where there should only be radiance.
Astral energy shifts again, flames crawling along the spike like hungry auroras.
This time, my weapon doesn’t melt.
Reverse grip.
One motion.
I plunge the spike into the badger’s stomach, its chest too high to reach. Not that it matters.
Starfire erupts through the wound.
Notifications appear and are promptly ignored. The squirrel is alive, after all.
It snarls, posture low, rage boiling through every trembling muscle. The burning corpse of its companion casts enough light to anchor its vision again.
I circle it, slow and steady, like a predator.
The same gray aura shrouds its body. Two skills again, speed and power.
It launches like a bullet.
It hits impossible speeds.
It reaches me in less than a breath—
—and tears out my throat.
Then its eyes widen as the expected sensation of biting something doesn't arrive.
The image flickers.
Reality snaps back into place as another starlight spike pierces its spine from behind, severing everything that matters.
The squirrel collapses instantly, lifeless.
I was never where it struck.
It trusted its eyes in a world where light lies.
A fatal mistake.
With the battle over, the notifications flow unabated.
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You have gained the general skill [Footwork (Common)].
Skill has been automatically placed into an open slot.
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You have gained the general skill [Lesser Starlight Manipulation (Uncommon)].
Skill has been automatically placed into an open slot.
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You have slain Thump (Level 5 | Tier 0).
A slight experience bonus has been awarded for slaying a monster 2 levels above you.
You have gained 9 Tutorial Points.
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You have slain Thistle (Level 5 | Tier 0).
A slight experience bonus has been awarded for slaying a monster 2 levels above you.
You have gained 9 Tutorial Points.
Your race has leveled up to level 4.
Your class has leveled up to level 4.
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Area Boss: The Bramble Brothers have been defeated.
Awarding 50 Tutorial Points
A treasure chest has spawned.
Bonus Achievements Activated:
Slayed Area Boss under recommended level → +15 Tutorial Points
Slayed Area Boss alone → +50 Tutorial Points
Treasure chest contents have been upgraded.
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Skill Synergy Detected.
Compatible skills have been identified:
[Lesser Gravity Manipulation (Uncommon)]
[Lesser Stellar Flame Manipulation (Uncommon)]
[Lesser Starlight Manipulation (Uncommon)]
Fusion Result: [Lesser Astral Manipulation (Rare)]
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I mentally file all of it away. I’ll deal with menus, rewards, and random upgrades later.
There is something far more important.
My gaze drifts past the chest sparkling in the grass and lifts upward.
The night sky is vast, endless and impossibly deep. Stars shimmer across it like scattered diamonds, like frozen fireworks, like familiar eyes waiting to be met.
I smooth the edges of my ragged, bloodstained tunic, before pinching the hem of my skirt like it’s silk instead of standard-issue starter cloth, and give the heavens a graceful, theatrical curtsy.
My tail sways rapidly, proud, smug, and utterly victorious.
I smile brightly.
“Did you all enjoy the show?”
The response is immediate.
The sky erupts.
Thousands of distant voices explode in enthusiastic cheering, like a crowd watching a raccoon steal an entire pizza box and sprint off victoriously at 3 AM.
I nod approvingly.
Acceptable praise. Not excessive, not lacking. Just the correct amount befitting my obvious brilliance.
My pulse slowly calms, and fatigue rushes in afterward like a bill collector who finally tracked down my forwarding address.
Even so, my smile doesn’t falter.
Of course it doesn’t.
I earned it.