Low branches crowded the narrow spaces between trees, forcing him to duck, sidestep, and occasionally flail to avoid getting smacked in the face.

  "Not today," Austin muttered as he bent beneath another branch, brushing it aside with his hand. "The first branch to the face is always the decoy."

  He straightened, eyes scanning ahead. "It's the second one you gotta watch out for."

  He took three more steps.

  Whap.

  "…Called it," he said flatly.

  He kept walking anyway.

  And then—finally—he saw it.

  A dirt path stretched out ahead, cutting cleanly through the forest like a deliberate line drawn by civilization itself. Clear. Open. Intentional.

  Austin stopped.

  Then his face split into a grin.

  "Finally!" he shouted, throwing his arms up in exaggerated triumph. His voice echoed through the trees as if he'd just conquered a dungeon boss instead of surviving a glorified cardio session.

  He stopped at the fork and looked left.

  Then right.

  Both paths stretched on into the forest, equally long, equally quiet, and equally determined to hide whatever horrors they contained. Austin planted his hands on his hips and rubbed his chin, squinting like a philosopher faced with an impossible moral dilemma.

  "Well," he said thoughtfully, "moss already betrayed me once, so we're not trusting nature again."

  He nodded to himself. "Time to bring out the big guns."

  He raised both hands in front of him. "Rock. Paper. Scissors. Shoot."

  His left hand curled into a fist. Rock.

  His right hand flattened. Paper.

  He stared at them.

  "…Wow," he said softly. "Sorry, left hand. Paper beats rock."

  He gave a solemn nod, as if honoring a fallen comrade, then turned to the right and started walking.

  Some people might argue that playing rock-paper-scissors against yourself was impossible, or at the very least deeply concerning behavior.

  Austin disagreed.

  It was a skill.

  A mastered skill.

  He was ambidextrous like that.

  He continued down the path, boots crunching softly against the dirt, his earlier excitement settling into cautious alertness. The forest seemed quieter here—less wind, fewer birds, the kind of silence that made every sound feel suspicious by default.

  Then he saw it.

  Movement.

  Up ahead, something shifted along the path. At first it was just a dark blur framed by sunlight and shadow, indistinct and far enough away that his brain tried to rationalize it as a trick of the light.

  Austin slowed, squinting.

  "…What is that?" he muttered.

  He took another careful step.

  "…Who is that?"

  The shape moved again, closer now, and his stomach tightened. The blur sharpened with every heartbeat, details clicking into place one by one in the worst possible order.

  Humanoid.

  Not human.

  Green skin—sickly, uneven, textured like old leather left out in the rain. A crooked nose dominated its face, and from its lower jaw jutted two thick tusks, curving upward like crude ivory daggers that looked far too comfortable being used as weapons.

  Austin swallowed hard.

  Definitely do not want to get bit by that guy… thing, he thought, every survival instinct in his body screaming at him to slowly—quietly—back away and pretend this encounter never happened.

  But his feet refused to cooperate.

  They stayed planted, rooted to the dirt like they'd signed a contract without consulting him. His muscles tensed instead, coiling tight as wire. His breathing went shallow, barely more than a whisper, and his heart hammered so loudly in his chest that he was convinced the creature could hear it echoing between the trees.

  The thing lumbered closer.

  Up close, the details were worse.

  Its body was inked with tattoos—harsh symbols and jagged lines carved into its green skin in thick, dark strokes. They wrapped around its arms and shoulders, crept up its neck, and even slashed across parts of its face. The markings looked ancient, deliberate, like remnants of some forgotten ritual or violent tradition. Austin couldn't tell if they were ceremonial, cultural, or just meant to make it look more intimidating.

  Either way, they worked.

  Its clothing did nothing to soften the effect. Tattered strips of cloth hung loosely from its broad frame, barely qualifying as garments. The rags clung stiffly to its body, reaching down toward its shins, frayed and discolored beyond saving. They swayed with each heavy step, and Austin had the unsettling impression that they hadn't been washed in months.

  Possibly years.

  His gaze drifted down to the creature's hands, and his throat went dry. They were massive—disproportionately so. Each finger was thick and long, joints knotted, palms broad enough that Austin could easily imagine one of them closing around a skull and ending things with minimal effort.

  Then the wind shifted.

  The smell hit him like a physical blow.

  Austin gagged, slapping a hand over his mouth as his eyes watered. The stench was overwhelming—a foul mix of rot, sweat, and old blood mashed together into something aggressively nauseating. It clung to the air, heavy and persistent, crawling into his lungs like poison.

  He fought the urge to retch.

  Don't be rude, his brain supplied automatically, because of course that was where his thoughts went in a life-or-death moment. It's probably the clothes.

  The rags did look like they'd soaked up years of filth and misery.

  …Though, if he was being honest with himself, there was almost certainly a strong contribution from body odor as well.

  Austin mentally filed the creature under orc, because honestly, what else could it be? Green skin, tusks, intimidating build—fantasy rules were pretty clear on this one.

  The orc slowed, its heavy steps faltering, until it finally stopped just a few feet away.

  That's when Austin realized something was wrong.

  It wasn't standing still because it wanted to.

  Austin could tell that it was struggling.

  The creature's breathing came ragged and uneven. Each inhale sounded like a low growl dragged up from deep in its chest. Each exhale was wet, thick, and labored. Austin's eyes followed the sound downward, and his stomach twisted as he finally saw it.

  The wound.

  Blood poured steadily from its back, spilling down its side and dripping onto the dirt with soft, sickening pats. It soaked into the ground in dark blotches, and once Austin noticed it, he saw the trail—thick drops of the same blood leading back down the path like breadcrumbs of misery.

  "Damn…" Austin muttered under his breath, eyes widening.

  Now that he saw it, he couldn't unsee it.

  The blood wasn't the bright red he expected. It was darker. Thicker. Almost viscous. It glistened oddly in the light, more like oil than anything human.

  How is this thing even still walking? Austin thought, his mind scrambling to catch up with what his eyes were telling him.

  He replayed the moment over in his head—his first glimpse of the figure had been of it running. Not limping. Not dragging itself forward. Running. Sprinting, even. Austin didn't need a medical degree to recognize a mortal wound when he saw one, and the amount of blood pouring out of the orc should've had it face-down in the dirt, not charging through the forest like it had somewhere important to be.

  It didn't add up.

  Unless…

  Super orc, Austin thought grimly, a sliver of reluctant admiration slipping in despite the fear crawling up his spine. Of course my first encounter in this world would be with a walking nightmare.

  Then he caught himself, wincing at his own assumptions.

  Well… I guess I don't actually know what a normal orc looks like here. He swallowed. But based on every game I've ever played, yeah. This thing checks all the boxes.

  Broad frame. Tusks. Murder vibes.

  Why it looked so much like something ripped straight out of a game bothered him—but only in a distant, background-noise kind of way. Maybe there was some lore crossover. Maybe reality had a limited imagination. Or maybe his brain was desperately reaching for familiar patterns so it didn't completely shut down.

  Either way, he didn't have the time—or the spare brain cells—to unpack it.

  The orc closed the final few steps, and Austin felt the shift immediately.

  The creature's eyes locked onto him, curiosity hardening into something sharp and dangerous in the span of a heartbeat. Recognition flickered there. Or hunger. Possibly both. Its lips pulled back as it spoke, the words coming out low, rough, and raw.

  "Lor Do Rack Sha…" it growled, then sneered. "Human shit."

  Austin's breath hitched.

  He wasn't sure if he was more shocked that he could understand the orc… or that the orc was actually talking.

  There was no time to process either realization.

  The orc's hand snapped to its side, and steel flashed.

  Austin's instincts detonated.

  The sword came free in a blur, and Austin stumbled backward as adrenaline slammed into his system. His heart stuttered, his stomach flipped, and his mouth opened on pure reflex.

  "What the—"

  The words died in his throat as the orc lunged.

  Austin had expected a slow, clumsy swing. Something heavy. Something telegraphed.

  What he got was fast.

  Too fast.

  The blade cut through the air where his head had been a split second earlier. Austin barely managed to slide out of its arc, his feet scrambling, body moving on instinct alone. He twisted as he dodged, momentum carrying him behind the orc—and that's when he saw it.

  The thing in its back.

  A jagged shaft—arrow-like, brutal—buried deep between the orc's shoulder blades. Blood seeped out around it in thick, dark rivulets, staining the creature's skin and dripping onto the dirt below. Each movement tore at the wound, leaving a sticky trail in its wake.

  Oh, Austin thought, horror and clarity crashing together.

  That explains it.

  No wonder the orc's sword form was sloppy. No wonder the swings lacked precision. No wonder it was furious.

  If this thing had been whole—if that shaft hadn't been lodged in its back—Austin had no doubt what would've happened.

  If it were uninjured, he realized, cold understanding settling in, that blade would've taken my head clean off.

  His pulse pounded in his ears.

  Lucky for me, Austin thought grimly as he staggered back into a defensive stance, it's dying.

  The Orc tried to advance again.

  Its legs shook with the effort, knees wobbling as if they might give out at any second. Whatever fury was driving it forward was fighting a losing battle against blood loss and ruined balance. It came at Austin with a wide, desperate sideways slash—more instinct than technique.

  The blade skimmed past Austin's shoulder, close enough that he felt the air move.

  Then the sword betrayed its wielder.

  The weapon was too heavy, the grip too loose. The edge clipped the ground and skidded, ripping a harsh metallic scrape through the quiet forest. Sparks flashed as steel bit dirt. The sound rang out like a bell announcing a mistake.

  The orc stumbled forward, momentum carrying it a step too far.

  That was the opening.

  Adrenaline did something strange inside Austin—it flipped a switch and shut off the sensible part of his brain completely. The part that screamed run never even got a chance to speak. Fear burned itself into something sharper, something louder.

  Action.

  Before he could second-guess it, his body moved the only way it knew how.

  Forward.

  Toward the danger.

  His fists clenched as he surged ahead, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst through his ribs. He'd seen enough movies—and gotten into enough stupid fights back in high school—to know that hesitation got you killed. Surprise changed everything.

  Punching is a bad idea, his brain supplied just in time.

  The tusks alone made that clear.

  So his instincts reached back into muscle memory—into the stupid, reckless confidence of being younger, stronger, and convinced he was invincible.

  Drop kick.

  The thought barely formed before he was already moving.

  Austin charged, feet pounding the dirt, then jumped.

  For a split second, time stretched thin. He was airborne, shock flooding his system as realization hit him.

  Holy crap, I can still do this.

  His legs snapped out midair and connected squarely with the orc's upper body in a full wrestling-style drop kick—the same move that had won him the fight against Troy back in high school, the same move he hadn't attempted in years.

  There was a sick, immediate crack.

  A tooth launched from the orc's mouth like a tiny white comet, bouncing once before skittering across the dirt.

  The impact slammed into the orc's already compromised balance. Its eyes went wide, face going slack with pure shock. For one absurd, suspended moment, Austin felt like he was defying gravity—hovering there, adrenaline screaming, staring into the stunned expression of something that had almost killed him seconds earlier.

  Then gravity reclaimed its due.

  They crashed to the ground together.

  The arrow in the orc's back bit deeper as its body hit, driving a wet, choking sound from its throat. The creature coughed violently. Blood burst into its mouth and sprayed the air in a dark mist before splattering across the forest floor.

  Austin rolled away and scrambled to his feet, chest heaving, legs shaking as he turned back toward it.

  The forest seemed to freeze.

  No wind.

  No birds.

  Just the sound of his own breathing and the orc's ragged gasps.

  The creature clawed weakly at the air, fingers flailing as if trying to grab onto something—anything. Then the movements slowed. The strength bled out of it just like the blood pooling beneath its ribs, black and thick, spreading across the leaves like spilled ink.

  Its breaths came thinner.

  Shallower.

  Until they weren't breaths at all—just soft, rattling noises that faded into nothing.

  The orc's eyes rolled back, fixing on some distant point beyond Austin, and with one final, horrible sigh, the life left its body.

  Silence swallowed the clearing.

  Austin stood there, staring down at it, heart pounding, lungs burning, hands trembling at his sides. The reality of what had just happened settled over him in slow waves.

  Then—

  "Hell yeah!" he shouted suddenly, the words ripping out of him before he could stop them. "Who's the shit now?!"

  His voice came out louder than he expected, echoing through the trees, tangled with shock and raw, dizzy relief.

  He blinked at the fallen body, half-expecting something heavy to crash down on him.

  Guilt.

  Horror.

  Regret.

  Something.

  But it didn't come.

  No crushing weight in his chest. No spiraling shame about killing a humanoid being. Instead, there was only a strange, unsettling calm.

  He felt… fine.

  Maybe even at peace.

  Mostly because he was still alive.

  Considering he'd already died once and gotten shipped off to a brand-new world, Austin figured a fight like this had probably been inevitable. He just hadn't expected it to happen this fast.

  He let out a shaky laugh, wiping his hands on his pants.

  "Yeah," he muttered to himself, staring down at the corpse. "That definitely takes second place on my personal list of What the hell just happened? moments."

  First place was still dying.

  But this?

  This was a very close second.

  He pressed his palms together and gave a quick, awkward bow, as if paying respects at a funeral he had accidentally stumbled into. "Rest in peace, super-orc man," he murmured under his breath. "No hard feelings. You came at me with a sword, and, well, I came at you with pure survival instincts. But hey, technically, I didn't even kill you. That arrow sticking out of your back? Yeah, that one's the real MVP."

  Austin stood over the corpse, chest still heaving, trying to piece together why the orc had lunged at him in the first place. What caused this guy to attack me out of nowhere? he wondered. Maybe the orc had been caught between instincts, body screaming run while pride snarled fight, and he'd chosen the latter.

  "Welp," Austin said aloud, shaking his head. "Can't control the past." His eyes dropped to the still body at his feet, and a thought bubbled up—half serious, half ridiculous. "Guess I should be a good gamer now and loot the corpse in front of me. It's just basic RPG etiquette."

  The problem was, no handy inventory tab appeared in his vision. No glowing outline hovered over the body. Just the orc, lying in a pool of blood, looking very… dead.

  "Guess I'll have to loot the old-fashioned way. With my trusty left and right hand," Austin muttered, trying not to gag at the idea of actually touching the thing. He bent down cautiously, nose wrinkling. "Please don't get back up," he whispered, half-joking, half-dead serious.

  In most games, this was usually the part where the boss looked dead—just long enough to lull you into relief before a cutscene kicked in and phase two of the fight began.

  Austin really, really hoped this wasn't one of those moments.

  As Austin stepped closer to the body, the smell hit him again—stronger this time, unavoidable.

  Yeah. No.

  Clothing was immediately ruled out.

  "Oh, absolutely not," he said, recoiling slightly as his stomach churned. "I'm definitely not taking his bloody rags."

  The stench alone felt like it could qualify as a debuff.

  As he shifted his stance, his gaze drifted upward and he noticed something new. The orc's hood had fallen back in death, revealing the full extent of the tattoos carved across its green scalp and forehead. The markings were dense and deliberate, twisting and branching like black veins beneath the skin. They weren't random scrawls—they looked ritualistic. Purposeful. The kind of symbols people etched into themselves for reasons best left unexplored.