Thane exhaled, letting the last remnants of the interface fade from view, and pushed himself to his feet. His muscles tensed, expecting soreness—but what met him was something different. Not absence of pain, exactly, but a strange, tempered strength. Like his body had been reforged rather than healed.
He turned toward the charred remains of his car.
It sat like a monument to absurdity, the once-familiar vehicle now a skeletal husk smudged in soot and warped steel. The fire had long since burned itself out, leaving behind a scorched frame and the thick odor of melted rubber and plastic. He approached slowly, boots crunching over blackened gravel and half-fused bits of glass and crystal, mindful not to step on something that could ruin his boots, and slice his feet open on the remnants of whatever had exploded during the crash.
The back end had fared slightly better than the front. The trunk was bent but not entirely sealed shut. With a grunt and some awkward leverage, he tried to pry it open. It groaned in protest, metal flaking like ash. A slow heat built in Thane's back and arms. The lid of the trunk started deforming. The latch holding the trunk down reached a critical threshold and snapped, trunk flying open in a squeal of metal on metal.
What was that heat? I think opening the trunk got easier as I got hotter. Oh well, I'll figure it out later. Hopefully something useful survived the crash.
Inside, a warped and foamy white mess greeted him—once-orderly tools now twisted into sad, curled shapes. A tire iron bent nearly in half. A jack partially melted, its handle drooping like a wilted flower. His torque wrench securely melted into the red plastic casing it came in. His fire extinguisher had been punctured, foam coating the entire trunk. He dug carefully through the wreckage, moving aside debris. He gave a half hearted chuckle noticing the lack of foam on the trunk floor in the exact shape of the jumper cables he moved to the side. He kept searching for anything even remotely useful.
A safety blanket—half-melted, the reflective foil seared in places like someone had tried to cook it. A flashlight. Broken. Batteries? Toasted. Water bottles, melted and empty.
Still, it wasn't a total loss.
He gathered what he could into a small pile, standing over it with a grim sort of satisfaction. Useless as most of it might be, it was something. A reminder of the world he'd come from—and maybe, if he was lucky, a tool for surviving the one he'd landed in. At least the lumps of metal were something heavy to chuck at a monster.
Thane straightened up, dusting ash and soot, and extinguisher foam from his hands, when a faint flicker caught the corner of his eye.
He turned.
The snake's corpse—still monstrous even in death—was pulsing. A subtle, rhythmic glow throbbed along its scales, the same hue as the system's notifications. It wasn't bright, just enough to draw the eye. Enough to whisper: There's more.
A soft chime echoed in his mind, light and irreverent.
[SYSTEM HINT:]
[You can inspect dead monsters too, genius. Try using that shiny new skill of yours. Go on. Don't be shy.]
Thane blinked, then laughed under his breath. "Right. Identify. Of course."
He took a few slow steps closer to the beast, the heat from its earlier death still clinging to the air like a warning. His eyes narrowed, and with a thought, he cast the skill.
A window bloomed into view—
[REGION BOSS: LVL 150]
[MONSTER TYPE: GIANT HYPNOTIC CRYSTAL ADDER]
[DESCRIPTION:]
[The Giant Hypnotic Crystal Adder is a solitary creature. Known for its mesmerizing beauty, that is deadly just to look at. The Giant Hypnotic Crystal Adder lives far from civilization, and is only spoken of in myth. Able to sense vibrations in the ground for miles around, not many dare tread in its territory. The Giant Hypnotic Crystal Adder's only defense is its offense. Able to melt the mind of any who see the kaleidoscope of reflected light. It rarely needs to fight as almost all who approach it die. Blessed with keen magical senses any living being with a hint of magic is spotted immediately. The few who both can and dare to get close are ended by the lightning fast speed of its strike. Equipped with a potent neurotoxin with no known antidote the wise give Giant Hypnotic Crystal Adder a wide berth.]
He read through it in silence, the words landing one by one like stones in water. Level 150. So far beyond what any level one had any right to face.
When he finally closed the window, he didn't move for a long moment.
The thing should have killed him. No hesitation in that truth. He didn't win because he was stronger. He won because he was shielded, had no magic, and approached from above. Because he got lucky. Because the system was low on energy after an error.
He let out a low breath and looked down at the pile of salvaged junk.
I should be dead.
The thought didn't carry fear anymore. Just clarity. A faint hum built beneath his skin, whispering that death had missed—but it might not miss again.
Just as he turned to step away, another chime rang out—this one sharper, more insistent. A new notification winked into existence, hovering like an eager child waving its hand.
[SYSTEM HINT:]
[Looting is a thing, you know. Want to see what you got for not dying horribly?]
Thane blinked at the prompt.
Loot. Right. Of course there's loot.
He hesitated for only a second before thinking, Yes.
The moment the thought solidified, the massive snake corpse began to dissolve—first at the edges, then rapidly, its entire form breaking apart into flickering motes of light. They lifted into the air like embers caught in a breeze, then blinked out, leaving behind a hollow silence.
In the space where the creature's body had once sprawled, something floated.
A weapon hovered in the still air, slowly rotating—head down, haft extended toward him—as if presenting itself for inspection. A wicked spiked ball of obsidian-colored metal, hung from a cruel chain coiling down from a haft shaped like a serpent's body. Ethereal purple smoke wafted off the weapon; the air around it carried a faint pressure, like heat without warmth.
Below it, glowing text began to materialize.
[Soul Rot Mourning Star]
Thane stepped forward, drawn to it like iron to a magnet, eyes locked on the weapon as it gently turned in place.
He'd fallen out of the sky, killed a boss with a burning car, and unlocked magic that didn't make sense. And now he was being handed something that looked like it could punch through a tank.
Okay, he thought, a slow grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Now we're talking.
Thane took another step toward the weapon, then stopped, squinting at the text now pulsing beneath it.
[Soul Rot Mourning Star]
[WARNING: Binding this weapon to your soul will prevent you from ever equipping another weapon or off hand item like a shield.]
ACCEPT BIND? [YES] [NO]
His brow furrowed.
Wait. What do you mean binds to my soul? Where is the description? Is this cursed? –It certainly looks cursed.
The weapon hovered there, patient and menacing, as if it knew exactly what it was offering—and didn't care whether he was ready or not.
Thane scratched the back of his head, glancing back at the blackened shell of his car, then at his melted tire iron still half-embedded in the trunk.
Soul-binding sounds a bit… permanent. What if I find a sword later? Or a gun? Or—I don't know—a rocket launcher?
He stared at the weapon for a long moment.
But there was something about it. Something in the air, in the gravity of it. It didn't feel like a trap—it felt like a choice. A bad idea maybe, sure, but he'd already been dropped out of the sky, wrestled a snake to death, and somehow unlocked magic based on momentum. Maybe this was his path now. Weird, reckless decisions and figuring it out as he went.
Fine.
He took a breath and mentally selected [YES].
The weapon pulsed once with violet light, then shot toward his hand like it had been waiting for the signal all along.
He caught it on instinct—and immediately regretted it.
The weight of the Soul Rot Mourning Star nearly yanked his shoulder out of socket. The spiked ball dangled heavily from the chain, swaying with sinister momentum. Thane adjusted his grip, feet bracing wider, and gave it a cautious swing.
It looped around midair once, then smacked into the dirt with a dull, thudding thwomp that shook through his wrist.
[SYSTEM HINT:]
[Try inspecting it again genius, before you hurt yourself]
Identify.
[Soul Rot Mourning Star]
Type: Weapon
Rarity: (Soul)
[Description: This weapon has bonded to your soul. You will never be able to wield another weapon, or even a shield. This is a growth weapon. As you progress in your journey you will hit certain mile markers, or break points. This flail will evolve with you. The aesthetics will morph to your whim. The shape, length, weight, size and all other attributes will change to best suit your evolving fighting style. You can only have one soul bound item. Soul bound items are few and far inbetween. They reside outside the normal scale of item rarities. They cannot be stolen or lost. They cannot be destroyed. Others attempting to wield a soul bound item will experience backlash damage to their soul.]
Dimensions:
Haft: 2.5 feet
Chain: 3 feet
Head: diameter 1 foot to spikes
Requirements: Level 1
Soul Bonded
Two Handed
Never use another weapon
Never use a shield
Abilities:
Growth
Trailing Rot Cloud
???
???
???
???
???
???
[WARNING: THIS ISN'T A BAT]
"Okay," he muttered, dragging it back up. "Maybe don't swing it like a baseball bat –geez."
He tried again—this time slower, more deliberate—and nearly clocked himself in the shin.
The flail spun lazily, heavy and awkward, as if mocking him.
He stood there in silence for a beat.
"…Cool," he said flatly. "Absolutely useless with it. That's promising."
Still, even with the terrible form, the unearned confidence, and the very real threat of self-inflicted injury, something about the weapon thrummed in his grip. It wasn't just metal and spikes. It was potential. Dangerous, brutal, and—if he ever figured out how to use it—probably devastating.
One step at a time, he thought, steadying it again. Try not to die to friendly fire first.
With the haft resting on his shoulder and the ball and chain swinging behind him, he felt like a hobo with a bindle. It swung awkwardly behind his back—more decoration than weapon at this point—Thane took one last sweep around the courtyard. Charred ground, scorched car, the fine dust of whatever that snake's crystal used to be. Nothing else caught his eye. Thane turned to the manor's front doors.