Chapter 3: Tutorial Wolves

The red sky had no sun.

That was the first thing Mason noticed once panic stopped swallowing the edges of his vision. The second was that the light still hurt.

It poured through the black-barked trees in long, bloody shafts, catching on drifting spores and torn leaves, painting everything in the color of fresh arterial spray. The forest around him breathed with wet green heat. Thorned vines crawled up trunks like barbed wire. Fat mushrooms pulsed faintly in the hollows between roots. Somewhere above, something with too many wings shrieked once and went silent.

Mason ran anyway.

His right thigh burned like someone had hammered nails through the muscle. Every stride sent a bright, sick flash up his hip, across his ribs, and into the back of his skull. The stolen goblin skill still clung to him like a bad transfusion—foreign impulses twitching under his skin, urging him to coil, spring, strike. His body had not been built for it. His tendons had protested. His ligaments had screamed. He could still feel the echo of that impossible lunge, the way the world had compressed into a single murderous line.

Behind him, flies gathered around the goblin scout’s corpse.

A part of Mason—the exhausted paramedic part that still knew the smell of ruptured bowels and diesel fuel—kept trying to drag his attention back to the body. Assess airway. Control bleeding. Stabilize C-spine.

But there was no airway to clear. No bleeding to stop. He had killed the creature with a jagged shard of bone and then stolen a piece of what made it alive.

He stumbled over a root and caught himself against a tree. Black bark flaked beneath his hand, sticky sap clinging to his palm like old blood. He sucked in air through clenched teeth. His lungs felt too small.

The broken System window flickered into view at the edge of his sight, as if annoyed that he had dared to keep moving.

BEGINNER REGION DETECTED: THORNWAKE WOODS

Recommended Level: 1-3

Recommended Class: Any

Status: Unregistered / Classless / Error

Compensatory Guidance Protocol initiating…

“No,” Mason rasped.

The window jerked, scattering pixels like sparks.

WELCOME, NEW SOUL!

You have entered your first wild zone. Complete guided objectives to learn essential survival mechanics.

Quest Accepted: A Friendly Start!

Objective: Gather 5 Dewberries.

Reward: 10 XP, Simple Snack, Tutorial Token.

“I didn’t accept anything.”

His voice sounded wrong in the humid quiet. Too human. Too loud.

The forest answered with the creak of branches and the distant crack of something large stepping on deadwood.

Mason pushed off the tree and kept moving.

Dewberries, apparently, were everywhere. Glassy blue clusters hung beneath thorn tangles at knee height, glowing faintly with a gentle, helpful shimmer that practically screamed safe collectible. A child could have spotted them. A half-dead man could, too. The System painted them with small golden outlines whenever he glanced near them.

Tutorial Tip: Resources marked with a gold outline are safe to gather!

A rust-colored beetle the size of Mason’s fist dropped from a branch onto one of the highlighted clusters. The plant snapped shut around it.

There was a crunch. Then a wet sucking sound.

The golden outline blinked, recalculated, and stubbornly remained.

Mason barked a humorless laugh. “Safe. Right.”

He angled away from the plants and shoved through a curtain of hanging moss. It brushed his face with cold fingers. On the other side, the ground sloped downward into a shallow ravine where fog pooled between stones. Water trickled somewhere below, clean and bright and maddeningly inviting.

His mouth was dry. His tongue felt swollen. He had no idea how long he had been in this world, only that death apparently came with dehydration as a bonus feature.

He crouched at the lip of the ravine and scanned.

There. A thin stream cutting through mossy rocks. No obvious predators. No movement except dragonfly-like insects hovering over the water, their transparent wings ticking like tiny machines.

Mason started down.

His injured thigh buckled halfway.

He slid the last few feet on his side, shoulder smacking stone hard enough to knock breath from his lungs. Pain burst white behind his eyes. He lay there for three seconds, teeth locked, waiting for the nausea to pass.

“Get up,” he whispered.

His hands shook as he pushed himself onto his knees. The bone shard he’d taken from the battlefield was still clutched in his left hand. He had been holding it so tightly the jagged edge had cut into his palm. The wound stung. Blood ran in a thin line down his wrist.

He drank from the stream with one hand braced on the bank, expecting poison, parasites, acid, anything. The water was cold enough to hurt his teeth and sweet with minerals. It ran down his throat like mercy.

He drank until his stomach cramped.

Quest Updated: A Friendly Start!

Optional Objective Discovered: Drink Fresh Water.

Progress: 1/1

Reward: Hydration Buff, +1 Survival Familiarity.

A faint warmth spread through his chest. His headache eased by a fraction.

“Survival familiarity,” Mason muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Great. Can I exchange that for pants?”

He looked down at himself. Still wearing the torn remnants of his paramedic uniform, though it had been changed by whatever had dragged him here. The navy fabric was shredded, stiff with dried blood that was not all his. His boots were gone. His socks were blackened and split. His belt remained, miraculously, with an empty trauma pouch clipped to it.

Empty, except—

Mason fumbled with the pouch. His fingers found plastic. He pulled out a pair of nitrile gloves, half-melted together, and a small roll of medical tape flattened almost beyond use.

For a moment, he simply stared.

The sight punched through him harder than the goblin’s spear had. Ambulance bay lights. Coffee gone cold in a cup holder. Mara laughing as she smacked the siren switch with two fingers because the proper button stuck in winter. The bus tilted half over the bridge rail. Children screaming. Diesel slick under his boots.

Then fire.

Then here.

His throat tightened.

Not now.

Mason tore off a strip of tape with his teeth and wrapped his bleeding palm. The tape barely stuck, but it was something. He wound another length around his thigh, pulling tight until the pressure made him grunt. It wouldn’t fix the damage, but compression helped. Compression always helped.

Improvised Treatment Detected.

Skill unavailable: First Aid requires registered class pathway.

Workaround noted.

Status Effect Mitigated: Minor Muscle Tear reduced.

“Requires a class,” Mason said. “Of course it does.”

He got to his feet, slower this time, testing weight. The leg held. Barely.

A cheerful chime rang through the ravine.

Tutorial Tip: New souls should follow the marked path to reach Havenbell Outpost!

Estimated travel time: 22 minutes.

Danger Level: Minimal.

Golden footprints appeared on the moss ahead.

They led straight past a cluster of bones.

Not animal bones. Too many finger joints. Too much torn cloth wrapped around ribs. A broken wooden sign lay nearby, its painted letters faded but legible beneath claw marks.

WELCOME, NEW SOULS!

Below it, someone had scratched a message in dark brown strokes.

DO NOT FOLLOW THE LIGHTS

Mason stared at the golden footprints.

They pulsed helpfully.

“Yeah,” he said. “We’re not doing that.”

He climbed the opposite bank, away from the footprints, away from the stream, away from anything the System seemed eager for him to touch. The forest thickened instantly, as if offended by his lack of cooperation. Thorns snagged his sleeves. Twigs snapped underfoot no matter how carefully he placed his weight. The air grew warmer, buzzing with unseen insects.

Ten minutes later, the System tried again.

Quest Accepted: Stick to the Trail!

Objective: Return to marked beginner path.

Reward: Safety.

Failure Penalty: Increased Encounter Chance.

“Stop accepting quests for me.”

Tutorial Tip: Cooperation improves survival outcomes!

“So does not walking into a pile of corpses.”

Something laughed.

Mason froze.

It was a low, breathy sound from somewhere to his left. Not human laughter. Not exactly. More like a dog learning to imitate a man in the dark.

He turned slowly, bone shard raised.

Between two thorn trees, yellow eyes watched him.

The creature emerged one paw at a time. It looked like a wolf in the same way the goblin had looked like a man—close enough for the brain to recognize, wrong enough for the gut to rebel. Its shoulders stood nearly level with Mason’s waist. Matted gray fur bristled along a spine ridged with thorn-like bone growths. Its muzzle was too long, split by black gums and teeth arranged in uneven rows. A strip of old red cloth hung from its neck like a child’s scarf.

Tutorial Wolf

Level 1

Role: Basic Combat Instruction

Disposition: Hostile

“Basic combat instruction,” Mason whispered.

The wolf’s lips peeled back.

Two more sets of eyes opened behind it.

Then three more.

The underbrush rustled all around him, a soft, coordinated shifting that made the hairs on Mason’s arms stand up. The pack had been there the whole time. Silent. Waiting. The first wolf lowered its head, and Mason saw old blood crusted around its muzzle.

A second window flickered, this one unstable, its edges smeared with static.

Encounter Initiated: Tutorial Wolves x6

Recommended Strategy: Use Class Skill.

Class Skill: Unavailable

Recommended Strategy: Party Assistance.

Party: None

Recommended Strategy: Flee to Guarded Outpost.

Pathing: Compromised

…

Good luck!

“You have got to be kidding me.”

The lead wolf lunged.

Mason moved before he thought.

Not with the stolen skill. Not fully. He stepped sideways, letting the wolf’s body blur past where his throat had been, and brought the bone shard down with both hands. The jagged tip scraped along the creature’s shoulder, opening a shallow red line. The wolf hit the ground, twisted too fast, and snapped at his calf.

Teeth punched through fabric and skin.

Pain tore a shout from him.

He kicked with his other foot, catching the wolf under the jaw. Its head snapped back, but it didn’t let go. It shook him once, violently, and Mason felt muscle tear.

A second wolf darted in from the right.

The goblin fragment inside him flared.

Forward. Strike. Commit.

Mason clenched his jaw and triggered Lunge.

The world narrowed.

His injured leg screamed. His body sprang anyway, ripping free from the first wolf’s teeth in a hot spray. Mason drove straight into the second attacker, shoulder first, with more speed than balance. They crashed together into a thorn tree. Breath left his lungs. Thorns punched through his back. The wolf yelped as the bone shard sank into the soft place under its foreleg.

Skill Used: Lunge (Goblin Fragment)

Stability: 41%

Warning: Musculoskeletal stress exceeding tolerance.

“Yeah,” Mason gasped, “noticed.”

The wolf thrashed. Its jaws snapped inches from his cheek, hot breath rotten with meat. Mason shoved his forearm against its throat and twisted the shard deeper. His tape-wrapped palm slipped on blood. The creature’s claws raked his stomach, leaving burning lines.

Another wolf slammed into his side.

Mason went down beneath gray fur and snapping teeth.

For a frantic handful of seconds, the world became weight, pain, and noise. He smelled wet dog, earth, his own blood. Teeth grazed his ear. Claws scraped his ribs. He jammed the bone shard up blindly and hit something soft. A wolf shrieked.

Not like this.

He had been under weight before. Cars. Collapsed seats. A bus frame groaning above him while smoke filled his mask and someone begged him not to leave their little brother.

Panic was a luxury.

Mason tucked his chin, protected his throat with his forearm, and stopped trying to throw them off. Wolves hunted by pulling down. So he let himself be down.

Then he stabbed upward.

The shard punched into the belly of the wolf atop him. Hot blood poured over his wrist. The creature convulsed, and Mason shoved, using its own body as a shield as another wolf’s jaws snapped into its flank instead of his face.

He rolled with the dying animal, wedging it between himself and the pack.

A health bar flashed in the corner of his vision, jagged and red.

HP: 38 / 100

Status: Bleeding (Minor), Bleeding (Minor), Muscle Tear, Lacerations, Adrenal Surge

“Thirty-eight,” he wheezed. “That’s… not ideal.”

The stabbed wolf twitched once and went still.

Tutorial Wolf defeated.

XP gained: 6

Loot unavailable until encounter resolution.

The remaining five circled.

They had changed. The first charge had been savage, eager, almost careless. Now they watched him with a cruel patience that did not belong in a tutorial. Their paws made no sound on the moss. Thorn-spines lifted along their backs.

Mason pushed himself upright, using the dead wolf as a brace. Blood ran down his calf into his ruined sock. His back burned where thorns had pierced him. The bone shard felt slick and too small.

He needed terrain.

He needed a weapon.

He needed his rig, his partner, a radio, a life that made sense.

One wolf feinted left. Mason flinched toward it. Another came from the right, low and fast.

He tried to Lunge again, but this time he didn’t throw himself at the wolf. He angled the impulse downward, into a single explosive step back.

The skill bucked like a live wire.

His body wanted to go forward. Goblin instincts did not understand retreat. Mason forced it anyway.

Muscles seized. His ankle rolled. But he shot backward just as the wolf’s jaws closed on empty air, and he slammed into the trunk behind him hard enough to rattle his teeth.

Improvised Skill Application Detected.

Lunge parameters violated.

Stability: 28%

“Then adapt,” Mason snarled.

The words surprised him. Not because they were brave. Because they were angry.

He was so tired of systems that only worked if you fit the form. Hospital intake protocols that collapsed under understaffing. Insurance codes that decided pain by spreadsheet. Dispatch algorithms that sent them across town while a kid drowned five blocks away. Now this shimmering afterlife bureaucracy wanted him to gather berries and die on the approved trail because his class field was blank.

No.

The next wolf leapt.

Mason used Lunge sideways.

It was ugly. His left leg fired too hard; his right dragged half a beat behind. Pain split up his thigh, but he moved. Not forward, not back—sideways, a brutal shove through space that carried him past the wolf and into a thorn-choked gap between two trees. The wolf slammed into the trunk where his chest had been. Its skull made a hollow crack.

Mason grabbed a hanging vine with his free hand and yanked.

The vine came loose in a cascade of hooked thorns.

He wrapped it around his forearm once, ignoring the barbs biting skin, and swung it as the dazed wolf turned. The thorn-vine slapped across the creature’s face. Hooks caught in its eyelid and muzzle. Mason pulled with everything he had.

The wolf stumbled forward, blinded and snarling.

Mason drove the bone shard into its eye.

The shard sank deep.

The wolf died with a kick that nearly broke his knee.

Tutorial Wolf defeated.

XP gained: 6

Encounter Progress: 2/6

A third wolf hit him before he could pull the shard free.

Teeth clamped around his left forearm. The tape on his palm tore loose. Mason shouted and slammed his fist against the creature’s nose once, twice, three times. It held on. Its jaws ground down. He felt something shift in his arm that should not shift.

The other wolves closed.

Mason abandoned the shard.

He drove his thumb into the wolf’s eye socket.