The scream tore through the forest.

  Barrett sprinted toward the sound, boots thudding on roots and mud.

  A man lay sprawled in the dirt — one of the office types from earlier — with an arrow buried in his throat. His eyes were glassy, staring past the twin suns. Blood bubbled once, then stilled.

  Around him, the group erupted into chaos.

  Barrett’s pulse kicked.

  Damn, shit just got real.

  He scanned the treeline. Nothing. Just shadows and wind. Then he caught a flicker of movement — an Asian guy about his age, lean build, puffer jacket. Their eyes met; the kid nodded once.

  Fred was the first to speak. “We gotta run!”

  Barrett’s sinister smirk spread slowly. His hand tightened around the machete, knuckles popping.

  “Run,” he said, “and we’ll be hunted down like prey.”

  The blonde with the quads turned toward him. “You have a plan?”

  “Yeah,” Barrett said, eyes scanning the trees. “We stand together. The second they show themselves, we make ’em pay.”

  Fred scoffed. “Great idea, Geronimo. But if you haven’t noticed, you’re the only one with a weapon!”

  “Then I guess it’s up to—”

  A pulse of instinct screamed through his skull. Barrett dove as an arrow hissed past, slicing a line across his trench coat.

  “Gotcha.” Barrett grinned and hurled a rock at where the arrow had come from. The bushes split open.

  [Goblin Grunt — Level 2]

  [Goblin Grunt — Level 2]

  Two little green devils strutted out, golden earrings glinting, rust-pitted axes raised.

  The crowd shrieked. Someone yelled, “Run!”

  Barrett crouched low, trench coat flaring behind him. “I have to…fight,” he said, voice trembling with fake drama.

  Fred gawked. “What the hell are you talking about? Let’s go!”

  Barrett slid his shades down just enough for the blonde to see the fire in his eyes. “No more running. If I’m gonna call myself a real man, it’s time I acted like one.”

  The goblins hissed, advancing in a crouch. Their yellow eyes glittered with malice.

  Barrett touched the dog tags on his neck, letting the moment swell. “My grandfather, a veteran, left these behind ten years ago as a—”

  “Are you gonna fight or not?” the guy in the puffer jacket interrupted dryly. “We don’t have time for a monologue.”

  Barrett’s jaw tightened. This brat was ruining his moment.

  He caught the young redhead with a nervous stare.

  “Yo, kid. Got any mindset coaching for this?”

  She blinked, then smiled nervously. “Uh…one of my books said, ‘Feel the fear and do it anyway!’ So, please go feel it and do it before they get us!”

  Barrett grinned. “Feel the fear, huh?”

  He dropped into a low stance. Trench coat swayed around him like a cape.

  “Let’s dance.”

  Then he charged.

  The first goblin swung wild. Barrett knocked the axe aside with a lazy flick and brought the machete down in a brutal arc, cleaving the creature from collar to hip. It shrieked once and folded like a busted lawn chair.

  [You have slain a Goblin Grunt — Level 2]

  Barrett growled, “Next.”

  The second lunged with a snarl. Barrett spun on his heel, machete whistling. The blade sheared through its chest with the force of a sledgehammer hitting a watermelon. Green gore sprayed across the clearing.

  [You have slain a Goblin Grunt — Level 2]

  The clearing went dead silent. Birds stopped singing. Even the wind held its breath.

  Notifications started hitting the corner of his eye.

  [LEVEL UP!]

  Congratulations, you are now Level 2.

  Free Points Available: 3

  Barrett wiped the blade on the goblin’s vest. Then he drew out a cigar, bit off the end, and struck a match.

  The redhead whispered, “Mister…how did you—?”

  Fred snarled, eyes hard. “Just who the hell ARE you?!”

  Barrett lit the cigar, ember flaring against mirrored shades. “Barrett Donovan. Etch it in your skull so I don’t have to keep repeating myself.”

  He exhaled a perfect smoke ring that drifted toward the trees. “Let’s move. We need a camp before sundown.”

  Fred’s voice cracked. “Unacceptable! We’re not going anywhere until we get some answers!”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Barrett chuckled without turning around. “Suit yourself.”

  He strode off into the forest, trench coat swaying, cigar trailing smoke.

  A smile made its way across his face.

  The legend of Barrett Donovan has begun.

  —

  They walked for another couple of hours, the crowd straggling and sweating under twin suns until the sound of rushing water cut through the forest noise. A wide river shimmered before them, cool and clean, and the group collapsed at the banks to drink and rest.

  Barrett leaned his back against a crooked tree, cigar smoke curling lazily into the alien sky. He muttered under his breath.

  “Status.”

  A faint ding rang in his skull. A blue pane of light unfolded in the air.

  [Name: Barrett Donovan]

  Race: Human (Earth-Origin)

  Level: 2

  Free Points Available: 3

  Strength: 14

  Endurance: 13

  Dexterity: 10

  Mana: 7

  Titles:

  [none]

  Skills:

  – [Iron Reflex] [Bloodline Ability] (Passive: Detects danger moments before it occurs.)

  “At least they got my damn name right.”

  Barrett whistled low. “Not bad for level two.” He jabbed a finger at the glowing screen. “Strength fourteen, baby.”

  Fred, the man in the suit, leaned over his shoulder, squinting. “You can…see your stats?”

  Barrett exhaled a slow plume of smoke right into his face. “Can’t you, suit boy?”

  Murmurs rippled through the group as others tried the same. Confused gasps followed.

  “I don’t…I don’t have any skills!”

  “My strength’s only 7—”

  Barrett barked out a laugh. “That’s life! Some get chewed up.” He slapped the flat of his machete against his palm, flexing the corded muscle of his arm. “And some do the chewing.”

  The group stared, half in awe, half in annoyance.

  While the group deliberated, he felt a finger on his arm. He turned, shades glinting, to see the redheaded girl from earlier. Twin braids, freckled face, she squatted timidly next to him, her long denim skirt covering her knees.

  Barrett slid his shades down a fraction. “Huh?”

  “Hey, Mister, um…” She hesitated.

  “My name’s not Mister.”

  “Mister Donovan…sir?” she corrected nervously.

  Barrett sighed. “What?”

  “My screen says Mana: eighteen. Is that…good?” Her green eyes were wide, hopeful.

  Barrett reclined deeper against the bark, cigar glowing like a coal in twilight. “Magic’s flashy. Great, when you’ve got all day to sit and chant. But in the heat of battle…” He raised his machete, blade catching sunlight. “…you’ll wish you had something sharp and deadly to swing.”

  Her face lit up. “Of course, Mister Donovan. You’re so wise.” She bowed her head as if he were a sage.

  Barrett closed his eyes and groaned. “Now get the hell outta here. This ain’t daycare.”

  The girl retreated quickly, and Barrett’s smirk returned as he puffed his cigar. Around him, the river gurgled, the suns beat down, and the rest of the survivors argued over their meager stats. He stretched, satisfied.

  So far, so good.

  —

  He glanced over at his “bloodline ability” [Iron Reflex]. It couldn’t be a coincidence. The old man must’ve left him with more than scars.

  Barrett glanced at the surrounding survivors, unsurprised to find that groups were already forming. A few loud ones argued about who was in charge. Some of the quiet ones drifted toward whoever looked confident. A few of the sharper types were comparing stats, sketching plans in the dirt.

  Two men swung the rusted axes taken from goblins, blades whistling awkwardly. One nearly clipped the other’s ear.

  Barrett watched from behind his shades, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Total noobs.”

  They froze, turning toward him. He hadn’t realized he’d said it out loud.

  “How about something more constructive?” said a bald, barrel-chested man. His tone was calm, but his eyes were filled with pure resentment. Barrett knew the type. In the gym, they were called “ego lifters”.

  Barrett grinned. “Work on your footwork. Every swing’s throwing your ass off balance.”

  “And how exactly do we fix that?” the man shot back.

  “Easy.” Barrett tapped ash off his cigar. “Hands on your hips.”

  The two exchanged a look, but obeyed.

  “Now bend forward,” he said, deadpan.

  They both hesitated.

  “You want my help or not?” he barked.

  They bent forward. Barrett bit his lip to hold it in.

  “Good, good,” he said, chuckling as he pulled the cigar from his mouth. “Now shake that thing!”

  His laughter boomed through the clearing. The bald one glared; the other just muttered, “Stupid jerk,” and walked away.

  Barrett wiped a tear from his eye, his shoulders shaking. “Lighten up, boys. You’re too stiff!”

  Off to the side, a woman in a charcoal pantsuit cupped her hand. A ball of flame sputtered, hissed, and fizzled. She cursed, tried again.

  How cute. Maybe I’ll have her light my cigar when I run out of matches.

  A few feet away, the little redhead was crouched in the grass, throwing sticks and leaves into the air, whispering words like she expected them to transform. She scrunched her face in concentration until her freckles practically disappeared.

  Barrett barked a laugh. “It’s leviosaaah, not leviosugh.”

  She blinked at him, confused.

  “Probably don’t let you read that in homeschool,” he muttered, brushing her off.

  He leaned back against the tree, surveying the group like a general reviewing fresh conscripts.

  Then she appeared.

  The blonde with the granite quads.

  —

  She broke from her group and walked toward him. Each stride was measured, confident. Her ponytail clung damply to her neck, her shoulders gleamed with sweat. The suns caught her in perfect gold.

  Barrett tracked her approach through the reflection on his shades. Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. But his heart picked up, traitorous thing that it was.

  Shoulders like a Valkyrie. Legs that could kick a tank over.

  He took a puff of his cigar.

  Could really use a pep talk from that little mindset brat right about now.

  She stopped a few feet away, shadow cutting across his boots.

  Barrett didn’t look up right away. The first to speak always lost the negotiation.

  When he finally lifted his head, her eyes were already on him. Blue-gray, hard, assessing. Not the look of someone impressed.

  More like someone deciding whether he was worth the trouble.

  “Barrett Donovan, right?” she said. Her voice was low, steady. She didn’t sound scared like the others. Didn’t sound impressed either. “You seem to know what you’re doing.”

  He smirked. “Careful. Keep talkin’ like that and people’ll think you’re flirtin’.”

  “Please.” She folded her arms, muscles flexing beneath the shirt. “I just watched you waste five minutes making two guys twerk for laughs.”

  Barrett chuckled. “Team-building exercise. Builds morale.”

  “Builds resentment,” she said flatly.

  Barrett tilted his head, amused.

  Oh, great. Mom 2.0.

  Out loud, he said, “Got a name, drill sergeant?”

  “Tanya,” she said. “Army National Guard.”

  Barrett nodded slowly. “Figures. You’ve got the posture.”

  She sat beside him, knees drawn up, scanning the treeline. “You seem like you know more than you’re letting on.”

  Barrett’s lips twitched into a smile. “I’m just as lost as the rest of you.”

  Her eyes finally met his mirrored lenses, sharp and unflinching. “Look, I don’t know what your deal is, but people are scared. This isn’t a camping trip.”

  “What do you want from me?” Barrett said. “A hug? A bedtime story?”

  Her jaw clenched. She straightened her shoulders, shaking off pretense. “No one’s buying that ‘prepper convention’ line. You knew something was coming. Maybe not this exactly, but something.”

  That made him pause. The surrounding air seemed to sharpen.

  The forest hum receded into silence, replaced by a low awareness crawling up the back of his neck.

  Barrett’s hand drifted casually toward his machete.

  Tanya noticed. “Something wrong?”

  “Don’t move,” he murmured.

  A heartbeat later, a pebble rolled down the riverbank behind them.

  Then another.

  Across the water, the trees shivered, not with wind, but with weight.

  Barrett rose slowly, cigar still burning between his teeth. “Break time’s over.”

  He gave her a half-grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

  “We’ve got company.”

  Damn, he thought, I’ve been dying to drop that line.

  Tanya’s muscles tensed. “What is it?”

  Barrett’s gaze tracked the rippling treeline, every instinct screaming.

  “Something that’s about to find out which of us chews…” He slid the machete free with a soft metallic hiss. “…and which of us gets chewed.”