I descended slowly back to the riverbank. All my cuts, scrapes, and bruises faded, leaving nothing but faint pink lines. I rolled my shoulders and flexed my neck experimentally. Nothing but smooth, effortless movement. When I looked at my biceps, they were bigger; harder. My pecs and leg muscles now stretched my clothes to their limit. Can you say schmedium?

  I slapped my bicep, “I’m heah to pump…YOU UP!”

  Before everything changed, I stood 6'2" with a solid build, fit from years of Army training and my own commitment to working out. I wasn’t a bodybuilder or a fashion model, but I’d caught my share of second glances. Now... I was something else entirely. Denser. Forged. I could sense the raw, physical potential coiled in my frame, like my body had been sculpted to break things. Crush things.

  Looking at my path, I saw I had to swim or wade across a pool of stagnant swamp water, so hopefully, with the new added bulk, I didn’t sink like a rock.

  I made my way down to the water’s edge, scoping the immediate area for threats. I didn’t see anything swimming, but that meant very little. Gators liked to lurk just below the surface, waiting for a perfect ambush opportunity. As I was about to step into the water, I hesitated as I saw something out of my periphery.

  I turned just in time to see the wide-open white mouth and fangs of the biggest water moccasin I had ever seen flying towards my face.

  “Geeaaaagghhh!” I screamed as I twisted just enough to avoid being pierced like a needle-tomato!

  Holy Doritos! That was close! I thought, and then I remembered I was vulnerable to toxins! Why did I pick that lineage?? My pulse quickened. I could hear the steady beat drowning out all sounds around me as heat rushed to my face.

  The snake landed about fifteen feet away from me, splashing into the water. That didn’t stop its attack in the least. I turned around to find the cottonmouth swimming faster than any normal one I had ever seen. It was probably ten feet long and almost twelve inches in circumference; about the size of a python.

  Was it angry at me? Did I step on its mother or something?

  I stared at the snake for a second, readying myself to hit the dang thing. I saw another banner in my line-of-sight hovering above and staying with the slithering beast as it moved:

  Well, that’s racist. With the snake closing in rapidly, I said, “No” as I turned and got into a baseball hitter’s stance, holding the stick with two hands. Then I remembered I was a one-handed weapons expert. I let go with my left hand and waited.

  A moment later, the snake leapt towards me. It struck from a lower angle this time. I had the high ground. My vision enhanced slightly, almost as if time slowed down, allowing me ample time to zoom in and make a precision swing

  Contact! The slithering sucker almost exploded on impact.

  Why not? "Sure," I said.

  "Well, why didn’t you just say that in the first place? And eww. Gross. No. I wasn't eating snake. Well, not yet anyway."

  I would definitely have to figure out the tool situation. Looting could make a huge difference in games I used to play.

  I kept the stick, even though it was just a stick, and headed back to the water’s edge. I hopped down the bank, testing the impact on my new body. I landed, a little wobbly, but with no tingly feeling in my feet like you get when you jump too far. I should’ve landed in the superhero pose. Opportunity lost.

  I stepped into the water and started making my way across. Thankfully, it was only waist deep. The muddy bottom wasn’t too thick, so I didn’t get my shoes stuck in the muck.

  Across the water, just in front of me, a familiar creature crouched on the bank. Another swamp rat; some referred to them using their proper name: nutria. With slick orange buck teeth and shaggy brown fur, they were usually timid creatures, steering clear of humans unless cornered. Dad and the men in the area would trap them for food or string them up as gator bait. I’d never tasted one myself, and I wasn’t about to start.

  Of course, hovering over the rat’s head was a banner. I guessed this was what my new life would be like from then on. I'll be seeing banners all over the place.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  He hadn’t attacked. He was mean muggin’ me, but he wasn’t aggressive unlike the first two I'd encountered.

  Feeling relatively safe as I waded towards it, I mentally asked for more information.

  I finished reading the text as the rat stared at me, unmoving. Maybe it would leave me alone. I'd killed the first two relatively easily with the stick, so I mentally prepared to defend myself is necessary.

  I was almost out of the water when I felt a tinge of pain shoot up my calf. I looked down to see a second, bigger rat about to bite me again!

  Little bastard! It also had a banner over its head, but I ignored it and hit the prick in the head with my stick.

  The rat didn’t explode like the snake, but it shook its head comically, as if it was trying to make sense of what just happened. Then the buck-toothed bastard bit me again before I could hit it a second time. It sunk those gross orange teeth deep into my calf.

  "Yeoooowwww!"

  With my attention directed solely at the one on my leg, I failed to notice the other sneaky bastard jumping at my chest. It bit down just above my nipple.

  “Motha’-Forget-About-Its!!” I growled. “That frikin’ hurt!”

  I grabbed the one on my chest by the scruff of its neck and threw it as hard as I could at the other one, who was about to bite my leg again. They were both dazed as they rolled a few feet from me. I took my stick, went over to the filthy buggers and proceeded to beat the ever lovin’ crap out of them until my stick broke.

  Great. That was stupid. I thought as I stared at the splintered stick in my hand and groaned.

  I looked at their banners, and, luckily they were both dead. I wondered if I could just see the words “Kill Confirmed” instead of the whole banner. Amazingly, the banners morphed immediately to show that exact verbiage.

  Checking to see how it worked, I acknowledged the message and got the next message asking if I wanted to loot. I ignored it since I was ‘without the tools to loot', I thought, mocking the system. I also ignored the food offer because, yeah, I wasn’t eating that.

  I gained 30 experience points for killing the duo, but I still had no clue how many points I needed to level up. I really needed to see how many total points I had. As if on command, a banner containing information about me popped up.

  With a thought, the banner went away.

  Thankfully, the furry pricks didn’t give me Swamp Fever. Was every son of a biscuit eater out here going to be aggressive. On one hand, I would level up quicker. On the other hand, I broke my stick, so if I didn’t find another weapon, I'd be fist-fighting my way out of here.