I wasn't dead.
Probably.
That was the first thought that crawled its way into Zyrha's foggy mind as she lay half-conscious on the dusty ground, staring at a bush that looked just smug enough to be judging her life choices.
The sky was still overhead, still obnoxiously bright, and her limbs still hurt with the same dull, insistent ache as always. Which, if her logic was functioning (a big "if"), meant she had somehow survived the leopard.
Or... had she?
"What if I didn't survive?" she muttered, voice dry as ash. "What if I'm dead and this is just... ghost hunger?"
Because oh, she was hungry.
Not normal hungry. Not "I skipped lunch" hungry. This was existential hunger. The kind of hunger that made her look at a patch of dirt and wonder, very seriously, whether chewing on it might make her feel better or just kill her faster.
[You're not dead.]
There it was again. That voice.
Metallic, echoing, smug. Like someone had installed sarcasm in a computer and given it the power to ruin lives.
"Or maybe I am dead," Zyrha mumbled as she rolled onto her side with the grace of a potato. "Maybe this is hell, and you're my punishment."
[Incorrect. Though I admire the creativity.]
She squinted at the air, as if she could glare a system interface into appearing.
"DreadCore.EXE, right?"
[Correct. System online and tethered to Host: Zyrha, Species: Demon Subclass – Critically Underranked.]
She groaned and pushed herself up on her elbows.
The world tilted slightly, which was rude.
She was filthy, bleeding in three places, and her stomach had started making sounds normally reserved for volcanoes and old plumbing. Her tongue felt like it had been sandpapered, and her last meal had been a shriveled root that may or may not have been alive when she bit into it.
"I swear," she muttered. "If this is some weird coma dream, I'm going to haunt the world."
[You're very much alive. And very much pathetic. Which is why I have something for you.]
She blinked. "A mercy kill?"
[A starter pack.]
There was a bright, digital ding, and suddenly, light bloomed in front of her. A floating window appeared, translucent and glowing faint blue. Inside, little pixelated icons twinkled like presents at a cruel birthday party.
DREADCORE STARTER PACK UNLOCKED!
✧ 1x Loaf of Bread (Stale, but Not Deadly™)
✧ 1x Water Flask (Cool and Questionably Clean)
✧ 1x Basic Iron Sword (Sharp-ish!)
✧ 1x Beginner's Outfit: Shirt + Trousers (Defense +3, Dignity +0)
✧ 100 EXP (You're Welcome)
✧ 1x Skill Unlocked: Echo Thread
Zyrha stared at the list, and her eyes zeroed in on the most urgent item.
The bread.
She didn't even register the fancy blue glow as the item manifested before her in a puff of mist. She lunged for it like a starved raccoon, tore the bread in half with her teeth, and moaned.
"Oh gods," she whimpered. "It's dry. It's crumbly. It's the best thing I've ever tasted."
She devoured it with the speed of a starving hyena, crumbs sticking to her lips and fingers. The flask came next, and she chugged it like it was ambrosia. Which, to her, it was.
Tears pricked her eyes.
Food.
Water.
After days of chewing tree bark and pretending moss was a garnish, this was heaven.
Then came the clothes.
They poofed into existence with a satisfying shimmer, folding neatly on the grass. A plain white shirt, soft and blessedly clean, and a pair of brown trousers that looked sturdy enough to survive minor disasters.
Her current outfit which was mostly shame and an old curtain was quickly ditched behind a bush. She pulled on the shirt and sighed. It was loose, a bit scratchy, and had suspicious stitching along the seams... but it was hers. And warm. And not full of holes.
The pants even had a button.
She stood up straighter.
Almost regal.
Like a garbage princess who'd been handed actual fabric.
The sword materialized last a plain iron blade with a dull gleam and an unimpressed hilt. It looked like it had seen some things and wasn't thrilled to be back in service.
"Hey, I'm not thrilled either," Zyrha told it, strapping it to her belt. "We'll suffer together."
[Level up complete. Current Level: 2.]
"Wait I leveled up from the bread?!"
[From the EXP. Not the bread. Though the desperation was impressive.]
A new notification shimmered open.
Skill Gained: Echo Thread Description: A latent power born from buried potential and sheer spite. Allows the user to tether a strand of their will to a target. At current level: Creates a faint psychic thread to monitor basic emotions or intent. Can evolve over time to manipulate, entangle, or disrupt enemies.Evolution: UNKNOWN. Potential: EXTREME. Warning: Temperamental.
Zyrha blinked she glanced around. The sun was dipping now, casting the world in burnt gold and bruised purple. Her limbs still ached, but her belly wasn't eating itself anymore. That alone made this the best day of her year.
She turned slowly toward the cave in the cliffs.
Home.
Or whatever passed for it.
The walk back took longer than it should have. Mostly because her legs kept threatening to betray her, and once because she got distracted yelling at a crow that stole one of her crumbs.
By the time she reached the cave, her breath was foggy and her arms trembled. But she made it.
She collapsed just inside the rocky hollow and sighed. Her mattress was still a blanket of woven weeds. Her ceiling still had cracks. Jeremy the bat still hung upside down, judging.
But something was different.
She wasn't just Zyrha the Sad Anomaly anymore.
She had a sword.
A shirt.
A skill.
And a sarcastic voice in her head.
"Alright," she said aloud, flopping onto the ground. "Start talking, system. What exactly are you?"
[I am DreadCore.EXE, a multi-dimensional growth system designed to turn disasters like you into threats to society.]
"Touching."
[You will receive quests, gain experience, and unlock skills. If you meet certain requirements, you may even summon loyal subjects.]
"Subjects?"
[Yes. Demon generals. Monster knights. Occasionally a sentient frying pan.]
She stared. "Why do you sound like you're serious?"
[Because I am. This is your story arc, Zyrha. You've got nowhere to go but up. And possibly sideways, depending on your decisions.]
Zyrha squinted at the ceiling, hands behind her head.
"And all I have to do is... trust you?"
[No. But you should fear the alternative.]
She exhaled slowly.
This wasn't normal. This wasn't safe. This wasn't even slightly logical.
But her belly was full, her body warm, and for the first time in what felt like years, she wasn't afraid of sleeping.
"…Fine," she said. "But if you turn evil and try to possess me, I will bite something important."
[Noted. You're adorable when you threaten me.]
Zyrha smiled.
It was tiny. Crooked. And real.
Outside, the wind howled across the Blight like a forgotten lullaby. Inside, a very tired, very underqualified demon wrapped herself in a stolen blanket and drifted off with a sword at her side and a faint glow still clinging to her fingers.
Tomorrow, she'd figure out what a "psychic thread" was supposed to do.