The single battle point had brought a sliver of hope, a microscopic improvement in Ethan's critical state. But it was just that: a sliver. His stomach gnawed at itself, a hollow ache that competed with the throbbing pain in his side. Thirst was a constant, searing presence. He needed water. He needed food. Without them, even the obsidian stone's subtle healing wouldn't save him.
He pushed himself out of the shallow depression, each muscle screaming in protest. The air, thick with the scent of pine and decay, offered no relief. He moved slowly, deliberately, his eyes scanning the dense undergrowth. His Perception was still low, but his mind, sharper now with the clarity of his past life's memories, compensated. He knew the general signs: broken branches, trampled leaves, discarded trash. Signs of humanity, which often meant supplies, or trouble.
The System flickered.
Host Status: Ethan Miller
Health: 4/10 (Stabilized – Minor healing detected, infection resistance slightly improved).
Stamina: 4/10 (Low – minor restoration).
Strength: 2 (Crippled)
Agility: 1 (Crippled)
Perception: 3 (Impaired – fever, pain).
He ignored the grim statistics. They were just numbers. His will to survive, fueled by Lily's image, was what truly mattered. He knew he was still in deep Georgia wilderness, miles from any significant settlement. The last time he'd checked, they were northeast of Atlanta, though the specific location was fuzzy now. He needed to head southwest generally, but for now, it was about immediate survival.
He stumbled forward, leaning heavily on his bat like a crutch. The forest was eerily quiet, save for the buzz of insects and the distant, almost imperceptible groan of a Walker. He kept his senses sharp, remembering the speed of the Infecteds and the brute force of Thugs. A standard Walker he could maybe handle. Anything else was a death sentence.
After what felt like an eternity, but was likely only an hour of agonizing movement, he spotted something. A faint, almost-overgrown trail, likely an old deer path or a long-forgotten logging trail. And beside it, a faint shimmer of sunlight reflecting off something metallic.
He hobbled towards it, his heart pounding with a mix of dread and hope. It was a discarded backpack. Small, dirty, but intact. It had clearly been there a while, maybe dropped in a panic. He knelt, his knees protesting, and fumbled with the zipper.
Inside, among some rotting clothes, he found a half-empty water bottle. It was warm, tasted vaguely of plastic, but it was water. He drank it slowly, savouring each drop, feeling a fraction of his strength return. The System registered a small uptick in his Stamina. A small, hard bar of granola, slightly crushed, was also there. He unwrapped it, chewing slowly, the taste a revelation. Energy, raw and immediate.
A small victory. But as he ate, his ears picked up a new sound. Not a groan. Not a shuffle. This was faster. A ragged, snarling gasp, and the distinct sound of pounding feet.
An Infected.
He froze, his heart hammering against his ribs. He knew these from the games. Fast, unrelenting, and extremely aggressive. One on one, a healthy survivor might manage. But him? In his state?
Hostile detected: Infected (Class-II). BP potential upon neutralization: 3.
Warning: High velocity hostile. Recommend immediate evasion. Combat probability: LOW.
Evasion. Right. His Agility was 1. He couldn't run. He couldn't hide effectively. He clutched his bat, his knuckles white. This wasn't a choice. This was a fight for his life, again. Three battle points. That was a huge jump. If he could somehow take this thing down, he'd be significantly stronger.
The Infected burst through the trees, a blur of motion. It was gaunt, limbs too long, eyes burning with a rabid fury. It shrieked, a sound that shredded the air, and lunged. Ethan knew its pattern: a flurry of quick, brutal attacks. He didn't have time to think, only to react.
He swung the bat in a wide arc, a desperate, pre-emptive strike. The Infected was too fast, ducking under the swing with a sickening grace. It slammed into him, a surprisingly powerful blow that sent him sprawling back into the dirt, the remaining contents of the backpack scattering. A clawed hand raked across his unprotected arm, tearing new gashes. Pain flared, immediate and blinding.
He roared, a primal sound of rage and defiance. He scrambled backward, kicking out desperately. The Infected shrieked again, its decaying face inches from his, fetid breath assaulting him. It lunged for his throat.
In a move fueled by pure, unadulterated terror and his reincarnation memories screaming at him about their weaknesses, Ethan pivoted, swinging the bat low, aiming for the Infected's legs. He remembered how unstable they were, how a good hit to the knees or shins could disrupt their momentum.
The bat connected with a wet thud, shattering bone. The Infected shrieked, its leg buckling unnaturally. It pitched forward, losing its balance, giving Ethan a precious second. He didn't waste it. With a final, desperate surge of strength, he brought the bat down, again and again, on its head, battering it into a pulpy ruin.
The Infected twitched, screamed its last raspy shriek, then lay still.
Ethan lay there, gasping, shaking uncontrollably. Blood, his own and the Infected's, coated his arms and the bat. His body felt like it had been run over by a truck. But he was alive.
Hostile neutralized: Infected (Class-II).
Battle Points acquired: 3.
Current BP: 3.
Three points. He had risked everything, and it had paid off. His mind was already racing, planning the allocation. Endurance again, definitely. And maybe a point for strength or agility, to help him move. He looked down at the dead Infected, then at his bloodied hands. This was his new reality. A constant, brutal struggle for every single point, for every single meal, for every single breath.
He still had a long way to go, a perilous journey across a world crawling with the dead, both familiar and new. But now, he had a little more strength, a little more stamina, and a burning resolve. The ember was burning brighter.