Azrael’s spear cut through the crystal-clear waters of the lake, narrowly missing a fish. It darted away in a sudden burst of speed. This was the ninth fish that had managed to avoid his spear so far, the rest simply swimming about, blatantly teasing him. If he didn’t know better he would have suspected illusion magic was at play. There was definitely no way that he was really that bad.

Wading into the water he retrieved his spear, and another fish lazily swam by taunting him. Raising his spear in anger he aimed and threw, the fish somehow dodging and swimming away. Frustrated, Azrael watched it escape. He could have sworn it had just thrown a smirk at him. The fish was laughing! The fish was laughing at him! Accepting the challenge Azrael retrieved his spear once more, ready to wreck vengeance on all things fishy in this lake.

Touching the wet spear haft, he experienced a sudden bout of disorientation, as knowledge suddenly flooded into his brain, along with the familiar feeling of something fitting into place. Briefly he wondered if experiences that he gained here would convert into the real world, or if skills were simply the system guiding him.

A glint of light flashed off a fish’s scales, catching his eye. He broke off his line of thought, readying his next throw.

This time as he raised the spear he felt something tugging at the edge of his consciousness. He mentally relaxed, letting the system guide him. His movements became sharper and cleaner, like a train moving along tracks.

Loose shoulders, wide stance, slowly lift the spear up and… throw! The spear entered the water, seemingly too far below the fish, but as he lifted it out of the water, he found the scaly fiend skewered on the point. He raised it to the heavens in a victory pose. None dare mock the mighty hunter!

From that minute onwards on Azrael spent enacted his promised vengeance upon the local fish population. Five, six… seven fish fell prey to his mighty blade… that was until the bindings of his spearhead fell off. Taking that as his cue that he had claimed his rightful due, he collected the broken spear head and returned to the shore. Here he scaled, gutted and cleaned his fish, using the broken blade of his spear. Wrapping some leaves around the fish he headed off homewards.

Nearly an hour later Azrael sat inside his cave, his fish skewered over the crackling flames. He’d spent the better part of the time gathering wood, before making the fire, or trying to at least. It had taken him nearly ten minutes to coax the first flames.

Where was a modern firelighter when you needed one? Or a well-placed magic fireball for that matter. Picking up one of the fish he grumbled, they really made it look too easy in the survival videos he’d watched.

Holding onto the fish skewer he looked behind him, checking a small wood pile. There was enough wood there to last him through the night… he hoped. On the other side of the cave was a pile of stones. These he had retrieved from the base of the cliff. Light, warmth, and ammo. If the wolf came back, he was going to need it tonight.

Absentmindedly he bit into the fish, spluttering and spitting the piece out because it was too hot. Blowing on the fish to cool it down, he shook his head amazed. They could even replicate something like that in a game. It was simply amazing.

For a while he simply sat there, eating his fish and watching the flames, until the steadily reddening clouds heralded the night.

Azrael logically knew he couldn’t go on like this. He was fighting for survival by himself with no plan and no proper preparation. Despite shunning people, he missed sharing these first few moments with others. The triumphs over the small things like catching a fish, or lighting a fire, or even just finding a safe place to spend the first night.

He remembered starting a game with his old guild before he became a pro gamer, where they had struggled to survive on an alien planet, not knowing what was edible, or which creatures shared the planet with them. Or later when he left them after being scouted as a main player for Holy Empire and… his gaze turned cold.

It was a range of thoughts best left alone. They were done. He held no connection with any of them anymore. He’d abandoned his friends for Holy Empire and he wasn’t in a position to seek Holy Empire out for revenge either. However, if they dared show themselves in this game… A chilling howl cut through the dusk, drawing him out from his line of thoughts. It was a reminder that enemies carried both the skins of men and beasts.

Picking himself up from his spot by the fire he collected his repaired spear and walked to the cave entrance. From here he kept watch on the forest, until a shadowy figure revealed itself.

It emerged from the bushes and just stood there, one eye crusted with blood, the other hungry and vengeful. He tried to suppress the excitement welling up from a dark place inside of him, but despite his best efforts a grin crept up onto his face. Tonight their rivalry was going to end, one way or another.

The wolf seemed to sense his resolve and warily trotted out of the bushes, revealing itself, but never truly leaving the line of trees. He gazed at it and it gazed back, the wolf’s good eye glinting hungrily. Azrael frowned. It irked him that despite their previous encounter the wolf still viewed him as prey; dangerous prey, but prey none the less. A mere beast looked down at him. First the fish, now the wolf. Inside of him Azrael felt something snap. He thought he’d lost his pride ages ago, but apparently not.

He had faced armies and eldritch horrors. The wolf should be afraid of him, not view him as food! Annoyed Azrael picked up one of the smaller stones and threw it at the beast. The wolf simply slipped back into the safety of the trees, the stone harmlessly bouncing of a tree trunk.

As the stone hit the ground the wolf trotted out again, giving him a lazy yawn. Azrael hefted a new rock. It seemed someone was begging to be taught a lesson.

This interplay repeated itself several times. It would emerge, baiting him, just out of reach, taunting him. However, when he threw a stone, it would slip back into the shadowed protection of the trees, only to emerge anew. An endless game of attrition. Him unwilling to go down and it unable to come up. Something had to change.

Unfortunately, the something that changed was Azrael running out of rocks. For a good minute he stood there denying that realisation. He should have had enough. He should have hit the wolf at least once!

His opponent likewise seemed to have noted the lack of sailing projectiles and tentatively walked out of the woods. It hesitated for a moment, uncertain, waiting for a trap - another stone, but when none was forth coming, it turned seemed to smile at Azrael. Gloating, it strutted along the edge of his cliff.

It was in that moment that Azrael’s last bit of patience seemed to burn away. Here he was, cornered by an animal in a damn game. Not a scary one, not a big one, but a wolf. A wolf! A god-damn overgrown mutt! He’d faced powerful undead liches, alien armies and blood cultists and now here he was cowering from an oversized puppy! An. Over. Grown. GOD. DAMN. PUPPY!

Thinking of Holy Empire earlier had put him in a bad mood and with his vision positively glowing red he launched himself at the wolf, his spear tight in his grasp. It was time blow off some steam and show this literal son of a bitch who was boss.