I sat in a replica of an old wooden rowboat; a construct formed from childhood memories. The familiar wooden planks and the chipped, white and green paint had been replaced by black mist and smoldering crimson embers. Around me, choppy waves threatened to upend my tiny craft, the design of which was never intended to be seaworthy.

Beads of half-frozen rain fell around me, covering me in a thick slush that quickly melted as it came into contact with the heat of my body. Despite the freezing air and the frigid water that soaked me to the bone, I did nothing to shelter myself — allowing the rain to fall on me unimpeded.

Instead, I rowed. The repetitive motion, back and forth, it was cathartic. I sat on the rear bench, facing forward. I smiled slightly remembering my father and his never-ending lessons. He would not have approved of my rowing form. I could picture him as he constantly reprimanded me for sitting “ass-backward” every time we would take the boat out on the lake.

I missed those lessons, I no longer had him as a rock to fall back on. No one was there to offer me sage wisdom born out of loving concern and decades of experience. I was alone, only myself and my demons. Demon.

“You can come out now,” I yelled.

For a moment I sat there, only the soft patter of rain and the howling of the wind to bear witness to my words. I felt rather embarrassed, despite no one being there to see me.

“Fisher! I said it is time to show yourself.”

I yelled louder now, feeling like an old man challenging the sea. A cliché from an era long lost to time, hidden now between the pages of oft-ignored tomes.

“Do you think yourself my master?” said a voice on the wind. The sound was clear and yet reminded me of the thud of a hollow wooden box.

“If not me, then who?” I said. “Is not a man the master of himself?”

“Ah, so the simpleton tries on the jester’s hat. Do you speak to me in riddles? Should we match wit-for-wit, like rapier spikes — tit-for-tat?”

“I won’t compete with you in foolishness,” I said. “I only want answers.”

“Then does the wise king bend an ear to beseech the roguish fool? Ask, perhaps I shall deign to speak.”

“You’ve had your words, Fisher. I believe I still have questions,” I said.

Anger rose up in my voice, and I felt my hands balling into fists as I shouted at the creature. At myself. I hated the creature for what it represented in myself, and for the face it wore.

“Then speak your query, prey. You already know all that you must – if you want strength then you must cast aside your bonds – and yet you cling to yours as if familiar shackles did suckle you at merry teat.”

“We. Are. One.” I said. “It’s not true, is it? You’re something else, something more, and something less … human. That’s not what I am.”

“Do not deny your nature, little Finn. The fool - the king- twined they are, creatures both united and apart — one must simply switch a silly cap to see a fool of sovereign made. A Severed sigil upon a silver crown, shattered and scattered upon the seven winds. Find the pieces and claim your chair upon a broken council, waiting and wilting within the sleeper’s dreams. Soon to fade, in waking.”

The creature spoke in a strange way, stilted and quickly changing in tempo and even accent. A Brooklyn accent flowing into a southern drawl or an Irish brogue, as if several speakers were taking turns. Its words would increase in speed as it spoke in forced alliteration, only to slow down to a crawl as its voice deepened and grew steadier as it spoke less poetic words.

“The damned shall fall before you,” it continued. “And the righteous rise up behind your mantle. Hel shall fall before you, but not before taking all that you are. Illusions shall be shattered in her fall, like angels crashing into Earth.”

“You’ve mentioned Hell before,” I said. “What do you mean? How is Hell suppose to fall? You’re making no sense.”

“I need not sense, I am Madness mortal. I am let loose to feast upon the souls, a Fisher King, daring and debonair to snare the wicked and the mad in wild gluttony, like the dulcet songs of hope crashed upon the destined shores of Avalon.”

“I do love these pointless conversations,” I said. “I know I could never come up with something as pointless as … whatever nonsense that was. Just tell me what you are.”

“I’m an answer and a riddle. Both the key and the lock. You must simply know the answer before you ask, and all shall be revealed. Know this young fish, rise above your oppressor, cast aside borrowed power, and you shall cry havoc as you ride across this world, and others, like Wodan upon his slippery steed, the Hunt loyal at your heels in eager chase into the depths of Hel.”

“Again, with the ominous bullshit,” I said. “Kudos on cutting down on the atrocious alliteration, though.”

I waited for a minute, rubbing my temples before continuing. “Just answer me one final question, and please answer with as few words as possible.”

“Speak.”

“Where the fuck am I, and how do I get back to my friends.”

“A simple matter,” it said. “Just follow me, like doomed detritus beneath devoted albatross, undaunted and dogged it guides truly if faith is kept in kind.”

“Right, we were getting along for a moment there and you had to go and ruin it,” I said. With a sigh, I raised my hand and pointing forward. “So that way, then?”

…

The fog of eldritch energy had begun to spread over the water, so it was almost a shock when my boat grounded upon a narrow beach littered with small stones and bits of broken shell.

The boat ride had taken several hours, and I reflected that I probably could have made it back more quickly if I had simply swum using the decidedly odd method of locomotion the Fisher had created for me. I repressed a slight shiver at the thought of allowing that creature to bond with me once more.

It was a useful trick, but one that I had not fully embraced.

The boat ride was not in vain, however, as it had allowed me to process my gains from the previous battle. I wasn’t sure the level of the creature I had slain, as analyze was no longer available to me and I was hesitant to use Eye of Madness in anything but the most extreme situations.

Whatever its level, it had been worth a staggering amount of XP. I had gained six levels with a single kill, bringing me up to level fourteen, though the readout displayed it as (3/11) most likely due to the “dead” levels I had gained before I had a class.

It seemed strange that the system would allow such useless levels to exist if its whole reason for existing was to make its citizens strong enough to resist monsters created by eldritch mutations. Perhaps there was a hidden benefit to these levels or at least a way to remove them.

The six levels I had gained granted me twelve unallocated stat points. When combined with my remaining four this gave me more than I needed to unlock the remaining ‘pre-tutorial feats’. I guess it was time to collect them. I wondered if I would get a shiny trophy to memorialize the achievement.

Either way, I was running out of reasons to procrastinate.

I immediately put three points into Agility, it was by far my weakest stat and a little extra flexibility would have gone a long way when I was being stretched apart by tentacles monsters — I really hoped that didn’t become a common occurrence.

The feat I was granted, Snake’s Agility, was quite interesting. It would give me a higher level of body control and elasticity that increased as I raised the agility stat. It also had the somewhat creepy ability to ‘increase one's disposition with snakes and other reptiles.” Nothing made my skin shiver more than the thought of having 'disposition' with snakes.

A few points in Agility and Reaction and I’d probably be the best juggler the world had ever seen, even better was the thought that I might be able to keep up with Tiller’s crazy reflexes. Perhaps when this whole apocalypse thing was finished I could find a new gig. Augustus Finn’s Three Ring Circus of Terror and Delight had a nice ring to it.

I decided to increase the rest of the stats in one go — getting over my crippling indecisiveness like ripping off a Band-Aid. Even after putting three points into every stat, I still had four remaining so I did the sensible thing and put them into intellect — increasing the power of my magic, and advancing me closer to another free point in Might.

I put three points into Might, Reaction, and Perception — completing the list. This left me with no more stat points, but a trifecta of new feats – Titan’s Might ®, Timed Reaction ®, and Eagles Sight ®. Each new feat acted to increase the effects of their respective stat. For instance, Eagle’s Sight acted to increase the range of my senses, all senses not just sight.

Titan’s Might doubled my stamina regeneration, while also increasing my physical strength proportional to my remaining stamina, for a 50% boost when my stamina was full. Timed Reaction slowed down my perception of time slightly when I attempted to dodge or make ranged attacks.

And that was it.

I sat in my grounded boat, still staring at my status screen in disappointment. I had been sure that there would have been some benefit to gaining the tutorial feat for every stat and yet there was nothing. I closed and opened the status screen again, looking for notifications … still no new notifications.

I shook my head, realizing my own greed. I already had an advantage almost no one else from Earth had — I might even be unique in not having had to go through the tutorial. I took another look at the feats, really looking at them this time rather than merely seeing them as steps towards something better.

None of them were game changers on their own, but all together they added up to something greater than the sum of its parts. The ability to sense danger sooner and run away for longer might just help me live an extra day, or at least for a few additional seconds. Even then, anything more than surviving seemed a faraway goal best left to contemplate in later, safer times. I was in hostile territory, alone, and with no idea if my friends had even made it across the river.

If I wanted to find them I had to move, I stepped onto the ground, my boat dissolving as soon as I had left it. In front of me were dunes covered in thick patches of tall beachgrass. I could feel small creatures, infected with eldritch energy, crawling beneath the hills of sand and through the reedy grass.

Behind the dunes, I could make out the U-shaped courtyard of a hotel. Its once grand exterior was now broken and collapsed, its wooden skeleton and sun-bleached interior exposed to the cleansing rays of daylight. The building had the feel of a rotting cadaver, waiting to be feasted upon by scavengers.

I slowly crept closer to the hotel but stopped when I noticed the smell of smoke and charred flesh. It was overwhelming, as I hadn’t yet adjusted to my newly enhanced senses. The boost to Focus allowed me to filter out the smell, at least partially, but it was a constant distraction.

I continued to move forward with small, precise movements. I was careful to keep low, never allowing any part of my body to rise above the dunes. Now that I had seen how incredibly powerful system-enhanced senses could become, I wouldn’t underestimate any creature’s ability to sense me through my amateur attempts at stealth. If I could smell them, they could probably smell me.

As I reached the crest of the dunes, I lay prone and slowly crawled forward on my belly. Sand clung to my wet jumpsuit and got stuck in the folds of my leather jacket. My boots and belt were gone, but I had somehow managed to keep my grandfather’s aviator jacket. I was amazed that it hadn't been torn to shreds yet ... in fact, it didn't seem to have taken any damage.

In the distance, a small band of vaguely anthropoidal creatures huddled around a bonfire. The creatures had odd proportions, each with a pair of mismatched heads, short legs, and arms long enough to drag behind them on the ground. They had dark green skin and patches of black fur that ran down the center of their backs and clumped like thick rugs upon their chests.

The largest slept, leaning against the side of the hotel with a chunk of charred meat still dangling from its open, greasy hand. None of the other creatures so much as dared to look at the vulnerable meal, instead staring at the small flank of meat being slowly roasted upon the fire.

“Can you get close without being seen?” I sent my thoughts to the Fisher.

The only answer I received was a feeling of injured pride as a small kingfisher flew over my head and directly towards the ruined hotel.

“I hope he heard the ‘without being seen’ part,” I said, letting my face fall into the sand.