John gaped at the [Forest Shambler, Lvl 1].

It had a tag that appeared right over its head, telling John what it was exactly. At the same time, the game prompt fed him some more background information almost instantly. When he focused past the see-through message box, it disappeared. Without the notification in his face, John noticed the shambler had gained ground.

Now there were sixty feet between him and the walking corpse.

Oh, no

No, no. No. Oh, hell no!

John was not going to put up with this. He refused. He fought people. He didn’t fight monsters.

His fear made his body jittery. His feet tapped around like they didn’t know what to do. But John had been under intense pressure before due to boxing. He knew how to direct all that manic energy with intent.

He didn’t outright turn away from the shambler. Who would want to give that thing their back? He ran laterally instead.

He glanced in the direction of his run and found himself on a wide, loamy trail. It winded around the tall trees surrounding him.

The shambler turned to follow, but it lived up to its name. It shambled and lost ground behind John’s quicker movements.

After a while, the shambler became a pinprick that melted with the forest backdrop. It was lost to the forest’s shadows and tendrils of creepy mist trails.

But John was just as lost.

At least he wasn’t winded. Spooked like all hell, yeah, but he was athletic, and he could move.

His new boots were surprisingly light and supple around his feet. And his new threads didn’t constrict him. He was alright. He felt like he was doing alright. He still glanced back the way he came in case the shambler stopped shambling and started sprinting. Nothing dangerous appeared behind him.

That was freaky as hell!

John started to slow down. The trail thinned. Ahead of him, John saw his path get pinched between thickets of plants that reached over him. A gnarled tree with moss hanging off the branches slumped over the narrow passage.

It looked dark in there. And weird.

It gave him the heebie-jeebies and made his chest itch a lot. His chest itched when he got super nervous.

John felt he was in a scary movie. Or a scary game. And he was the participant that could actually make the main person of the horror situation do the smart thing. Because the main person was himself for once.

He was not just a viewer here.

John looked around and found a fist-size rock. Grabbing it, he shook it around. Lobbed it up and down. It was a good rock.

He threw it into the forest tunnel. It hit a branch, rattling it. Then it thumped the ground and rolled across some gravel.

Something moaned raspily. Multiple somethings. An arm shot through the bushes that had concealed one of those damn somethings.

John identified it automatically. A tag popped into view over the creature’s head and read [Forest Shambler, Lvl 1].

Another shambler broke through the vegetation tunnel on the other side. It reached at the spot where John would’ve been if he’d walked through there unsuspecting.

When a third shambler lumbered toward him, the ding-dong prompt reappeared.

Ding! Multiple Forest Shamblers have noticed you. They wish to tear you apart limb by limb. And smash your braaaaaain. What will you do?

John knew exactly what to do.

He turned tail and went lateral again.

John was in a forest. There were other trails he could follow. And he was faster than the shamblers.

Facing the morning light, he ended up blinding himself a little. Not a bright idea, but John made it work anyway.

“That’s a stupid pun,” he said with a smile.

Oh God, how could he smile while getting chased by gamified zombies?

He knew he wasn’t enjoying himself. He might be cracking under pressure. His nerves were definitely stretched thin. If he wasn’t careful, he might gas himself out from all the tension he held in his body.

“Breathe, man. Remember your breathing technique,” John said.

Coach Jackson, John’s boxing coach, would harp on that a lot.

Breathe, boy! Breathe! You’re not underwater spearfishing. You fighting! Breathe. That was Coach Jackson, alright. He was all sorts of crazy.

John figured he needed that craziness right now to keep himself alive. He didn’t want to get caught and torn apart.

A cold and bony hand snagged John’s ankle.

John screamed in a cracking, high pitch voice.

The hand yanked his leg back and tripped him forward.

Someone told him a while ago to fall with his forearms and his chest. It protected your hands. It was a good theory, but the tree root under John made him pay for it. The air in his chest rushed out. His ribs throbbed hard. But that was the least of his concerns.

The hand around his ankle squeezed a tight, painful grip. Then it dragged John back through foliage and dirt. John’s attempts to crawl away failed. Heart in his throat, blood roaring, John twisted around and faced a [Forest Shambler, Lvl 1] that had his leg.

The monster was missing everything beneath its knees. It crawled over John, rasping at him madly. Its eyeless sockets glared darkly into John’s face. It grabbed at him tenaciously, never letting John go long enough to wriggle out from underneath it.

It was all over him. It was stronger than what its boney, rotten appearance suggested. Its skin was cold. Cold as hell. Whatever part of the monster John gripped, he felt a hard, withered, and long-dead corpse that moved defiantly against logic.

The shambler wanted to share the experience of death with John. No matter how hard John tried to shove it off, the shambler clung on. Then it wrapped a hand around John’s neck and started to squeeze.

Instantly, John’s vision started to blacken around the corners. His throat throbbed with pain under the vice-grip. It was killing him. It really was trying to kill him!

What do I do? What do I do? John asked frantically in his head.

Ding! You have available the blessing, One Good Punch, Rank 1. Try using that rather than failing the tutorial. Please!

John’s mouth was dribbling spit. His eyes were rolling into his head. His consciousness was nearly snuffed out like a small ember under the wrath of cold wind.

But he had faced adversity before. Boxing had pushed him to the brink. Somewhere inside of him, John always knew he had a puncher’s chance to turn things around. With a faint thought, he begged for [One Good Punch] to do something!

His vision nearly went out completely when he saw a bright light that shone through the haze. He had no idea where it came from, but he motioned his arm into a punch anyway.

It was a terrible punch. He had no power under him. It was really an arm push, if anything. Despite the lack of proper setup, he turned his knuckles right before impact. That was ingrained into him after lots of practice.

A sharp, explosive crack reached his ears. The deadly grip around his neck disappeared. The shambler, or parts of it, fell limp on top of him. As grotesque as that was, John was too weak to get it off of him immediately. His vision was still bleary, his throat hurt like hell, and he was barely sure if he was still alive.

What the fuck just happened?

Ding! You’ve defeated your first monster! Although you can’t use your blessing until you have a long rest, it was worth it. Congrats, John! You’ve been rewarded valuable bonus experience. You’ve leveled up from Lvl 0 to Lvl 1. You’ve leveled up again! From Lvl 1 to 2! And again, from Lvl 2 to Lvl 3!

Normally, it’ll take a lot more to level up, but defeating your first enemy is a big achievement. A lot of outerhumans failed where you’ve succeeded. You now have 3 Magic Core Points and 24 Attribute Points.

Even with his mind in a haze, the game messaged him. The second message was stacked over the first message. He could see through them. But he could also read one or the other clearly. And the knowledge of the notification had already imprinted itself in his mind. He could move on quickly if he wanted. But John took the time to read the messages repeatedly, coming to terms with the insanity of it all.

He really, really, really was in a game. And it was out to kill him.

“This is bullshit,” he croaked.