Ricardo wanted to go hunting right then, but that would be suicide. He doubted he would go too far or leave for too long, since there were so many monsters nearby to hunt, but something might go wrong. He needed to bring some food and water with him, just in case.

Food for two days should be enough in case he became stranded for whatever reason; three cans of beans and a pack of energy bars should do the trick if well rationed. As for water, he'd bring one liter per day, four bottles of half a liter each, because he simply had no simple way of carrying more. He put everything in a few plastic bags — bags inside bags for extra resistance — that he would carry and leave on the ground if he got in a fight. That sucked, but it was the best he could do.

That showed him what should be his secondary aim in the hunt: scavenging.

The top thing on the scavenging list was finding a backpack or at least clothes to tie together and make something like a bag. Mostly anything would be sturdier than his plastic bags.

Medicine was next. His foot hurt and if he got cut by the claws of a beast, having a first aid kit and some antibiotics would be fundamental for survival. Who knows how many bacteria it might have. Maybe line and needle too, although he wasn't sure if he could just sew his own flesh close.

Extra clothes wouldn't hurt either. His were all ripped apart, giving him no protection against the elements at all; the cold, the sun, or the rain could become serious issues. Speaking of which, he needed to water-proof his shelter, so finding more plastic bags to do that would be a good idea. He cursed at himself for not thinking about it when he was looting the supermarket, which had plenty of plastic bags available. At least he knew where to find them.

Then came weaponry. He would bring his wrench and his distorted long metal bar with him, but finding a long wooden piece with a sharp point would be great.

The choice of a spear as a weapon was simple logic. To survive, he had to avoid getting hurt more than he had to kill the enemy. The wrench was a powerful weapon for now, but since he had to swing it to deal damage, it required him to get relatively close to the enemies, no matter how long it was. It would be much better if he could poke the monsters with a pointy edge from afar.

If he failed to find a spear-like wooden piece, silver tape to hold a pointy metal shard at the edge of his metal bar would work too. Unfortunately, it wasn't balanced for it and he vaguely remembered metal spears sucked.

It was a distant memory from when he was a high schooler who thought martial arts were cool and had researched some weaponry. Wood was better for spears than metal for multiple reasons, most of which he didn't remember, except that metal might permanently bend on impact while wood's elasticity would allow it to stay unscratched.

That, in turn, reminded him of a piece of medieval equipment that wasn't so cool but would be great for him, a shield. If he found something he could use as a shield, he could keep his wrench for longer, as he wouldn't need a lengthy weapon for safety as much. Better yet, finding a metal board with a kind hold shouldn't be so difficult. Wood had become kind of rare, most of it covered by tons of pieces of concrete from the destroyed buildings.

A shield wouldn't have helped with the rats, but there was no rule stating he couldn't have two setups for different situations. He added both shield and spear to the list.

Oh, and a simple knife to act as both a weapon and a cutting tool would be great too. It would allow him to cut through anything he needed to and give him a weapon to use if he fell to the ground with another monster and couldn't get up in time to swing his wrench. If the capypard had been a little heavier, he would have been stuck under it. He really wanted a knife.

Lastly, he needed to find boots or sneakers. Moving around now would make his foot worse, but he had to. He was glad about his foresight in not removing his shoes and having to walk barefooted.

While he could probably think of other things to look for, he needed to focus. The goal was killing monsters, while anything he searched should be an immediate need.

He finished his "grocery list," going through it one last time: backpacks, medicine, knives, clothes, plastic bags, boots, sneakers, shields, spears. That was the priority order too; he really needed a backpack to even carry the medicine more comfortably around, while he could look for better weapons at a later time.

That decided, he regretted having eaten so much from the damaged food packages, as he was feeling sluggish. It was just slightly, barely noticeable even, but that might be what made him less attentive or slower in a fight. Sadly, he couldn't wait for it to pass, or the window of opportunity would close.

Before leaving, he blocked the shelter entrance with the metal board he had prepared — which sadly didn't have a handle to be used as a shield — and piled some concrete pieces in front of it to hold it in place.

He took a last look at his pathetic excuse for a fortified house. His decision to go hunting was a bit of a gamble. If he lost everything here but got stronger, he could look for more food with his newfound strength. If he didn't get stronger though...

Well, no one ever said the apocalypse would be risk-free.

He waited for a bit for the street to empty, made a small opening on the barricade at the edge of his bridge, and put the long metal plank there to bridge the gap to the street. Once he got to the other side, he quickly pulled the metal plank and left it close by on the street, hoping no monster was smart enough to use it.

Looking around, he saw no rats at all. This was the side of the bridge where they had come from and led to the city center, which he had become more used to in his three months in the city, so he knew more or less where to find the things he needed.

More importantly, he knew the location of a few schools that way and would go straight there. While he didn't expect to be able to dig through the fallen buildings of the schools, the system had come at lunchtime, and Brazilian schools here were almost all part-time. He expected to find backpacks in the remains of cars that had been taking adolescents to school. While the clothes on people had disappeared with them, no one wore their backpacks while inside cars. He should be able to find some and luckily, one of them would have resisted the destruction of the vehicles.

As he walked, he noticed the streets were less crowded now than he expected. Maybe most monsters had already found enough food? By the number of bloodstains lying around, that was a solid possibility. Or they might have decided digging through the debris was too difficult and had gone looking for easier pickings on nature? He had no way of knowing.

Either way, less crowded didn't mean empty. He could see some mutated cats and dogs here and there, and even a hamster his size that scurried away as soon as it saw him. The other monsters looked at him with caution, neither attacking nor leaving. Some looked at him menacingly, as if daring him to approach, and the thought that their intelligence was developing was disturbing.

Even if that intelligence only developed to the level of cavemen, it still foretold of hard days to come. Cave dwellers had developed tools to fight stronger foes. What if Ricardo himself became the foe that would be defeated by a spear-wielding giant cat?

Or what if they developed sapience? He could only shudder at the idea of being stalked for days and dying in his sleep from a well-timed ambush by a smart hamster monster, not because it was hungry, but because he hurt its ego by looking weird at it.

'No!' he yelled mentally. He had to stop those lines of thought. His mind was panicking, but he was not an easily terrified man. He refused to let it go on, he had to deal with it.

This was his new reality. Like when his father's company started growing a lot and Ricardo moved to a rich people's school. Rich who were born that way, unlike himself. It sucked, but he would not allow himself to be beaten down. He would survive and thrive, and if there was a high school degree ceremony to the apocalypse, he would make damn sure he was the spokesperson once more.

To hell with those pricks, and to hell with the Omniverse.

He had to adjust his mindset. He was hunting, but he didn't know what he was hunting for. He was waiting for another monster to take an interest in him and then he would fight it to defend himself. But he needed more, or his terror would keep getting in the way.

What made him afraid?

Everything. Everyone. All the monsters.

So, henceforth, they wouldn't be monsters anymore. No. He couldn't call them "animals," they were more than that, but something in between would be much better.

Beasts.

Beasts was a common enough word, and it helped normalize his new reality. Humanity had hunted for beasts in the wood throughout its history and emerged victorious. He could beware the beasts, respect them, without giving in to the fear of them. He could also hunt them if he were careful enough and aware of both his limits and the enemy's power.

Monsters were beyond comprehension, mystical beings from nightmares. Beasts were just extra dangerous animals.

When he decided that, even the way he walked changed. Where he once moved while making himself smaller, he now only tried to be reasonably silent. He didn't shy away from the beasts' glares. He was still moving slightly crouched as to avoid being spotted by too many eyes, which was simply prudent, but he wasn't afraid of his own shadow anymore.

Yet, that wasn't enough.

He had to face his fears directly. The next beast that looked at him challengingly would be the one he would go towards.

It ended up being a dog. It looked at him curiously at first, tilting its head in a way that would've been cute if it wasn't the size of a german shepherd and didn't have two huge fangs sprouting from the front of its mouth even when it was closed, four eyes instead of two, and two red horns. Its pelt was red with black stripes.

It looked like a hellhound.

Although Ricardo did nothing but look at it for a few seconds, its curious position was quickly replaced by an attacking one and a warning growl. It stood atop the remains of a blown-up car as if it were its territory and it didn't like Ricardo's intrusion.

He took a deep breath. That was it. That hellhound would be the one.

To be honest, he didn't want to do it. He didn't want to kill a beast that was just doing its own thing by itself. But it was clear that he had to grow stronger over the dead body of others. The way XP worked made it so. Even skills leveled up faster if he used them in a life and death situation according to the system. And that meant attacking beasts who had done nothing to him. It was that or dying eventually because he was too weak to protect himself, and he was never one to shy away from hard decisions.

There was no good or evil here, only the raw law of the jungle magnified. For now, one didn't just hunt for food, but also for extra strength to survive.

He left his food pack and metal bar both as close and as far away from the hound as he could and inspected it.

He had to avoid getting impaled by the horns, and a single bite would likely permanently incapacitate him. Its claws were sharp too. What should be its power rank? G-4, like the capypard? More? Less?

While he looked, a tooltip appeared above the hound's head.

Mutated Saber-Toothed Hound — G-5

A system message appeared above the tooltip too. He minimized it quickly; the situation was tense enough without him getting distracted by the system.

The hound was stronger than the capypard, but by how much? What was the difference between G-4 and G-5? He didn't know, but he would find out.

Clenching his wrench, he approached slowly. The hound was now growling much louder, and when Ricardo got one step closer, it pounced at him.

Ricardo almost sighed in relief; such a frontal assault was just like the capypard's. He stepped back and swung his wrench with all his might. It hit the beast's head spot on.

And it bounced back after barely dislodging the hound's head to the side.

Just like it had happened with the capypard, the dog was way too heavy and even all the power of his swing didn't move it from its path. He already expected that and moved out of the way.

The hound didn't land perfectly, either a sign of being unused to its new power or not having expected Ricardo to dodge. It tripped on itself and fell, although it was already rolling its body to stand up even as it hit the ground.

Ricardo didn't wait for it to recover its ground. Two steps closed the distance between them, and he brought the wrench on the beast's head a second time.

The first swing hit, and the hound let out a whimper. The second and the third hits missed because it was moving too frantically. It suddenly flipped, getting on all fours in a crouching position, and leaped at Ricardo without delay. Its mouth opened wide enough that its elongated canines wouldn't impede biting Ricardo to death.

He hadn't been expecting it and barely managed to put his wrench on the way, holding it on the extremities. The hound bit the handle hard.

There was so much raw power and violence to the beast that Ricard expected the wrench to break like a toy, but it was pure steel and didn't break that easily. There was a breaking sound, but it was from the canine's teeth breaking. It whimpered in surprise and maybe some pain and let the wrench go while jumping back.

Unfortunately, the hound's horns had pierced half an inch into Ricardo's cheek, leaving two small holes in it and making him growl in pain. Realization of how close he had been to death brought fear, quickly followed by fury.

Only one of them would come out alive from this fight, and it would be him! He would kill it!

Ricardo didn't know if the icon on the bottom of his view helped make him remember his skill, but when he saw the hound surprised from having its teeth broken, he capitalized on it. He swung the wrench in front of him even as the hound backed off, letting out a bellow, then raised the wrench above his head as he had done with the rats.

It worked, its dog instincts and memories reminding it that humans were at the top of the food chain. The hound stepped back. Ricardo didn't let go of the initiative and stepped ahead, swinging hard and wildly at the hound as usual. There simply wasn't much technique or finesse he could add to a wrench as a weapon.

The hound dodged the first swing but got hit by the second. The repeated hits to its head finally scared it enough that it whimpered again and turned tail, ready to run away.

Ricardo wasn't having any of that. He quickly jumped on the beast's back, almost mounting it. It barely felt his weight and kept moving. He put the wench around its neck and pulled hard to suffocate the damn thing.

It whimpered, then struggled. Hard.

It started thrashing about and tried to fall on the ground, but Ricardo had his legs open while on the beast. When they touched the ground, he lucked in that they gave him a stable footing to hold the hound's body without falling on the ground.

The hound was heavy, but Ricardo had the muscles to barely keep holding the struggling beast up against his chest. That position even made it easier for him to strangle it.

It trashed more and more, but little by little its movements got slower. Soon, it barely moved, but Ricardo could still hear its breath. It refused to die, and he refused to let go.

They were in an impasse.

He realized the wrench didn't go deep enough in the beast's neck to kill it, although it was certainly weakened; it could do nothing but breathe for its life.

He looked around, looking for something he could use, and he found it. In a world of blown-up buildings and cars, it wasn't hard to find a sharp-looking glass shard. It wasn't too far, but far enough that it would be a chore bringing the hound there with him.

The next five minutes were filled with gratitude towards his past self for never skipping leg day. The following five came with ever-growing fear as the sweat from the beast together with its weight made its heads slowly slide down.

Keeping a hold of the beast was taking enough of a toll on his arms, but balancing it while moving was even more difficult, especially when it tried to move again. It was big enough that its legs barely touched the ground, and sometimes its claws got a hold of the debris below and made the slow march even more unstable.

But eventually, he got there.

Then, it became just a matter of how he would put the glass shards to good use.