Ricardo tried to move as low as possible, which wasn't that hard thanks to his body naturally wanting to curl into a ball. He moved like a bench back old man, using his wrench as a walking stick.

His speed was slow, but that didn't make him any more silent than if he was running at full speed ahead. He stepped hard and awkwardly, waves of pain coming from his right foot on each step. The more he walked, the less his sore muscles hurt, but the pain from his foot and the additional throbbing pain in his stump were getting worse instead.

Such pain made it exceedingly difficult to care about being found out by enemy beasts.

He wasn't some comic book hero that could just ignore it. The pain was very real and crippling, and he found it almost impossible to keep himself from crying out while he walked. All his focus was used to shut his mouth close.

It was such a chore, a personal hell of such proportions, that he completely lost himself in his own world and missed the bridge. He only realized it a couple minutes later. Taking in that he had to walk more to return was heartbreaking, and together with the pain he felt, it brought him such despair that tears rolled down his cheeks.

When he finally reached his bridge again, he faced the second to last herculean feat required of him to get home, climbing the slope back to the street level. The climb was a slow crawl through soil that took him a lot of effort and dirtied him from head to toe. When he let his wrench fall midway through, he had to stop to cry for a long while before feeling brave enough to go back down and climb the slope all over again.

Finally back to the street, despair hit him once again. There lay a group of almost a hundred gargoyles eating all metal in sight. Entire cars had disappeared already.

One of them was eating the metal plank he needed to bridge the gap to his bridge, having already swallowed half of it.

A close look revealed the gargoyles had been rabbits before the system came. Their fluffy fur had been replaced by solid rocks, their limbs, neck, nails and teeth had been elongated, and impressive wings came from their back. One of them looked at him with a dumb look to its face while eating metal like a rabbit eating lettuce.

Lesser Rock Gargoyle — G-7

Seeing their ridiculous Power Rank, his despair increased until he found a curious estate of empty desolation

He was nothing, he realized. He didn't matter.

He meant nothing to this beast before him, who ate his metal plank, his very lifeline to return to relative safeness, while looking at him with the carelessness of a human staring at an ant.

And like an ant, he could do nothing but move on. He might've run if he had the strength, but would it really have mattered? Could an ant avoid the ire of a human if the latter were intent on killing the former?

So, with an empty heart, he just started walking, searching for a new metal plank he could use. He lost track of how much time he spent on it, his only companions the pain and the munching sounds of a full flock of gargoyles around him.

Despite his mind losing track of it, his clock mercilessly showed him the time. It was half-past two AM when he finally found something he could use.

The new plank was wider than his previous one, which was great because of his hard time walking. It was longer, too, and heavier. He put his wrench under his left armpit for support, which was uncomfortable and painful. At least the alligator's hide, which stood between his armpit and the wrench, helped a bit with that. Then, he used his right hand to pull the metal plank towards his bridge.

One hour later, he was back in front of the bridge.

The gargoyles had limited themselves to look at him. But now, as if to mock his efforts, one of them approached, smelling his plank and opening its mouth full of sharp teeth to take a bite.

That broke something inside him.

He couldn't accept it.

He couldn't be an ant.

He couldn't silently accept such a pathetic existence, his hard work taken by someone else just because they could, his goals crushed when he was about to take the last step.

No, he refused to live like that, to be that kind of man, to accept the unfairness of the world with a smiling face.

His emotions exploded.

He let the plank fall and roared in shame, pain and despair, his recently healed throat hurting all over again. He took his wrench from his armpit and swung it barely a few centimeters above the ground, stepping towards the gargoyle, willing to die rather than capitulate to this shitty situation.

The gargoyle opened its wings and hissed at him, showing its two rows of terrifying, death-promising teeth and its bifurcated long tongue. He roared again, showing it his teeth, and taking another step towards it. That plank was his, and if he died to defend it, so be it.

How low had humanity fallen, putting their lives on the line for metal scrap.

The beast paced on the edge of his reach. Still hissing, it beat his wings a bit without ever leaving the ground, its head held low as if ready to bite at any moment.

But it didn't.

It paced some more, then turned its long tail to go eat some other nearby metal. None of the other gargoyles did anything other than watch the scene with disinterest.

Its reaction kind of made sense. Rabbits weren't predators, and this evolved gargoyle also wasn't if it was eating scraps of metal.

Not all beasts could be flesh eating monstrosities ready to attack at the slightest provocation.

Already panting from the overextension of his feeble strength, Ricardo loudly roared one last time, feeling uncalled-for tears on his cheeks yet again. He didn't stay like that for long, quickly putting the wrench back on his now hurt left armpit and pulling the plank again.

At long last, he reached the edge of the gap and faced his last herculean feat to get back home, putting the plank in place. He had nowhere near the strength in a single hand to do it. He let his wrench rest on the ground with the hide, lifted the edge of the plank with his right hand, and placed it on his left forearm so it could support its weight.

The pain was the worst he had felt yet, even worse than when he lost his hand. It made him yell loudly, and the world became white for a moment, but he didn't faint. He did drop the plank though, and as he tried to stop the blood that was now flowing freely from his stump, he decided he would not try that again.

He kept pressing the stump for a long time. It took a while for the blood to stop flowing, and he took the chance to think of a solution for his plank situation. Thankfully, that gave him enough time to give up on the idea of trying to kick it to place, but it would eventually make the plank fall down the slope. Instead, he had a better idea to use his body weight to both prevent it from falling and to push it forward.

When his blood decided to stay inside him, he placed the plank perpendicular to the gap to his bridge and sat on it. He kept to the edge, close to the gap, his legs open and the sole of his feet touching the ground. Lastly, he placed his right hand on the ground for extra support and pushed the plank with all his body, using all his power and weight.

It moved, barely.

He repositioned himself a little back and pushed again. And again. And again. And again. And again. Only pain and the mechanical movement filled his mind, the necessity of his body and soul for a safe space the only thing that kept him moving on.

Midway through, it started raining, and he started slipping often as he pulled the plank. Still, he didn't stop. He had no other choice, really.

At five AM, the plank could touch the bridge, but it wasn't sturdy enough to stay straight and reach the bridge's surface. The metal curvature made it fall about twenty centimers below the bridge's edge.

Ricardo got a firm grip of the plank with his right hand and pulled it upwards.

It was difficult. It hurt, his back cracked and brought him unfamiliar pain that couldn't be healthy. But he brought it over the edge of the bridge. While pulling the plank that high, he pushed it again with his body. The plank hit his wall of concrete debris, making a small part of it fall apart. That was good, for it meant the plank was where it needed to be. He let it down on the bridge.

Elation and ecstasy filled him, and he pushed the plank with his body a few more times.

Finally, he had done it.

It was time for the last step home.

He extended his hand to get his wrench but found only empty air. While he focused so much on pushing the plank, a gargoyle had eaten it away. Furious, he looked around, ready to fight to the bastard to the death, but found the street empty. They were gone.

Frustration and tears came to him again, but he brushed them aside quickly. He could get his revenge later. Now, he needed to go.

Without the wrench, he simply couldn't stand up, so he put the hide above him and moved on all fours. It was difficult to crawl using only three limbs while drenched by rain, feeling extremely cold, and immersed in a lot of pain. Dizziness hit him halfway through, whether for lack of blood or sheer weakness he didn't know. Luckily, he didn't fall.

Touching the ground on his bridge felt like reaching heaven itself.

Emotions flooded him, but he still had another job to do, pulling his plank in. It happened much like the pushing on the other side of the back; him sitting on the plank and using his full body weight to do so, only he was pulling this time.

Wake Up Alarm: 5:48 AM

You're not sleeping, no sound will be played.

The notification appeared the same way XP gain messages did, only text with no window and fading away quickly. He ignored it and kept pulling. At six AM, he finished it.

That done, he fixed his bridge wall the best he could, then headed to his shelter. He had been afraid the gargoyles might have eaten its metal ceiling. Fortunately, the small pile of broken concrete he had put over it to stop in place had either hid the metal or discouraged any metal eating monster from bothering with it.

Still moving on all fours, he got to the entrance of his home. He was drenched by now and then had a hard time taking his clothes off, for he didn't want to die of hypothermia. He still left his shoes on because of his broken toes though.

Opening the entrance to his shelter, he learned he had built the shelter on a small declivity on the ground and a puddle had formed in the middle. He had thought about rain-proofing his shelter with plastic bags but had returned from his expedition with nothing but injuries. Not that it would have happened. Water was coming from the ground level too, going through small openings in between the piles of concrete.

Unsure if he were crying or not, for he couldn't notice the tears amid the icy rain hitting his face, he looked at the clouded skies.

A boundless fury came from the depths of his soul.

It filled his entire body, and he found himself getting up. He stood on his feet, his back straight and his arms open wide, yelling in defiance against the mercilessness of the Omniheaven.

It wanted to kill him?!

He refused.

It wanted to break him?!

He refused.

It wanted him to give up?!

He refused!

He was alone in the world, but that only meant he had himself. Alone, he would fight back. Alone, he would tread the murky waters of weakness and reach towards greatness. Alone, he would triumph over beasts who looked at him as nothing more than an ant today.

He had lost his hand, but he had gained experience, genuine experience, about the mercilessness of this new world. He had pitied the dog, but the alligator hadn't pitied him. It was eat or be eaten, and whether the appetite was for meat or experience points, it didn't matter to him anymore.

He would thrive. He would win. He would save humanity, no matter the cost.

Today had been his first victory. The victory of his will against this uncaring world, the victory of his wits against the physical gaps he couldn't bridge with strength alone, the victory of man against nature.

Tomorrow would bring his second victory.

Losing a limb, the pain, or the cold wouldn't bring him down. A harsh environment, a brutal world, a hard life wouldn't keep him from moving on. Setbacks, fear, or even sheer despair wouldn't keep him from winning against whatever the system threw his way.

Ricardo would not bow down to it.

He let out a bellow of primal defiance one last time until all the air left his lungs and he could taste the blood from his damaged throat. That was his warning to the system. One day, it would regret putting him in such a situation. It might not be responsible for his terrible choice earlier, but it didn't mean it was innocent of creating this shitty world that allowed such situations to happen to him.

Tomorrow, he would have his revenge.

Today though, he had a shitty shelter to get into.

Sleeping in open rain would be worse than sleeping on a wet ground. With his only hand clenched, he lowered his head and bent his back.

He got inside, ate some food and drank some water from his stash. He was glad all food was well packed but worried they might get moldy. Something to take care of on the next day.

At last, he curled into fetal position on a slightly drier part of the ground.

Sweet, sweet oblivion found him soon enough.