Chapter 6: Survive

I slump onto a boulder, utterly exhausted. My legs ache from what feels like hours of trudging through this endless forest. I take out my water bottle and sip slowly, letting the cool liquid soothe my parched throat. My phone says it's 3 PM, and I'm relieved it's still working, though the lack of service is a reminder of just how isolated I am.

I have to start thinking about where I'm going to spend the night. The forest is thick and unfamiliar, full of sounds I can't identify—who knows what kinds of predators lurk here? The thought makes my heart race with a mix of fear and adrenaline.

I pull out a small piece of paper and jot down notes on the direction I've been heading from the skyscraper. East, always east. It's a simple habit, something to keep me grounded as the enormity of the situation presses in on me. But it's also a way to remind myself that, for now, I still have a direction—a goal. Even if I don't know exactly where it's leading.

I sit on the boulder, letting out a deep breath, and mentally call for the system to display itself. Instantly, the familiar interface materializes in my mind.

---

**Race**: Human

**Age**: 19

**Level**: 1.8

**Attributes**:

- **Strength**: 1.6

- **Agility**: 1.4

- **Perception**: 0.6

- **Endurance**: 0.4

- **Stamina**: 0.9

- **Mana**: 0.08

**Talent**: A

**Skills**:

- **Hunting**: F

- **Martial Arts**: C

- **Fishing**: F

- **Acting**: A

- **Foraging**: E

- **Cooking**: F

**SP**: 50/10,000

---

I notice my level has gone up, if only by a fraction. Barely noticeable, but progress is progress. Still, a flood of questions hits me as I stare at the stats. What is this "mana" it shows? And what the hell are "system points"? And "Talent"? The list goes on. I chuckle darkly when I see that *Acting* is one of my highest-rated skills. I guess it makes sense. I've spent most of my life pretending to be someone I'm not—always playing the part of the perfect Atlas. I just never thought it would manifest so blatantly.

But then I frown. Why is my *Martial Arts* skill only rated a C? I've poured countless hours into training—boxing, Muay Thai, Krav Maga, you name it. I've spent over a year honing those skills. Shouldn't that count for more?

The inconsistency nags at me, but then again, this whole situation is inconsistent. Maybe the system measures things differently, or maybe I'm not as good as I thought I was. That last thought stings more than I care to admit. Still, I can't dwell on it now.

Shaking off the frustration, I push myself off the boulder and continue my march into the forest. Whatever this system is, and whatever this world has become, I'm going to figure it out. I have to.

I force myself back onto my feet and start walking again. Each step feels heavier, but I push through, determined to find somewhere safe to rest. After what feels like an eternity—maybe an hour or so—I finally come across a massive tree, its branches thick and stable enough to hold my weight.

I pull out two daggers and begin the climb. The process is grueling. Every muscle in my body strains as I drive the blades into the bark, pulling myself up inch by inch. Sweat pours down my face, stinging my eyes, but I keep going. There's no room for weakness here. By the time I reach the branch, I'm drenched, breathing hard, but relieved to have made it.

I collapse against the sturdy trunk, grateful for the brief respite. My backpack becomes my makeshift pillow as I settle in, trying to get comfortable. I dig out some rope from my pack, wrapping it around my waist and securing myself to the tree. It's a delicate balance—tight enough to keep me from falling, but loose enough that I can slip free if I need to. Safety is relative out here, but this will have to do.

Once I'm satisfied with the knots, I pull out some dried beef jerky and start chewing, the taste bland but satisfying. As I eat, the world around me begins to fade into a quiet hum, the rustling leaves and distant calls of the forest lulling me into a cautious rest.

I can't breathe. My chest tightens, panic clawing at my mind as I struggle to inhale. I open my eyes, but all I see is darkness—impenetrable, suffocating darkness. Something is squeezing me, coiling tighter around my body with each passing second. My heart pounds in my ears, drowning out all rational thought. And then I hear it—a soft, sinister hiss.

My adrenaline spikes, sending a jolt of fear through me. Instinct takes over. I reach for my dagger, moving slowly, every inch feeling like a mile. My fingers brush against the cool steel, and I wrap my hand around the hilt, a flicker of control returning to me. But the pressure around my legs and abdomen is unbearable, like iron bands crushing the life out of me. I'm trapped, unable to move, and panic rises like bile in my throat.

The pressure shifts, sliding up to my abdomen, and I know I don't have much time. I don't think—I just act. With all the strength I can muster, I drive the dagger into whatever's holding me. The hiss turns into a shriek of pain, but I don't stop. I can't stop. It's me or the snake. I stab again and again, feeling the blade sink into flesh, feeling warm liquid splatter across my face and hands. It thrashes violently, sending waves of pain through my body as it tightens its grip, but I refuse to let go.

I'm not going to die today. Not like this. I stab one last time, putting everything I have into the blow. The snake convulses, the pressure loosening, and I suck in a ragged breath, determined to survive.