Accidental Healer

Chaos spawn pile onto my body, their claws raking deep, tiny fangs tearing flesh in an endless, writhing mass. The weight crushes my ribs, suffocating me. Screams rip from my throat.

Mom, Dad–please!

No one came.

Leg's thrash and kick, but it's useless. The swarm is endless. A tide of snapping jaws, of slithering limbs. I try to scream again, but something scuttles into my mouth—tiny, needle-sharp legs scraping against my tongue.

My fingers claw at the air—searching, desperate—

And then? Nothing. No ground. No bodies.

I plummet—falling, falling—

With a choke, I jerk awake. My pulse hammers against my ribs, chest heaves like I've been drowning. Dirt accumulates under my fingernails as I claw at the ground, phantom limbs dragging me down.

Except they're not.

Sweat soaks my mangled white shirt, it clings to my skin. Fingers tremble as I rake them through my shaggy brown hair.

Breathe.

I'm not falling. Not buried alive. Not being torn apart.

I glance at the sky—still dark but cloudless, stars twinkle in the night. The time? Maybe two, three in the morning.

The nightmare doesn't completely fade. Echoes linger in my pulse, the cold sweat on my skin. It was so vivid. The claws, the pain. Someone once told me that you can't feel pain in dreams. I called BS.

Crickets chirp, somewhere an owl hoots. Gradually, the world seeps back in—the fire's dying embers, the hushed noises of the night, the steady rise and fall of Mischief's breath. He's curled peacefully, massive chest rising and falling. The rhythmic movement is calming.

I don't want to wake him.

But I can't sleep. Restless energy whirrs through my limbs, too much to ignore.

Slipping away from camp, I head south across the clearing—past the place where my trial dungeon stood just hours ago.

The night is quiet, air crisp. The soft rush of flowing water calls to me.

A short walk later, I find it—a wide, shallow stream that cuts through the landscape.

The incline slopes gently, the water spills effortlessly downhill. I feel the rocks crackle and shift under the sole of my converse. I wade in up to my shins.

The cold water seeps into my shoes.

I reach into the stream, cup my hands and splash the water into my face. The cold water drives away the lingering residue of my night terrors.

The water looks perfect, so I scoop up another handle to drink. I'm surprised by how good the water feels on my dry throat, the taste of the water an indication of how parched I was. Several large gulps later I make my way to the shoreline.

My shirt is soaked with the ice cold mountain run off, but surprisingly it isn't cold. I should be shivering in the night air. Instead I feel comfortable, besides the squishiness of the water in my shoes.

The reason was obvious to me. My stats were changing me. Not in a very aesthetic way like Mischief, but it was noticeable on the inside.

I wanted to test my legs. Up until now I really haven't had the chance to just let loose, and the muscles itched to be unleashed.

Feeling a bit silly I started off at a jog. My step's felt springy—effortless, I bounded more than I jogged.

I wanted more.

The world exploded into motion. My feet barely touch the ground between steps.

Branches from the pine trees stretch out to slap my body. I hardly notice. I'm too busy grinning like an idiot.

I laugh. This isn't running, this is flight. This is freedom.

The stream narrows. The ground steepens. I push harder, faster—bounding over rocks, weaving through the dark like a spectre.

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Then—suddenly—the trees break.

I skid to a stop, chest rising and falling. My pulse thuds against my ribs, the air crisp and biting in my lungs.

And before me—A lake. Almost unnaturally round, yet untouched enough to feel real.

Its glasslike surface captures the sky, the stars caught beneath the water like scattered diamonds.

The moon ripples—distorted by the slightest breath of wind, warping and shifting as if alive.

On the far side, a modest waterfall spills from a rocky ledge—about forty feet high.

The whole place is hauntingly beautiful—like stepping into someone else's dream. I feel a twinge of jealousy. The scene is a stark contrast to my own night terror. I circle the lake and make my way toward the waterfall.

The view from the top beckons to me, promising a scenic view. Adrenaline is still coursing through me, I feel like I can just jump the 40 feet. But I don't jump. I climb.

The rock face is rough, my fingers pressing into cracks and ledges. The stone is cold, damp beneath my hands. My muscles barely burn as I ascend—a reminder of how my stats affect my body.

When I haul myself over the top, I turn—And the breath leaves my chest.

Moonlight spills over an endless valley, washing silver across a vast sea of trees. The canopies shift with the wind, moving like waves against the towering, snow-capped peaks. The mountains loom in the distance—they push high into the heavens. Not just mountains. Monuments.

Even with my growing stats, this view slams me back to reality. I'm a speck. A tiny dot in an endless universe.

The tutorial said our world had fused with others. But standing here, all I saw was Earth.

No alien skies. No twisted landscapes. Just trees, mountains, and a cold wind biting my skin.

But somewhere out there—someone else was looking at this same sky, wondering the same thing.

If the tutorial was right, humans weren't alone anymore.

After a long moment, I finally look down at myself. My pants are torn. Caked in Chaos Spawn gore. My shirt? Barely holding together.

Right. Time for a bath.

I peel down to my briefs, roll my clothes and spirit weapon into my leather jacket, and—

Toss the bundle over the waterfall.

Then, with a deep breath—I dive after it. For a heartbeat, I'm weightless.

Then—impact. I slice into the water, the cold slamming into my skin.

It's shockingly cold—but instead of numbing, it's energizing. I plunge deep.

My lungs don't burn like they used to. I kick along the lake floor, locating the bundle of ragged clothes and spirit weapon.

By the time I surface, I'm barely out of breath.

Still shivering slightly—more from excitement than cold—I unwrap the bundle and start to rinse the grime from my pants, debating whether to keep the shirt or just put it out of its misery.

I'm about to pull on my pants when a flicker of movement catches my attention.

A lone wolf steps from the treeline. Then another. Then ten more. I'm outnumbered twelve to one. Lips curl, white teeth flashing in the moonlight.

They must see me as an easy meal.

And to be fair—I'm barefoot, half-naked, and alone. In another world they would've been right. Too bad for them we weren't in that world anymore. They would learn.

A day ago, I would've run. Hell when Mischief showed up I had run.

Now? I exhale, roll my shoulders, and cast weak barrier.

The first wolf steps onto the rocky beach, yellow eyes catching the moonlight.

A faint pulse of mana wraps around me. Was this the point of the tutorial? A crash course to prepare me for the reality of this new world?

"Any chance you'll leave me alone?"

They circle tighter. My words fell on deaf ears. I guess they aren't as smart as Mischief? There is no understanding in these eyes. Just primal animal instinct.

Two wolves lunge. I don't move.

Thud. They rebound like they hit a brick wall, yelping as they crash onto the rocks. One rolls three times before scrambling upright, shaking its head like it can't believe what just happened.

The pack hesitates. Their ears twitch, tails stiffen.

They don't understand.

Another one bolts forward, and this time I react. Not much—just a flick of my wrist. It's a mistake.

My hand connects, and the wolf rockets backward, twisting midair before slamming into a tree with a dull thump.

I wince. That was too much.

Before it can whimper, I flick a Weak Heal its way. The spell washes over its battered body, and its breath evens out.

From my left a flash of grey. My hands move on their own, catching its throat midair. It flails. Kicks.

The wolf must weigh close to 200 pounds. It feels like a child to me and if not for it struggling I could hold it one handed with ease.

It snaps and gnashes its teeth violently, a fearsome image. Its eyes tell a different story. They remind me of when Mischief lay dying, my club raised. I release my grip.

The wolf drops and scrambles away.

A few seconds pass. No more attacks come. Tails lower, ears flatten.

With a whine and a whimper they retreat, one by one. The fight—if I can even call it that—never felt dangerous. I barely broke a sweat.

Something about this fight didn't sit right with me. Those wolves were low-level—maybe one, maybe two. But they felt nothing like Mischief. What if they'd leveled up the way I have? The thought jabs at me.

I raked a hand through my damp hair, shivering slightly. I've got bigger things to worry about.

Dungeons to clear. Territory to claim. Parents to find.

But first—clothes. I spot my ragged pants nearby.

Yeah…Next time I face down a pack of predators, I'd rather not be half-naked.

I sigh, letting the barrier fade. "Better luck with your next meal, guys."