Multiverse Chronicles: From Dinosaurs To Heroes And Beyond

Ethan leaned against the base of a tree, his body drenched in sweat and his breath ragged. The tension from scavenging in Edwardstown still weighed on him. His machete rested beside him, its edge dulled and scratched after his earlier encounter with the raptors. His scavenged bag, now filled with canned goods and a few essentials, hung loosely off his shoulder.

He stared at the system display floating before him, the glowing numbers and icons a stark contrast to the wild, prehistoric jungle surrounding him.

[Survival Points: 235]

Ethan tapped through the menus cautiously, his curiosity piqued. The breakdown of points gave him a better understanding of what the system rewarded:

Finding water source: +50 SP

Crafting makeshift water filter: +40 SP

Securing scavenged food and supplies: +80 SP

Successfully fending off predators: +65 SP

His fingers hovered over the shop menu. The categories were basic but enticing:

[Survival Tools]

[Weapons]

[Abilities]

Most options were out of reach for now, but some piqued his interest:

Basic Bow and Arrows: 200 SP

Throwing Knives (Set of 3): 150 SP

Machete Upgrade (Sharper Blade): 100 SP

The bow was tempting, but he decided to hold onto his points for now. The ability to purchase weapons and tools could prove vital, but if the system rewarded survival itself, he needed to focus on earning more points through actions rather than reckless spending.

Ethan dismissed the interface, slinging his bag over his shoulder. A low, distant boom snapped him to attention.

---

The explosion echoed through the jungle, reverberating like a thunderclap. Birds scattered into the sky, their panicked cries filling the air. Seconds later, the familiar, chilling roar of dinosaurs followed.

Ethan tensed, his pulse quickening. He didn't know what had caused the noise, but it was loud enough to draw every predator in the area.

"Nope," he muttered, shaking his head. "I'm not sticking around to see how that ends."

Adjusting his grip on the machete, he began to move deeper into the jungle. The last thing he needed was to be caught in the crossfire of whatever chaos was unfolding back in Edwardstown.

---

After hours of cautious movement, Ethan stumbled upon an old, overgrown road. The asphalt was cracked, tree roots breaking through the surface and weeds overtaking the edges.

A rusted sign stood ahead, leaning precariously to one side. The words were faded, but Ethan squinted and made them out:

DOCKS - 2 MILES

He paused, considering his options. The docks were a gamble, but they were also the only lead he had. Water often meant fewer predators, and if there were any other survivors, they'd likely head in that direction.

Still, the explosion in Edwardstown lingered in his mind. If the noise had been caused by people, the docks might not be as safe as he hoped. But staying in the jungle was no better.

Ethan tightened the straps of his bag and adjusted the camouflage net wrapped around him. "Docks it is," he muttered, setting off along the road.

---

Ethan's progress was painfully slow. His survival instincts screamed at him to stay alert, and every sound made him freeze mid-step. He stuck to the edges of the road, moving as quietly as possible while using the underbrush for cover.

The jungle felt alive, but not in a comforting way. It teemed with dangers lurking just out of sight. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig, sent his heart racing. He gripped his machete tightly, ready to swing at the first sign of movement.

The paranoia was exhausting, but it kept him alive.

At one point, he came across a set of tracks pressed into the dirt—a three-toed impression almost as wide as his torso. His stomach churned as he studied the marks. Raptors, likely. And judging by the freshness of the prints, they weren't far.

Ethan crouched low, pulling his camouflage net over himself and waiting in silence. The minutes dragged on, but nothing emerged from the jungle. When he finally felt safe enough to move, his legs were stiff from crouching.

"Can't keep doing this," he muttered to himself, brushing dirt from his knees. "I'm gonna die of a heart attack before a dinosaur even gets me."

Despite the fear gnawing at him, he forced himself to keep moving.

---

The road finally ended, giving way to a dirt path that wound toward the docks. Ethan slowed his pace, crouching behind the cover of tall ferns as he observed the area.

The scene before him was hauntingly quiet. The docks were partially submerged, the waterline creeping higher than it should have been. Boats lay capsized or shattered against the pilings, and the structures themselves were crumbling. Wooden planks dangled precariously from the pier, and what remained of the buildings looked like they had been ransacked—or worse.

What truly unnerved Ethan, however, were the bloodstains. Smears of dark red painted the walls, the ground, and even the nearby trees. Claw marks gouged into the wooden planks told a story of desperation and carnage.

"Jesus…" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

He scanned the area for movement, his grip on the machete tightening. There were no signs of life, human or otherwise. But the silence only heightened his anxiety.

Ethan crept closer, his steps deliberate and silent. The docks might hold supplies—or other survivors—but they could just as easily be a trap.

He crouched near the edge of the jungle, hiding behind a large tree as he planned his next move. The docks were open and exposed, and there was no telling what might be lurking inside the buildings. He needed to approach carefully, or risk becoming another victim of this prehistoric nightmare.

Ethan cautiously moved toward one of the smaller structures, its roof partially caved in and its door hanging off its hinges. The blood trail led inside, but he didn't have much of a choice. Supplies were scarce, and this was his best chance to find something useful.

He peeked through the broken door, his heart pounding. The interior was dark, with only the faintest shafts of light filtering through the damaged roof. He could make out overturned tables, scattered debris, and more blood.

Ethan stepped inside, his machete held at the ready. The air was thick with the stench of decay, and he had to fight the urge to gag.

Moving carefully, he began to search the room. He found a small stash of canned food tucked under a counter, along with a few bottles of water that miraculously remained intact. He quickly stuffed them into his bag, his hands shaking.

As he rummaged through the debris, he found a discarded handgun lying beneath a pile of rubble. The weapon was battered and empty, but it was better than nothing. He pocketed it, hoping he'd eventually find ammunition.

Ethan paused, his ears straining for any sound. The silence was oppressive, and every creak of the building made his nerves fray.

He turned to leave, but froze as a shadow passed by the broken doorway.

Something was out there.