In the hours that followed the crash, a fragile, chaotic order began to form. The burly man, who introduced himself as John, a former construction foreman, had taken charge through sheer force of personality. He had people gathering dry wood, others collecting rainwater from large leaves, and a few brave souls attempting to fish in the lagoon.
Victor watched it all from a comfortable perch on a piece of wreckage, a smirk playing on his lips. He had already used his [Lesser Strength I] to "accidentally" shift a heavy luggage container, revealing a stash of snack bars, which he had promptly and discreetly corrupted just enough to make them edible for him, but not so much that they turned to dust. The minor energy boost was... satisfying.
Look at them. Like busy little ants. So predictable. He watched John bark orders. "You, build a signal fire! You, sort the luggage by colour!"
'Who does he think he is, the manager of Island Hell?'
His plan to be the subtle, revered hero was progressing, he thought. He'd "helped" open a few more coconuts with his corruption trick, each time with a carefully practiced look of modest strength. But now, a problem was brewing.
The problem's name was David, a wiry, intense-looking man with a perpetual scowl who had been a tech CEO before the crash. He stood with a small group of younger survivors, arms crossed, openly challenging John's authority.
"This is inefficient!" David announced, his voice cutting through the humid air. "A giant signal fire? We have no idea if anyone is even looking! We should be focusing on building permanent shelters, on creating a sustainable water collection system. We're wasting calories on a maybe!"
John's face turned red. "The fire is our best chance of being seen by a passing ship or plane! Shelter can wait! Priority is rescue!"
"Rescue?" David laughed, a sharp, mocking sound. "Based on what? We veered wildly off course. It could be weeks before anyone finds this rock! By then, half of us will be dead from exposure or dysentery because you're prioritizing a giant beacon to nowhere!"
The crowd, which had been tentatively united, began to splinter. Murmurs of agreement rose from both sides.
"He's right, you know," a woman whispered nervously. "My kids need a proper roof."
"But what if a ship passes tonight? We'll miss our chance!" another man argued.
Victor sighed dramatically, though no one was listening to him.
'Oh, for the love of... are we really doing this? The "Pragmatist vs. the Optimist" cliché? On the first day? It's like they've never even seen a survival drama. The script is so tired.'
He decided to step in, playing the part of the peacemaker. He sauntered into the center of the argument, putting on his most charming, reasonable smile.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen," he said, spreading his hands. "Why not both? A small team on fire duty, the majority on shelter. We have daylight. Let's not waste it bickering."
Both John and David turned to him, their expressions shifting from anger to annoyance.
"Stay out of this, kid," John grunted. "This is for adults to figure out."
David sneered. "Yes, why don't you go and kick another tree down? Let the people with real brains handle the logistics."
A hot spike of pure, unadulterated rage shot through Victor. The condescension in their voices was like a physical slap. Kid? Real brains? He could feel the corruption energy under his skin, prickling like static electricity. He wanted to reach out and corrupt the stupid hat John was wearing, or maybe the overpriced smartwatch on David's wrist.
But he didn't. His smile didn't even waver. It just became colder.
'Fine. You want to play it like that?'
"Of course," Victor said, his voice dripping with false humility. "My apologies for interrupting. You clearly have everything under control." He gave a slight, mocking bow. "Please, continue your very productive argument. I'm sure the approaching rain clouds will be very impressed."
He turned on his heel and walked away, not towards the main group, but into the lush, green line of the jungle that bordered the beach.
'Screw them. Screw all of them.'
His mind raced as he pushed a large, waxy leaf aside. Why should he waste his time and his precious, unique energy on a bunch of ungrateful sheep? He had a system. A literal cheat code to power. While they were arguing about the best way to build a stick hut, he could be corrupting vines to gain flexibility, poisoning fruit to create toxins, or draining the life from predators to increase his strength.
Let them struggle. Let them fail. Let them feel the true weight of their own incompetence.
He found a small, secluded clearing with a view of the ocean. It was perfect. Using a carefully measured burst of corruption, he caused the roots of a large Banyan tree to twist and form a natural, cradle-like seat. He sat down, the corrupted wood feeling strangely comfortable beneath him.
[Skill Acquired: [Minor Wood Shaping I] - You can now convince plant life to be slightly more accommodating. Don't get too excited, it's not a throne room yet.]
Victor grinned. 'See? This was progress. No arguments, no committees. Just power and results.'
He looked down at the beach. The two factions were now working separately. John's group was struggling to light a massive pile of damp wood, while David's group was attempting to lash branches together with vines, resulting in a structure that looked dangerously unstable.
A part of him, the part that had schemed about being the puppet master, felt a twinge of annoyance. This wasn't the plan. The plan was for them to rely on him, to adore him.
But a new, darker, and far more appealing thought took root.
'No. This is better. Let them wear themselves out. Let fear and hunger set in. Let them realize that their 'real brains' and 'adult' leadership are useless here.'
He leaned back in his root-cradle, folding his arms behind his head. The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and purples. It was almost beautiful.
They'll break. It's only a matter of time. And when they do, when they're desperate and hopeless... that's when they'll come crawling. Not to a leader, but to a saviour. And I'll be right here, stronger than ever.
He watched as the first drops of rain began to fall, dousing John's pathetic signal fire and sending both groups scrambling for cover. Victor simply closed his eyes, a serene, arrogant smile on his face. The sound of their failure was the best music he'd heard all day.