Chapter 2: The Mud and the Meat-Grinder
Pain was a liar. People always said it was a sharp, sudden thing, but as Lin's consciousness clawed its way back from the void, pain felt more like a heavy, suffocating blanket made of lead and broken glass.
His first breath was a mistake.
Instead of air, his lungs filled with the metallic tang of rust and the foul stench of rotting vegetation. He coughed, a racking, violent spasm that felt like someone was scrubbing his ribs with sandpaper.
I'm alive? He opened his eyes, but there was no ceiling. There was only a bruised, purple sky choked with thick, swirling clouds that looked like curdled milk. Rain didn't fall here; it hammered. Thick, oily droplets pelted his skin, washing away layers of grime only to reveal more underneath.
Lin tried to push himself up, but his arms gave out immediately. He was lying in a ditch, half-buried in grey, clay-like mud. He looked down at his hands. They weren't his hands—not the soft, pale hands of a man who spent his life clicking a computer mouse or scanning barcodes.
These hands were skeletal, the skin pulled tight over jagged knuckles, covered in a map of fresh abrasions and old, white scars. He was wearing rags—rough, burlap-like fabric that was more holes than thread.
"Where...?" his voice came out as a pathetic croak.
Suddenly, a flicker of light ignited in his peripheral vision.
[...Rebooting...] [Soul Integration: 98%... 99%... 100%] [Welcome to the 'Great Azure Continent', Host Lin.]
The blue semi-transparent screen hovered in the air, defiant against the rain. Lin stared at it, a hysterical laugh bubbling in his throat. So, it wasn't a hallucination. The truck, the crash, the voice—it was all real.
"Great Azure Continent?" he whispered, shivering. "Sounds like a travel brochure for hell."
[Alert: The Host is currently in the 'Grey Sinks'.] [Status: Critical Malnutrition. Hypothermia Imminent.] [Task: Survive 1 hour.] [Reward: Basic Body Integration & 5 Stat Points.]
"Survive? That's the task?" Lin gritted his teeth, his fingers digging into the cold mud. "I spent twenty-six years 'surviving' back home. Give me something new."
[Warning: Hostile presence detected within 50 meters.]
Lin froze. The arrogance he felt for a split second vanished, replaced by a primal, icy fear. From the shadows of a nearby heap of rusted metal and giant, rib-like bones, something growled.
It wasn't the growl of a dog. It was a wet, guttural sound, like a chainsaw cutting through a bag of wet coins.
Lin turned his head slowly. Emerging from the grey mist was a creature that looked like a nightmare's taxidermy project. It was the size of a wolf, but its skin was hairless, translucent, and stretched over a pulsing mess of black veins. It had six legs, each ending in a needle-like claw, and a head that was mostly a hinged jaw filled with rows of serrated teeth.
[Scavenger Hound (Rank 0 - Weakened)] [A bottom-feeder of the Sinks. It smells your fear. It smells your weakness.]
"Weakened? That thing looks like it could eat a car," Lin hissed, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
He had two choices: stay in the mud and die as a snack, or move.
His old manager's voice echoed in his head: 'You're a placeholder, Lin. A background character.'
"Not today," Lin growled.
He forced his trembling limbs to move. Every muscle screamed in protest, but he rolled over and scrambled toward a pile of debris. He was weak—so weak he could barely lift his own head—but the 'System' prompt was a tether to reality. He just had to last an hour.
He crawled behind a rusted, circular plate of metal that looked like a shield from a forgotten era. He curled into a ball, trying to minimize his scent in the rain.
The Hound's footsteps were rhythmic. Clack. Clack. Clack. The sound of bone hitting stone. It was circling. It knew he was there.
Lin's eyes scanned the trash around him. His hand brushed against something cold and sharp. He didn't look; he just gripped it. It was a shard of obsidian-like glass, about the length of a kitchen knife.
Thirty minutes left.
The air grew colder. Lin's breath came out in white puffs. His vision started to blur. The 'Hypothermia' warning from the System wasn't a joke. His heart rate was slowing.
Clack. Clack. SNAP.
A piece of wood broke just feet away from his hiding spot. A long, grey snout poked around the edge of the metal plate. The Hound's eyes—milky white and lidless—locked onto his.
It didn't bark. It unhinged its jaw, a string of black ichor dripping onto Lin's tattered shirt.
In his old life, Lin would have begged. He would have closed his eyes and hoped for a quick end. But something about this new world—or perhaps the sheer unfairness of dying twice in one day—snapped inside him.
The "Absolute Zero" status the System mentioned wasn't just a rank. It was a floor. And when you're already on the floor, you don't have to worry about falling anymore.
"Come on then, you six-legged freak," Lin whispered, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the glass shard. "I've been treated like trash my whole life. I know exactly how a trash-dweller fights."
The Hound lunged, a blur of grey flesh and teeth.
Lin didn't dodge. He couldn't. Instead, he threw his weight forward, burying the glass shard toward the only thing he could see: the creature's wide-open, stinking throat.
[Survival Time Remaining: 00:01...] [Will the Host survive the first encounter?]