The morning haze still clung to the ruins, a pale mist curling through the shattered archways like it belonged there.
Kade tightened the drawstring of his pajama pants and gave one last glance toward the broken stairwell—the place where he'd died.
"Yeah. Not going down there again," he muttered. "Once was enough. I'm not in the mood to be someone's breakfast special."
The memory of snapping jaws and a stomach full of teeth made his skin prickle. Whatever was down there—whatever had torn through his spine and ended the first 'run'—could stay there. Forever.
So now, it was time for plan B.
"Outside," Kade said, cracking his neck. "Find higher ground. Find signs of life. Find something that doesn't have six legs and a hunger for my intestines."
"Downstairs is a death trap," he muttered, glancing toward the broken stairwell like it owed him money. "So… outside it is."
He was already dreading it.
Kade didn't want to go outside.
But he really didn't want to be something's lunch again.
And staying here too long? That wasn't safe either.
If this was MythOnline, he remembered enough to know the undead had a thing about sunlight. During the day, they lurked. At night? They hunted.
And right now, this ruin still had daylight leaking through the cracks.
But how long would that last?
"If I'm right," he muttered, "nightfall means the freak show comes topside. And if that thing downstairs isn't the only one here…"
Yeah. He wasn't sticking around to find out.
He stood in the archway that led out into the open, one hand gripping the frame like a lifeline. Vines coiled across cracked stone. Grass pushed through the flooring. Beyond that, sunlit wilderness. Wild, overgrown, and full of question marks.
This could go badly.
Really badly.
But even that wasn't the worst part.
"Worst case," he muttered, stepping forward, "I die and respawn here."
That was still insane to say out loud.
But it was true.
He'd tested it—his mysterious, glitched-out, retro-style menu with the Saved Files option.
Try Again. Save File #1. Only one slot. Always the same checkpoint: the moment he first woke up in this ruin.
Every time he died, he came back here.
No fancy animation. No second chances in a new zone. Just a hard reset to square one.
It was terrifying.
And weirdly comforting.
He had made one theory, though.
If Save Game really did what it sounded like—if it actually let him save a run—then maybe one day, he could preserve progress.
But which file would he wake up in? The one saved, or the one tagged Try Again?
He had no idea.
And honestly? Not in a hurry to find out.
"Die and find out," he muttered. "Hard pass."
He took another step.
Sunlight broke across his face. His eyes narrowed as he adjusted to the glare.
Then he muttered under his breath, "Let's just hope this run goes better than the last."
He stepped fully out of the ruin's shade.
Sunlight broke through the trees, dappling the ground. The grass was high, damp. The wind carried a sharp smell of moss and bark.
Behind him, the statue and the cursed stairwell faded into the mist.
Ahead,wild green.
Within minutes, the ruins were gone from sight, swallowed by trees and tangled undergrowth.
Kade pushed through brambles, brushed aside branches, already itching from some invisible leaf or insect. Something tiny had flown into his ear. Twice. His ankle throbbed from an unprovoked ambush by weeds.
"This game," he muttered, "better not have poison ivy mechanics."
Still, he kept walking.
Because this was either MythOnline or some twisted fantasy realm pretending to be it.
And either way… staying still meant dying.
Again.
The hours dragged.
At some point, the sun stopped following him.
Or maybe the trees just got thicker—taller—heavier. Their branches stretched across the sky like grasping fingers, locking out the warmth. The wild turned cold. Quiet. The breeze died. Every step Kade took sounded louder than it should've.
Leaves crunched. Twigs snapped. Birds stopped singing.
And still—no signs of civilization. No road. No trail. Not even a rabbit.
He wiped the sweat off his brow and looked around, frowning.
"This is starting to feel familiar," he muttered. "Didn't I pass that weird stump already?"
He spun around once. Then twice. Trees. Trees. Trees.
His stomach turned with something worse than hunger—dread.
"Am I walking in circles?"
The thought hit harder than it should've. Because this wasn't just a forest. It was a forest inside a maybe-game. A maybe-game that loved screwing with players. Especially if MythOnline really was the blueprint for wherever he was.
Kade rubbed his temples, mind racing.
There were a lot of weird mechanics in that game.
Permadeath dungeons. Curse-based loot. Status effects tied to weather.
But one thing stood out above the rest. A system he had always hated, ignored, and now desperately feared:
Corruption.
Every world in MythOnline had a corruption meter.
And it was invisible.
No warning. No map indicators. Just a background stat slowly ticking upward based on unknown triggers—monster deaths, player actions, time itself.
The higher the corruption, the more hostile the world became.
Especially at night.
Corruption birthed undead. That was the lore—explained in a quest he half-remembered. The bodies of the fallen could rise if corruption took root. Sometimes animals. Sometimes people. Sometimes… worse.
And he didn't know this world's corruption level.
It could be 0%.
It could be 50%.
Hell, it could be 80% and he wouldn't know until something clawed out of the ground next to him.
He wasn't even sure what affected it here. Did his own death count? Did walking in circles do something? Would staying in one place make it worse?
"One thing's for sure," he muttered, trying to keep calm. "If it's above twenty percent… I'm dead."
Because even twenty was a nightmare.
Spawning skeletons. Specters. Wraiths that could phase through terrain. Things he wouldn't have a prayer of dealing with in his current state—pajama-wearing, weaponless, and a level zero human with no UI or stats.
If the sun went down… and the corruption was active...
He didn't finish the thought.
He just kept walking.
Faster.
Trying not to trip.
Trying not to listen to how quiet the forest had gotten.
Trying not to imagine the earth behind him... moving.
High above, nestled in the crook of a gnarled tree, something watched.
Small. Still. Pale as bone.
Its eyes were wide, white, and unblinking—glassy like marble, yet focused with unnatural precision.
It didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Didn't blink.
Just watched as Kade pushed through the tall green, leaves rustling in his wake.
Then, slowly, it tilted its head.