TWELVE DAYS REMAINING

Atlas forced his eyelids apart with a groan, awakened by the grim notice intruding on his reality. Water dripped into the overturned wagon in which he’d sheltered for the night, accompanied by the melodic trill of birdsong.

Was there a snooze button for apocalyptic countdowns? He remembered vanishingly little after staggering into the wagon and crawling beneath his pungent covers, but surely he’d not managed to sleep at all given how tired he was.

Atlas yawned, rubbing his eyes as he rolled upright, calling forth the bread he’d logged back in the inn to serve as breakfast. It was still warm, which raised an interesting question. Presumably his bracers were recording every aspect of the items it took as data, disintegrating the item, then reconstituting that data from scratch at a later date.

The question, Atlas mused as he took a bite of the loaf, was why anyone would create such an absurdly inefficient system. Surely it would take more energy to create bread from thin air than it would to carry it around for a year. But doing so was barely a pixel of blue from his now full bar, which regenerated in seconds - from where?

Atlas tapped over to his tool menu, calling forth the second most absurd object in his possession, partly to examine, partly because he was thirsty.

[Endless Decanter]

A WATERSKIN INFUSED WITH THE POWER OF [WATER].

PRODUCES [WATER] ENDLESSLY WHEN UPENDED.

POWERED BY MONSTER CORES.

CURRENT AMMUNITION: CORE [SLIME] [98%]

The waterskin looked much the same as it had before he’d messed with its code, but in place of the hole was a socket where, after some experimentation, he’d inserted one of his slime cores changing it to its current state, pouring out fresh water despite never having been filled.

The similarity was uncanny, though obviously his bracers were an order of magnitude more advanced. Did they have a monster core in them?

Did he?

Atlas took a swig and dismissed the decanter along with that particular line of questioning. He could find those answers in the city. Hopefully.

He forced himself to his feet, nursing his tender ribs. His Aegis might be full, but he wasn’t physically in much better shape this morning than when he’d killed the boar last night. Clambering out through the distorted sideways arch of the wagon Atlas stretched out, blinking in the morning sun.

Wait.

He had killed the boar, right?

Atlas peered about the carnage of the path, no less eerie in the light, with ruined metal breastplates torn apart and stripped of their contents by the dreadful beast he’d fought. A beast that was now nowhere to be seen.

Where it fell was obvious enough. A deep depression in the ground that last night’s downpour had failed to wash away, leaving a wide and deep pothole filled with water no doubt to the delight of future travellers down this route. Atlas squatted by the puddle, his white face frowning back up at him.

It should have been dead. He’d spent a few minutes with his knife making absolutely sure of that fact. Unless it regenerated? Atlas looked around. There were no tracks on the… track. Atlas rubbed his chin as he stared down at the puddle. Wasn’t it bigger than the boar had been?

He poked at the water with a finger, ripples destroying his reflection. There was the deep part where it fell, and here was shallower where it had been… dragged?

But only briefly. Something had apparently been large enough to simply scoop up the massive corpse, which must have been easily two tons, and carry it off, all without leaving any tracks of its own. Unless it was so big it just straddled the path completely? Atlas glanced nervously at the trees on either side.

He shook the image from his head and turned away. Better to be out of these awful woods in any case. He pulled out his hunting knife and, with the help of its compass, turned and started walking in the opposite direction than he’d been headed last night. He didn’t want his mattock back badly enough to go back and look for it.

Thankfully nothing accosted him, though a few lone rabbits eyed him carefully from a distance. He even managed to scan a small wren chirping in the branches, netting him a single [Bird] code and a pixel on his yellow bar.,

It was still mid morning, as far as he could tell, when the forest abruptly cut off. A waist high stone wall punctuated the sudden change between trees and rolling fields of ripened grains populated by bearded farmers pushing already overloaded wooden carts. Obviously they weren’t wasting any time with the harvest. In the distance he could see the river, glittering in the morning sun, just beyond a few clustered farm buildings. He’d made it.

But… Atlas peered up and down the river as it threaded between the fields. Where was the bridge? There was a path on the other side of the river from the buildings. Was it missing? Or was there some clever contraption that raised it when it was needed?

Maybe it had been snatched by the same thing that took the boar, Atlas mused grimly.

After a comparatively short stroll down through the fields and past the seemingly deserted farm buildings Atlas found his answer. All that remained were a few wooden posts jutting from the surface of the water, broken planks scattered along the distant bank. Apparently it had been washed away in the storm. Atlas stared disconsolately across the serene surface of the river.

“Looking to go on back to the city, boy?”

Atlas jerked in surprise, spinning to face the voice. An old man with a long white beard sat with his back against one of the remaining wooden struts, a pole held between his hands and a bucket of fish sat at his side.

“Y-yes, but the bridge is broken?”

“Looks that way, don’t it?” The man scratched his beard. The pole in his hands didn’t actually have a fishing line or anything, he was just holding it out, staring half-lidded across the water.

Atlas raised an eyebrow. The man looked like a farmer, but everyone else was working on the harvest while he was sitting here pretending to fish?

“Is… there another way across?”

“Just waiting for the Charon.” The man’s eyes flicked across the water. An otter, slightly bigger than the one belonging to Mrs Damastes, hauled itself from the fast flowing water and trotted over to the man, a flapping fish in its jaws. The man reached into a pocket and traded the otter a small treat and a scratch behind a tiny pointed ear for its piscine payload, throwing it into the bucket with the rest. The otter chirped happily and slid down the muddy bank back into the river.

Atlas took advantage of the distraction to surreptitiously flick his scan beam over the man and his bucket.

FORM PARAMETERS UPDATED

NEW CODE ACQUIRED [Patience]

OPEN CODE GRID Y/N?

NEW CODE ACQUIRED [Fish]

ACTIVATE REMOTE COLLECTION Y/N?

Atlas tapped no, and again, not sure which was which, but neither was likely to endear him to the locals.

“So is this ‘Charon’ coming soon?”

“Soon enough.”

Atlas rolled his eyes. Maybe he should have edited his code after all? There was doubtless a “Congenitally Unhelpful” code or two in there. A few women were tending pigs and plump yellow hens in nearby enclosures, but there was no sign of anything or anyone that might help in crossing a river.

Atlas sighed. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do than wait.

“Do you mind if I sit with you?”

The man grunted, not looking at him.

“Fine. Just be sure not to spook Betsy with that fancy gadget of yours.”

Atlas broadly guessed that he was talking about the otter. Impressive, he hadn’t thought the man had seen him. He settled down cross-legged on a patch slightly less muddy than its surroundings and joined the man in looking out across the water.

Neither spoke. The quiet sounds of livestock behind and the river ahead blended together into a soothing quiet Atlas didn’t care to break. He couldn’t control the loss of the bridge, so he might as well accept-

Wait.

Atlas scanned the post behind the farmer.

NEW CODE ACQUIRED [Shattered]

OPEN CODE GRID Y/N?

Atlas tapped yes, a hopeful grin growing on his face. The blue bar started to drop. Atlas glanced at the farmer sat nearby, seemingly oblivious to the fate of his seat. Should he tell the man to move? He had no idea what would happen. Maybe he’d just undo the damage to this single wooden beam, leaving the rest of the bridge in pieces. Maybe he should move, in case the bridge pieces collapsed back into shape and crushed him in the process?

THIS DEVICE HAS POWERED DOWN UNEXPECTEDLY.

CODE GRID ACCESS ABORTED.

Not enough MP.

Atlas sagged. It had taken comparatively long to run out at least. Perhaps he was close? A level up might be all he needed, and he wasn’t far off the next one. Maybe he could wander back into the forest and see if he could find some more critters to scan?

… Atlas mentally filed that particular idea under “last resorts” before settling back against the wooden post once more. He couldn’t even spend the time trying out new combinations in his inventory menus now.

Minutes stretched to hours, the sun climbing along its long arch through the sky above, its slow progress punctuated occasionally by the man’s otter returning with another offering of fish. Warm and comfortable, Atlas eyes started to drift closed…

“Here he comes.”

Atlas snapped awake, hand coming up to the scan button reflexively. At first he saw nothing, just a heron wading the shallows on the opposite bank, but a moment later he spotted the distant black shape coming from downstream.

With every minute the shape grew closer, and soon Atlas could make out a black figure atop a skiff, only rendered in massive scale. The figure was at least fifteen feet tall, wielding a ferryman’s pole at least twice that to progress effortlessly against the current, while the skiff, which might comfortably have held one or two passengers of the boatman’s enormous size, was easily large enough to accommodate a few dozen people without much effort. Atlas stood, shielding his eyes from the sun to get a better look as it approached.

The entire craft was made of the same black metal as his bracers, and engraved with large runes that at once repelled him and ensnared his attention, the same as he’d seen on his bracer and the metal platform on which he’d first awakened. If he could only understand...

A lance of pain ripped through his skull. Atlas turned away, clutching his temple as static clouded the world for a moment.

With a metallic groan the ferryman arrived on the bank. Avoiding the boat with his eyes, Atlas looked up into the figure’s deep cowl at a gaunt, skeletal face with papery white skin and two glowing red pits staring down at him from where its eyes should have been. A moment later a foul, mouldering stench assaulted his nostrils, eye-watering despite his long exposure to his own pungent clothes.

DEFINE DESTINATION

The text, blood red rather than its usual blue, superimposed itself across his vision.

“Across the river.” The farmer spoke up. He hadn’t even stirred in the presence of the figure.

SUPPLY UNIT WITH TWO TALENTS

The farmer swore and pushed himself to his feet, rapping his pole against the wooden beam. The otter splashed out of the water and scurried over to him, paying the boatman equally little attention. Atlas’ stomach sank. He didn’t even know what a talent was, but assuming the farmer was getting the same messages it was probably a lot, and a lot more than zero in either case.

“Coming, boy?” The farmer stood, leaning on his pole, his back to the river.

“Huh?” Atlas perked up.

“You don’t seem like the sort to have two talents flying around, and I don’t figure you’ll get them standing around here. So how about you and I do a deal?”

“I'm listening.” Atlas turned to look at the man. He didn’t return the courtesy.

“We’re short on hands right now, so if you hire on, I’ll let you ride with us to the city when harvest is done. Should be about a tenday.”

Atlas rested a hand on his hip as he thought.

“Deal.”

That was cutting it close, and he wasn’t sure how long it would take to reach the city from here. But it was his best bet right now, and if he found a better option before then he could always take it.

“Good. Your first job is to carry the bucket.” The man walked off, tapping the path with his pole as he walked, leaving the overflowing container of fish behind.

Atlas turned back to the Charon, still stood motionlessly staring at him, and hit the scan button on his bracer.

SCANNING LEVEL TOO LOW

MORE DATA REQUIRED

Figured. He logged the heavy bucket and hurried after the man.