Hydrion made a few lazy circles with his hammer, grinning at his first victims. He had specifically instructed Sir Wpierdol not to interfere—only to watch for more monsters that might appear. The three imps before him were his, and so was the creature accompanying them: a Gog.

  Hydrion's grin sharpened as his gaze locked on the beast. Its brown, rock-scaled skin radiated heat, each ridge like cooled magma. Molten yellow eyes glared without blinking, and jagged teeth flashed in a vicious snarl.

  Two curved horns crowned its skull, with smaller spikes bristling down its spine, exaggerating the demonic frame. Behind it, a barbed tail lashed the ground, carving grooves with each swing, used both to aid balance and as a weapon.

  Unlike the imps, it didn't spit on its paws. Instead, as Hydrion approached, it hissed and dropped into a low crouch, shoulders forward, weight coiled—like a wrestler bracing for the charge. The self-appointed battle healer without a battle under his belt grinned. Finally, an opponent worthy of his human form. Something to test his mettle. A rival to prove whether his hammer sang or faltered.

  "What the fuck!?" Hydrion half yelped, half gasped as the creature sprung forward like a bullet, outrunning even the fireballs being hurled by its companions, and lunged at him with its claws outstretched, nearly catching his throat.

  As a swamp hydra, maybe he couldn't be called the fastest creature on his planet, but at the same time, he'd never had any problem keeping track of any moving object. Or creature, for that matter.

  Not only did he manage to dodge—despite somehow finding himself out of his depth, and yes, swamps can be deep—but Hydrion also attacked back with a roar, swinging his hammer as the enemy passed him by mere inches.

  It was a great opportunity, an opening begging to be exploited, and Hydrion had it all well in hand. Or so he thought. To his surprise and embarrassment, he missed the horned figure entirely, while almost overbalancing himself. He swore, scrambling to adjust. It felt as if he was fighting in thick mud. Everything he did was slower than normal, and that was without all the bulk! He was sure his human form back home wasn't this sluggish either!

  The gog recovered faster than expected, closing the distance once more with terrifying speed. Pressed to do something to avoid being sliced into pieces, Hydrion's desperation somehow translated into action—the hammer swing and the gog's aggressive charge had positioned them perfectly. He kicked the creature in the chest, buying himself a few precious seconds. Enough to regain stability, dodge a fireball and charge forward, swinging. The gog sprung up with the aid of his tail just to find the face of the hammer falling rapidly towards his own face. It managed to turn the head slightly and the strike instead of hitting the nose, landed on the cheek.

  Not seeing any health bars, Hydrion didn't wait and followed it with another swing, this time hitting an outstretched arm that the gog tried to protect itself with. The strike must have triggered the weapon's attribute, because the creature's arm spasmed violently and its face contorted in a grimace that nothing else so far had produced. A part of Hydrion really appreciated how hilarious it looked. The rest screamed at him to keep hitting the damn thing like a pissed-off mother armed with a chancla and determination.

  Face, other arm, shoulder. Hydrion started to wonder if his weapon did any actual damage as his opponent just kept standing there and taking it. Arm, arm at a different angle, arm at the wrist. Finally, it seemed like something happened to the creature. But instead of falling down, dead, it apparently got really pissed off and swung its tail, slapping Hydrion in his side and throwing him several feet away.

  Being human sucked. How did they ever kill anything!? When he'd watched humans fight, it had seemed so easy. Yet here he was, already struggling to catch his breath! Unacceptable! His tiny little lungs were nothing like his hydra version that could best be compared to a forge's bellows.

  To his horror, he noticed blood. His blood! That tiny little cut on his side was bleeding like chum in shark-infested waters. It was ridiculous! And the pain! He'd gotten into a few scraps in his days, but never had something so small given him so much trouble.

  "Get the imps boss!" He heard Sir Wpierdol yell. "You're right by them. Finish them off! Smack them! Yes, like that! In the temple! In the temple! Now elbows! Fuck 'em up!"

  The excited elf continued to yell advice at his party's leader, while dealing with more imps appearing from all round them, giving Hydrion space for his fight.

  Meanwhile, the aforementioned party leader himself was able to dispatch one imp with repeated strikes to the head and the other one as he used it as a shield of sorts, placing it between him and one of the gog's strikes.

  By then, the gog was also panting, visibly slowing down, which Hydrion greatly appreciated. The wound in his side was knitting together thanks to his regeneration, and he was never in real danger—he could have turned into Hydra at any given point. At least he wasn't in any real danger physically, because mentally, he was in utter shambles.

  Some time back, Reed had given attributes to his heads, choosing five of the seven deadly sins to name them—though Hydrion stubbornly insisted on using the virtues instead. At the moment, his red-faced Wrath, which he called Charity, had completely shut off. After witnessing the beginning of his fight, it had done the mental equivalent of a facepalm and withdrawn entirely.

  Gluttony briefly took over, but it turned out that biting the gog was a terrible idea—he only burned his tongue. Sloth was uninterested in the whole thing and patiently waited for Pride to stop fucking around, while Greed also waited, but in reserve, in case Pride suffered a mortal mental wound. Which would have already happened if more members of his team had been present to witness his fight.

  At least they weren't there to see it. But when Hydrion took a second to check the minimap where he could track his companions' movements, his Pride took a hit anyway. The dots representing his party members were moving around in complete disarray.

  Martha and Balladin had veered off course and were trailing Pierre and Jack, who'd gotten so far away they'd disappeared from the map a second ago, triggering a party disbandment warning that would go into action if they didn't return within the given time. Don Espadón and Cruz Control were falling behind on their planned route, but not nearly as much as Hydrion and Sir. Wpierdol, who were practically stuck in place.

  It turned out that Hydrion as a leader was definitely not Attila the Hun or Suvorov, possibly not even McClellan, and in danger of falling into the category of Darius III or even Sedgwick. He just hoped he would never cross the Lord Cardigan threshold, or he might lose one of his heads permanently.

  At this point, Pride would probably take being compared to Kutuzov or even Eisenhower.

  Possibly confused by his opponent's erratic behavior, the gog overreached one of its attacks, tripping on a charred root and stumbling forward into a tree, and Hydrion pounced on it like a kitten on a feather, smacking it in the head with the hammer until finally, it stopped moving.

  Carried by his victory and multiple feelings raging in his head—shame, hunger—weirdly enough still there—despair, and most importantly frustration and anger—he fell on the last imp like lightning from the sky, finishing it off in a few strikes.

  His entire body was sore despite the regeneration, and he felt the beginnings of blisters on his hands from swinging the damned hammer around. His clothes were still serviceable, although not as pristine as before the fight started. His dedication to avoiding excessive fire—minus that unfortunate bite—had paid off.

  Staring at the battlefield, he noticed something strange. While the imps had dissolved into thin air, the gog's body had initially stayed where he'd slain it, slowly melting into the rock before disappearing—but leaving an object behind.

  Curious, he walked up and found something wrapped in what looked like brown packing paper. He picked it up and opened it, revealing a waxed interior and a piece of meat.

  If it was gog meat, he wanted nothing to do with it, but a quick identification spell described it as some kind of lizard meat, which he was more favorable toward—and Gluttony, still nursing a burned tongue from trying to bite the creature earlier, didn't let this opportunity for revenge slip by. With his eyes flashing yellow, and Wrath nodding approval from the sidelines, he tore into the piece of meat like it was still trying to escape.

  As he'd expected, it turned out not to be a Michelin-star delicacy, but he gobbled it up regardless, dusting his hands and folding the piece of paper. It probably wouldn't come in handy, but he was a firm believer in not littering, and habits he'd cultivated for so long were hard to break.

  "That must be annoying for you," Tadzio said, walking up with his scarf down, "to fight in a human body like this."

  "What do you mean?" Hydrion asked, not able to hide the irritation in his voice. He would rather forget the whole fight than analyze it with one of his teammates.

  "As a Hydra, I guess you'd have bitten off half of the gog without getting any burns. Acid-refined gums, I suspect?" He shrugged.

  That gave Hydrion pause, but in the end, he also shrugged, grimacing.

  "Oh, you know about that, huh?" Hydrion scratched his head "Well, I mean, it's not like I'll be able to hide it in here—or even want to—so I guess it is what it is. Also, it's not just a Hydra, it's a Swamp Hydra." He corrected automatically, before Greed took over briefly, too curious to help it. "How had you figured that out? Back home, I mean. In our original world."

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "Once one is aware of a giant predator living in proximity to one's home, it's rather hard not to investigate." Sir Wpierdol smiled. "And lately you've been becoming rather lax about keeping it a secret."

  "Oh?"

  "Toddler's giggles carry over the river."

  "Ah." Hydrion scratched his head. "Yeah, I might have gotten a little careless with Reed around. What about you? An elf?"

  "Partially." The man shrugged again. "I don't quite know my full heritage. My upbringing was rather unique, and I never really put enough effort into trying to find out the details. Never saw a point." He swung his baseball bat onto his shoulder. "So what's next for us?"

  "Do you think you'd be able to go and gather our team around?" Hydrion asked. "We're becoming too spread out, and I think this tactic isn't working very well for us."

  "Absolutely." Sir Wpierdol nodded. "What about you?"

  Me?" He asked with a grim expression. "Oh, I'm about to let off some steam." He said, undressing.

  For a second it looked like Tadzio wanted to say something, but when he saw Hydrion reaching to take off his pants, he took off like a horse smacked in the ass, disappearing from sight in an instant.

  Good to see the man took the jogging advice to heart.

  Hydrion finished undressing and carefully packed his stuff before his human form shattered. The change came with a wet tearing sound and the sharp crack of reshaping bone.

  With a frustrated growl that multiplied into five, massive heads burst out and a frame formed with scales that belonged in a primordial swamp, not this ash-covered wasteland. Done with limiting himself, he let out a roar, full of frustration and a promise of rampage.

  ***

  Pierre was in shock. He saw many deaths in his life, curiously enough, his own included, but never have he seen someone have as much fun as Jack and Martha did. Seeing how Jack threw himself among and onto imps, cuddling or throwing them to death as if he was rolling in bamboo, gave him a pause. Then, confirming that his teammate had everything well in hand, of a sort, he went to check up on Martha.

  He knew the witch from before, and despite her outward appearance and mannerisms, he always thought that she was a rather restraint woman, so seeing her go all out shocked him. It looked like all her worries and inhibitions fell away and she fully embraced the spirit of the game.

  He sighed and smiled warmly. Killing should never be fun—it was one of the rules their little monster society lived by. Some followed it out of genuine conviction, others out of self-preservation. Those who didn't follow it at all tended to stop living. Still, he guessed that in the game it didn't count. After all, he had gotten a little bit into gaming himself, with Hydrion, and despite his friend moving on to different titles since, Pierre stuck to Counter-Strike and all sorts of FPS. Not only did he find camping and sniping relaxing, but being able to do it over and over again until someone disconnected gave him a sense of fulfillment. And then there were pre-nades. Ah, the memory of line-ups made him tear up a bit.

  Ultimately, his role here was different, and witnessing a friend have fun was a form of joy in itself. Seeing that Martha and Balladin had everything under control, he returned to Jack playing Whac-a-Mole with imps. Finding himself on a hill with no one in urgent need of his assistance—despite Hydrion's prior worries—he climbed a tree to have a look around.

  It was then that a loud roar drew his attention to the distance. Hard as it was to see through the falling ash lit up by the red glow from the sky, he noticed several heads systematically rise over the tree line and fall down. It seemed Hydrion had also let loose and was enjoying himself in the distance. Climbing down and merging with the shadows, Pierre decided to do the same.

  ***

  Acids in Swamp Hydra's stomachs were no joke—substances that could digest close to anything—but it still felt weird to Hydrion that things he ate felt like they were disappearing inside him in no time. What was even weirder was that no matter how much he ate, he didn't fill up one bit. Well, except gogs. Gogs sometimes dropped food, even when already in his stomach, and that stayed, albeit, not terribly long, considering his metabolism.

  Throughout the time he spent in the forest with his team, he felt a slow trickle of energy entering his body each time one of the creatures died, corresponding with the XP messages that kept popping up.

  Sloth, uninterested in the whole commotion of party leadership and monster hunting, was on stat sheet duty most of the time, absorbing the information. Or napping. It was hard to tell even for Hydrion.

  However, when Hydrion transformed and started devouring imps and gogs, even Sloth perked up. The energy they gained was substantially higher, and what followed—these kills gave more experience.

  To compare the gains, he killed a couple of imps and gogs without eating them, and the gains were lower. His mouths split in a self-satisfied grin. Apparently, the system wasn't quite used to beasts like him roaming their world, and he had found himself an exploit.

  He mentally switched to the stat sheet and sure enough, one of his stories had changed.

  Primordial Exploiter

  It took you 0.73 seconds to find and abuse an exploit. But you didn't stop there, finding an unintended way to gain more experience through consumption. The system wasn't designed for predators who literally eat their problems. Uncommon. Impressive.

  Award: +10% to all stats, +10% XP gain when killing enemies through consumption.

  Hydrion stretched all five necks, feeling the satisfying crack of vertebrae settling into their proper alignment.

  Those fights had been easy. Pounce, snap, next. Everything worked in perfect coordination. It was the gogs' turn to be sluggish while he had zoomies. It felt like he'd been released from a kryptonite prison and could roam free again like the apex predator he was. He was no human mammal—he was a full-blown mythic reptile.

  That's how he imagined the Cretaceous Period must have felt. Tyrannosaurus? Please. Swamp Hydra Rex. Now where was his team?

  As he made his way towards where he left his stuff, he shifted more of his attention to the stat sheet. He had gained another level and had to distribute his stat points, which again he chose Social Skills for all of those points. It just didn't feel right to him to be anywhere below 7 in that skill in his human form. He just hoped he was making the right choice with those allocations. Although, who was he kidding. Of course he was making the right choice. After all, the new story confirmed what he already knew, that he was at the pinnacle of the players. In fact, if the system knew what it was doing, it would know he was THE pinnacle, but obviously it was prone to errors.

  Force to be reckoned with

  On your first day in game you’ve cleared an entire zone worth of monsters all by yourself at a speed worthy of notice. Though you have not been the first one to do so or the fastest one, you still placed yourself at the pinnacle of your fellow players.

  Award: +10 Influence

  Seeing that the green dots of his teammates were moving in his direction but were still a ways away, Hydrion shifted back to human form and started dressing while entertaining himself by reading the full story of how he destroyed those imps and gogs. Only when he read it for the second time did he notice that there was another story he had missed. It must have come with all the +1 XP messages that he'd dismissed with a thought.

  Party leader

  Party Leader Some are born to be a leader, others work for it their whole life. You just stumbled into it with no social skills to speak of, and through the sheer conviction of being worthy of the position, you were able not only to form but to hold a team together through multiple combats—even when some of them disappeared from your minimap.

  Award: +2 Social Skills. Your minimap expands by 10%.

  That gave Hydrion pause. It was through pure meanness of his consultant that he got a 1—an obvious injustice! The system had absolutely no clue about how good his social skills were. In fact, they were so great that… that. Well, shit, it was just his choice not to use them and live in the swamps instead. That was his racial whatchamacallit. Attribute or whatever. Some systems just couldn't recognize greatness even when it was staring them in the face—or, in this case, robbing their consultant blind.

  Another thing that the Party Leader story brought to his attention by chance was conviction. Was that a stat too? It wasn't on his stat sheet, so maybe it wasn't a hard stat, yet something that was still taken into account somehow? Or maybe he was digging too much into it and it was just normal, life—not game—related, that when you do something with conviction, it sometimes works even when it's not supposed to. Did that mean that when he was fighting in his human form, he lacked the same conviction that he had when forming and leading a party? Or was he overthinking it?

  When his team finally arrived, they found him still muttering under his breath while chewing on his rations. An experience that turned out to be another great injustice, considering the taste.

  “Hey, Hydrion.” Jack said as soon as they walked up. “So Pierre was telling us how you are not so fond of dragons and not to mention things like Dungeons and Dragons. What’s up with that? I thought dragons were cool…” he finished, frowning at Pierre who was frantically signing for him to shut up. “Are you OK, Pierre?”