The Dark Lord of Crafting

Dying from smoke inhalation would have been a real downer after all the preparations I had made during the day, but I wanted an inside fire. I added an addition to the shack, creating a U shaped wall out of birch blocks and attaching it to the open end to contain my fire pit. Then I made a ceiling and chimney out of logs. I‘d removed the planks I had hastily used to block off one end of the shelter the previous night, and sealed myself in with blocks instead. The extra thickness made me more confident that zombies wouldn’t be able to bust their way through during the night.

The sun had almost fallen when I sealed off the entrance to my shed and lit the firepit, once again using the same trick with my sword. Apart from the chimney, there was only one other opening, a telescoping window I’d made of blocks sticking out from one side of the shelter.

I had plenty of fuel to last me the night. I would just have to throw logs into the fire whenever it died down, but after only a few minutes, I saw the flaw in my plan. My eyes were watering before it was even fully night time. There wasn’t proper airflow in my shack, so not all the smoke went up the chimney. I’d thought adding the window would help with that, but it seemed like I’d arranged things wrong.

Laying down on my grass mat, I could keep below the haze. The smoke gathered in my ceiling before floating out through the chimney. About halfway into my second log, I heard something brush against the side of my shelter. The noise repeated, and then escalated to a long, slow scrape. I grabbed my sword. It wasn’t an ideal weapon to wield in a confined space, but it was better than nothing. The blocks that made up the walls remained firmly in place. Whatever magic my System imbued them with could put together some very sturdy structures, which was handy, because I didn’t have any nails or mortar.

Another shambler announced itself with a series of thumps on the other wall of my shelter. Did they really understand that I was in here, or were they just attracted to anything man made? The intelligence level of the monsters was important, because once I got established, mindless zombies would be easier to deal with than canny vampires or whatever.

Zombies were soft, crappy robots that tried to eat you. But if these were space demons, Cthulhu style, it would lead to a lot more problems. Would I be able to keep them out with a door, or would I always have to seal myself in a cage? Would they work together? Use tools?

Through the window, I could see them shambling around in the moon's light. One monster approached the opening and blocked it, trying to reach in. I jabbed at it with my sword. It tried to grab the blade, shredding its hands, and after a few minutes of this treatment, the zombie tripped off to bang against the side of the shelter.

One zombie was not attacking. It was standing still a few paces away from the window, utterly still. It was wearing my face. The mask fell well short of being a disguise. They had stripped the skin from my previous body, and I had assumed they’d just eaten all of it.

Not so.

This zombie had apparently stitched my old face over his. It was gory, terrifying, and utterly baffling. Everything I thought I had figured out about these monsters crumbled into nothing. This was not animal behavior. Some of them, at least this one, had to be capable of thinking big thoughts. It was watching me like I was watching it.

More than that, the zombies did not burn away in the sun. They went somewhere, and then they came back. This was the same monster that had killed me.

A part of me wanted to open up the shelter and try to finish it, but that impulse was quickly stifled. The idea that it was walking around with some of my skin was not just horrifying, it was infuriating. I wanted to destroy this thing, but I knew that if I went out there, I was in for a repeat of the previous night. For the moment, it seemed they could not break through the walls. That's what I needed to focus on.

Sleep seemed out of the question. One foot of birch wood stood between me and the flesh eating monsters who were actively trying to get in. The heat was uncomfortable, though there was a steady flow of cooler air dropping in from the window. It was a muggy summer night, and the smoke had dried out my eyes and throat. I kept my weapons close and waited for the hours to pass.

I really wanted some water. Why hadn't I made bowls? The recipe was simple, three planks arranged in a V. It had slipped my mind, and now the work table was outside. They would be on my list first thing in the morning.

In Maincraft, there were a variety of monsters that spawned at night. Zombies, skeletons, spiders, phantoms, creepers, and a bunch of other crap. Creepers were the worst. So far, the shamblers seemed to be a zombie equivalent, and I had seen no other mobs the night before. I felt like that was a good sign, because variety would be harder to handle. In the game, skeletons all had bows and knew how to shoot them, and the spiders stayed around after the sun had risen, though they were less aggressive in daylight. Dealing with any of that would be more than what I was prepared for right now.

By the third log, the number of shamblers outside of my shelter had skyrocketed. An accurate count wasn’t possible, but I estimated more than a dozen. They had blocked off my window with their bodies, and I didn’t bother trying to ward them off. This way, I wouldn’t have to stare at the spooky one all night. The bumping and grinding blurred into a creepy ambience. Occasionally, they moaned, but they didn’t seem to get tired. Real zombie behavior. Single-minded, ceaseless, and hungry.

At some point, I think I dozed off, either because I was tired or because smoke inhalation was putting me at an oxygen deficit. The fire was down to embers. It was almost totally dark within my box, and there was just enough light to make out the shape of the shambler that was in there with me.

The sword hilt was still in my hand, and as the shape lurched over me, I reacted instinctively, angling the point of the blade up so that it came down on top of it. I felt wetness dripping as it pressed itself down, heedless of its own impalement, and used the blade in its body to throw it to one side.

The light levels had gotten too low, and one of them had spawned inside with me. The zombie was dragging itself up the blade, teeth gnashing, blind eyes rolling in its skull. I scrambled away, searching for the ax, which I had left near the fire pit. I got my hands on it at the same time as the zombie grabbed one of my feet.

Fortunately, I hadn’t taken off the boots, and its teeth sank into the leather. Twisting, I brought the ax down solidly into the middle of its back, and it spasmed. I freed my foot and got up onto one knee, hitting it again just behind its head. It stopped fighting, and I thought it was dead, so I tried shoving it to the opposite end of the shelter after turning on my status screen for a little more light.

A tentacle slipped out from its flesh folds and latched onto my arm, its mouth like that of a lamprey. I jerked my arm away in reflex, and it took a chunk of skin away with it. Blood ran from the wound, and I felt a little sick. The shambler still wasn’t moving, but that one tentacle was busily swallowing the flesh it had taken out of my arm like a satisfied snake.

I hacked it with the ax and kept hacking until I was sure the entire creature was well and truly dead. The glow of my status screen only cast more shadows. I didn’t believe for a second that it would prevent spawns on its own. The shambler stank like a cesspool, and I tried not to breathe too deeply as I coaxed the fire back to life and piled on more wood.

My arm and hand were slick with blood, and it was the best I could do to press grass against the wound to stem the bleeding. I was lightheaded, and my heart wouldn’t slow down, panting despite the discomfort of mild smoke inhalation, or maybe because of it. I felt like I couldn’t get enough oxygen, and I put my head back down to get under the haze.

The smell of the dead shambler was overpowering. Pretty soon, it was making me retch. I plugged my nose with rolled up grass bits and resolved to wait out the rest of the night.

I knew when it was morning because of the notifications.

Journal Quests Notifications Materials Crafting

Achievement: Sheltered (1)

You are no longer a homeless vagabond! Your penalty for social interactions is revoked, so go make some friends!

Achievement: Survivor (1)

You have existed for twenty-four consecutive hours without dying. What an accomplishment! Base physiology adjusted accordingly.

I had started with a social penalty? Was that why the riders had run off? This System really needed a help function. And what was this about my base physiology being altered? There was no other notification to explain what that meant, but I checked my main status screen, and there it was.

Status

Name: William

System Type: Survivor

Level: 4

Advancement: 72%

Attributes:

Might: F+

Speed: F+

Presence: F

My Might and Speed had both increased, and Presence was no longer at a minus, which must have been the social penalty. That was fine, but it didn’t fix my arm or get me a consistent food source. How strong was “F+” supposed to be, anyway?

I harvested a hole in the wall and scrambled out of my shelter to get away from the stench and the smoke and breathed deep from the chill air of morning. It was a new day. The bite on my arm felt like it was on fire, and given the creature that had bitten me, there was no way it would not get infected. I needed to find people, ask for help and medicine. Stat. I made a note.

"Captain’s log; I am in a fantasy world, and I have incredible magic powers. My struggle to survive continues."