"Quest Initiation Complete."
Rex woke to a feminine announcement. The last thing he could recall was being pulled inexorably towards a tiny, distant swirl of colors.
"Ahhhh...!" He stretched all four limbs outwards to their utmost limit, a force of habit. As he completed this familiar routine, he pushed himself up, observing his surroundings.
He had woken up lying on damp, cool foliage. As far as his eyes could see, he was surrounded by dense trees and shrubby undergrowth, a primordial forest pressing in on all sides.
As he took in his immediate environment, his mind was suddenly assaulted by a splitting ache. He was abruptly pulled into a vision.
He saw a meteorite streaking through the sky, then crashing into a village, sending devastating shockwaves rippling through the area.
The vision shifted: he saw a hand reaching out, making contact with the still-glowing meteorite. As the hand drew closer, tiny sparkles of raw energy, like miniature lightning, arced between flesh and stone. Then, his vision ended.
"Ahh!" Rex winced, leaning his back against a nearby tree for support. The moment his eyes were slightly closed, a countdown materialized in his view.
[10:57:33]
"Time left until impact," the same feminine voice that had woken him resounded in his mind, informing him of what the countdown signified.
"Doesn't seem to be that tough," Rex muttered to himself, analyzing the recent events. The light entity had offered him a quest, a one-time deal called the 'Overlord Quest,' which he had, with a mix of trepidation and thrill, accepted.
After that, he'd woken up here and experienced that brief, intense vision. He instinctively understood that the vision detailed the tasks of his quest: a meteorite was going to impact a village, and he had to make physical contact with it.
The countdown, according to the disembodied voice, was the time remaining until that impact. Simple enough, on paper.
. . .
"Grrrrrrrrrrr."
A deep, guttural grumbling sound ripped through the forest quiet, shattering Rex's train of thought. He slowly turned his head towards the sound's origin.
His eyes met a pair of scarlet-colored pupils that sent a primal tingle of fear snaking down his spine. Further orienting himself, he realized with dawning horror that there weren't just two pupils, but six.
Two pupils each belonged to three colossal wolves, each beast looking to be more than 150cm in height, though the exact measurement was lost in their terrifying scale.
Every feature was humongous, a grotesque exaggeration of their earthly counterparts. Their fur was as dark as the malevolent intent that simmered in their growls. Two of the wolves kept their eyes locked on him, slowly, deliberately spreading out to encircle him. The last of these monstrous dark wolves, evidently the leader, stared at him with a seething rage bubbling in its crimson eyes.
The sheer stature and predatory demeanor of these wolves filled Rex with an overwhelming sense of foreboding—a foreboding of certain, painful loss. His mind, usually quick to analyze, faltered.
It was already chastising him: how could you be so stupid? To accept a quest where failure meant a ban from the greatest wonder of existence? A profound sense of fatigue assaulted him, as if all his enthusiasm and adventurous spirit were physically leaking out of his being.
As he was slowly succumbing to the crushing feeling of inevitable defeat, and his potential devourers were taking the most savorous, anticipatory positions, a jolt of Deja vu struck him.
"I've felt this way before." A single thought took root in his mind, and like a lure, it began to draw his wildly strewn thoughts, pulling them towards a specific, painful memory.
Yes, this was helplessness. A feeling he knew all too well. A feeling he had formed an intimate, bitter relationship with after his parents' death. That feeling offered nothing positive—only regrets, pain, and an aching sadness.
As these memories and the accompanying emotions surged, his fists clenched. He had not failed yet. He couldn't, wouldn't, let himself fall into the suffocating embrace of helplessness again.
Not after everything. "Stats!" he voiced loudly, a command born of desperation and defiance. A dark screen briefly pulsed in his view, bearing a single, frustrating string of words: Temporarily Unavailable
"Seriously?!" he screamed, the word swallowed by the oppressive silence of the forest, broken only by the wolves' low growls. It was an annoying, unhelpful discovery.
"Hey, Feminine Voice!" he called out, a hint of pleading in his tone. "Any ideas on how I can get out of this predicament?
" . . . .. . "Krip... Krip... Krip..." A low, constant chirp was the only anomaly in the heavy silence that followed Rex's desperate question. It seemed to emanate from the dense foliage, indifferent to his plight.
The three bestial foes continued to study Rex, their poses, gaits, and unwavering stares fully conveying their hostile intent. They were waiting, but not for long.
Rex braced himself. It seemed this was going to be a brutal fight.
As he brought up his fists—an act of defiance against the brutal hand his quest had dealt him, dropping him like an express meal delivery for these three humongous wolves—he noticed, for the first time, thick, ink-like markings that ran all across his hands.
This observation prompted him to take proper notice of his current appearance. He was feeling the cool breeze of the forest a bit too much. He'd been so preoccupied with the new environment, the quest, and the colossal wolves, that he hadn't realized he was currently rather unclad.
He briefly scanned his body, careful not to take his eyes off the wolves for more than a second. The only piece of clothing he wore was a pair of tight shorts that ran up to his mid-thigh, clinging snugly to his body.
The shorts were black, with intricate glyphic markings running all across them, offering a surprising level of comfort that felt almost therapeutic against his skin. But apart from these shorts, the only other covering he had—if it even counted as covering—were the dark, ink-like markings that now snaked across almost his entire body.
Rex studied the black, tattoo-like markings. They spared only his extremities (hands and feet) and his face. The patterns didn't depict any recognizable image; they felt more like a complex, symmetrical art piece created by a burnt-out, avant-garde architect.
"Brandings of the Overlord."
The feminine voice suddenly resounded in his mind, startling him. "So now you talk!" Rex blurted out, a spike of annoyance in his voice.
"Chirp… Chirp… Chirp…" Silence from the voice. The ambient chirping continued.
"Swoosh! Swoosh!" The two wolves that had earlier flanked him from both sides dashed forward, closing the distance with terrifying speed. All the fleeting, panicked thoughts that had been occluding Rex's mind were instantly dispelled.
As Rex concentrated on the advancing wolves, he fell into a familiar rhythm, a sensation where his entire mind focused, narrowing to a single, critical task: survive. Do not die in the claws and fangs of these advancing monstrosities. His training with Big Ben, the countless hours, the painful "shuttling"—it all converged into this moment.