The black-scaled serpent was coiled around the boar, its head already stretched impossibly wide. Its lower jaw hung open, fangs slick with blood as it worked Cade’s kill into itself. The boar’s snout had vanished, followed by its head, then shoulders. Wet gulps filled the air—each one dragging the corpse deeper into that obsidian throat.

  Cade watched, unmoving, heart thudding so hard it felt like it might betray his position.

  He should run. He knew he should run. But the longer he stared, the more a new thought began to form—what if I kill it?

  The thought was ridiculously stupid. Suicidal even. And yet back on Earth, he’d watched enough documentaries to know that anacondas were vulnerable during and after a big meal. Their bodies went sluggish from the strain of digestion, their reflexes dulled. They were apex predators—but not invincible.

  He bit his lip, watching as the boar’s thick midsection was slowly pulled into the snake’s distending gullet. The anaconda’s body was longer than he’d initially thought, a sinuous shadow sliding in slow waves through the grass. It looked more like a shifting tree trunk than an animal.

  Still, the boar had earned him two levels. That snake had to be worth more.

  Cade’s breathing slowed as he weighed the madness taking root in his mind. On one side, escape—quiet, safe, and slow. On the other, an opportunity. A risk that could provide another tangible step forward.

  He needed levels. This Tutorial seemed like it was designed to weed out the weak. And he was weak—still at the bottom, scraping by with scavenged gear and barely a grip on survival. Every edge mattered. Could he even afford to not take the risk?

  The System rewarded risk.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was insane but the longer he contemplated it, the more the pieces began to line up. He could ambush it while it was vulnerable by cutting the back of the neck as it was stretched from swallowing the boar. In one quick swing he’d sever the spinal cord and that would be it.

  He gripped the haft of his axe tighter. He just needed this one shot. And if he failed? Then the snake would feast twice today.

  Cade stayed low in the reeds, breathing shallow through his nose as he crept a few paces forward, his eyes never leaving the anaconda.

  The boar was halfway down now. Cade could see the massive bulge in the snake’s throat shifting inch by inch as muscular contractions dragged the carcass deeper. The snake’s body ballooned out unnaturally around the kill—its scaled skin stretched tight and slick with swamp water.

  That was the moment to strike. He knew it.

  The creature’s lower body was still coiled loosely, tail weaving through the grass, but its head and upper neck were occupied—busy, focused, vulnerable.

  He gripped his axe. The weapon felt different. Lighter. He rolled his wrists and noticed the shift in more balance than before. The haft still carried weight, but it no longer felt like it dragged him down with every movement. Maybe that was what two more points of Strength did. Or maybe he had enough adrenalin running through his veins that the weight didn’t matter.

  Still, the axe was clumsy. Its blade wasn’t made for precision. The weapon was brutal, meant for splitting skulls or hacking through limbs.

  He inched around the side, careful to stay downwind. The creature didn’t seem to notice him. Its focus was entirely on the meal.

  Cade narrowed his eyes at the engorged neck. The stretched skin glistened in the light, paper-thin in spots. Between the armor-like rows of black scales, thin lines of exposed flesh pulsed.

  There. That was the target. If he could land a clean blow—right between those stretched scales—he might be able to sever its spine.

  His hands were trembling slightly as he shifted his grip on the axe. His stomach was tight with a noxious mix of adrenaline and fear. Before he could chicken out he reminded himself that he got two levels from killing a single boar. How much would this giant snake give him?

  You're not going to survive this place by hiding. You level, or you die. That’s the deal.

  Cade flexed his fingers once more. He crouched. Waited. The boar’s hind legs were nearly gone now, only its hooves sticking from the edge of the snake’s maw.

  It was time.

  Cade crept forward in silence, each step deliberate, each breath shallow and controlled. His boots slid across slick patches of wet earth, but he kept his balance. The axe hung low in both hands, blade angled behind him, the way he’d seen people hold baseball bats.

  The snake’s massive body twitched once as another pulse of muscle dragged the boar deeper. The hind legs were gone now. Only the swollen bulge halfway down the throat marked where the corpse was lodged.

  Closer. Just a few more steps.

  Cade’s heart thudded in his ears—loud and distracting. He pushed the noise down, focused on the dark gleam of the snake’s stretched neck. Between the rows of obsidian scales, he could see the skin drawn taut and pale from the strain of swallowing something just a bit too large.

  He surged forward without any further hesitation.

  Cade brought the axe up with both hands and launched himself at the snake’s neck, just behind the swollen bulge. He came down with all his weight behind the swing, the axe arcing in a wide crescent of motion.

  The blade struck home.

  A wet, meaty CRACK echoed through the clearing as the steel edge bit deep between the snake’s scales, driving into the exposed flesh. Cade felt the vibration of impact travel through the haft into his bones—then the sudden give as skin and muscle parted under the blow.

  Hot blood gushed from the wound. A thick, pressurized spray that hit Cade across the chest and face like a burst firehose. It was hot, coppery, and strangely oily making the boar’s own blood feel thin in comparison.

  The anaconda convulsed violently.

  Its body snapped back in a whip-crack motion, and Cade stumbled away, barely keeping his footing in the churned mud. The head reared up—boar halfway down its throat—and let out a soundless gape, jaw stretched grotesquely wide.

  It wasn’t dead. Not even close.

  The wound was deep, but not fatal. The axe had torn a wide gash just behind the head—but the creature’s hide was thick, and its spine hadn’t been severed.

  The black serpent thrashed, writhing in pain, and Cade felt his stomach plummet.

  Shit.

  He took a step back, boots squelching in the mud. The snake spun in place, tail lashing out in a wide arc. Cade saw the thrashing and he knew that one hit hadn’t been enough. Not nearly enough.

  The anaconda’s body spasmed, scales rippling as it writhed from the pain. Cade raised the axe, ready to swing again—but the tail was already whipping toward him.

  He barely saw it before it hit.

  THUD.

  The impact was like being struck by a battering ram. The air vanished from his lungs as the serpent’s tail slammed into his ribs, lifting him clean off his feet. His vision blurred. He hit the ground hard, skidding across the mud and crashing a few meters away.

  For a second, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.

  Then the pain hit.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Fuuuck—” Cade gasped, clutching his side. A bright red System message flared in the corner of his vision.

  [HP: 34/100]

  He was down to a third of his health. From one hit.

  He stared at the number, blinking. Trying to breathe.

  It was at this moment that he knew, he fucked up.

  Across the clearing, the snake was twisting violently, its long body crashing through the reeds and trees like a bulldozer. The boar’s body had stopped descending—Cade could see its hind legs sticking out of the serpent’s jaws, limp and dripping with mucus.

  Then, with a series of wet, hacking convulsions, the snake began to regurgitate the boar.

  Its throat bulged upward, muscles spasming unnaturally. In seconds, the boar’s body began to slide free. The corpse landed in the mud with a wet slap, a lifeless heap of red and gray.

  Cade pulled himself upright, leaning on the axe for balance.

  Then the snake turned to face him.

  Its head lifted.

  They locked eyes and time stopped. A cold shot of something primal ripped through Cade’s chest.

  Fear.

  Not normal fear. Not panic or nerves. This was worse. Deeper.

  Every part of his body screamed to run, to flee, to hide—but he couldn’t move. His muscles locked. His legs turned to lead while his arms trembled.

  The axe slipped from his hands and fell uselessly to the ground.

  He tried to scream, to do something, but nothing came out. His heartbeat thudded in his ears, growing louder and louder until it was all he could hear.

  The snake watched him. Silent. Still. Tongue flickering once…twice…

  Cade’s mind spiraled. Why did I attack it? he thought. Why did I think this was a good idea?

  The boar had made him cocky. Two levels. Not necessarily a clean kill but an easy one. He thought he could do it again.

  But this wasn’t the same. This was a mistake. A mistake that was about to cost him everything.

  The serpent moved with terrifying calm.

  Its obsidian-black body slid across the mud in smooth, sinuous curves, massive weight disturbing the flattened reeds as it closed the distance. Cade still couldn’t move. His body remained locked in place, frozen not by magic but by something more ancient—primal submission. A response burned into the nervous system of prey facing a true apex predator.

  The snake’s head stopped just inches from his face.

  Its tongue flicked out again, brushing Cade’s cheek. The touch was soft, dry, like twin threads of silk. His muscles twitched uselessly.

  The creature loomed over him, unblinking. Its onyx scales gleamed in the scattered light. There was no malice in its eyes. No emotion at all. Just hunger and instinct.

  Then the bulk of its body began to slide past.

  Cade barely felt the first loop wrap around his thighs—until it tightened.

  The next loop coiled over his waist. Then his chest. Then his arms. Each wrap of thick muscle constricted tighter, until Cade could feel his ribs straining against the pressure. His hands were pinned at his sides, useless.

  His paralysis broke just enough for him to gasp. Just enough to realize that he couldn’t breathe.

  He tried to twist, to struggle, but the grip was absolute. His chest was being compressed, inch by inch, like a balloon under a tightening fist. His heartbeat was loud and thudding in his ears.

  The snake didn’t squeeze quickly. That would be too easy. It was slow and deliberate.

  Cade’s face twisted as panic welled again. He couldn’t feel his fingers. His vision wavered.

  Above him, the snake raised its head once more. That tongue flicked again—lazily this time—as if it was tasting his fear. Savoring it.

  And Cade thought, It knows it’s already won.

  Cade’s lungs burned.

  Each second stretched out—longer, tighter—as the coils wound like iron bands around his torso. His ribs creaked. Vision swam. Sparks flickered at the edges of his sight. Somewhere in his mind, he registered that this was it. This was how he would die. Not with a dramatic last stand or defiant final words. Just crushed slowly and quietly, not even able to muster a whimper.

  But even as his body failed him, his mind screamed No.

  He couldn’t move—but he raged against it. Against the stillness. Against the helplessness. A fury welled up inside him, white-hot and defiant. Not like this. He refused. Not crushed and broken in the dark, forgotten in a swamp and food for some overgrown snake. His will pushed back against whatever it was holding him, clawing and howling in silent rebellion, refusing to give the System or the snake the satisfaction of watching him die caged in his own flesh.

  And then—something snapped. Not a bone or tendon.

  The paralysis broke.

  Cade’s body surged, frantic and desperate. He squirmed, every ounce of strength pouring into shifting just an inch—just enough to free one wrist. The dagger. The dagger!

  He shoved his hand toward the leather pocket on his thigh, fingers fumbling until they found the hilt. His vision was blurring now, pressure mounting in his skull like it was going to pop. But he gripped the dagger and yanked it free.

  A hiss of effort escaped his clenched teeth with the last of his breath.

  The snake’s skin was iron-hard—thick onyx scales layered like armor. He slammed the dagger into its side, but the blade skittered harmlessly off a scale. The pain in his chest screamed louder. Another squeeze and his ribs might collapse.

  Cade gritted his teeth and shifted the dagger’s tip—angled it downward—pressing until he found soft give between the ridged plates.

  He drove the dagger in with every ounce of strength he had left.

  The serpent spasmed, a deep convulsion pulsing down its body. The blade sank deep, all the way to the hilt. Cade twisted it as the snake’s scream wasn’t sound, but motion, a full-body shudder that nearly snapped his spine.

  Then the coils loosened. Just slightly. Just enough that Cade gasped in a sudden inhale, he felt breath rush back into his lungs.

  The snake recoiled, dragging itself backward, the dagger still lodged in its side. Cade collapsed to his knees in the mud, coughing, sucking air in ragged gasps.

  He couldn’t move for a second. He could barely think but he was somehow still alive.

  Cade staggered to his feet.

  His chest throbbed with each breath—sharp pain radiating from ribs that felt bruised—but he pushed through it, half stumbling as he turned toward the snake.

  It was writhing.

  Slow and furious, the creature twisted its enormous body, churning up thick reeds and mud in a wide radius. The dagger was still buried in its side, the hilt protruding at a crooked angle. Blood, black and slick, oozed in pulses down its glistening scales.

  Cade’s eyes dropped to the axe on the ground.

  He dove for it.

  The moment his fingers closed around the haft, the snake’s head snapped back toward him.

  It surged forward.

  Cade lifted the axe and brought it up in a rising arc—a desperate uppercut-like motion that met the oncoming strike with everything he had. The axe blade slammed against the underside of the serpent’s jaw.

  CRACK.

  Not the snake this time.

  The axe.

  The metal head split apart—shards of the blade snapping clean off, ricocheting into the mud as if they’d struck solid stone. The spike on the reverse side remained, but the chopping blade was gone.

  The impact deflected the snake’s momentum just enough. Instead of sinking fangs into Cade’s face, the head veered, crashing past his shoulder and slamming into the ground beside him with a thud that sent vibrations through his boots.

  Cade reeled.

  He looked at the ruined axe in his hand. The spike gleamed.

  His heart pounded as he turned to face the snake again. The great body was already twisting back around, the head lifting, preparing for another strike.

  Its eyes locked on him.

  Cade didn’t have time to think. His grip tightened on the haft.

  He knew what was coming next.

  The snake lunged again. Its mouth opened wide, fangs gleaming, eyes locked on Cade with a mindless, ancient hunger. There was no hesitation in its movement—no doubt, no fear. Just speed, power, and inevitability.

  Cade didn’t dodge.

  He stepped in.

  Both hands gripped the haft of the ruined axe, the spike now pointing down like a war pick. His body moved out of desperation. The snake came in low, its head level with Cade’s chest.

  He raised the weapon high and brought it down with every ounce of strength and weight he had—just as the serpent surged forward.

  The spike met flesh with a wet crunch.

  Straight through the left eye.

  The force of the impact—a collision of momentum and raw mass—was catastrophic. Cade was thrown off his feet as the snake’s body slammed into him. He hit the mud hard, air blasting out of his lungs again as several hundred kilos of scaled muscle collapsed atop him.

  For a moment, Cade couldn’t breathe. The weight was crushing, smothering. He kicked, writhed, clawed his way out from underneath the coils, slipping and gasping as panic nearly overtook him.

  His hand scraped against something smooth and hard protruding from the snake’s body.

  The dagger.

  He gripped it. Yanked it free from the snake’s side.

  With the blade in hand, Cade scrambled clear of the body and spun to face it again, panting, trembling, eyes wide.

  The snake didn’t move.

  Its head was twisted at an unnatural angle. The spike had pierced straight through its eye socket and into the skull. The haft still jutted out like a flagpole planted in flesh. There was no flicker of breath. No twitch.

  Only stillness.

  System notifications began flooding his vision in a glowing cascade, but Cade ignored them. His heart was still hammering. His arms still raised, dagger trembling in his grip.

  He stared for a long moment, waiting for the serpent to move.

  It didn’t. The battle was over. Somehow, impossibly, he had won.