+ Reid +

Air rushed over his exposed face under the cool light of two intact moons. Flying without a helmet made everything better. It gave him a better sense or orientation and speed, expanded his peripheral vision so he knew when to expect an incoming enemy, and made identifying his path forward much easier. It also let him feel the full wind on his face. He shifted for another forward stroke, and dirt shook loose between the seams of his armor.

It fell away to the shadowed ground far below - much like Reid had at the end of his first 'stint' over the Vuxarinan terrain. He watched for the slight forms of trees and bushes that reflected slivers of moonlight, spots of warmer grey amongst the indistinct forest floor. He pushed himself forward again, and closed his eyes against the increasing wind.

Flying was monumentally faster than running on foot would have been, especially once Reid built his momentum up to his 'high speed'. The limit of his movement was fast enough to completely deafen his ears, and stung at his eyes. To maintain velocity, he'd taken to using his quest-marker for a sense of direction - relying on the system-granted sensation allowed him to keep his eyes closed, and his speed up. The result was an airborne Reid that ate up ground with a truly impressive pace. The downside was that each 'stint' didn't quite last as long as he would've hoped.

Gaining and maintaining speed took a serious amount of mana and force. Focused on high-velocity, his Arcane Wings lasted about an hour before he was forced to stop and recover. The first time around, he had played things too close to the edge, and unceremoniously crash-landed through a series of plants. His frame had managed to collect a significant quantity of dirt as he skidded over the ground, and it was still falling free every so often. A three-hour power nap later, he had recovered enough to re-manifest his wings, and continue on. The second landing went better than the first - even if that only meant he hadn't left quite as large a crater in the ground. The third landing saw him actually manage to 'touch' down feet-first. That was promptly followed by a toes-over-shoulders tumble, but it was progress. He did a bit better on the fourth.

The fourth landing was followed by a shorter rest, and then he was back in the air again, racing towards his target. Before closing his eyes, he had seen the signs of the settlement from the air - a series of illuminated dots amongst a expansive jumble of shadowed structures that stretched out from the shoreline. He was nearly there - and this was his last stint before the wave would start. In truth - he wasn't going to make it before the timer finished. It was already down to five minutes, and he guessed he had another twenty before he would arrive.

A creeping anger that had been building over the past hours started to bubble under his skin. His mapping above the mountaintop had revealed more than the distant set of mountains to Reid - it went beyond. The map it made was chunky and lacked any significant detail - but it was vast enough to clearly show Reid the entirety of the landmass he had been transported to.

The island.

It was shaped like a chicken cutlet, with a 'foot' attached to its narrow end in the South. The mountain - and Reid's starting position - were both on that boot, and Dayo Sovni was positioned at an inlet where the cutlet met the boot. He could guess at the rest, but a vast blue expanse surrounded the island as far as the bangle could see.

That had to be an issue for another time, when the looming beast wave didn't threaten an innocent settlement. But it still riled him every time the reality crossed his mind. Maybe these people had boats he could use. Or a helicopter. Or maybe they'd be able to give him directions so he could leverage his flight time well enough to make it to a proper continent. He shook the thoughts away and tried to focus on the task at hand. The frustrated anger stayed with him.

The wave timer ticked down to zero, and Reid forced his eyes open against the wind to catch blurry glimpses of the settlement he approached. Fires slowly repositioned from the forest, back towards the shore. They were already getting pushed back. He grit his teeth, and flexed his wings.

.:.+.:. Quinlan .:.+.:.

His hands shook as he drew back another white-tipped arrow notched to the string of his ivory bow. His muscles - even empowered by the awakening - strained hard to draw. The shot loosed with a satisfying 'thwump', and Quinlan winced as the string once again caught on the skin of his forearm. He rotated his elbow into the proper position and started to ready another arrow - but his current one bounced ineffectively against the flying horrors. His mind went to the warnings they'd been given, and he wondered whether he should flee. He wondered whether he should have ever come back to this town at all.

Things hadn't been this bad at first. Every one of his home island's residents was teleported to Dayo Evni as a massive group. They all had the same prompt - to touch the rotating beacon. Most questioned the logic of touching an unknown artifact, and that included the 'most highly respected' mind in attendance - Randal Ferber. The illustrious genius's advice, to test their surroundings and try to return to their respective residences, seemed sound. So they explored - found a set of insectoid beasts populating their surroundings that were threateningly large, but manageable. Torches and violence were enough to keep most all of them at bay. The only ones that posed more of a threat were the spiders, but the spiders mostly stayed away from settlements, and had the benefit of reducing the populations of other insectoid beasts. He - and most others - chose to return to his home.

For a time, everything worked like normal. The roads between towns had been fractured, but the town itself was mostly intact. Solar panels and wind energy still provided electricity to light the buildings. The fish ponds offshore had larger, more aggressive inhabitants, but that just meant more to eat. Time brought more changes, and more danger. He set out with others to go and receive their true 'powers' from the alien artifact spinning in Dayo Evni. A handful of people remained there, most distraught. It was a sobbing man with a fresh wedding pin that revealed the details. The first few thousand people that relented and touched the beacon had been transported to a 'Tutorial', first as a whole group, then individually as more worked up the courage to interact with the device. Then, one day, it stopped working like that - as abrupt as it was unexplainable. The man had been in line for the process when the change occurred. His wife in front was fully awakened, then teleported. Then, he stepped up, pressed his hand to the device, received his contract and access to skills - then got the error. Anyone else after him experienced the same.

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Quinlan's heart had thrummed hard in his chest, anticipation and fear mixing into adrenaline as his hand connected with the strange construct's surface.

BEACON INTERACTION DETECTED - OPENING CONNECTION

CONNECTION ESTABLISHED.

CONTRACT AVAILABLE. SPONSOR: [Belar Trade Corporation] STAT POINTS: [3 Per Level] SKILL POINTS: [2 Per Level] RESTRICTED TEMPLATE: [Soltorious Tfrimpak, Master Osteal Smith] ADJUSTMENT: [Grade] DURATION: [Perpetual] REVERSION: [Belar Trade Corporation] SPONSOR NOTE: [Accepting this contract will allow awakened to access their skills and the system menu, receive quests, and level up!]

ACCEPT: [ Yes / Refuse Opportunity ]

#

#

CONGRATULATIONS! CONTRACT ACCEPTED!

NOTICE: AWAKENING COMPLETED

ERROR: TUTORIAL BOUNDING CONFLICT DETECTED ERROR: TUTORIAL ENTRY DENIED DURING BOUNDING REVIEW PERIOD

BEACON CONNECTION CLOSED

NOTICE: Nominal experience granted for tutorial loss. NOTICE: Remedial lessons commencing...

The decision to fully awaken was an easy one, and Quinlan had sucked up the simple lessons that followed with the practiced excellence honed from his high school years. So he learned about Belar and their generosity to awaken planets across the vast cosmos, the levels and grades he could climb, and how the faction itself worked. It left him somewhat leery of induction into their ranks, but grateful for the awakening itself - and the jump in levels he received just from skipping the tutorial. Being level 15 from the get-go was going to give him a massive advantage.

Months passed by easy, starting with Quinlan's journey back to his home and the relatively easy task of fending off the level 4 flying spiders alongside the traveling group they'd formed. He made it back to his ever-empty house, and familiarized himself with his new skills while others rushed headlong into violence. That was how he'd learned that he could craft items, and others could use them. He practiced, over and over, until he made it to the point where he could generate ten arrowheads an hour - twice as many as that lunk Noomei with his dumb copper crafting skills.

His role solidified for the town. Quinlan made simple weapons, fishhooks, and tools of bone - and he received food and supplies in turn. It let him continue living just the way he had before the awakening - content to spend his days reading alone in an empty home, with his parents off on some other continent doing what he assumed was very important business. He was so content indoors, he only learned of the smallest moon's destruction when a trader mentioned it to him.

His life - his habits and rhythm - was interrupted by the storm.

In its wake, half their fish farms were broken open by the further mutated beasts within, and the rest were that much harder to subdue. The spiders in the forest grew rapidly, from the simple oversized things they had been, to absolutely massive beasts the size of couch cushions, capable of killing and winding people up with ease. They lost hunting parties and combat-focused groups. Quinlan was roped into doing more work for less in return, 'for the good of the group'.

A series of quests followed that were thankfully focused on Dayo Wolte.

Then the infamous visit that had turned everything further away from his idyllic life.

The man arrived from the shoreline, skin sunburnt and lips parched with thirst. He raved about the beasts having skills, about caustic venom and the losses they'd endured before they figured out better ways to handle the beasts. He had been the one to recommend torches on the perimeter, curfews, and the plan that would kite the beasts close to shore. It all seemed insane- but so much fit into that mold these days.

The self-appointed 'council' overseeing the town - really just a local sport coach, one of the older and less drunk fishermen, and an over-involved parent at the secondary school - shifted and spurred almost all their efforts to fulfilling the crazy man's advice. Anyone willing was pressed into combat forces. Quinlan wasn't willing - but he also didn't feel like dealing with the trouble of resisting the townwide change.

That put him square in the position he occupied now, firing his ineffective arrows against the unreasonably powerful flying enemy, impatiently waiting for orders to retreat.

When the enemy neared, Quinlan was the only one smart enough to flee as soon as the drums sounded. Eumchee landed close behind him seconds later, and overtook Quinlan with his system-assisted speed, a flash of fear in his eyes as he passed. Kolljhak and Yelog didn't make it down. Quinlan did his best to tune out their pained cries until wound sticky thread would silence them completely. His former schoolmates - his neighbors - died all around Dayo Sovni as the series of staggered outposts they manned came under assault from the wave of terrifying beasts. Before it started, he expected to feel more - some sense of loss or grief. Instead, death was... numb. Maybe that would change when it was his turn to get eaten.

His feet patted on a worn set of rubber-soled slippers as he wound through narrow alleys that split salt-flecked buildings. He continued straight through the markets and docks, down to the crunching sand shores where the rest of the volunteers and inhabitants were slowly massing. This was the crux of the insane man's plan - engage the spiders in layers of small, separated groups to draw their attention, separate them sufficiently, and bring the flying creatures down to the shoreline. The rest of the layers slowly peeled back to join the rest of them on the shore.

The spiders followed down to the last retreating layer - then for the first time, slowed their advance. They slalomed and circled, visibly warring between a feral need to chase and a learned fear of open water. A series of magic and more mundane attacks acted like a lure, drawing the hesitant creatures towards them.

A section of their shoreline group stopped attacking. They murmured with one another while distracted by something in the distance. Quinlan ignored them. Fate was here and now - he would be eaten by one kind of beast or another, either in the next few minutes or the next few months.

Three spiders flew forward in unison, diving down towards them with fangs out and ready to strike. Quinlan huddled low, hoping someone taller would get targeted instead of himself. He covered his ears to deaden the screaming, and clenched his eyes shut. That was where he stayed for the next few agonizing minutes, teeth clattering and knees shaking. He didn't want to watch the end - didn't want to see it coming. He just winced at every drop of liquid that fell atop his head, sure it was something going to get him. Screams came in waves, clawing their way past the hands shaking against his ears and filling his head with visions of himself getting dragged away by beasts.

Then the screams rose louder. Quinlan was knocked down to an elbow by a man whose face twisted with pure terror. The man recited a prayer as he clawed himself backwards through the sand, butt scooting against the ground as his gaze locked to the sky. Against his better judgement, Quinlan followed the man's eyes.

A pair of spiders was still lingering above the markets, but his gaze went further.

High in the air, set against the cool light of the two moons, a nightmare loomed.

It flapped a pair of ominous, glowing yellow wings inset with a reaching skeletal structure. The wings were attached to a hulking form, covered head to toe in thick ivory armor that shifted unnaturally in the yellow of its wings. His mind raced for an explanation, but none surfaced. Nothing flew on the island - not without drawing the attention and violence of the spiders. But the liquid glinting off the moonlight on the armor told him this terror had already fought off at least one of the impossible beasts. He entertained the idea for a moment that this new nightmare was here to kill the beasts.

That thought faded quickly. Every motion and movement of the form in the sky was unnaturally fast and explosively powerful. It moved and flapped its ominous wings with barely constrained fury - a primal, animalistic motion coiled in every limb.

The terror's helm tilted down, and Quinlan's hands shook as he took in the final, damning detail.

Under a set of imposing slits in its ivory helm, the corners of the terror's eyes glowed with a soft red fury.

Quinlan swallowed, and tried to remember how to pray.

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