Chapter 3
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Waking up, he expected to be home—in his bed or dead. He hadn't checked for true safety when he arrived, and his back and body ached. Looking down, he was surprised to find none of the injuries from yesterday. Finally, he had time to inspect himself properly. His stomach looked smaller than before. His arms were fine, no injuries visible. He still felt thirsty.
He wanted to leave but knew he needed to think things through first.
He recalled the creatures he had encountered so far: the big birds that looked like oversized dodos, the raptors, and smaller raptor-like creatures—probably compsognathus. Then those massive worms. It was clear now—he was likely in some prehistoric world.
The sound of ocean waves crashing below stirred him from his thoughts. He looked down and saw that his shelter was about fifteen feet above the sandy beach, with rocks leading the way to the hole he'd found.
He checked his status. He was level 1 and needed 20 more experience points to reach level 2. He remembered feeling stronger and faster after leveling up.
His gaze fell on the raptor talon in his hand. He wondered what he should do next.
He explored along the rocky path from his small cave that sat not far from the cliff edge. The air was crisp with morning wind.
Unbeknownst to him, this was already his third day here. While making his way down the rocks, he noticed some kind of bug-like creature in the distance. He didn't know what it was—only that it moved slowly.
For a moment, he considered attacking it. Maybe it would give him experience. But the thought crossed his mind—it could be poisonous. He had no way to tell. Deciding against the risk, he held back and listened to his surroundings.
Ocean waves crashing. Wind brushing the trees. The sound of bugs crawling. Nothing stirred from the nearby bushes, so he figured it was safe to explore a little.
Within an hour of careful foraging, he found a variety of berries. He didn't know what they could do, but he was willing to find out.
Time passed. A month and a half slipped by. He explored, hunted, and leveled up. He expected the same rush of power each level, like when he first leveled up—but it never came.
That changed when he reached level 10.
The moment it happened, a surge of energy pulsed through every inch of his body. Not just strength—clarity. His mind sharpened. He began remembering things: how to make tools, how to start a fire, how to create something useful from nothing.
The berries he'd collected revealed their properties with time. One kind made him sleepy. One gave him bursts of energy. Another filled his stomach enough to curb the worst of his hunger. While many berries had lesser effects, the sleepy and energizing ones became vital.
With new knowledge and focus, he spent the next half-month crafting. He shaped an axe, using it to chop wood from thinner, weaker bushes. He made a pickaxe too. At first, he thought about expanding his cave, but remembered it might collapse and trap him. It wasn't worth the risk.
Each day followed a pattern: hunt weak creatures, gather berries, and collect firewood. It was survival through routine.
He kept doing the same thing over and over. It took him an entire year just to reach level 20. When he finally did, the familiar energy returned, this time even more intense. It flowed through him again—every scar, every wound, even hidden damage began to heal. His body became tougher. Stronger. His mind, sharper than ever.
Throughout that year, he hunted carefully. Always the weakest prey. Worms that had strayed from their nests. Lone bugs. The occasional dodo. He avoided anything too fast or too strong.
But then came the mistake.
He spotted a raptor alone near the edge of the forest. It hadn't seen him. His instincts said to leave it—but something inside him, maybe pride or desperation, urged him forward. Maybe he thought he could win. Maybe he wanted to test his limits.
The battle was brutal.
The raptor was faster than he expected. It lunged with speed, claws slashing across his arm before he could react. He dodged, rolled, grabbed a sharpened stick he had tied to his waist. The two fought on the uneven forest ground—blood painting the roots and leaves.
He stabbed its thigh and got his leg torn open in return. He rolled behind it, wrapped an arm around its neck, and pulled. It thrashed violently. He didn't let go until it stopped moving.
He won. But he was left half-dead.
Blood poured from deep gashes. His vision blurred. He dragged himself back to the cave, leaving a trail behind him. The regeneration helped, but without enough food or water, his body couldn't fully recover. Hidden injuries lingered. Internal wounds that his energy couldn't completely fix. They slowed him down for months.
That fight reminded him—he wasn't as powerful as he believed. He knew it already, but he had to learn it the hard way.
And he wasn't the only one changing.
Over time, he saw it: the creatures around him were evolving too. The compies grew larger and moved more intelligently. They didn't just react—they coordinated. Some even baited him into traps.
The bugs he once squashed with ease began to develop harder shells or venomous stings. The dodo birds, once passive and easy to hunt, started showing strength. Some even resisted, pecking or charging when cornered. Not all—but enough to notice.
Eventually, he stopped hunting compies. It wasn't worth the risk. Even when they strayed from the group, the others came running the second he struck. One time, he made the mistake of attacking a lone compy—less than a minute later, the entire pack was on him.
He survived, but barely. Another long recovery. Another reminder.
The dodos remained his primary food source. While smarter and stronger, only a few of them fought back. They were still the safest prey. The bugs? Some were avoidable. Others were too unpredictable.
He wasn't alone in his evolution. The world around him was adapting too.
Back in the present, he had finally reached level 20. The moment it happened, he felt the surge—energy flooding through every inch of his body, like fire pouring into cold steel, forging him anew.
His body had changed again, and this time, it felt different—more complete. He immediately began inspecting himself. A familiar habit by now—a cautious routine born from uncertainty. He never knew what might happen next, especially when moving near the bushes, where danger could be hiding.
His chest had filled out, rising and falling with each breath like a slow-moving engine beneath sun-warmed bronze. His pectorals were firm and broad, no longer flat or sunken, but shaped like armor grown from his own flesh.
His arms, once thin and wiry from hunger and overuse, had thickened with solid muscle. Veins traced beneath his skin like faint rivers—his biceps rounded, triceps sharp, every movement revealing years of tension and trial carved into flesh.
His shoulders had widened, giving him a heavier, more commanding frame. They no longer slumped with fatigue but sat squared and sure, like pillars that could carry weight without complaint.
His thighs were packed with dense power—tree-trunk legs hardened by years of running, climbing, and fighting. With each step, they flexed with silent strength. His calves were no less impressive—cord-like and defined, molded from constant use and hardened terrain.
Even the finer details of his body had transformed. His forearms, thick with tendon and strength, moved with precise control. His hands—calloused, scarred, and strong—looked like they had been shaped to crush bone and shape stone. His neck had thickened slightly too, adding to his presence—more beast than man in silhouette.
He no longer looked like a victim of this world.
He looked like he belonged in it.
He always knew he had been getting taller, but this surge of energy pushed it further—more than necessary. When he stood, he felt cramped beneath the rock above him. Walking in and out of the cave, he had to dip his head now. His limbs stretched farther than they ever had. He didn't have a mirror, but he could feel it—his frame had grown, matured. This wasn't the same body that had crash-landed into this world.
He didn't have pants. He didn't even have underwear. That kind of survival skill—sewing, crafting clothes—that hadn't clicked for him yet. The idea lingered in the back of his sharper mind, but for now, he endured the roughness of bare skin against rock, dirt, and wind.
It had been just over a year since he arrived in this world—longer than he expected to survive. From level 0 to level 20, it had taken time, patience, and pain. And now, here he was—standing at the mouth of his now-too-small cave, body fully transformed, stronger than he'd ever been.
But strength was just a feeling until tested.
During the surge, memories flickered behind his eyes—some painful and heavy, like shadows he wasn't ready to face. But others were clearer, brighter. He saw himself as a child, his parents and grandparents teaching him simple but useful skills—sewing, crafting, basic survival.
He remembered watching survival videos on a screen he once held in his hands—a world far removed from this one. Bits and pieces of knowledge surged through him like a current: how to start a fire, how to make tools, how to treat wounds.
He hoped that if he pushed further, he might uncover more useful memories buried deep inside—memories to help him not just survive, but live.
His plan was clear: first, test his newfound strength and abilities. Then, dive deeper into his memories, skipping the painful "embracing" parts that left him shaken, and focus on practical skills.
He would search for knowledge on sewing, building, hunting techniques, and anything else that might help him thrive here.
Most of all, he hoped these memories would carry him far—far enough to leave behind the pain, the fear, and maybe find a new home.