Time blurs when you're fighting for every inch of survival. Over a month has crawled by, and the bite of mid-winter has settled deep into the Mississippi Plains.
I've spent those weeks playing the long game. I used my hard-earned points to perform a little surgery on my leg—cleaning out the necrotic tissue and clotted gunk without a lick of anesthesia. I'm pretty sure I saw into the fourth dimension from the pain, but it worked. I even rigged up some sticks to splint the bone based on the system's HUD.
Now, the nerves and tendons are finally weaving themselves back together. I'm not sprinting yet, but I'm no longer a total liability.
System, show me my stats.
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[Host]: James
[Species]: Smilodon Fatalis (Male)
[Age]: 12 Months (1 Year)
[Strength]: 61
[Agility]: 55
[Constitution]: 57
[Gene Points]: 30
[Fused Genes]: Flat-headed Peccary, Clouded Leopard
[Reinforcements]: Skin hardening (Lv1), Tail (Lv1)
---
[Ding! Host has reached 1 year of age. Formally exiting Infancy. Entering next growth phase: Sub-adult. System will now begin upgrade...]
[Ding! System upgrade in progress. Time remaining: 11:59:59...]
---
I stared at the blinking timer. One year old. In the modern world, I'd start walking; out here, I've survived enough trauma to fill a library.
According to the local manual, I've got three stages left: Sub-adult (1–3 years), Adult (3–10 years), and the Old Man stage (10+). Most Sabertooths don't see 15, so reaching 20 is basically like winning the lottery.
But the real news? The level cap is gone. My stats had been red-lined for weeks, but now that I'm a sub-adult, I can start pumping those points into Strength and Agility again. I felt like a gamer who finally unlocked the second tier of the skill tree.
The area around the spring was starting to look like a ghost town. I've hunted so many rabbits over the last month that I've practically flattened every burrow in a mile radius. I'm honestly sick of the taste of fur and long ears. The local wildlife has caught on, too—most small herbivores have packed their bags and moved to a neighborhood without a mud-covered tiger assassin.
This afternoon, Mom and Dad were out on a real hunt, leaving me to wander the perimeter. I found absolutely nothing. No rabbits, no squirrels, not even a slow-moving lizard.
Hungry and annoyed, I limped down to the pond to fill my stomach with water just to stop the growling.
Glug... glug...
Suddenly, a swirl appeared in the murky water. A massive, dark shape drifted toward the bank.
First, I saw a thick, muscular tail with a row of saw-toothed ridges. Then the rest emerged: a mountain of a shell covered in jagged, armor-like plates, short powerful limbs with razor claws, and a triangular head that looked like it belonged on a dinosaur.
An Alligator Snapping Turtle.
This thing was a freshwater tank. It was a beast, even for the Pleistocene. The shell alone was over 50 centimeters long, and I'd bet my last point it weighed a solid 40 kilos. These things usually wait for small animals to come for a drink, then use their tail to knock them off balance before dragging them into the deep.
It knew I was too big to be a snack, but it didn't care. It crawled onto the bank with a bored, arrogant swagger, heading right for me.
"Look at this guy," I thought, my eyes narrowing. "A giant turtle walking into my territory. You've taken a very wrong turn, buddy."
I could smell the points on this thing. A kill like this had to be worth more than five measly rabbits. But as I closed in, the turtle didn't retreat. It opened its beak—a hooked, razor-sharp nightmare that looked like an eagle's mouth on steroids—and hissed. It actually charged me with its stubby little legs.
Wow, okay. Full-on aggressive. I remembered stories from my old life of people losing fingers to these things. One snap and my paw would be a memory. But I wasn't a finger; I was a 65kg predator.
I'm a year old now. I'm 1.7 meters long and almost 80 centimeters at the shoulder. I'm already bigger than most Sabertooths my age. Zack and Zoe look like runts compared to me.
I dodged the turtle's slow-motion lunge, circled to its flank, and slammed my heavy paw down on its back. I pinned it to the dirt, the weight of my chest keeping it from retreating into its shell. It thrashed, its tail whipping like a steel cable, but it was stuck.
I looked down at the armored dome under my paw.
"Now," I mused, baring my teeth. "How the hell do I crack a safe that bites back?"