(WORM APOCALYPSE) CHAPTER FOUR

The goblin swung its club, and Greg threw himself sideways.

The weapon smashed into the tree where his head had been a moment earlier, sending splinters of bark flying across his face. He stumbled when he landed, nearly falling, then caught himself against the trunk and kept running.

Objective: Survive for 5 minutes.

Five minutes. That was all the system had asked of them, and Greg had thought that would be easy enough when the objective first appeared. Five minutes of surviving whatever this place had waiting for them should have been manageable, especially with twenty-eight of them and everything they’d already been through since the system had taken them.

Then the forest filled with goblins.

They were everywhere, green-skinned things with misshapen bodies and crude stone weapons, screeching as they chased the students through the trees. Greg had seen fantasy goblins in games before, but those had always been funny or disposable or both, something for a player to cut through on the way to whatever actually mattered. These were neither. They were fast, vicious, and very real, and Greg had already seen what happened when they caught someone. People screamed and begged as the creatures dragged them down, and then the screaming stopped.

Greg didn’t know where the others were anymore. At some point during the chaos, he’d been separated from them, and now he was alone, bleeding from wounds scattered across his arms, legs, and side. Tears streamed down his face as he ran, blurring his vision whenever he tried to look too far ahead, while the sounds of the goblins behind him drove him deeper into the forest.

Why hadn’t he picked Warrior? Or Rogue? Even Mage probably would have been better than this. How was he supposed to defend himself as a Scribe? Conjure books and throw them at the goblins?

He had Record, whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. That was what the system had given him, and Greg still had no idea what the damn thing did. Maybe it was useful. Maybe it was incredibly useful. Maybe Scribe was some secret, completely broken Class that would make everyone else jealous once he figured it out.

That would have been great.

He just needed to figure it out before the goblins killed him.

Greg stumbled over a root and nearly went down, catching himself on a branch at the last second. The bark tore into his palm, but he barely noticed the pain as he forced himself forward, his breathing becoming more ragged with every step. Each breath seemed to scrape against his lungs, while his legs shook beneath him and his stomach twisted hard enough that he thought he might throw up again.

He did.

Vomit spilled from his mouth as he ran, trailing down his chin and staining the front of his shirt. He wiped at it with the back of his hand without slowing down, although there was a part of him that wanted to stop and simply collapse where he was. But he couldn’t stop. The goblins were still behind him, and he could hear their screeches carrying through the trees as they gained on him whenever his pace slowed. Every time he risked a glance over his shoulder, he caught flashes of green between the trunks, and Greg knew they were going to catch him if he couldn’t find somewhere to escape.

Greg had never been particularly athletic, and whatever numbers the system had given him for Agility and Stamina clearly weren’t enough to save him here. People like Sophia could probably run circles around him, and Taylor might have managed better too. He had no idea how far the others had gotten, or even how many of them were still alive. Maybe they had managed to stay together and were somewhere ahead of him, maybe some of them had already died, or maybe he really was the only one left.

He didn’t know, and he didn’t want to know.

His foot caught on another root, and this time he went down hard. Pain shot through his knee as he hit the ground, and for several seconds Greg could do nothing except lie there and gasp for air while the sounds of the goblins grew louder behind him.

Closer.

He pushed himself up, looking around desperately as the thought of fighting finally occurred to him. Stand and fight? The idea barely lasted a second. He had seen what those things could do, and he had no weapon, no useful ability, and no idea how to use Record to defend himself. Even if he somehow managed to take one down, there were more of them coming.

He was going to die.

The thought terrified him, but Greg started running again anyway, forcing his aching legs to carry him deeper into the forest even as something inside him began to give way. He thought about all the games he’d played where the protagonist was surrounded by enemies and somehow managed to survive. There was always something waiting to save them, whether it was a hidden ability, a convenient power-up, someone showing up at the last second, or some ridiculous stroke of luck that kept the story moving.

That was what happened to the important characters. They survived because the story needed them to.

Greg wasn’t one of them.

He knew that.

He was the guy who stood somewhere in the background and made observations while someone else did the important stuff, the guy who occasionally figured something out just in time to tell the protagonist what they needed to know. That was his role.

And when things got this bad, guys like that died. Even with the power of the gamer, he didn't matter.

A sob escaped him as he kept running, and his thoughts turned toward home.

His parents.

Would they miss him?

Of course they would. They loved him. He knew that, didn’t he?

At least, he thought he did.

But how long would they miss him? Would they sit around wondering what had happened to him, or would they eventually move on with their lives? Would they have another kid?

Would anyone even know he was gone?

He stumbled again, and this time he managed to stay upright only because he caught himself against a tree. He remained there for several seconds, shaking as he listened to the goblins crashing through the undergrowth behind him. There was nowhere left to run, yet Greg pushed himself away from the tree and forced his legs to keep moving, even though he no longer knew what he was running toward.

Then he heard water.

At first he thought it was a trick of his exhausted mind, but the sound grew louder as he pushed between the trees. It was rushing water, loud enough that he could hear it over his own ragged breathing, and when he finally broke through the last line of bushes, Greg stopped.

A waterfall stretched across the forest ahead of him, spilling over a steep cliff and disappearing into the depths below. He couldn’t see the bottom from where he stood.

For several seconds, Greg could only stare.

Behind him, the goblins screeched again, their voices growing louder as they closed the distance.

He could keep running. Maybe there was another way through the forest. Maybe he could find the others. Maybe someone would come looking for him.

Or maybe the goblins would catch him.

He had already seen what happened when they caught people.

Greg swallowed as he looked down into the gorge.

Maybe this was better.

His legs carried him toward the edge before he could change his mind, and he stopped beside the jagged rock he’d nearly fallen against. He looked down again, his hands shaking as the full height of the drop finally registered.

He was terrified.

Every part of him wanted to step away, but the goblins were almost here, and he couldn’t think of another way out.

Greg climbed onto the rock.

His hands shook so badly that he nearly slipped, and for one horrible second he thought about climbing back down. He could still run. He could try. He could do something.

Another screech came from the trees.

Greg closed his eyes.

He couldn’t fight. He couldn’t run. He couldn’t even die with his eyes open.

Useless.

He took one last breath and jumped.

A chime sounded.