Hell Difficulty Tutorial - Beyond Death

The forest looks eerily identical to how it was before I went under. The same dense canopy, the same warped trees clawing at the twin suns hanging motionless in the sky. I squint upward, trying to gauge time, but it's pointless. The suns don't budge, and there isn't a cloud in sight to shift the shadows. I wonder, briefly, if night exists here at all, but I suppose I will find out eventually.

I sip from my new bucket, savoring the cool water as it slides down my throat. Each drop feels like salvation, and I'm careful not to spill a single one. If it came down to it, I'd break my other arm before wasting a drop.

Heh... fuck me sideways...

Alright. Enough. Let's see what I'm working with.

"Quest window," I say aloud, my voice hoarse but steady.

A translucent screen flickers into existence before me, obedient as ever.

[Floor Quest]

Objective: Stay alive for 30 days

Rewards:

- Entrance to the second floor

- Access to Community

- 1 Skill Point

- 5 Stat Points

[Side Quest]

Objective: Stay alive for 24 hours

Rewards: Gear of your choice (Completed)

I frown, staring at the timer ticking down. A thirty-day survival challenge, huh? Straightforward, I like that. On the other hand, it's don't die for a month, and I barely scraped through the first day.

Still, I might've just been unlucky. A bad roll of the dice.

Then again, luck doesn't have to be something you leave to chance, is it? It's something you can seize, forge with your own hands. If the dice hate you, you throw them in the trash and get loaded dice instead.

"Alright," I mutter, stretching my single arm with a wince. "Let's see how far I can push this."

I feel calmer now, more in control, as my gaze sweeps over the scattered remains of the goblins. I ate some of the flesh and had their skins repurposed into my crude sleeping bag, but bits and pieces still remain.

It's quite surprising that no scavengers have come to feast. The smell alone should have summoned a pack of wolves—or worse. But no, the forest is silent, save for the occasional whisper of leaves in the still air.

First things first.

I glance at the raw stump where my left arm used to be and focus, willing it to move. The sensation floods my mind—a cocktail of phantom limb syndrome and the sharp awareness granted by Flesh Perception. It's mesmerizing, beautiful, but I push the awe aside. There's no room for distraction, unfortunately. Not when I'm this vulnerable.

Instead, I get to work.

The remaining bone, cartilage, and bits of muscle of the arm are far from useless. I visualize their potential, breaking them down in my mind as I manipulate the flesh. Slowly, meticulously, I begin to craft.

The process is fascinating, even with the limitations of my crude understanding. I weave strands of muscle and cartilage together, layering them over fragments of bone to create a crude rope-like structure. I aim for something akin to a tentacle or a tongue, with flexible movement and tensile strength, though my rushed execution is far from perfect.

Blood vessels thread their way through the whip-like appendage, and a few nerve endings scatter across its surface, enough to provide rudimentary sensation. The skin stretches over it, uneven and patchy, but functional.

It's long—about two meters—and thin, with a spindly, almost grotesque appearance. The segments of bone create slight ridges along its length, while the uneven musculature gives it a twitching, unnatural look. It's far from elegant, and the motion physics elude me entirely. I don't have the time or knowledge to design proper muscle groups in five minutes.

But it will serve.

To test it, I swing the appendage toward the nearest piece of goblin—a splintered leg lying a few feet away. The whip-hand connects with a wet thwack, and I will the skin to latch onto the surface. With a slow pull, I drag the leg closer, the appendage trembling with the strain but holding firm.

Good enough.

I smirk despite myself, glancing at the grisly pile of flesh and bones scattered around me.

It's Lego time.