Alright, Operation: Not Get Decomposed was in full swing. I frantically wrestled myself into my cardboard cosplay, the boxy armor feeling about as comfortable as sleeping in a filing cabinet. I briefly considered pairing my makeshift cardboard shield with my trusty aluminum bat, envisioning a heroic stance… before realizing swinging a baseball bat effectively with one hand while holding a flimsy piece of cardboard felt less "heroic" and more "accident-prone." Scrap the shield. It was glorified packaging anyway. The thick winter jacket went on over everything, adding a layer of questionable padding. Helmet on. One, maybe two minutes tops to go from pajama-clad to "ready" (term used loosely) for skeletal combat.
And would you look at that? The first skeleton had arrived! Apparently, undead etiquette included waiting patiently while the fleshy protagonist geared up in repurposed shipping materials. How considerate.
You know, normal skeletons? Not that terrifying. They're slow, their defense is probably lower than my GPA after monster attacks started, and their strategic thinking skills likely peaked when they decided to become animated piles of bones. This one was rocking the tattered chic look and wielding a femur like a particularly unenthusiastic club. Its empty eye sockets glowed with that eerie soul fire as it shambled towards me, clearly intent on some good old-fashioned bone-on-flesh violence.
But something had shifted in my brain. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the sheer absurdity of the situation, but fear? Gone. It felt… like a game. These were just badly rendered 3D models shambling towards my avatar. I was sitting in front of the screen, bat in hand (literally!), ready to clear this level. Annihilation was the only high score I was aiming for.
One after another they shuffled in. Five skeletons. Five bags of rattling bones eager to test my surprisingly effective aluminum bat. A few well-aimed swings, the satisfying thwack of metal on bone, and they crumbled into dust. My cardboard armor remained surprisingly intact, though I did hear a disconcerting creak when one of them got a little too enthusiastic with its femur. Take that, bony losers. Level one trash mobs. Bring on the boss. (Please don't bring on the boss yet.)
The last skeleton crumbled into dust, leaving the ancient bedroom eerily silent. Then, my vision was filled with a familiar sight: a game-style map, a bird's-eye view of this creepy, ancient house. Currently empty. Great. So, no cozying up by the (nonexistent) fireplace and planning my next move. I needed to go skeleton hunting.
I stepped out of the room, and the "ancient" theme continued. Ancient furniture, ancient walls, ancient dust bunnies that probably had their own civilization by now. My Appraisal skill was working overtime, but everything screamed "useless" in glowing green text.
The house opened into what could only be described as an abandoned rural village at night. Overgrown bushes choked the roads, and plants that looked suspiciously carnivorous clung to the fences. The map view expanded, revealing five red dots clustered to the north. Not too far, thankfully.
Time for Operation: Sneaky Bone Annihilation. My aluminum bat felt surprisingly comforting in my grip. Cardboard armor? Check. Questionable courage? Double-check. Let's do this.
I rounded a particularly overgrown bush, and there they were. Five skeletons, similar to the ones I'd faced earlier, but these guys had a slightly more menacing air about them. Their bones looked a little thicker, and they moved with a touch more purpose, their rusty scythes held with a hint of practiced menace. Sneak attack? More like "surprise! Here's some aluminum-on-bone action!"
I charged, swinging the bat. The first skeleton went down with a solid thwack, its scythe clattering on the overgrown path. The others turned, their empty eye sockets fixing on me. They were a bit quicker than the previous ones, their scythes swishing through the night air. I dodged clumsily, my cardboard armor creaking ominously as one scythe grazed my arm. Okay, so maybe "armor" was an optimistic term.
I managed to connect with the skull of a second skeleton, sending it tumbling into a pile of bones. Two down, three to go. These guys were definitely a step up from the tutorial trash mobs. One of them lunged, and I barely managed to sidestep, the rusty blade whistling past my ear. Close call! I swung the bat again, connecting with its ribcage, and it dissolved into dust.
Now it was just two. They seemed a bit more cautious, their movements less frantic. One of them had a nasty-looking chip in its skull, a testament to my earlier swing. I gripped the bat tighter, adrenaline pumping. These weren't boss-level threats, but they weren't pushovers either. Time to finish this bony brawl.
I swung the bat, connecting with the chipped-skull skeleton. It crumbled, leaving only one standing. This last one was slightly taller, its bones a bit more defined, and it held its scythe with a strange kind of… poise? It wasn't a boss monster, but it definitely felt like a mini-boss.
"Alright, bonehead," I muttered, adrenaline still coursing through me. "Let's finish this."
The last skeleton stood its ground, its empty gaze somehow conveying a sense of… bony stubbornness. It held its rusty scythe with a jerky, almost awkward confidence that mirrored my own fighting style. This wasn't some elite undead warrior; it was just a slightly more persistent bag of bones.
"Alright, Captain Clanky," I huffed, adjusting my grip on the aluminum bat. My heart was still hammering a frantic drum solo against my ribs. "Let's wrap this up. I've got… well, nothing better to do, actually, but still!"
It lunged, its scythe swinging wildly. My instincts were still catching up with the reality of bone-on-flesh combat. I dodged too late, the rusty blade scraping against my cardboard chest plate with a disconcerting crunch. Ouch. Note to self: Cardboard is not chainmail. I swung the bat, my movements still clumsy and overcompensating. I missed. The skeleton, equally inept, stumbled past me.
We engaged in a chaotic ballet of near-misses and awkward swings. My inexperience was a major handicap; I was relying more on panicked flailing than actual technique. The skeleton, while not particularly skilled, had the advantage of… well, not being encased in poorly constructed cardboard. It managed to land a glancing blow on my arm, a sharp sting reminding me that these were still animated bones with pointy bits.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of clumsy maneuvers, I managed to connect. The bat slammed into the skeleton's skull with a satisfying thwack, sending bone fragments scattering. It dissolved into dust, leaving me panting, my body aching, and my cardboard armor looking like it had been used as a chew toy by a very determined dog.
I leaned on my bat, trying to catch my breath. Okay, so brute force and sheer panic could get me through some fights. But thirty skeletons, a mage, and a soldier? I needed to get a lot less clumsy, and fast. My "annihilate them all" strategy was going to need some serious upgrades.
Dragging my bruised and battered body, I stumbled into the nearest deserted house. My HP was hovering around a terrifying 35%, and my Stamina bar was practically flatlining. Yeah, time for a tactical retreat and a serious rethink. The house wasn't exactly a five-star resort – more like a condemned shack with ancient charm – but frankly, I wasn't here for the décor. I just needed a place to not get actively murdered by skeletons for a few minutes.
For a quick HP boost, I mentally rummaged through my inventory and scarfed down a handful of Mom's emergency fruit and veggies. Crunch, crunch, gulp. Viola! Fifteen more hit points and the delightful sensation of not being actively starving. A swig of virtual water gave me a tiny sliver of Stamina back, but not nearly enough to even consider another round of bone-on-aluminum action. So, I slumped against a dusty wall, willing my Stamina bar to inch its way back up.
The natural HP recovery was slower than a snail in molasses. That F-grade potion was looking increasingly precious – definitely a "break glass in case of imminent skeletal dismemberment" kind of deal. I pulled up my status screen, the familiar blue glow a small comfort in the gloom. Ah, unused Skill Points, Stat Points, and… the Great Sun Inner Energy skill. Time to see what this glowing orb of potential could do.
[Great Sun Inner Energy Lv. 1]
[Description: You can slowly circulate inner energy and accumulate energy.]
[+1 Vitality]
[+1 Strength]
[Passive Effect: +1 HP, +1 SP, +0.1 MP every minute.]
Okay, bingo. That passive HP and SP regen, even if it was glacial, was better than nothing. And a permanent boost to Vitality and Strength? That sounded like exactly what the doctor (or, you know, the omniscient game system) ordered to not get turned into a pile of bone dust. This Great Sun thing, whatever it was, felt like my only real shot at surviving this skeletal rave. Time to figure out how to actually use it.