Accidental Healer

Chaos spawn pile onto my body, their claws raking deep, tiny fangs tearing flesh in an endless, writhing mass. The weight crushes my ribs, suffocating me. Screams rip from my throat.

Mom, Dad—please!

But no one comes.

The bodies shift, dragging me down. Claws hook into my arms, tiny jaws clamp onto my legs. I thrash, kick, but it’s useless. The swarm is endless. A tide of snapping jaws, of slithering limbs. It’s in my ears, my throat—wet, smothering. I try to scream, but something scuttles into my mouth—tiny, needle-sharp legs scraping against my tongue.

My fingers claw at the air—searching, desperate—

And then there’s nothing. No ground. No bodies.

I plummet—falling, falling—

I wake with a gasp—no, a choke. My pulse hammers against my ribs—too fast, too hard. My chest heaves like I’ve been drowning. I twist, thrashing, dirt grinding beneath my fingers. My hands claw at nothing, still feeling phantom limbs dragging me down.

But they’re not.

Sweat sticks my shirt to my skin. My fingers tremble as I rake them through my hair. Breathe. In. Out.

I’m not falling. Not buried alive. Not being torn apart.

The nightmare doesn’t fully leave me at first. The echoes linger in my pulse, in the cold sweat on my skin. But then, the world seeps back in—the fire’s dying embers, the quiet hush of the night, the steady rise and fall of Mischief’s breath.

I glance at the sky—still dark but cloudless, stars twinkle in the night. The time? Maybe two, three in the morning.

Mischief is curled near the ashes, his massive form rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. The rhythmic motion is almost hypnotic.

I don’t wake him.

But I can’t sleep. Restless energy whirrs through limbs, too much to ignore.

I slip away from camp, heading south across the clearing—past the place where my trial dungeon stood just hours ago. The night is quiet. The air, crisp. But beneath it all, there’s a hush.

A sound. A low, distant rush of flowing water.

I follow it.

Minutes later, I find it—a wide, shallow stream cutting through the landscape. Moonlight glints off the surface, turning it into a river of silver.

The incline is steep, the water spilling effortlessly downhill. I step forward, Converse sinking into the soft earth before I wade in up to my shins.

The cold punches through me. Sharp, clean, electric. The sensation drives away the lingering residue of my night terrors.

And I feel it. A shift. Not just awake—alive.

The hairs on my arms stand on end. My muscles hum with something just beneath the surface, something I can’t quite grasp.

My body is changing. Not just stronger. Different. Something I can’t define. Something more. I take a step back onto the bank.

I want to test my legs– taking a few slow strides that don’t satisfy my urge to move. I need more.

I take the first step. The second. The third barely exists. The world explodes into motion.

The trees warp—no, I warp. The ground blurs beneath me, my limbs moving faster than my brain can keep up. My stomach lurches, my balance tilting wildly. I reel, but my feet won’t stop. I’m not just running. I’m barely touching the ground.

Branches from the pine trees stretch out to slap my body. I hardly notice. The ground Pat pat pat shift—

A rock gives beneath my foot. My momentum yanks me forward, the world tilting sideways—

My arms snap out, grasping, my stomach lurching—And then I stop. Not on the ground. Not tumbling. I’m just… standing.

I laugh. My body wants to keep going. My mind wants to stop. The two don’t agree. I listen to my body and push forward. This isn’t running.

This is flight. Flight from my fears–the nagging anxiety. This is freedom.

The stream narrows. The ground steepens. I push harder, faster—bounding over rocks, weaving through the dark like a spectre.

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Then—suddenly—the trees break.

I skid to a stop, chest rising and falling. My pulse thuds against my ribs, the air crisp and biting in my lungs.

And before me—A lake. Almost unnaturally round, yet untouched enough to feel real.

Its glasslike surface captures the sky, the stars caught beneath the water like scattered diamonds.

The moon ripples—distorted by the slightest breath of wind, warping and shifting as if alive.

On the far side, a modest waterfall spills from a rocky ledge—about forty feet high.

The whole place is hauntingly beautiful—like stepping into someone else’s dream. I feel a twinge of jealousy. The scene is a stark contrast to my own night terror. I circle the lake and make my way toward the waterfall.

The view from the top beckons to me its whispers promising a scenic view. Adrenaline is still coursing through me, I feel like I can just jump the 40 feet. But I don’t jump. I climb.

The rock face is rough, my fingers pressing into cracks and ledges. The stone is cold, damp beneath my hands. My muscles barely burn as I ascend—a reminder of how my stats affect my body.

When I haul myself over the top, I turn—And the breath leaves my chest.

Moonlight spills over an endless valley, washing silver across a vast sea of trees. The canopies shift with the wind, moving like waves against the towering, snow-capped peaks. The mountains loom in the distance—they push high into the heavens. Not just mountains. Monuments.

Even with my growing stats, this view slams me back to reality. I’m a speck. A tiny dot in an endless universe.

The lake is so clear, I can see the rocky bottom where the surface lies still.

Beyond that—nothing familiar. The world stretches far beyond the lake—far beyond anything I’ve ever known.

The tutorial said our world had fused with others. But standing here, all I saw was Earth.

No alien skies. No twisted landscapes. Just trees, mountains, and a cold wind biting my skin.

But somewhere out there—someone else was looking at this same sky, wondering the same thing.

If the tutorial was right, humans weren’t alone anymore.

After a long moment, I finally look down at myself. My pants are torn. Caked in Chaos Spawn gore. My shirt? Barely holding together. Right. Time for a bath.

I peel down to my briefs, roll my clothes and spirit weapon into my leather jacket, and—

Toss the bundle over the waterfall.

Then, with a deep breath—I dive after it. For a heartbeat, I’m weightless.

Then—impact. I slice into the water, the cold slamming into my skin.

Its shockingly cold—but instead of numbing, it’s energizing. I plunge deep.

My lungs don’t burn like they used to. I kick along the lake floor, pushing further, testing myself.

By the time I surface, I’m barely out of breath. Another rush of exhilaration.

Still shivering slightly—more from excitement than cold—I retrieve my bundle from the shore.

I rinse the grime from my pants, debating whether to keep the shirt or just put it out of its misery.

Then I stand and freeze. A lone wolf steps from the treeline. Then another. Then ten more. I’m outnumbered ten to one. Lips curl, white teeth flashing in the moonlight. They see me as an easy meal.

And to be fair—I’m barefoot, half-naked, alone by a moonlit lake. To them, I’m just another meal. Soft and exposed. Easy.

They’ve always been the hunters. But tonight? They’ll learn otherwise.

This isn’t fear. Not anymore. A day ago, I would’ve run. Now? I exhale, roll my shoulders, and cast Weak Barrier.

The first wolf steps onto the beach of the lake, yellow eyes catching the moonlight.

For a second, my mind flashes back—to the dungeon, to Mischief. But this isn’t the same. There’s no cunning in their eyes. No intelligence. Just hunger.

A faint pulse of mana wraps around me. Was this the point of the tutorial? A crash course to prepare me for the reality of this new world?

“Any chance you’ll leave me be?”

They circle tighter. My words falling on deaf ears. I guess they aren’t as smart as Mischief? There is no understanding in these eyes. Just primal animal instinct.

Two wolves lunge. I don’t move.

Thud. They rebound like they hit steel, yelping as they crash into the dirt. One rolls three times before scrambling upright, shaking its head like it can’t believe what just happened.

The pack hesitates. Their ears twitch. Their tails stiffen.

They don’t understand.

They’re used to being at the top. The hunters. The ones no one fights back against. But now? They’ve hit something that doesn’t break.

Another one bolts forward, and this time I react. Not much—just a flick of my wrist. It’s a mistake.

My hand connects, and the wolf rockets backward, twisting midair before slamming into a tree with a dull thump.

I wince. That was too much.

Before it can whimper, I flick a Weak Heal its way. The spell washes over its battered body, and its breath evens out.

From my left a flash of grey. My hands move on their own, catching its throat midair. It flails. Kicks. But I don’t feel anything.

Not pressure. Not weight. Just the shape of it.

For a moment, I see Mischief in the dungeon, wide-eyed, gasping beneath my club. I let go.

The wolf drops and scrambles away.

A few seconds pass. The pack shifts. Their tails lower ears flatten. They know I don’t need to fight them. I never did.

They whine. Then, one by one, they turn and slink back into the trees. The fight—if I can even call it that—never felt dangerous. I barely broke a sweat.

I watch the treeline. Something about this fight didn’t sit right with me. What if they’d leveled up the way I have? The thought jabs at me. Those wolves were low-level—maybe one, maybe two. But they felt nothing like Mischief. Or the Chaos Centaur.

I rake a hand through my damp hair, shivering slightly. I’ve got bigger things to worry about.

Dungeons to clear. Territory to claim. Parents to find. But first—clothes. I spot my ragged pants nearby.

Yeah…Next time I face down a pack of predators, I’d rather not be half-naked.

I sigh, letting the barrier fade. “Better luck with your next meal, guys.”