My expression was grim; this was more than I could handle, way more than I could handle. Does this mean that I'll eventually have to kill people? Not for food, but just for the sake of survival; if they were willing to kill a man over a single bottle of clean water, what about me, with my 'cheat' and what about the things I could make with it? I couldn't let them know, I couldn't let anyone know, not a single soul.

  To that end, I shouldn't appear too extraordinary, either; the less I stand out, the better. But here lay the problem: I did not know what 'normal' looked like for this world as I lacked the necessary information to act, and the materials, too. Even if I did have the information, what would I use to craft what I want?

  But, I couldn't stay here forever, I had to take the risk, go out, and find a source of food, water, and a place to stay, and someone/something to gain information from. So, I pulled up the prompt for the rat before me once more, and attempted to edit in the fact that it was dead, but nothing happened, so, I shifted my approach; instead of trying to directly kill it, I just added a single line of new information.

  [Slightly Mutated Rat Beast:

  It was once a normal rat, but, after one too many human fingers, it began to change under the influence of ?????????; it grew larger, smarter, and stronger, dominating its kin and developing a predatory intellect. Now, it lurks, waiting for the right opportunity to devour more human flesh. This beast is an opportunistic scavenger by nature and usually wait for the gangs to discard the 'waste' bits of the human body such as the intestines, and bones, but doesn't mind nibbling its disease filled teeth on live human flesh if given the chance, currently suffering from severe internal bleeding.]

  Outwardly, nothing seemed quite different, but the rat suddenly squeaked, dropped the bone, and fell to the ground, letting out pained sounds until it went still. With careful steps, I walked over and inspected it, and indeed, it was dead; its eyes were wide and dilated, and a stream of black blood leaked from its mouth, forming a small pool on the sticky, slimy, and trash-filed wooden ground, with some even touching on the picked clean femur bone.

  For the first time, I got to inspect it up close, and it was truly a fearsome thing, for a rat, that is; scars lined most of its flesh, and the few patches of fur it had were dull, hard, and caked with unknown substances I had no desire to inspect. Its claws were crooked, long, and thicker than normal, much like its teeth, and its tail had a thin layer of hardened flesh and bone clinging to it, like living armor.

  Truly fearsome indeed, it's a good thing I called you early, or else you'd surely become a problem later.

  I didn't feel bad at all, in fact, I was feeling great; with this rat dead, I could attempt to turn parts of it into something useful to me, like a comfortable underwear, perhaps? Or, maybe some boots?

  Hmm, surely I could go even further, right? What if I took that a step further, and combined its skin with some wood from the trash heap?

  Hmm, ideas, ideas, lots of ideas, too.

  But, before I could do any of that, I had to get over my disgust and adapt to the environment, and utilize what was given to me, like Hozar's Femur, for example.

  It was quite long, and looked heavy, too, so, hear me out, maybe forming a knife out of it wouldn't be so bad? Better yet, a tool that could shift according to my desires!

  No, at least not yet, I couldn't be caught experimenting in a place like this; I needed to get out, blend in, and figure out things later, and now. So, I swallowed my disgust, and some of my morals, picked up the femur bone, and changed its information with my skill.

  [Hozar's Bone machete:

  A very sharp, durable, and lightweight machete crafted from the femur bone of Hozar Zami, former gang member. It won't be slicing through anything like steel, or any type of metal for that matter, but it'll get plenty of things done if used right.]

  The femur bone glitched with what looked like TV static, and then flowed like a liquid, eventually forming into a sleek milky white bone machete roughly the same size as the femur bone used, maybe slightly smaller, with a textured bone handle for increased grip.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  I blinked once, then twice, simply amazed that such a miraculous thing could've been done by me, a mere human. It defied reason and understanding, but this was magic we're talking about, why did it need those?

  Anyway, rest in peace Hozar, I'll remember the contribution, and, maybe I'll avenge you one day, maybe. I steeled myself, stooped down over the dead rat, and began cutting it up to the best of my abilities, forcing myself to endure the utterly vile scent of its insides and body. The first thing I did after 'shaving' off its skin was to cut off its head, and place it to the side, then, I gripped the dull end of my newly made bone machete, and began cutting into the skin.

  In hindsight, I probably should've made a knife, but it was too late now, and I felt like if I stopped using my skills on the pile of discarded wood behind me, I might not have the mental strength to come back and continue. I ignored the growing back and knee pain, and stripped what flesh I could from its body, until it got too much for me, so I simply stopped.

  Now, you might be asking, what were the results of my five minutes of hard and back-braking labor? Well, it was a pile of fresh hole-filled rat skin, still dripping black blood and reeked of iron.

  [Pile of Mutated rat skin:

  A pile of mutated rat skin harvested by a total armature, damaged from using the incorrect tool, one that was too sharp and large for the job.]

  Well, it was better than nothing, right? At least I tried to do it correctly, and in such a dire situation, too. But, it didn't matter; with it, I could still get what I wanted, so, I didn't mind if the work was amateurish, or if the product was damaged. But I wanted much more than just underwear, so, I cut it into thin pieces, three in total, moved over to the heap of wood behind me, and found three large pieces of burnt wood, and placed the rat skin on them, one on each.

  Then, I inspected each one, just to be sure.

  [Burnt Wood with rat flesh:

  A piece of burnt out house wood with mutated rat flesh on it.]

  [Burnt Wood with rat flesh:

  A piece of burnt out house wood with mutated rat flesh on it.]

  [Burnt Wood with rat flesh:

  A piece of burnt out house wood with mutated rat flesh on it.]

  Good, now, would happen if I edited it to be something like a piece of clothing common to this area, formed from burnt house wood and mutated rat flesh, it should work, right?

  With a thought, my skill sprang into action, and a long, loose-fitting black robe with a hood, and a burnt and matted appearance came into being, decorated with fake patches, holes, and patches of caked rat fur, teeth, ears, tail, and skin. All in all, it looked pretty intimidating, and cool, too.

  [Serf Robe;

  A slightly unique serf robe, made from mutated rat teeth, skin, fur, tails, and burnt out house wood, usually combined haphazardly with little to no skill, but, this one was done quite properly, giving it a slightly higher durability than normal, has ample space for hiding things on the inside, too.]

  What followed was a simple underwear with the same look, and a pair of boots with a wooden bottom.

  [Serf mutated rat Underwear:

  Rarely seen on a common serf, usually because it takes a great deal of skill to make; you wouldn't want all the nasty bits touching that, would you?]

  [Mutated Rat skin boot:

  A common pair of rat skin boots, dried and hardened over a few firewood torches and held together using stringed rat intestines and fitted with a wooden bottom, surprisingly durable and slightly water proof.]

  How barbaric, how primitive! Why did I have to end up in such a place? And, why were the people here living like this? It was depressing, but I found myself deeply curious about the matter and my resolve to leave only strengthened. I cringed, but put them on regardless, and I felt the difference; the slight chill I had begun to feel evaporated, and I no longer felt completely exposed to the elements, especially my little boy down there.

  So, I parted my robe, and attached my bone machete to a piece if rat tail made specifically for holding it as I moved after a quick edit. Then, I practiced pulling it out as fast as I could and making minor adjustments via my skill until I was comfortable with my 'draw speed.' After that, I cast one last look at my 'spawn point' and headed for the exit of the alley I found myself in, mind filled with emotions, mostly fear and trepidation.

  I didn't know what was out there, or what I was going to face, but I had no say in the matter, for the sake of my survival, I had to move on and step into the wider world. Eventually, I reached the end, and was confronted with a network of lanes, tall patched up wooden fences, and wooden huts, some of which had golden light pouring out from various holes, and leaking through the fences.

  Others were utterly dark, and stirred a sense of danger, loneliness, and sadness within me for some reason. Everywhere I looked, there was wood, and barely anything else.

  Just what on earth was this place that I found myself in? Run down wouldn't even begin to do it justice, it was bad, really bad. Worse, the place was deathly silent; not a single sound was being made, even in the huts where light shone from. I instinctively looked up, but was greeted with only darkness, omnipresent darkness that stretched as far as the eye could see, broken only by faint shadows of huts stacked atop each other, endlessly stretching upward.

  Was I in some wood mega-structure, or something? One filled with only huts, torches, cannibals, and mutated rats?

  Hmm, I don't know, best not to make any assumptions quite yet, not until I have some information.

  Now for the important question, should I enter one of these lanes? Or should I go back in the alley, and wait for another torch to pass, flag them down, and see how that worked out for me?

  Hmm, honestly, stopping someone in the dark like that was just asking for trouble, but, what else should I do?

  The clear yet undeniable sound of footsteps snapped me out of the contemplative mode, and I turned around to see a bright golden touch coming from a lane in the distance, moving rapidly, as if sprinting. Before I could decide to run, a hulking beast of a man stood before me, with one hand holding a brilliantly burning torch and the other a broken femur, covered in teeth and what looked like claw marks.

  He too wore a robe similar to mine, and his face and hands were practically made out of scars, save for his eyes, which shone with obvious intellect.

  "Hmm, you're not dead, eh? I really believed Marko when he said the Boboso gang members left you at death's door, paralyzed. But, my intuition was right!"

  Huh? Who was this guy?