A knot of dread tightened in Mike’s stomach as he prepared to search the area for tracks, for any sign of where his friends had gone. A sudden, violent dizzy spell, however, reminded him of a far more pressing issue. He staggered, catching himself before he fell, and made his way to the car, retrieving the small green first-aid kit from the trunk. He limped toward the camper, its door hanging ajar, and cautiously stepped inside. The interior was just as empty, with no sign of friend or foe. Fearful that the scent of his blood might attract more monsters, he shut the camper door firmly. It was, thankfully, one of the few spots the demonling’s rampage hadn’t dented. Mike finally collapsed onto the sofa, past caring if his blood stained the fabric. He placed the kit on the small dining table and clicked it open, his first grab for the small bottle of surgical spirit. By now, his face was drenched in sweat from the pain, and his hands had begun to shake. He laid out everything he would need beside him and prepared to treat his injuries. Slowly, gingerly, he peeled off his shirt and pants. The blood was still wet, thankfully, not yet having had time to coagulate and glue the fabric to his wounds. Still, as he pulled the clothing away, the pain was a hundred times worse than ripping off a simple bandage. The beast's claws had carved a long gash across his waist and three more, slightly smaller, down his left thigh. A final wound marred his right calf. The injuries looked ghastly, but they weren't as bad as he'd feared. The cuts seemed clean and straight, and the bleeding had somehow slowed to a lazy trickle. He could only hope that meant he was getting better, and not that he was simply running out of blood. Knowing what came next, he almost whimpered as he reached for a water bottle and a gauze swab. He carefully poured water over the gash at his waist to clean out the blood and dirt, and the agony that lanced through him nearly made him black out. Gritting his teeth, blinking away tears, he grabbed the bottle of alcohol and poured some of that into the wound as well. It didn't look infected, but he didn't dare skip this step, even as it felt like the antiseptic was tearing him in two. His face was beet red now, sweat pouring down his temples and veins throbbing on his forehead. At last, he took some surgical tape to pull the edges of the wound together, then wrapped a bandage several times around his waist. With the first wound treated, Mike just sat there, panting. He closed his eyes, and a wave of exhaustion hit him like a truck, threatening to pull him under right then and there. But there were still other injuries to tend to. With a surge of effort, he forced himself to continue. Mike repeated the procedure on his legs. By the time he finished, his face had faded from red to a ghastly white. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely grip the water bottle as he drained the last of its contents in a few desperate gulps. He was so weak he could barely manage the few steps to the bed in the back of the camper. The moment his head hit the pillow, he passed out, the suns still high in the sky. They were still shining brightly through the window when Mike woke up. Was there no night anymore, now that a second sun hung in the sky? He stretched slightly and found that while he was far from healed, he felt much better than before. His bandages were stained red but felt dry; the bleeding had finally stopped. The intense, pulsing agony was gone, replaced by a dull, manageable throb. He still had trouble putting weight on his left leg, though, and nearly fell on his way to the fridge. The second thing he’d noticed upon waking, right after the improvement in his wounds, was a ravenous hunger, as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks. He hobbled to the fridge only to find it wasn't working. Some of the food inside was already beginning to spoil. The monster must have broken something when it had been denting the mobile home. He grabbed a few sausages they had cooked yesterday before the firewood ran out, along with a couple of slices of bread. After virtually inhaling the food, Mike finally relaxed with a bottle of water. The others still hadn't returned. He was afraid they were either dead or had fled without a backward glance. Both scenarios were grim, but the latter left a sour taste in his mouth. He pulled his phone from his pocket, but it was a mangled, bloodied wreck, likely crushed during one of his tumbles. Luckily, they kept an emergency phone in the camper for just such a situation. He opened a cupboard and took it out. The phone worked, but it had no reception. That was strange. They’d had a decent signal just yesterday. Even on a camping trip to enjoy the wilderness, none of them would have picked a spot with no service; no one was ready to go a full day without their smartphone. He also noticed the date on the screen. Three whole days had passed since the world went mad, not one. He’d been out cold for a long time after tending to his wounds. The date only made it less likely that his friends and Chloe were coming back. On the other hand, it probably meant the monsters kept to their own territories and didn't wander as much as he'd feared. He wasn't sure he could handle another one of those Infernal dogs right now, even knowing its weaknesses. With his immediate needs met, he began to take stock of what had happened and what he should do next. The sheer absurdity of it all finally hit him. Mike stared into space, his eyes unfocused, completely lost as to what to do next. A distant roar snapped him back to reality. This was no time to be idle; he was by no means safe. He was in the middle of a forest surrounded by vicious monsters, and that glowing pillar still pulsed in the distance, a constant reminder that more could appear at any moment. Perhaps the pillar was a portal to hell or something similar, a gateway for demons to flood through from their infernal plane. Or was this an alien invasion? The monsters could be like the Zergs from an old computer game he used to play. Then he remembered the strange, robotic voice he’d heard earlier, and the confusing things it had said before it roped him into a twisted gamble that had nearly cost him his life. "Welcome to the multiverse…" he mumbled. If the TV shows and comic books he’d devoured over the years were any indication, a multiverse was a connection between multiple planets, galaxies, even dimensions. If the voice was to be believed, Earth had been integrated into some larger system, which was why demons were now roaming the forest. But that didn't mean it was only demons. What about other monsters, other races? Would he suddenly see elves leaping through the trees, loosing arrows at him with pinpoint accuracy? The voice had also mentioned initiating incursions. It seemed reasonable to assume the huge pillar in the distance was one such incursion, which meant his demon-portal theory probably wasn’t too far off. When it appeared in the forest, the demons came with it. But that meant the monsters didn't necessarily spawn right next to it, since one had already been at the camp when he returned. It was hard to judge the distance to the pillar, but it looked like it would take hours to reach on foot. And something called a herald had spawned right on top of him, triggering the largest emotional roller coaster of his life. Finally, there was the fact that he had somehow gotten stronger through all this. Both his speed and power had noticeably improved after whatever that voice had done. It almost felt like a video game power-up, which made a strange kind of sense after seeing those floating windows in that dark dimension. He still didn’t understand why the prompts were designed to look like some old-school RPG. Was it just his mind, desperately trying to rationalize an insane situation by filtering reality for him? Fantasy monsters, magical portals, and game-like elements. If parts of the world had been turned into an RPG, what other mechanics had been introduced? At least he didn’t have a health bar, and there had been no text floating above the Infernal’s head. In fact, the only time he’d seen any true game elements was in that black space the voice had pulled him into. He glanced around, searching the edges of his vision for a heads-up display, but there was nothing but the now somewhat bloody and grimy interior of the camper. Ethan’s parents were going to be pissed when they saw the state of their mobile home, he thought with a wry smirk. If they’re even still alive, he then realized somberly. If the world had gone to hell here, what about the rest of the planet? Was it safer elsewhere, or even more of a mess? What about his hometown? Thoughts of his father and younger sister surfaced, and with them, a rising sense of urgency. If this was a global problem, then nowhere was safe. Mike had no idea what was going on, but he would have to figure it out on the way. He needed to get back home.

Chapter 5: Wounded and Alone