Dark Jungle: Chapter 1

Episode 1:

Monster World

He sat in the hospital bed, feeling weaker with each passing day. The cancer would take him soon. The last few rounds of chemo hadn't worked—his hair was gone, and his muscles had atrophied so badly he couldn't even reach over to turn on his laptop and play his favorite game: Monster World.

Just then, the nurse walked in and noticed him staring at the laptop.

"Can I assist you with that?" she asked.

"Please," he said with a faint smile.

"Of course." She set the laptop on the tray table over his lap. "What were you going to play?"

"Monster World," he replied as she navigated the start-up menu and launched the game.

"I love that game," she said with a grin. "I always play a Desert Elf." Then she paused as she saw the login name. "Tarjin? As in Tarjin the Burner of Gilodra?"

"Yeah..." he said, visibly uncomfortable.

Gilodra. An infamous in-game event from when the game first launched—a massive guild war where character alignments dictated sides. He had been a high-level player then, made a General by the system itself. He’d devised the winning strategy: burn the city of Gilodra to the ground. Elf players had not taken that well.

"That was a long time ago," he said.

"I'll say," the nurse replied. "It was before my time, but some of the veterans still talk about it."

She reached for the AR headset—but froze as a code alert blared from the intercom. The last thing he heard was the headset hitting the floor.

He awoke with a shiver, despite the warmth in the air. It was dark, and the sounds of animals were... strange. He reached for the hospital call button and found only dirt.

Dirt? Why is there dirt in my hospital bed?

He lay there, confused. He remembered talking to the nurse... then everything went dim. Had he passed out?

Sitting up, he was startled by how strong he felt. After years of decaying strength, this was surreal.

"Nurse?" he called out—and froze at the depth of his voice. It was deeper than he had ever sounded. Reaching up to his face, his fingers touched thick hair—a beard, split into two long braids bound with wooden beads.

No... It can’t be…

His hand moved up further—more hair, bound into a warrior's braid. His fingers brushed over large lower canines jutting from his jaw.

No. No. No. I can’t be him!

Focusing, he instinctively brought up his status menu. Relief washed over him when it appeared—apparently, the nurse had gotten him logged in. But he could feel the dirt beneath him, smell the air, hear the wildlife. None of that had ever been part of the game.

The menu showed his character—Tarjin. But all his settings were off. Low-light vision: off. He toggled it on, and the jungle around him came into view.

“Jungle. Must be near Orjik. But where?”

The map function was disabled. So was his inventory menu. He pulled up his skills—reset to level one.

“That nurse must’ve reset me. Gilodra revenge?” he muttered. “Great. I’ll complain to hospital admin...”

He navigated to the log-out screen. A new voice greeted him:

"We are sorry, Tarjin, but your real body is dead. As compensation for such a painful life, we have gifted you a new body and placed you in a world you know well. But be warned: this is not the Monster World you knew. It is more dangerous, and death is final unless true resurrection magic is used—and that is rare. Your inventory is in your backpack. The map and player communication functions are no longer available. Good luck, Tarjin."

He stared in horror.

Dead? I’m... dead?

Panic hit him like a crashing wave. He screamed—a deep, guttural roar—and something roared back. Recognition flashed in his eyes.

Orjik Ape.

A low-level jungle monster. He hadn't seen one in years.

He stood quickly, grabbing his pack and pulling out his spear. It had always been a reliable beginner’s weapon—good for melee and ranged combat.

An ape dropped from the trees, pounded its chest, and charged. Tarjin ducked under a sweeping claw—barely—and felt the strain of exertion drain him instantly. He jabbed his spear into its back and pulled out, the smell of blood hitting him hard.

The ape staggered, stunned. Tarjin thrust again, skewering it clean through.

Breathing heavily, he brought up his status menu. The ape's charge had drained his Vitality to two. He had gotten lucky—back-to-back critical hits had bypassed the ape's vitality and gone straight to its wound points.

He cut some meat from the ape, wrapped it in fronds, and stored it in his pack.

“If I’m right, apes are found in the southern part of Orjik. Head north, find the Traveler’s Way... then the Village of Beginners. What was it called...? Orzin. That’s it.”

He walked for two hours, navigating the dark jungle with surprising ease. Patches of light began to peek through; it was morning, and the dense canopy had hidden the sun.

Eventually, he found a half-overgrown road—one he hadn’t seen in years. Despite the changes, he recognized it. He checked his gear.

“Chainmail, spear, dagger, handaxe. All here. Camping gear, fishing net, iron pot. Good.”

He followed the road west for twenty minutes and reached Orzin—or what was left of it.

The village was a charred ruin, half-swallowed by the jungle. Orc skulls hung from boards at the entrance. Elven runes were carved above them—he couldn’t read them, but he understood their purpose.

“This was a safe zone... What happened?”

He found a half-intact hut and started a fire, roasting the ape meat. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows.

Suddenly, the jungle went quiet.

Then came the sound of paws pounding earth. Panting. Snarling.

Eyes reflected his firelight—Hyenas. In the jungle?

Hyenas were desert beasts—never seen this far from Carthin, and never without a master.

He grabbed his spear and stabbed at the first one, forcing it to dodge. The second bit into his chainmail, teeth scraping metal.

Then a spear flew past him—buried into the hyena’s shoulder. It howled, and Tarjin thrust forward, driving his spear through its skull.

Then he saw its master—tall, furred, hyena-headed. Leather armor like that of a Roman legionnaire. A Gnoll.

It aimed another spear—up, behind Tarjin. He swung but missed. The gnoll loosed an arrow into the trees behind them. Tarjin spun and stabbed again—through the gnoll’s back and out the front. Another spear flew past, hitting the second hyena. Tarjin finished it with a clean strike to the throat.

He stood, catching his breath. All enemies were dead.

Then movement—quick and nimble. A small figure slid down the village wall, retrieving the thrown spears. A goblin.

“Why you kill ape?” the goblin asked, slipping spears into a quiver.

“Ape?” Tarjin looked at the meat. “Oh. It attacked me first.”

“You take meat,” the goblin said, sniffing the fire.

“I needed food.”

Satisfied, the goblin sat by the gnoll’s corpse and looted six small blue gems, handing three to Tarjin.

“You fight good. Earn this.”

“Thanks,” Tarjin said, placing them in his pack.

Suddenly, his vision blurred. A message appeared.

Experience threshold reached. You may continue to Fighter Level 2 or take a second class.

Warning: Taking a second class may incur future XP penalties.

Tarjin opened the class list. Standard options appeared—but then he saw something unique: Paragon, an Orc-only class.

No XP penalty. First level removed his weakness to bright light.

Perfect.

He selected it. Two skill points gained. He put them into Spot and Listen.

His Vitality score had increased to nineteen and was fully restored by the level-up.

Not too different from how Monsterworld worked, he thought, glancing at the dead gnoll.“Why are there gnolls in the jungle?”

“They come fight for elves,” Lamonk said.

“Why would the elves trust gnolls to fight for them?” Tarjin asked as he returned to the campfire, pulling a skewer of meat from the flames and offering it to Lamonk.

“They no fight for themselves,” the goblin said, accepting the skewer. “So they hire killers to do it for them.”

“Mercenaries,” Tarjin grumbled, grabbing another skewer of ape meat and taking a bite. “It’s been done before, but never in such numbers. Not in the jungle.”

“Elves even attack goblins too,” Lamonk said, blowing on the skewer to cool it. “That why I come here. Seek help.”

“If you came looking for the orcs of this village, you’re a little late,” Tarjin replied after swallowing. “This would go good with a beer.”

“Why you not escape with other orcs?” Lamonk asked.

“I wasn’t here when the attack happened,” Tarjin said, carefully crafting a story the goblin might believe. “I was journeying elsewhere and only recently returned.”

It was enough of the truth. The avatar Tarjin had been on the eastern coast of another continent. He just had to keep that in mind when talking to people like Lamonk—and whoever else he might run into. But it also left him with no excuse for not knowing about the elves hiring mercenaries.

“You come back to help orc friends?” Lamonk asked, chewing on his meat.

“I didn’t know they needed help,” Tarjin said, looking around. “There’s not much I can do now unless there were survivors. If there were, I might know somewhere they could have escaped to.”

“Some orc captured,” Lamonk said casually, pointing northeast. “Elf camp.”

“Do you know how many?” Tarjin asked.

“Two,” Lamonk said, holding up five fingers.

“…Oh.” Tarjin blinked, reminded of a similar moment in a book series he’d read as a kid. “You probably know the jungle better than I do. Should we check out that camp tonight, or wait until morning?”

The goblin shrugged, taking another bite of food. “You choose.”

“Will you come with me if I go?”

“You help goblins, I help you,” Lamonk said with a shrug, as if the deal had already been made.

“Help goblins? Help how?” Tarjin asked.

“Kill hobgoblins,” Lamonk said, finishing his skewer.

“Hobgoblins?” Tarjin asked, confused. “What hobgoblins?”

“Hobgoblins kill chieftain. Take place,” Lamonk said. “Take village.”

“So you want me to help you take back your village,” Tarjin said, realizing what was being proposed. “I can live with that. If I remember right, the goblin village is south of here, past the lake.”

“How you know that?” Lamonk’s voice took on a suspicious edge.

“There’s an old trade road that runs from the king’s road down to the goblin village,” Tarjin explained. “Or there was, last time I was here.”

“Hmm. Makes sense. No road now,” Lamonk said.

I can either try to rescue the orc captives or go help the goblins. In the videogame, these kinds of choices usually raised the difficulty of the second option if you delayed it.As an orc myself, the obvious answer would be to rescue my people. But if I help the goblins first, I could gain allies. Not guaranteed, though. In the game, they’d probably just pay me and send me on my way—maybe with Lamonk by my side.Tough choice.

“How far is it to the goblin village?” Tarjin finally asked.

“Long walk,” Lamonk replied.

“I should’ve expected that answer,” Tarjin muttered. “How far to the elf camp?”

“Shorter walk.” The goblin shrugged, as if it didn’t matter.

“Alright. Elf camp it is, then. We’ll go tonight and scout it out,” Tarjin said, finishing his food and tossing the skewer aside. Grabbing his spear, he stood. “Show me the way.”