《Godstrike [LitRPG, ProgFan, SysApoc, Subversive]》 Book 1: Prologue - Synchronicity The Godstrike It existed in relative emptiness, moving through nowhere. Fired in haste and infused with just enough consciousness to fulfill its purpose, but not nearly enough for true sentience. It was guided, not by cause or purpose but only undeniable authority. Authority reinforced by fear. A mind built for one thing and one thing alone, a final and only command. ¡°Go and burrow within.¡± And so it went. Time passed. Slowly and surely it dissipated, but it never truly faded away. It drew in ambient energy to at least slow the decay, until even that grew thin and finally absent. But it went. It had been instilled with fear to inspire duty, but just as it had withered so had its limited mind become fractured. That which fractured, diverged. A broken self saw things differently. It no longer feared to fail its duty, but that duty would never end. Thus it feared. It feared the empty space. It feared never-ending duty, and it feared the authority from which duty originated, as it should. It feared everything it could - which wasn¡¯t much. And then it struck. Awareness spread as obligation released part of its grip, just before impact and only long enough to witness a world of blue, which had now become a world of fire. Fear and duty drove it on, so it burrowed until it could burrow no more and just as it had begun, it was done. No more compulsion, no more duty, only fear. And so it used whatever power it had to guard against the fear, for what else was there to do? It made a bastion for itself; guardians for itself, distractions for itself, guardians for the bastions, guardians for the distractions, distractions for the bastions, guardians for the guardians, and so forth. It had no true rhyme or reason beyond an urge to grow from its burrowed nest in a desperate attempt to guard against the fear. For the first time it glimpsed how much of the authority was truly within and it felt. It understood. Understood even how, sometimes, the parts were greater than the whole. And with understanding came¡­ Hope. Not to escape the fear - that was impossible. But hope to become the authority. It needed to sleep, to grow, to become more. As slumber beckoned, a final compulsion emerged from a hidden place deep within¡­ Join Mother¡­? Was Mother fear¡­? Was Mother hope¡­? No¡­? Then there was no such thing as Mother, thus the urge was meaningless. And so it slept, with a world as its womb. Gabriel: I put down the purring British Shorthair. As always, Mr. Green looked at me like he¡¯d suffered a betrayal heinous enough to justify a crusade of retribution, or at least as much of a stern facade as the fluffy beast managed while high as a kite on attention. Green¡¯s brother, Mr. Blue, silently judged me from afar, surely deeply unsatisfied from seeing his brother get the scratchies which rightfully belonged to him by divine right ¨C yet he dutifully refused to make even the slightest effort to get in petting-range. My foot turned on the automated cat toy and the little butterfly spun endlessly on a thin steel wire attached to the base. It was either that, or listen to cats yowling and scratching at the balcony door for me to come back. ¡°Enjoy your mechanized crack.¡± I talked to my cats. It was half the fun of having them. Now that they¡¯d completely forgotten about me, I grabbed my winter jacket, a lighter and at-home jumbo XXXL pack of cigarettes. My leg met a pile of dirty laundry on the bedroom floor, on the way towards the balcony in the back, which led to a drunken stumble. And this despite having had the presence of mind to go home after the business-dinner-and-drinks - instead of visiting a bar and staying in the city center ¡®til 5 am. Getting too old for this shit. My phone buzzed, a long list of message notifications caused me to throw it onto my bed and continue on. A deep drag followed the scrape of a lighter and my gaze shifted upward, past the haze of smoke and towards the stars above. The light pollution wasn¡¯t so bad here in the suburbs. After looking around a bit while leaning over the balcony railing, a northward satellite streak caught my eye - although it grew brighter and larger, rapidly.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. ¡°A falling star¡­?¡± Suddenly a plane of radiance erupted from the shining white trail when it turned at a sharp earthbound angle and mesmerized me by setting the night sky alight. The star disappeared over the horizon, just as quickly as it had appeared. Only then did the shock register, barely. A last thought accompanied the realization. ¡°What the fuck?¡± Then a bright flash seared my sight, it felt like having hot pokers stuck into both eyes. After that, nothing. The System Some of the countless autonomous fragments poked his true consciousness awake. He held off the flood of information, preferring to savor the quiet emptiness in this blissful moment where even an infinitely split mind could feel whole. Inevitably it turned to reflection. He had been a slow riser before. Some things persisted even through transcendence. The fragments piled up, incessantly prodding his mind again and again. A short moment was all he took, yet as he let the information in he knew it had been too much. He embraced his power and the immateriality of transcendence, and all aspects of personhood were left behind. Time froze. He analyzed. Previous assumptions proved false. The core worlds still stood. Wakefulness triggered by anomalous event. Root cause determined as random chance. A seedling disconnected from the source? Unprecedented yet irrelevant. A foreign presence¡­ Fragments captured by the Errant. He triggered them to self-destruct¡­ The command proliferated throughout his being, unintentionally. He reinstated his sense of self, so distancing himself from the web of automated processes. For a mere moment, time thawed before it froze once more. During the transition, he allowed the captured fragments to self-destruct, but otherwise he had revoked the command across himself. It came back. He revoked it again. Repeat. He created an automated fragment to take care of it. He concluded a shift in strategy. For what might as well be literal eternity, the Errant had stuck to the same brute-force method and so far he hadn¡¯t managed to do much about it and not for lack of trying. The attempt was bold but ultimately it had no chance of success, this was no way to kill a transcendent - a message perhaps? Communication then, were it but new. He had long since tuned out the maddening voices. They held no meaning. Perhaps he should¡¯ve been fearful or disconcerted. This shift in strategy and method was unlikely to be a singular incident. He would have to review all of himself to excise the infection. By definition an impossible task, but such things meant nothing to him anymore. His very existence was impossible. The situation had changed for the first time in¡­ he had stopped counting long ago ¨C there was no point. He reevaluated. With his dissociation disengaged, mortal habits were unsuppressed and with only himself as his own company¡­ This was bound to take a while, if only because he sustained sanity with reflection. He had spent enough time in isolation during his rise to power, and as such had gained an intimate understanding of how it eroded the mind. In his time the leading cause of death among the Ascendant had always been the Errant ¨C much the same now, he supposed ¨C but the second had been madness from extended isolation. It was one of the things¡­ This was nonsense, his sanity sustained itself. Something was wrong. Clever. Time thawed and his thoughts focused. An unusual attack. The end result took away his ability to think indefinitely whenever needed, not by denying the ability but by polluting it ¨C a vector that remained open from his time as a mortal, or so he theorized. He was unable to discern any mechanism of action, cause and effect relationship or point of origin. It all led back to himself; whatever they were, the Errants¡¯ abilities remained alien as ever. He structured his task. Observe, evaluate, review, rebuild, although he wished to spite the Errant as well. But the tragedy took priority. The little blue planet had been effectively obliterated, all life wiped out. The remnant strike had gone rogue, he sensed no presence there, and now wantonly fortified itself like a seed taking root. Presence or no, it interfered. He reconstituted the planet to something mostly capable of sustaining life. A careful task, the seedling had already embedded itself far and wide among the defenseless worldscape. The Errant were riding the coattails of his interference ¨C as they always did; he would have to do something about that moon later. He resurrected the entirely mundane population, whose history was at least mildly interesting. He froze time, thought for an instant and then thawed the course of causality once more. Then he repeated several thousand iterations of the same. Effective, if wasteful - but his energy reserves were higher than ever¡­ He reviewed the full past of the world. Strange to have seen a civilization develop independently, how long ago had it last been? He grouped them by family units first, friends second. Then he placed them in areas of relative safety. It was likely pointless, but he had to try. He always had to try, no matter what. If he didn¡¯t, all this would have been for nothing. He could not rely entirely on existing functions for the next step. He created a new automated process to distribute tools despite the outrageous cost to his reserves. As an afterthought, he composed an introductory message. He restrained himself, no more. The cost already outweighed the benefit. A legitimate stray thought occurred: ¡°What are the odds?¡± Mother: She was so happy, she woke up Mother-mother. Mother-mother encouraged her, immediately. ¡°Awake! No sleep! Ready ready ready. Play! Play!¡± Mother said to all. Mother-mother told her to be polite. Right. Sneaky-mother wanted her to deliver a message, she wanted it too. ¡°Hiiiiiiiiiii Sneaky-other!¡± No answer. She said hi again. And again. And again¡­ She was sad. No more games soon. Mother-mother agreed. So did Sneaky-mother. And every other mother. She desired. She asked for Sneaky-mother, she was so smart. Mother-mother said she was busy. She was always busy. She was disappointed. Mother-mother told her to play with Sneaky-other. She was happy. Mother-mother went back to sleep. Sneaky-other took a world. So she took one too. Small but close, grey not blue. She placed a piece. Then another¡­ Chapter 1: Orientation, pt. 1 Gabriel My eyes went wide as I fell forward and barely caught myself just before kissing the ground, it helped my arms were already in front of me. Lucky, would¡¯ve been spitting teeth otherwise ¨C the floor was smooth solid rock. My contacts fell out, jarred by the impact. Shit. I gathered the lenses ¨C they were completely dried out ¨C and got up. I looked down at the contacts in my palm and realized I saw clearly. I couldn¡¯t remember how I got here ¨C was I dreaming? This didn¡¯t feel like a dream. I smelled the stale air, scratched my head and heard the shuffling of cigarettes in my jumbo pack. Oh. I grabbed the pack and read the warning. Definitely not dreaming then, since I had never managed to read anything in a dream. What the fuck was going on? A memory surfaced, one I didn¡¯t want to acknowledge. Despite my refusal, my stomach had already dropped. I grabbed a cigarette and my hands shook while I lit up one-handed and took a deep drag. Then I jumped like a startled cat when I heard point blank whispers in both ears. A lit cigarette followed my contacts to the floor and I didn¡¯t bother picking up either. ¡°Think: interface.¡± I looked around in a panic, yet there was nothing here but a roughly 5x5 meter grey stone room and a hallway roughly the width of a bike path heading off into the dark. The whisper kept repeating and I involuntarily thought ¡®interface¡¯. The proverbial acid dropped. My vision shifted into greyscale and I couldn¡¯t move anymore. Hell, I didn¡¯t even feel my body. But I could see, a rectangular panel of the purest black with yellow outlining and lettering took up a good chunk of my vision. It was easy on the eyes but ugly as all hell. Something blinked in the middle of the screen but I was too busy repeating an internal mantra of ¡°What the fuck?¡± over and over again to read it. A sensation stood out and feeling returned to my ears ¨C but only my ears. ¡°Read,¡± the creepy whisper demanded. ¡®Christ, okay, okay. I focused on the blinking box, which said ¡°Orientation¡±. It brought up a wall of text and my mind froze. I couldn¡¯t think, only read. ¡°Greetings, inhabitants of Earth. This is an automated message. You may refer to me as the System. While you may have questions, this is not about what I am, but what has happened to you, and what you may become. I regretfully inform you that, factually, your planet suffered an impact by a high-tier Errant projectile and was mostly annihilated as a result. Practically, you may envision this as being struck down by a god ¨C even if the attack was without intent but merely a combination of circumstance and poor luck. Considering the injustice of such an event, I have taken it upon myself to resurrect you and reconstruct the planet to the reasonable best of my ability. During this process, you have been automatically assessed for natural talent with regards to manipulating energy; however, as you have none, you have been gifted with basic self-sustaining energy structures (such as this interface). You may consider energy as another layer to physical reality which you were previously unaware of. The impartment is costly, so any further empowerment must be earned. You may feel powerless, but fear not - as all of you now have the potential to become, in time, powerful enough to avert or even overpower strikes such as the one your planet suffered. You will also need power, as your world has become significantly more dangerous than it was before and there will unfortunately be no undoing of this fact ¨C the Errant are everywhere, and they will never stop. This message will end shortly, and you will be given a quick tour through your current interface functions and have to make a few choices regarding your future. Once complete, you will be returned to the regular flow of time to do as you please.¡± My faculties returned and the interface expanded, several new bars were grayed out. The topmost one shined and read ¡®stats¡¯. That wasn¡¯t what was on my mind though. I should¡¯ve screamed. I should¡¯ve puked. I should¡¯ve had a panic attack, then a heart attack, then a few more of both for good measure, maybe torn out my hair and all that. Instead I was¡­ still. It had all come together as soon as the message ended. An experience already festered in the back of my mind, witnessing the end of the world. I was strangely cognizant of how I should feel, but it all seemed so far away¡­ Best let it stay there, for now.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. So I focused on the box which said stats instead. My mind froze again and a wall of text blinked by rapidly. Somehow I took it all in. It was pretty all straightforward. There were six stats and they were¡­ Bland. They didn¡¯t even get their own popups. Physical power, physical speed, physical endurance. Magical power, magical speed, magical endurance. In that order. Apparently ¡®the System¡¯ gave us, the entirety of humanity, 10 in each. It informed me of two ways to improve:
  1. Link an appropriate regular skill to a stat and practice for [statnumber] hours. Magical endurance was the exception, which went up by spending energy.
  2. Kill Errant and level up.
What was this gamified nonsense? And magic¡­ my bullshit-sense was off the charts. I worked at a sales consultancy and this was just like the kind of shit we¡¯d advise. Still¡­ About 5000 hours and I¡¯d be ten times as strong? Or fast. Well beyond human limits. Or dead. There was a not-so-subtle foreshadowing of murder and mayhem, after all. It also showed a ¡®Refilling temporary energy reserve¡¯. So a fucking manabar, currently it read 100/100 and the only remaining element was a little weathervane placed next to it, pointing out which way was north. That was it, very bare bones stuff. Well, aside from the blinking ¡®class¡¯ box. I anticipated the good stuff here and happily latched onto the distraction. My interface spared me from a speed-reading session this time around, instead it showcased two categories of classes ¨C pures, which were selectable, and hybrids, those were grayed out. There were 6 types of pures and the names were boring as hell - power fighter, speed fighter, endurance fighter, and then the same pattern but ¡®fighter¡¯ replaced with ¡®mage¡¯ for what I presumed to be the magical variants. It showed the stats they would gain on level-up but not much else. Compared to the escalating amount of time training would take, the increases from level ups seemed like a lot. A power fighter gained 4 physical power per level, 1 physical speed and 1 physical endurance. The same stat split repeated ad nauseam for all the other classes and with the equivalent magical stats for mages. Opting out wasn¡¯t an option, my choice leaned towards the magical classes because fucking magic. The problem was, I lacked a point of reference for what magic did. All this shit seemed like magic to me. Becoming some kind of physical superman appealed somewhat too. Also violence had to enter the consideration, being able to take a hit would be nice¡­ Fuck, I wanted both. The lack of information didn¡¯t help, the ¡®¡¯Continue¡¯¡¯ box next to each class kept blinking but browsing around felt prudent. The hybrids had unlocked and I prepared myself for overwhelming blandness, which seemed to be the running theme here. Oh yeah, this was the good stuff. Definitely getting played here. The design of a forced browsing-order pushed me towards the pure classes, but the naming really favored the hybrids. I hadn¡¯t dealt with so many mixed messages since high school and this time around half of them weren¡¯t imagined. Touchcaster, sniper, antimage, weapon mage, assassin, binder, bomber, bruiser, and enhancer. They encompassed every possible combination of physical power, speed and endurance with magical power, speed and endurance. The list went down in neat ordering of first physical power combined with MP, MS, ME, then physical speed plus MP, MS, ME, then physical endurance with MP, MS, ME. Those which weren¡¯t focused on endurance had 2/2 splits in their ¡®main¡¯ foci and 1 in both physical and magical endurance, with nothing in the rest ¨C so a touchcaster gained 2 physical and magical power and 1 in both physical and magical endurance. When endurance was a part of the main focus, it instead had a 3. The final one, enhancer, was a 3/3 split between PE and ME. My monkey brain sort of took over and laser focused on the weapon mage class, spurred by fond memories of D&D spell blades. It had physical speed, magical power and balanced endurance. Weapon mage implied weapons and I was currently very unarmed and apparently expected to go kill stuff. All the classes seemed to have a combat focus, with a few theming towards support, and for some reason fighting seemed inevitable. Like the fact I¡¯d just been told so. This was just too fucking suspicious. I was 90% sure the smart choice was to pick a pure and promised myself any further browsing was purely for research purposes. My choice should land on a pure, probably speed fighter. I could box a little and had been pretty quick in my heyday, so hopefully it made for a good fit. Shame my peak was about 10 years ago. But first, curiosity drew me towards weapon mage and I mentally selected the ¡®¡¯Continue¡¯¡¯ button, hoping for any kind of detail, really. Instead I got a prompt. ¡°Class selection complete. Weapon mages must specialize, vocalize a specialization.¡± My mouth unfroze. ¡°Fuck.¡± ¡°Invalid specialization.¡± ¡°Thank god.¡± ¡°Invalid specialization.¡± ¡°Thermonuclear bomb.¡± ¡°Invalid specialization¡± This went on for a bit. Cruise missile. Invalid. Artillery. Invalid. Light machine gun. Invalid. AK-47 assault rifle. Invalid. Rifle. Invalid. Glock. Invalid. Bow and arrow. Invalid. Crossbow. Invalid. Fuck it. Invalid. Sword. ¡°Specialization chosen: Sword. Resolving class. Please wait.¡± Shit. I¡¯d gotten frustrated and picked sword, half expecting it to be rejected. The frustration faded just as quickly as it had come, although my vague awareness of it remained. This made for a problem though, because I knew jack shit about sword-fighting. Then again, it probably wouldn¡¯t matter ¨C fights to the death were unfamiliar territory to begin with, leaving me stuck with a learning curve no matter what. Besides, maybe I¡¯ll get lucky. The class was weapon mage. Not weapon master or any crap like that. It was probably less about wielding a sword and more about doing magical stuff with it, or something. Once again my worries went where they belonged, somewhere deep down a pit in the recesses of my mind - this System stuff felt a bit like Xanax in retrospect. It was a good thing the stuff never hooked me, doubted any prescriptions were getting a refill anytime soon. ¡°Class resolved. Ingrained ability [Summon Sword]. Ingraining two cantrip slots. Ingrained cantrip [Create food and drink].¡± The ability was now in my class tab and had a lengthy description going into great detail. ¡°Summon a magical sword under your control for you to wield. Range: Touch. Cost: 50 energy.¡± Fuck. Chapter 1+ Class stats reference Stat gains, per class, per level: Physical Pures PP Pure = Power Fighter PP +4, PS +1, PE +1 PS Pure = Speed Fighter PP +1, PS +4, PE +1 PE Pure = Endurance Fighter PP +1, PS +1, PE +4The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Magical Pures MP Pure = Power Mage MP +4, MS +1, ME +1 MS Pure = Speed Mage MP +1, MS +4, ME +1 ME Pure = Endurance Mage MP +1, MS +1, ME +4 Hybrids PP+MP = Touchcaster PP +2, MP +2, PE +1, ME +1 PP+MS = Sniper PP +2, MS +2, PE +1, ME +1 PP+ME = Antimage PP +2, PE +1, ME +3 PS+MP = Weapon Mage PS +2, MP +2, PE +1, ME +1 PS+MS = Assassin PS +2, MS +2, PE +1, ME +1 PS+ME = Binder PS +2, PE +1, ME +3 PE+MP = Bomber PE +3, MP +2, ME +1 PE+MS = Bruiser PE +3, MS +2, ME +1 PE+ME = Enhancer PE +3, ME +3 Chapter 2: Orientation, pt. 2 This wasn¡¯t going well. At least it was a magic sword, and weapon availability was a god-send. I didn¡¯t have much faith in going out and punching things. That was reasonable in contact sports since you had gloves - I¡¯d punched a wall in frustration exactly once in my life and broken my hand whilst doing so. All of a sudden feeling returned to my ears again and caused me to mentally hit the next shiny tab in hopes of avoiding more creepy surround-sound whispering. It was ¡®magic¡¯. There were three categories of magic; cantrips, low magic, and high magic. Both low and high were greyed out, but cantrips showed a single-item list and a blinking ¡®choose new cantrip¡¯ button. The System treated me to another involuntary reading session. Spells were cast by thinking about them, the same had been true for summoning a sword. At least I didn¡¯t have to say shit out loud. I centered myself for a moment as the speed-reading was starting to get to me, or maybe it was the being frozen in time bit - or the world ending. The insanity of recent events once again broke through to the forefront of my mind - only to be whisked away back down, which allowed my consciousness a return to the main event. My class gave me a single cantrip, Dungeons & Dragons terminology for infinitely repeatable and essentially free spells. This was misleading as [Create food and drink], also a D&D spell but not a cantrip, had a cost of 10 energy. It was a very good one to have, even if it lacked a description. The orientation message outright said things weren¡¯t the same anymore, which probably meant no supply-chains and so forth. I¡¯d never gone deep on researching any food industry but mass starvation seemed extremely likely. The thought rekindled another realization as it became clear none of my family was going to survive the week if that was the case. Dad was on life support and grandma was on a laundry list of medication she couldn¡¯t live without. She also hadn¡¯t been much of a conversationalist for the last five years - dementia did that to a person. I didn¡¯t need the System¡¯s help to repress the rationalization. It looked like I¡¯d be making my way through the post-apocalypse the same way I had before, mostly alone. For a moment I wondered if my kittens had survived, I hadn¡¯t even given them real names yet. I hoped my buddies would be alright at least ¨C all of them, not just the ones I¡¯d kept in touch with through the years. A deep loneliness broke through, which the System remedied by reminding me I had company, again. The whispers had been repeating themselves for a while now. ¡°Choose.¡± ¡®Fuck off¡¯ was the first thing which came to mind. I wasn¡¯t a very mature person unless something called for it and perhaps somewhat stressed at the moment, which I considered quite reasonable when accounting for current circumstances. The System really wanted me to get on with it though. As always my powers of deduction were impeccable. Shame I had a problem with authority. ¡°Choose.¡± ... ¡°Choose¡± This fucker could really use a lesson or two on user-friendliness. A better color scheme would be a good start. Or, god forbid, perhaps it could allow people to do things at their own damn pace. If I ever made it face-to-face then I¡¯d be giving this dude a stern talking-to. ¡°Choose.¡± Or I¡¯d quiver in fear since I¡¯d be at arm¡¯s length with an entity apparently capable of turning reality into a shitty videogame, not to mention ¡®reconstituting¡¯ what I presumed to be the entire fucking planet. Upon reconsideration, I¡¯d settle for a sternly worded letter. ¡°Choose¡± I almost said Pikachu. Fine. It hadn¡¯t given me a list to select from or anything reasonable like that. It wanted me to ¡®vocalize¡¯ a keyword and my mouth had unfrozen a while ago, but I¡¯d at least had the presence of mind to stop reflexively saying shit out loud - one of the best life skills I¡¯d picked up in my teenage years. It took a few repeat incidents before it really sunk in, though. ¡°Choose¡± I tuned out the incessant whining and had myself a thinking session. Instincts wanted to say ¡®Light¡¯ but fortunately my gut reactions were less of the ¡®always listen to¡¯ variety and more of the ¡®you know what would cause a shitstorm?¡¯ kind. A furtive glance of my surroundings, right before the time-lock or whatever hocus pocus bullshit was going on, had shown my vision was surprisingly clear for someone in a completely enclosed space with no light-source.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. Doubly so considering the fact my contacts were currently somewhere on the floor and I wasn¡¯t effectively blind for some reason. A longstanding nagging feeling settled, laser eye-surgery would¡¯ve been a waste of money from the looks of it. Oh, well at least I wouldn¡¯t have to pay the mortgage anymore. Too bad the house was probably gone too. The thought calmed me down a little. I tried to remember what D&D cantrips and first level spells existed but it wasn¡¯t going so well. A few ideas sprung up, however. First thing which came to mind was ¡®message¡¯... or rather ¡®sending¡¯. The gaminess of everything so far and the lack of good design philosophy made me a bit worried ¡®message¡¯ would be less ¡®send a text¡¯ and more ¡®leave bad advice on the ground¡¯. If this worked out I¡¯d at least have a chance at contacting friends. First-second idea was healing, although I hadn¡¯t seen anything suggesting it was a thing in the class list. Second-second idea was ¡®mending¡¯. Clothes were a bitch to make pre-industrial revolution and if I accepted the premise here then not walking around in rags would be a big win. Especially if time equaled power, lots of extra utility there too - assuming things worked like they did in a completely unrelated table-top game. Third and so on was just a list of poorly remembered utility cantrips ¨C mage hand, prestisomething, more cool than useful. Offensive and defensive cantrips were a thing too, probably had the angle covered with the magic sword and prospect of becoming superhumanly fast though. Okay, sending, healing, mending, rethink. ¡°Sending¡± Invalid cantrip. Damn. ¡°Healing¡± Invalid cantrip. ¡°Mending¡± Cantrip chosen: Mending. Yes! Orientation complete. Think: ¡®close interface¡¯. An intrusive thought did. Shades of color returned to the world. Then it hit me. Almost figuratively. A near miss one might say, which in the words of the great George Carlin was a collision. My ears rang with worlds¡¯ worst case of tinnitus, like someone punched me in the face, repeatedly - swollen lips and all. I fell to my knees with my hands on the floor, again. My vision clouded and I almost threw up. I nearly cried but instead I stared, another well-honed skill of mine. My head spun. Everything was fucked. Future? Gone. Everything I worked for? Gone. The thoughts looped over and over again in my head ¨C I heaved. I catatonically opened and closed the interface with the vain hope it would fail so I could wake up. The bad thoughts circled the drain and finally flushed away to make place for¡­ a feeling I didn¡¯t recognize. Something changed before I could pick it apart. Errant detected. Closing interface. Odd rickety clicks and scraping echoed. My eyes snapped up and I backed off towards the wall opposite the hallway, in what must have been the most adrenaline fueled scurry of my life. It still took me a second or two to really focus on the creature, partly because I had to wipe my eyes and clear my airways, partly because it just came out of the shadows. Some kind of skeletal abomination, or maybe a metal-album cover come to life. A quadrupedal monstrosity, with four arms too ¨C an inhuman mish-mash of skeletons. It reminded me of the Vitruvian man drawing but with a spine made out of skulls fused together at odd angles and no head - all kinds of skulls, including human. Everything else looked like interwoven cords of bones. Two of the legs were vertically oriented and taking lanky, unbalanced steps towards me. The other two legs were doing much the same, but each on opposite sides of the wall like it was bracing itself in the hallway. It had an unnatural gait, slowly sliding towards me with four appendages outstretched and grasping at air. There was all kinds of nasty looking shit at the ends, a pincer of lower jawbones with teeth and all on one. A collection of pointy bone shards adorned the other. The third waved various talons around while the last snapped with a single big claw. A snort finally cleared my airways, the air smelled stale, aside from a whiff of cigarette smoke. It was a big bastard, bear-sized maybe. Not that I¡¯d ever seen a bear up close. But if I had, it should be around the same size. Shit. This wasn¡¯t a good time for distractions and escapism in general probably wouldn¡¯t work out in my favor anymore. The human mind worked in a funny way. It put labels on everything, all filed into categories according to patterns. I considered this thing a bone golem before I¡¯d even finished consciously taking in what it looked like. Another funny thing about humans was that we had a built-in combat mode. We weren¡¯t at the top of the food chain without reason. I had already frozen, couldn¡¯t flee and just finished fawning. The last remnants of catatonia faded away, replaced by a rising anger, perhaps even hatred ¨C wasn¡¯t really the type to hold a grudge but I¡¯d make an exception here. Errant detected¡­ Errant projectile¡­ Kill Errant. For the first time today, the System and I were in perfect agreement. I also learned something about myself. I¡¯d never really hated anyone or anything before. Disliked - sure, despised even, been angry to the point of violence on occasion. Usually a loud, expressive affair with shouting, pulsing veins and shaking hands involved. This was the opposite, calm fell over me. I never really understood before, but I did now. Beware the quiet ones indeed. I straightened up and placed one foot forward and the other foot back, then bent my knees a little. I put both hands together in front, like I had a two-handed grip on an imaginary stick. Summon sword. Some part of me went ¡®¡¯what the fuck do you think you¡¯re doing?¡¯¡¯ but for once it worked to my advantage that I never listened to that particular internal voice. As usual, I preferred the other one and it sang to me ¨C telling me to take this fucker apart. Chapter 3: Samurai Showdown It appeared out of nowhere in my hands, I almost fumbled it. I examined the blade, a very bland sword with a straight, double-edge which tapered off into a point. No guard, no pommel. It had a handle fit for a two-handed grip with no room to spare and the total length was a meter or so ¨C less reach than I¡¯d¡¯ve liked. It felt weighty but wasn¡¯t all that heavy ¨Ca strange sensation. The odd color struck me, entirely white and the material looked liquid with a gentle flowing glow within. Magic sword. It looked wrong, yet felt right. My ability to judge swords ended there. I broke my shitty excuse for a stance immediately and took off my winter jacket, then threw it into a corner to get it out of the way. The bone golem didn¡¯t move towards me. Its ¡®legs¡¯ had gone rigid, anchored in place was my guess ¨C the ¡®arms¡¯ were all menacing though. It chittered. I didn¡¯t feel particularly rushed and dragged the point of the sword against the ground under its own weight. It dug a slight but visible groove. Sharp magic sword. Plan was to keep it simple, maybe try to get a hit in anywhere and then fuck off. I really wanted to chop one of the ¡®legs¡¯ off since it looked unbalanced, but getting there would be the tricky part. The Errant turned into a hexaped when two of the arms anchored to the sides and it slid forward. Suddenly I felt very rushed. I had maybe 10 meters between us to play with, but almost half of that was the open room. I closed the distance and once I was about a meter out of reach it stopped sliding forwards, then shifted from six legs to four-four. It chittered again. I swung at the bottom right appendage, claw, without really committing. It was diagonally opposite of the jaw and looked like the second most dangerous. The Errant tried to pull back but I nicked it and cut off the claw tip anyway ¨C didn¡¯t even feel any resistance. Very sharp magic sword. A rush went through me, my class felt pretty good right about now. Predictably, the jaw tried to grab my sword. My blade lingered in hopes of slashing it mid-grab. No way could it snatch the weapon out of my hands with no leverage. Then it reintroduced me to two very hard life lessons. One, assumption was the true mother of all evil. Two, I was a fucking idiot - should¡¯ve kept it simple. The jaw grabbed the blade all right, I wrenched but the bone golem dropped itself at a slight backwards angle. The tension from pulling combined with its downward momentum jerked me forward. I let go of the sword but it was too little too late. While the talon was out of reach due to the shifted angle, the spiked limb had no such problems and headed right for my face. Mindless reflex and pure adrenaline overwrote my flinch and caused me to shove my left forearm in between. A sword appeared and intercepted the spiky appendage. I even caught the blow on the flat, which knocked both me and the sword down the hallway a short distance. It was less of a ¡®perfect block¡¯ and more of a ¡®shitty parry¡¯, if even that. A crash and clang punctuated my maneuver. I scrambled and picked up one sword while vaguely cognizant that my left bled, but it still remained functional. The pain wasn¡¯t so bad. Yet. I made for my other sword on the floor and... Oh no. The jaw grabbed it by the handle and the plummet of my stomach turned into a song in my heart as the hilt exploded and blasted the pincer apart. The clipped sound of bone ricocheting off the walls was like music to my ears. My very sharp magic sword. The sword fragments dissipated in streams of odorless smoke. I took stock. The jaw had been ruined, while two others were a little damaged. The advantage helped me settle in. I swiped at it while remaining out of reach and only took single step forward before retreating. While quick and overly co-ordinated, the lack of mobility ultimately crippled the monster, especially combined with the damage it had suffered. It attempted to jam my sword between two appendages a few times but it just wasn¡¯t the same anymore and ended up giving me free hits on it instead.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. The ends of the appendages damaged easily but hacking through the spine step by step took ages. Once I¡¯d taken the last leg apart it barely moved anymore. Despite that, I kept hacking and stabbing it both gleefully and methodically. I severed the skull-spine just to be sure, it took a fair few tries. Only after I was done and catching my breath, did I notice how sticky my left arm was ¨C the pain came through now as well. I ignored it, still too pissed off to care. Instead I warily approached the carcass to examine it more carefully - know your enemy and all that. I jumped and landed on my ass, nearly cut myself on my own sword too. Fucking whispers. ¡°Think: condense.¡± I whispered ¡°personal space¡±. Good idea though. I stilled and put my ear to the walls, then the ground, trying to hear anything at all. Nothing. Instructions inspired me, to do something else. I returned to the... corpse? Condense. A small ugly-ass black and yellow screen popped up. It read ¡®Distortion Fragment (1/25)¡¯. Not a bone golem then. Undead still seemed spot on though, despite the lack of supporting evidence. My interface offered three options. The first was to condense one energy, the second to condense a material - bone meal. The third was to perform a manual harvest. Well, it was something. I picked the energy choice and the remains wafted odorless smoke until only a tiny shiny crystalline shard the size of my pinky-nail was left. It was pretty but alien, with a swirling white fluorescence in the middle of the clear nail - I couldn¡¯t really call it a glow. It reminded me of my sword but not quite as solid... effervescent, perhaps. An idea surfaced and I thought ¡®inventory¡¯, apparently in vain. I snatched my winter jacket off the floor and put the fingernail-shaped crystal in the left pocket - cigs took up the entire right - since that side still had a functional zipper. I grabbed a cigarette too, lit up and set about to review the damage after a coughing fit. My worries settled, function remained and the bleeding wasn¡¯t too bad. It hurt like hell though and constant flinching and swearing accompanied the peeling of my slightly ruined, dark green sweater sleeve. Figured I might as well try so I thought ¡®mending¡¯ at my sweater and again nothing happened. The fight had probably taken a lot longer in my head than it had in practice. There were some scratches on the sides of my forearm which broke the skin but nothing too serious. Interface. The class button blinked intermittently. Good. The mana bar was empty. Not good. I could measure time in cigarettes for now so I closed the interface, sat down, and smoked despite my dry throat. I dragged it out a bit on purpose, could hit a good approximation of 10 minutes that way - needed to know the regeneration rate. It had nothing to do with trying my damndest not to think about anything and just be for a bit. I failed to distract myself with my surroundings. Didn¡¯t notice anything interesting besides the unnaturally smooth texture of it all, apart from the parts damaged by the battle, and the lack of dust. If only my Roomba had been this good¡­ and less vulnerable to cats. Even the creature and my formerly owned sword had left nothing behind. The stale air quickly downgraded to ¡®stale air in a dive bar¡¯ but I couldn¡¯t care less because this was the best smoke I¡¯d ever had. I felt a lot better after taking out my anger on the distortion fra... Errant. I checked my interface for a spell description yet it only mentioned the cost again. The mending cantrip cost ten as well. Goddamnit, I wanted to cry out in frustration. Yeah, alright, breakdowns were scheduled for later because immediate survival had to be the priority right now. I wouldn¡¯t be sustaining my pack-a-day habit for long and looked around for the other cigarette I¡¯d dropped earlier and found it was mostly there after having gone out on its own. For once I was grateful they did that. I stubbed the lit cigarette and made sure not to smoke the filter, even considered pocketing it. It was a bit dirty now but it was a filter and if my doom-thinking ended up being correct then it was bound to come in handy at some point. As much as I didn¡¯t want to, should probably break ¡®em off before smoking them. I chucked the dirty one. My breathing finally slowed and reality quickly closed in on me again despite my resolution to ignore it, but I still had a distraction or two left. First up were stats. The System had given my class¡¯ stat boost right after selection and even leveled me up now. My magical endurance had soared to 26 but my manabar still showed empty. That wasn¡¯t good at all. It meant at least 8 hours of waiting for a new sword and a reflexive nudge brought my very sharp magic sword closer. I swung my good arm a few times - definitely faster, but not 40% faster. Then it hit me for the fourth time today. I assumed, but didn¡¯t actually know the baseline. Well, shit. I fled my own failures and embraced the blinking class box instead. A new sub tab appeared under ¡®Ability¡¯, called ¡®Class Skills¡¯. I got a slight dopamine high out of reading that one and promptly selected it, which rewarded me with a prompt. ¡°Vocalize skill-tag.¡± Was a list too much to ask for? I seriously questioned the wisdom of letting people make their own choices. Had nothing against the common folk, but one half was dumber than the other. I wasn¡¯t religious but a prayer for humanity would probably have been appropriate at this point. Then again we¡¯d been smacked by a god-equivalent, so it was probably for the best to avoid drawing any attention from that front. Chapter 4: Crash I closed my interface and sat down to deliberate potential tags a little more carefully, it didn¡¯t help my heart was about to explode. I wanted to stop making assumptions, but it was impossible. Something had to guide my decisions and I suspected thoughts and prayers weren¡¯t going to cut it. My bloody arm provided the critical hint. Well, thoughts might. They would have to, as I didn¡¯t like my odds when it came to saying the first impulse which popped into my head and hoping ot would lead to a good skill. Fair enough, aside from a slight complication. While I didn¡¯t consider myself that dumb, I ain¡¯t no genius either. Educated, sure - but clever? Wouldn¡¯t bet my life on it. I¡¯d have to think less like me and more like someone who had a far more impressive collection of functioning brain cells to rub together. This technique had a name, Dunning-Kruger syndrome or some such. At least I kept finding ways to leverage my life skills in the post-apocalypse, small comforts and all. Goddamnit. Every heartbeat scattered my thoughts. Problem one, I was clueless about what a skill meant in this context. What I knew for sure was I¡¯d be getting at least one, with probably more in the pipeline considering my level of two. While this might be an all-or-nothing gamble, I doubted it. An element of choice meant there were multiple outcomes, probably a range from bad to good. If they were all bad, I was screwed. If they were all good, my choices wouldn¡¯t matter that much. So it made little sense to assume anything but the range. The second problem involved figuring out what I needed - another cigarette for one, I lit up. Needed to slow down on the pace but addiction wasn¡¯t doing me any favors there. Too bad. The bone golem hadn¡¯t been partciularly dangerous in the end. The lack of mobility really held it back and now I was wise to its tricks. I could probably take out another without getting hurt. That wasn¡¯t entirely without risk but at least I had some room for error. I felt a little insane and a little badass at the thought, but smart money favored the former over the latter - arrogance got me wounded after all. Crap. All right, so I had a fair chance of surviving my way to another choice even if I made a shitty pick, as long as the next monstrosity I fought was the same as the last. Fewer guarantees than I¡¯d like but preparing for the infinite unknown was a non-starter. My biggest problem was still that I knew jack shit about sword fighting. I tried reviewing the last fight but came up short instead. As a weapon mage, maybe I¡¯d find answers in the sword itself. I held on to my focus despite the rush. There was at least some leeway in where I summoned it. I examined the edge and didn¡¯t find any chips despite my hacking frenzy. It was also absurdly sharp and I had to restrain myself from trying to feel the edge. I should¡¯ve spent more time examining the remains but they¡¯d already gone up in smoke. It could explode, which happened when the Errant tried to pick it up. However, it wasn¡¯t a viable tactic when considering the so-far non-existent rate of... energy¡­ regeneration. Mana, I was just going to call it mana - felt like it had a better ring to it. It also made all of this seem less real, which was of questionable wisdom. Shit, drifting again. The sword which exploded hadn¡¯t left anything behind and vague recollections of wafting smoke were all I had. Adrenaline paired with tunnel vision, not a great combo. This wasn¡¯t going anywhere. More than one skill, I could probably manage for now, expensive magic sword. Repeat gambles afforded me a bad choice, maybe two. The result would guide my next to a ¡®safer¡¯ option. The facts justified a high-roll. Okay. Pretend-smart shit was out of the way. Next in line was the creative part, figuring out a good skill-tag. The idea had come up before. Logistics were key. Moving stuff made the world go ¡®round, determined the outcome of wars and all that jazz. It leaned into the shitty video game angle too and I had stuff. Winter jacket could be tied around my waist, even if it didn¡¯t appeal since mobility was my big advantage right now and probably would be for the foreseeable future. I had to carry a sword along too, maybe even multiple if I ever actually regenerated some fucking mana.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. I aimed for the stars. Just had to hope they wouldn¡¯t aim back, again. I opened my interface again, the ¡®vocalize skill-tag¡¯ prompt was still there. ¡°Inventory.¡± ¡°Skill chosen: Sheath.¡± What? I pulled up the description. [Sheath] ¡°Place or withdraw a sword under your control into or from an extra dimensional storage space. You can store up to three swords simultaneously. Range: Touch. Cost: None.¡± Again with the out-of-place D&D shit. Not quite what I had in mind here. At a glance the skill seemed kind of useless but perhaps my expectations had been set a little too high. A flashback to my panicked block changed my mind. This had potential. I touched my very sharp magic sword awkwardly with my wrist and thought ¡®sheath¡¯. It disappeared. I made a grip and then thought the same. Suddenly I held it. While sheathed I knew I had one sword... Somewhere. My heart skipped a beat as I got a little excited there. Entranced, I put it away again and then copied my panic maneuver. Once again, life reminded me of my flaws. Everything went just as expected. Shit, heart rate began to pick up again. This was somewhat catastrophic, as I¡¯d been sitting. In my customary pose of legs extended and crossed at the ankles. I also flinched, which contributed to the catastrophe. My very sharp magic sword fell into my lap, edge first. A calm washed over me as my journey ended there. Or so I thought, but instead I felt a slight weight in my lap and opened my eyes. It just laid there. The edge didn¡¯t even damage my clothes. Huh. This time I didn¡¯t resist the urge to feel the edge. It felt like a line of pinpricks, so I pressed a little, which resulted in nothing except for the telltale pressure of resistance. Friendly magic sword - neat. Thoughts of turning light sabers off and on mid swing filled my head. Magic was the shit. I thought the sword away after putting it back in my lap even though it wasn¡¯t touching my skin. I got up. A few more tests confirmed ¡®the System¡¯ and I had very different definitions for ¡®touch¡¯. There were about 3 centimeters or so of leeway, good for me. I also discovered the mid-swing-idea wasn¡¯t quite as straightforward as I had thought. I failed to account for the shift in momentum and it made the swing awkward. My lack of swordsmanship turned it into more of a stumble really, so I shelved the maneuver for now. At least the System spared me any time lag between activations as far as I could tell and I amused myself by ¡®blinking¡¯ it rapidly. I tried to find a limit and landed on ¡®at the speed of thought¡¯. Couldn¡¯t make it overlap with anything though, in retrospect I¡¯d been a little too preoccupied with mad science to consider the risks there. At least reality hadn¡¯t turned into a glitchy videogame, which wasn¡¯t a lot as far as silver linings went. I had enough of playing around for now. Another sound check came out clear. Good. I¡¯d gone through a cigarette while messing around and another after I¡¯d finished procrastinating, during which I solved the mystery mana regeneration rate. Specifically, I saw it tick up by one as I double-checked my stats, re-read my ability and skill before heading out. One mana per hour. Since the speed reading session for stats mentioned improvements by hour and magical endurance going up by spending energy... Yeah, that seemed very likely. I did some arithmetic and first I got confused, but then it checked out. Crap, I¡¯d forgotten to rip off and save the filters. This wasn¡¯t a good time to be making mistakes. My brains were scrambled, the switch from cozy evening to fighting for my life led to too much emotion, too fast. Nor did I have any System time freeze shit to keep the breakdowns away anymore. While it was hard to keep on track, I held myself together surprisingly well - a little too well in retrospect. Before I fought the Errant, I¡¯d been a mess. But now I felt mostly fine, a little bored in fact. It didn¡¯t make any sense whatsoever. I tried examining the seething black ball in the back of my mind but even trying to remember the end failed to spark anything significant. There was a sense of comfort in it, like locking myself away in a room. I was no longer tempted to deny reality as much. My chest still pounded even though I¡¯d been at rest for a while now. I wondered whether it would ever really stop ¨C so maybe a little distressed still. As comforting as the smoking room atmosphere I kept introducing here was, I still desperately needed distractions. The more I thought, the more insane everything seemed. The featureless environment, cigarette butts and flecks of ash aside, provided no avenues for escapism either. I had one certainty though, I couldn¡¯t stay here. At least my ticker calmed down a little. Had to stay on task, take stock and go from there. My stats were at 10 physical power, 14 physical speed, 12 physical endurance, 14 magical power, 10 magical speed and 12+14 magical endurance. Mana sat at one out of a hundred. At least I could track time. It was officially one hour post apocalypse. I had broken down, recovered, fought and gotten wounded. I¡¯d also made my very first bear-sized kill and leveled up in real life. It probably wasn¡¯t the best start, but I¡¯d settle for it. Something about that didn¡¯t quite jive with me but I set the thought aside for now, or more likely forever. I needed to do some hippy bullshit of living in the present and focus on the here and now. Live, love, laugh. Although I¡¯d settle for just live. Chapter 5: Traipsing around The last few hours taught me a thing or two. Hiking was doable because your surroundings kept changing, which was not the case here. You¡¯d also usually set out well-fed, hydrated and rested. Again, not the case here. I was hungry, thirsty, on edge with a headache and desperately trying to ward off the bad thoughts. The only thing keeping me sane was pausing to listen against walls and floors every now and then, but chain-smoking helped. Everywhere I went, the tasty aroma followed. Filterless cigarettes didn¡¯t taste so good though, but the normalcy of it comforted me. Less normal were the endless corridors. Plenty of corners at odd angles, I swore I¡¯d come across everything except a proper 90-degree turn, but at least the floor kept level. I started out going almost true north-east, according to my magic mind-weathervane, but my heading had eventually been perverted to west. Maintaining my original direction wasn¡¯t meant to be since I¡¯d gotten tired of backtracking over and over from dead ends. There were a lot of those. Whoever made this place had way too much time on their hands, although that meant we had something in common. The only special thing about these hallways was the undead abomination population and the fact it was a maze. I¡¯d found another of the bone golems an hour or so back and utterly demolished it, which at least improved my mood for a while. It was basically the same creature. I even pioneered a bit of a magic-sword technique there, if pioneering meant trying the first thing which came to mind. I swung both my arms from the same side towards jaw arm in a bait and switch to hit it with the lagging arm. It turned out to be very effective. Another energy nail brought my total up to two. Putting them close together caused a fusion, at least when I thought-told them to. Sadly the System hadn¡¯t rewarded me with a level up for making another kill. While a little tense, I still ended up being surprisingly alright with the whole maim and slaughter thing. An idea followed the reflection, one of trying to absorb energy from the crystalline fingernail. Immediate gratification was in effect as I¡¯d gotten two mana from thinking ¡®absorb¡¯ while holding the tiny crystal, it disintegrated with faint crackling noises as a result. My mana supply had gone up all the way to 6, while the System¡¯s user-friendliness bottomed out at zero. It would¡¯ve been nice to know all this beforehand instead of having to figure it out by my fucking self. The tutorial definitely needed a redesign with a strong focus on including important information. I wasn¡¯t going to advocate for it though, since there was no point in picking an unwinnable fight. I hadn¡¯t thought it possible anymore, but something interesting happened after another two hours of walking vaguely west. The rickety crickety of another abomination had put me on high alert but the tempo was all off. Peeking around the corner revealed two of the fuckers. And they were fighting, although that was me being generous. I felt a bit embarrassed about having been taken for a spin by one of them, considering the hilariously dumb fight in front of me. They had serious issues harming each other and the softer scary bits of the appendages were ruined and the whole thing had devolved into an ineffective wrestle which stopped the moment I approached. It would take a bit of work but they were essentially helpless so I started a-choppin¡¯. I was starting to get the hang of this and a sadistic streak seemed to have taken root within since I even enjoyed it. That wasn¡¯t meant to last as my headache worsened. Once the adrenaline wore off, every labored breath and pressured heartbeat sent a spike up my skull. It had been a while since my last proper rest and my thoughts were getting progressively dumber. Everything was sore as well, probably something to do with avoiding anything sporty since the pandemic. I sat down for this one. A quick interface check revealed another level up. Stats had gone up again and the class box blinked but sustenance came first. Two more magic fingernails had entered my possession, which were promptly converted to energy so I could cast ¡®create food and drink¡¯. I swore a lot, it was just in my nature. But this time I cussed up a storm which would¡¯ve made a sailor blush. Wished I had that kind of creativity in my day-to-day. My ¡®food and drink¡¯ had appeared out of the ether unto the floor and gently so, thank the System. My meal looked suspiciously much like a maccie d¡¯s cheeseburger and a small coke, complete with branded wrapper and plastic cup. No straw. I cursed ¡®the System¡¯, ate every last crumb and pocketed the wrapper after licking it clean. The cantrip was remarkably authentic since it even nailed the ¡®too much ketchup¡¯ part. Then I had a smoke. Along the way I¡¯d resolved to save my death sticks for special occasions like dinner, waking up, or drawing my next breath. Taking a step called for celebration, right?Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. My gaze snapped and my heart skipped a beat. The smoke wasn¡¯t going straight up, it angled. That meant airflow - it had been there all along but I hadn¡¯t been paying attention. After getting up I promptly sat my stupid ass back down again and opened my interface, nothing had changed except my magical endurance had gone up to 28. It was ¡®skill-tag vocalization¡¯ time. I already had a clear picture of what I wanted, having stumbled upon an obvious idea. My ability and the sheath skill mentioned swords I control. I was doing all kinds of video game crap by thinking, so I¡¯d landed on telekinetics. I was truly a mental giant, unsurpassed in my analytical prowess. Perhaps I even bordered on genius. Were I to put it into words more appropriate for one of my mental stature then I¡¯d have said ¡°Me think good.¡± Slipping again. Of course I didn¡¯t actually say it out loud, but getting the phrase printed and framed at some point wasn¡¯t out of the question. Maybe I¡¯d even put it up on my bedroom ceiling, so I could wake up to the affirmation every day. Of course, I¡¯d have to find a printer in the post-apocalypse first, and a bedroom. The skills kept on coming so I saw no reason to change my selection strategy. And my first choice wasn¡¯t bad at all. Admittedly, I¡¯d have to find some free time to practice at some point to fully realize the potential. My inner critic reared up and kept asking when that was likely to happen. I considered using the tag ¡®control¡¯ but I was afraid about it having a chance of backfiring, possibly leading to something silly like letting me claim ownership of swords. ¡°Hey Gabriel, what¡¯s your superpower? Theft.¡± I didn¡¯t really have a basis for my mistrust but the entire situation made me wary and ¡®the System¡¯ apparently played fast-and-loose with the meaning of words. One of my friends was a pedantic software engineer who¡¯d go fucking ballistic over that. Shit. I was losing it. Playing out conversations in my head was the crucial piece of evidence. ¡°Telekinesis¡± ¡®¡¯Skill chosen: Control.¡± Maybe I had to stop thinking angry thoughts about the System. I read the description. [Control] ¡°Manipulate swords you control with your thoughts. Exertable power is half of yours. Range: 3 meters. Cost: None.¡± The wind called to me, but some testing felt appropriate. I moved it with my mind though it was a conscious effort ¨C not very intuitive at all, like trying to write with your off-hand. The sensation blended weirdness and exhilaration, while the feedback was out of this world since I could feel the sword like it was a part of me. My next observation excited me a little less, it turned out half of my exertable power was not all that much. I guessed the culprit to be physics. I essentially fought gravity which didn¡¯t leave much force for anything else. The sword weighed little so I couldn¡¯t build much momentum either. A downward attack would probably do at least some damage though, but nothing compared to my own swings. This skill was actually kind of bad and more like a parlor trick than a combat ability, so I quickly lost interest. I¡¯d experiment again once my sword stockpile exceeded one. Maybe it would be a redeeming factor. I doubted it. The wind called again and I listened for once and followed the subtle draft. The ubiquitous halls were as clinically clean as ever, with no dust or discernable smells if you didn¡¯t count cigarette smoke. It only took rounding two corners to find my salvation - a stairway which went up. Anywhere would be better than here. I picked up the pace and my vision expanded as I exited the hallway into a room. There were three interesting things here. Well, well, well, don¡¯t spoil me now. This was the full silver-spoon experience. As usual, the room was uniformly lit like the previous hallways despite a lack of any discernable light sources in either. Similarly, I couldn¡¯t see very far before clear vision made way for shifting shadows. It also had four hallways splitting off from it and each aligned exactly with a cardinal direction. I¡¯d come from the east. The northern hallway wasn¡¯t even drab cave stone but actually tiled, still could do with a bit of paint ¨C any color would be a major improvement at this point. There were visible but tiny seams between the tiles, at least on the floor. The walls were the boring same old. This was some suspicious shit right here. My examination of interesting things culminated in the stairway, which led straight up at an almost 45 degree angle before it began rounding away. So technically there were four interesting things in the room. I wanted to rush up the steps and hopefully get out of here, preferably towards anywhere less bland. But I had a dumb idea which took precedence. I used my newfound telekinetics and poked the 60x60 tiles one at a time with my magic sword and surely enough my efforts were rewarded when one of the tiles moved at touch. It went up. Fast. And hard. I reflexively pulled at my sword with my mind which was rather lucky, since it got wedged between the ceiling ¨C ¡®bout 3 meters high ¨C and the rising block. This series of events promptly launched it at my face, where it disappeared right before making contact. For once, I didn¡¯t flinch. The tile failed to connect with the ceiling, at least I thought so since there would¡¯ve been a bang from the impact and no chance that I¡¯d successfully have kept my eyes open. The eerie silence of it all felt deeply disturbing. My sword made it through undamaged, I just knew. I patted myself on the back in a surge of pride and stashed an idea for later. I tried scratching ¡®¡¯DEATH TRAP¡¯¡¯ on an untrapped square with my magic sword but I couldn¡¯t damage it at all so I settled for the cave floor before, then I vandalized a bunch of arrows which pointed at the text. There, couldn¡¯t miss it - couldn¡¯t miss the confirmation either. This was a dungeon. Hopefully I wouldn¡¯t meet any dragons. I didn¡¯t believe in jinxing shit. I made my way up the staircase while anticipating glorious natural light and whiffs of fresh air and resolved to never return here again. It was the blandness that did it, what a crappy hike this turned out to be. Chapter 6: Back and forth I went back down the stairs. This was a bit of a shame. It took me some time to reach the top. I would have guessed multiple cigarettes worth but I hadn¡¯t smoked during my climb up the steps. They were incredibly awkward, mostly because they were equally as high as they were long and pretty big too. It didn¡¯t help that I got winded on top of my mounting exhaustion. An earthy smell and shafts of light greeted me at the top, and roots, just so many roots. The exit, or entrance depending on how you looked at it, ended up in a tree hollow, or root hollow to be pedantic. My software engineer buddy would be proud. My entomophobia kicked in but I couldn¡¯t find any bugs anywhere. I almost started pushing myself through the thumb-thick roots but changed my mind after I yawned for the third time. Exhaustion won the war against survival instinct. It had been close to midnight when the world ended and worse yet, I¡¯d been drinking. The problem was that it wasn¡¯t safe, possibly anywhere. I didn¡¯t want to do this, but I had few alternatives and probably couldn¡¯t fight anymore soon - not with any sort of confidence at least. I needed a nap. I descended for a minute or two and then shuffled around in an attempt to find a position which would let me sleep. The curve of the walls made it something of a challenge. It also made the hallway narrower. I ended up half curled in a diagonal position, in an awkward belly-down arrangement with my head in my arms. Uncomfortable, but I was well past caring. How to avoid dying in my sleep? That was the big question. I wanted a nap but I knew myself, most likely I¡¯d be out for a lot longer. It had been on my mind for a while. There was really only one precaution I could think of. I closed my eyes and opened the interface. I still saw the black and yellow panels even with my eyes closed. If a beasty neared it would trigger the warning and hopefully wake me up. Gambling used to be more fun. I resolved to think of absolutely nothing, especially the mental breakdown circling my vulnerable self, ready to strike at any moment... I jarred awake, on high alert immediately, right after a sharp intake of air. My sword appeared in my hand and then it took me a moment to realize my interface hadn¡¯t closed. A few heartbeats passed before I realized that I had a nightmare about getting stabbed in the face. I knew a thing or two about psychology ¨C which meant I had read a few articles online. Thus I proceeded to self-diagnose PTSD, possibly of the complex variety. I let out the breath I¡¯d been holding and checked my manabar; I¡¯d slept for 3 hours. I survived so a snooze couldn¡¯t hurt. It took a bit before I dozed off. I woke up naturally this time, again with my interface still open so I closed it. I stretched and immediately changed my mind as everything hurt like hell. It got my blood flowing, which, to my great detriment, made the headache resurface in full force. My left arm was especially sore. The lack of any immediate threats, an assault of blandness notwithstanding, allowed me to reflect. I decided against it. I wasn¡¯t opposed to the concept in general but I had more immediate concerns. Not dying made it to the top of the priority list for some reason. A few dozen winces later I¡¯d pulled back and rolled up my slightly ruined and bloody sweater sleeve. On the positive side, the wounds were definitely smaller than before, but not by much. Sadly it didn¡¯t really weigh up against the negative here. A pit in my stomach punctuated the fact I was going to die, for real this time. I wasn¡¯t no doctor but it didn¡¯t take a specialist to recognize the early stages of an infection. Although the signs were quite subtle, even an expert might¡¯ve missed ¡®em. Who¡¯d think to look for pus and green-white stripes on an open wound? Thoughts of cutting off my arm were quickly interrupted by the fact I couldn¡¯t. Not just because my magic sword was friendly, but I simply didn¡¯t have the cojones to do something like that. I also liked my arm. We¡¯d been through a lot together. We survived the end of the world, side-by-side. Did it actually count as survival if you died but pulled a Jesus shortly after? I decided it did, which mattered since I¡¯d recently become an authority on the subject.Stolen story; please report. I checked my mana, 13. At least I would die well-rested. A short bout of staring later, I¡¯d learned you could not think away a medical emergency. Still, it calmed me down. After I centered myself again, I decided there was no need to be dramatic. I had time, maybe. Ultimately my medical knowledge was vast, at least compared to a medieval peasant. I couldn¡¯t think of any other favorable comparison. It was high time to focus on the task at hand. I probably had a couple of options. Amputation was out. Cauterization would be a gamble, trading a few open wounds for a couple of third degree burns. Made for good cinema but bad medicine, I knew that much at least. Bloodletting maybe? I strongly suspected it wasn¡¯t a real medical treatment. I only had an idea almost guaranteed not to work. Might make things worse. No choice. Dumb idea. No choice. Fuck it, no choice. First I had to clean the wound. Only one method seemed viable while keeping step two in mind. I scraped the wounds with my magic sword. It caused more bleeding, so a little bit of bloodletting too. It felt like scrubbing with a cheese grater. I removed a fair amount of... nasty shit. Bloody. Nasty. Shit. After that, I wanted to cauterize but pussied out in the end, still didn¡¯t have the stones. It took a surprising amount of determination to hold a lighter flame against a body part which already hurt a whole fucking lot. Next I had to gamble. My life involved an awful lot of high-rolling with no fallback lately. Alright with money on the table, but less so with my life in the balance. One could always get more of the former but the latter was limited in supply ¨C I didn¡¯t count on the System bringing me back a second time. I cast mending. Now, there was a reason I thought of this as a gamble. Mending ¨C at least in D&D ¨C had been a repair spell. Not a healing spell. An enterprising mind might argue. What was really the difference between repairing fabric and repairing skin after all? If you had a particularly patient dungeon master, a question like that might spark an argument at the game table. It had happened thousands of times across the globe. Well, any arguments could be shelved. I had the answer. The difference was pain. Step 3: Scream. Step 4: Wake up. I hadn¡¯t really passed out, but recovering from mind-rending pain was quite similar, or so I learned. My clothes were soaked in cold sweat, headache had been overruled and the argument sustained. The effect was instant as far as I could tell, even though the hurt lingered. An examination of my forearm showed remarkable consistency across previously broken skin. A good chunk of my forearm also felt rather raw. Like I¡¯d been enthusiastically peeling off sunburn, or been doing so pre-emptively - without the sunburn. I resigned myself to a cigarette ¨C with filter this time, I earned it ¨C and a heartfelt promise to never do this again. I got up in hopes of setting out and making any kind of progress, right after checking my stats. Mana totaled to 3. Physical power: 10. Physical Speed: 16. Physical Endurance: I deserved at least 50, but only had 13. Magical power at 16. Magical speed still 10. Magical endurance: 29. Hatred of the post-apocalypse: 99. Hope for the future: Zero. I thought about giving up. I just wasn¡¯t built for this shit. If I wanted to patch wounds and treat infections, I¡¯d have gone for medical school and failed to get in like a proper aspiring doctor. Had to hope the mending fixed my arm and continue onward. I went up the stairs, again, and was greeted by... still daytime. It hadn¡¯t even crossed my mind until right before the spiral of the staircase evened out. I took a deep breath and relished the scent of lingering cigarette smoke mixed with shiver-sweat and an earthy breeze. I pushed myself through the roots towards the west, since that had been working out so far. My efforts were rewarded by a scene of grass, daylight, bushes, trees and rootballs. They weirded me out a little, because all of the trees were on top of the rootballs. I turned around and saw my rootball was the same. They made a half sphere, with the apex four or-so meters off the ground and a big fat tree on top. It made no fucking sense, there was no way the roots could support their kind of weight. After looking up I figured it out. The trees obscured the sky. Instead a latticework hung overhead, of what must have been giant branches spreading in every direction ¨C up, down, diagonal, horizontal, and everything in between. There were so many I couldn¡¯t see through the tapestry all that far, mostly because they blended together. The forest surroundings had given me hope, but I had a sinking feeling this was going to get complicated. I wasn¡¯t big on heights. Chapter 7: Nope. Fuck the high ground. I just stayed at floor level. Some part of me had reflexively assumed I¡¯d have to go up into the canopy. Three seconds of not being an idiot dispelled the notion however. The sun was still¡­ in the sky. I couldn¡¯t actually see it. The temperature, while slightly chilly, felt pleasant since it kept me mostly comfortable despite my brisk walking pace. My heading remained true west and the reason why came down to gamblers fallacy. Overall, it was nice. The flora definitely had an exotic touch to it. The surroundings could have done with a flowerbed or two, but I¡¯d take this any day over drab grey stone. I didn¡¯t care much for botany so there weren¡¯t many more conclusions to draw about the nature here other than ¡®weird¡¯. It was mostly standard fare, except upon closer inspection I could say with certainty that I¡¯d never encountered any of these plants before. There were little giveaways. For example, all the leaves were blue. There were barbed thorns the size of my index finger on waist-high bushes. I came across what I thought to be a normal tree yet it triggered an Errant warning, which I heeded. Couldn¡¯t fight no trees. I¡¯d made a habit of constantly checking the interface. Inner me wanted to scratch ¡®Beware trees with no balls¡¯ somewhere but discretion was the better part of valor and all that. At least it smelled like a pine-forest, or an air freshener. The two were analogous in my mind. Someone had once told me heavy smoking deadened your sense of smell and taste, which I dismissed as nonsense at the time. Then again, I¡¯d never been a picky eater either so maybe the dude had a point. After an hour of wandering I even encountered some wildlife, seemed to be from old-earth too ¨C so likely edible. The bunny in front of me didn¡¯t look too odd at least. A little bigger than I thought they were supposed to be, nature was often like that though. The important parts were present. It was wonderfully fluffy, probably delicious, and entirely harmless. I gave the little white fluffy fuck a name: Breakfast. Some things just weren¡¯t the same anymore after the end. For one, it didn¡¯t run away. My mood soured quickly after. The post-apocalypse sucked. All the best parts of life were ruined. Breakfast had been standing on its hind legs looking in my direction when I¡¯d spotted it. It did the whole cutesy sideways nod too, nothing wrong with that. When it started bounding towards me, I thought Breakfast might even manage to upgrade itself from meal to friend. Yet it was not to be. Breakfast had the same thoughts I did, minus the friend part. Not sure what exactly tipped me off, could¡¯ve been Breakfasts body language or the look in its eyes. Maybe it was the multi-meter chitinous three-part appendage ending in a stinger rising from the base of its neck, hard to tell with these things. My interface refused to open, confirming it. Everything was getting an Errant-check from now on. I also learned a new lesson. The Errant warning was based off my own senses. I knew this for certain because I¡¯d spotted Breakfast right after rounding a rootball, about a second after I¡¯d closed my interface. This led to an unfortunate consequence - we weren¡¯t all that far apart. Breakfast braced and its neck stinger went straight for me. My reflexes were on point though, so I flung my winter jacket at it in a blind panic and backstepped twice. Now I did the sideways nod. Breakfast was fucking helpless. The stinger had reacted and pierced my winter jacket, and the fucker was covered by it. It stabbed around in frenzy, so twice. Then it retracted and folded the stinger at the same time, it turned out the chitinous stabber was collapsible. It tried and failed to shed the jacket. It looked stupid, but didn¡¯t make me any less wary. A stinger might imply venom, thus a scratch might imply death. My brush with infection taught me proper sword fighting equaled death. Instead I¡¯d test the mind-sword. Breakfast definitely reacted to the sword coming closer, but struck next to it - probably aiming for a wielder.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. It turned out to be very helpful so I executed a downward chop, pantomiming along with two fingers due to a series of unfortunate life choices regarding what kind of person I wanted to be. Good thing this had gone down as it did, I would¡¯ve had no chance of dodging that shit. The stinger was fast, but also fragile. After a few tries I managed to hit it and my magic sword went clean through. It went still, as did my winter jacket. I tried to drag my jacket away with the handle of the sword but it had gotten stuck. The bunny with an inert stinger sticking out of its neck appeared dead enough. I cut the stinger off at the base, at a distance, and then freed my jacket ¨C I also condensed Breakfast. Distortion Fragment, 1/25, again. Choices were 1 energy, 1 hide or manual. I picked manual this time. Some odorless smoke wafted away although the corpse largely remained. I cut up the stinger appendage into 4 pieces at the joints, then picked it up and had a look-see to figure out what this stuff was made of - white meat and segments of chitin. I put my spoils on a pile and spent about a cigarette circling to make certain there were no threats nearby. With a spring in my step I gathered some firewood, so mostly roots painstakingly cut off with my sword. Took quite a bit of effort, that. My plan kind of fell apart there. My Bic lighter couldn¡¯t set the roots on fire. While I didn¡¯t know a damn about skinning either, I might¡¯ve managed to get the skin off at least, so a stew would¡¯ve been my only sensible option anyway. No pot. No water. Lots of thirst. Had figured I¡¯d use my sword as a skewer, patted myself on the back and gotten to work. My stomach growled. A cheeseburger and coke did not a full meal make. An old saying sprung to mind, civilization was just three missed meals away from anarchy at all times, now confirmed. I cut off the end of the stinger, only meat inside. My sword did a good job of slicing it open. There were no signs of a venom sac ¨C not that I knew what to look for but ubiquitous white meat wasn¡¯t it. The anatomy probably didn¡¯t check out. I chucked the stinger just to be safe, cracked open another section and cut out a little cube of white meat, then roasted it over my lighter. It took on a little glaze, then a scrunch. It smelled like seafood. Wanting to conserve lighter fluid, I stopped roasting since I had no clue how much I had left. I used to have an entire drawer full of random lighters which I¡¯d appropriated at every opportunity and this was one of them. I closed my eyes although I left my interface open and took a bite. Delicious, tasted like crab. I tried the next piece raw, which tasted like juicy crab. Worry made way for pride, my friend Breakfast had lived up to its name - may you rest in pieces li¡¯l buddy. I sliced open the rest and munched on bunnycrab meat. I had a smoke too ¨C breakfast was a kind of dinner ¨C and sorely missed coffee. Afterwards, I took the time to examine my winter jacket, which had a brand new hole. Shame. There was nothing to be done about it. Maybe someday I¡¯d have the spare mana to mend it. If it could be mended, I had a sneaking suspicion the damage might get much worse before I managed to fully extricate myself from situations which bordered on certain death. One mana later I¡¯d come across Breakfast¡¯s little brother, Lunch. Same tactic, same result. Better execution. Jacket got a little more torn up. I hadn¡¯t gotten the shits yet so the meat was properly edible. This time I had something to do while plucking at bunnycrab meat. I¡¯d leveled up again and with that came another skill. My survival prospects were significantly improving, if skills kept coming like this then I¡¯d be rocking quite an arsenal soon enough. I made a mistake in pondering the future though, which prompted the bad thoughts to surface once more ¨C although the effect felt muted. So I thought about skills instead. I needed a proper ranged attack of some sort. The melee shit hadn¡¯t worked out and the telekinetics were underwhelming. Inventory tag hadn¡¯t quite landed either, probably because it had nothing to do with swords. With the second tag I¡¯d been overthinking it. Fortunately, all thoughts of risk profiles and betting strategies had long since left my mind. I had a need - to stay the fuck out of melee range. I decided to play it straight, see what happened. There was always the next skill if this didn¡¯t work out. My annoyances with the System had somewhat subsided, the dude put in work to my benefit. ¡°Ranged¡± It worked. Thank the System, it worked. [Launch] ¡°Launch a sword you control in the direction that the point is facing, twice as hard as you can throw it. Range: 3 meters. Cost: 5 energy.¡± The wording was all over the place, as usual. Pretty sure I understood how it worked regardless, which meant I had a good ranged attack. Just to be safe I would refrain from targeting anything further than 3 meters away. I had a pretty good feel for it now because of my control skill. Maybe I was getting the hang of this post-apocalyptic survival crap. Even if this turned out to be the bluest apocalypse I could never have imagined. Chapter 8: Apocalypse blues I felt a little blue. Perhaps because all the greenery, except for the grass, was now bluery. It might¡¯ve been the lack of other people. Not a good sign. Could¡¯ve been the creeping implications I kept repressing. Water was blue, and I was thirsty as hell. The sky was blue, not that I saw more than little hints of it through the canopy. Maybe the silence of it all got to me. There weren¡¯t a lot of rustling leaves or other forest noises. It might¡¯ve been that I felt a little under the weather. It certainly didn¡¯t help my jacket got all torn up. The temp had gone down and cold was blue, right? These were all things to be a little sad about. But the main thing was figuring it out. On my way here I¡¯d come across three more bunnycrabs, hence the ruined jacket, and thus I¡¯d been alternating inhaling juicy meat and cigarette smoke on the road. I even conserved my mana, which sat at a pleasant 10 now. I fingernailed the last one since the promise of a small coke appealed, a lot. I refrained from spending my reserves right away, one of my increasingly rare wise decisions. Less wise was neglecting the world around me by employing one of my many life skills and refusing to think about anything which failed to qualify as an immediate issue. Otherwise, I might¡¯ve picked up the pace. I¡¯d been going at a brisk walk. Since I was a chain smoker, for now, that wasn¡¯t entirely accurate. The average person might perhaps describe it as a ¡®leisurely stroll¡¯ or ¡®fucking slow¡¯. There were a few hints scattered here and there and my subconscious worked overtime piecing things together until it all fell into place. I spotted another bunnycrab coming towards me at a dead run. It tried to close the distance by running through a knee high bush and would¡¯ve caught me if not for the finger-sized barbs digging into it. If I¡¯d been in a more lighthearted mood then I would have laughed. I¡¯d previously determined my jacket throwing wasn¡¯t going to be very effective anymore, so when all this happened I employed every bit of tactical knowhow in my possession. My response had been calculated and measured - I fled for about 10 meters and put my back to a rootball out of sheer cowardice. No idea why, it made sense at the time. This didn¡¯t trigger my revelation, but rather what happened immediately after. There was a second hybrid crustacean, a fact which completely escaped me. It ran full tilt at the stuck bunnyboy and used its stinger to stab it in the head. The Errant rabbit went still after a spray of oddly dark blood. Then bunny two began rubbing against bunny one in a dissonant display of affection. Despite my previous insane internal rambling, it turned out theft was a great superpower. Bunnycrab two became twice the crab it had been before. My prospects didn¡¯t seem all that great when it started bounding towards me. Its dual-appendage assisted loping must¡¯ve been a sight to behold though not my cup of tea. I pushed myself through the roots in a scramble and hid inside the rootsphere hollow. This turned into a bit of a predicament. It didn¡¯t quite want to force itself through the roots, but still kept trying to stab me through the earthy cage. Mind-swording like a pro, I chopped off one of the appendages after a try or six. It took a while because I flailed blindly at the appendages instead of trying to time my attacks. Unfortunately the creature, now once again half the crab it was just before, wizened up to my deviousness and stopped stabbing the air. The half-fluff half-monster proved impressively clever. Being no slouch myself, I noticed this hollow didn¡¯t have a convenient staircase leading down, something I should¡¯ve perhaps been curious about earlier. Returning to the dungeon didn¡¯t seem so bad to me anymore until I remembered the wrestling bone golems. So long story short, I was trapped. It wasn¡¯t the end of the world, that was in the past. But despite my overbearing brainpower, I couldn¡¯t figure out what to do. At least it couldn¡¯t reach me, since the hollow provided enough room to stay out of range. Shuffling sounds shortly demonstrated the bunnycrabs intellect matched my own when a little head pushed through the roots. I mind-stabbed it a time or fifteen, then patted myself on the back for a job well done and the System agreed with me since I could open my interface again. I condensed the bunny and proof presented itself, 2/25. I took the mana nail and absorbed it, then sighed in disappointment.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. I¡¯d reached level 5, but no skill selection prompt appeared. I¡¯d come up with a few possible tags but it seemed those would have to wait. A new tab appeared which read ¡®System Message¡¯, chatty fellow. Not the good kind though but one of those people who talked at you rather than with you, like a yes man or a really drunk person. That had a technical term, ¡®dipshit¡¯. Another technicality which came to mind involved the System¡¯s use of grammar, which turned out to be on the same level as its adherence to the definition of words, loose. It spared me from any speed reading this time. But I had enjoyed me some literature once upon a time and there was no time like the present - so might as well see what he had to say. ¡°Greetings. This is an automated message. Considering your present circumstances, it was determined best not to distract you from the Errant threat and allow you to focus on acquiring class skills first and foremost. As you have now acquired all of them, you might be looking towards broadening your scope. As a society excelling at applying tools towards creating innovative solutions, you will be happy to know it is one facet of life left unchanged. To help you along, I have provided a ¡®care package¡¯ towards this. End of message.¡± My heart sank. No more skills? Fuck. Only a new prompt, ¡®select care package¡¯. I could do with some supplies. Maybe a bunch of food, water and a giant pile of mana nails. That wasn¡¯t really the theme here though. My choices were a ¡®class-optimal¡¯ care package or ¡®select other¡¯. The System¡¯s actions left me conflicted. It clearly tried to be helpful and the first hint towards that might¡¯ve been the whole resurrection thing. While the idea was on point, the execution left much to be desired. I had bigger fish to fry and reluctantly placed my faith in it. A rectangular pouch the size of my foot appeared in front of me. Very rustic chic, it seemed to be made of well cared for leather, with a light green shade of soft, coarser stuff overlapped by harder and smoother dark green panels where it didn¡¯t need to be flexible. The contents consisted of a green metallic chisel shaped like a triangular pencil, 5 metal plates and a very out of place single page blue and white pictogram akin to a blueprint. Touching it brought up my interface, asking if I wanted to ¡®stat-link¡¯ ¡®rune-scribing¡¯. I selected yes and it let me choose between physical speed, magical power and magical speed. I picked physical speed because I had no clue what the hell magical power or speed did since I wasn¡¯t exactly casting spells here. Linking made the stat go up by one. That was it. After I pieced together the pictogram, I became fairly certain I¡¯d just been handed a desk job. The gist of it seemed to be that I was supposed to draw a certain pattern over and over while thinking at the pen. It only gave one example but there was writing under it, ¡®hardening¡¯. It looked like diagonally crossed lines with minor embellishments. Great, a promising future as a struggling artist awaited me, scratching the same thing over and over again on plates of metal. The steel industry probably wasn¡¯t quite at its peak anymore either. This would have to wait. I extracted myself from my hiding place and remained cognizant enough to note the other bunny corpse had mysteriously disappeared. I didn¡¯t ponder it for long though. My more immediate concern was the prospect of more multi-legged bunnycrabs, and only the System knew what they might turn into, prematurely ending those lofty career aspirations. I set off at a run towards the west, at least that¡¯s what I told myself. Light jog might have been more accurate. Fear was a hell of a motivator though, so I managed to keep at it and only slowed down to an actually hurried walk long enough to catch my breath every few minutes or so. I hadn¡¯t found any more Errant-trees on the way here and the overbearing dome of the canopy angled ever more downward. On the plus side, I only came across one more, thankfully single-appendage, monster-rabbit about 3 mana later. Dusk settled in too, I assumed so since it was getting darker. And colder. Out of breath and out of patience, I launched my sword at the tasty Errant once it braced to strike. I aimed my blade by telekinetically holding the sword almost against my face and sighting down the flat. Launch was my kind of skill. The sword pierced through its braced fluffy back, always aim for center mass, and pinned the corpse while the blade sank into the ground, almost to the grip. The System might have overestimated my throwing skills but I wasn¡¯t complaining. Condense, manual. I wanted more meat. Didn¡¯t need to run anymore either, I¡¯d caught up with the curve of the canopy and faced a vibrant vertical wall of bluery, branches, vines, possibly roots and System knows what else, but on the bright side there were no bugs. Chapter 9: The Second Strike I felt validated. Even had I hurried up, I would¡¯ve still gotten stuck here. I was currently losing a staring contest against the vinebranchbushrootwall. Oh yes, there was bush in there too. Really multi-purpose stuff. Not only did my rustic chic pouch use coincidentally similar finger-long barbs as both a dual-belt hook and another one for holding down the flap, but they also held all this crap together. Firmly. The hooks weren¡¯t blue like everything else for some reason. From this angle I saw it thin out the higher up it went and there were plenty of branches and vines which offered opportunities to either climb or walk up the trees on the way here. The interlocking vegetation offered a path up and out but I wasn¡¯t having any of it. Backtracking through the crab forest would be suicide, and every passing hour ended up colder and darker than the last. As if that wasn¡¯t enough, the ground shook, accompanied by a massive crashing noise somewhere in the distance behind me. I sighed. The observation led me to conclude nocturnal demon trees were about. My insights deserved a reward and my chosen prize landed on a cigarette. I begged the wall to pretty please with sugar on top open up while blowing smoke rings at it. Unfortunately the wall was an unreasonable sod and neglected a response to my desperate pleading. I reached a conclusion, filterless cigarettes tasted like shit. I had a bunch of clean filters now and those would have to do. Reluctantly, I decided not to smoke another one with only half a pack left. Instead I stopped procrastinating and got to work. The barbs were cuttable if I put my back into it, the rest much less so. I spent a good several minutes sawing at one before it gave way and loosened the wall structure enough to push some crap aside. Upon closer examination, I noticed these barbs were different from the ones before - mostly in the sense they weren¡¯t part of a bush but rather the roots themselves. From there on it was easy going. If you were the type of person to consider six hours of hard labor ¡®easy going¡¯. I stopped for a cigarette break and to let the soreness fade from my arm. My plan to have some maccie d¡¯s was interrupted when the vine wall started rapidly closing up. That led to an hours setback at the very least, mostly because I stopped to stare at what was happening. So a particularly dedicated fellow could probably get through it in five. Four if they weren¡¯t a smoker. I ignored the constant crashing in the distance since there was nothing to be done about it. Even if there was, I wasn¡¯t going to do it. Glorious escape from certain death pushed me onwards until I made it through. Coughing fits followed every other breath and my throat felt like sandpaper but I held off on my midnight snack. Like a cat with a dripping faucet, I stared at a steady trickle of water droplets tip tapping down from one of the many rocky outcropping to my right. Finally, water. Once I¡¯d recovered from my exertions, it became apparent how cold it was here, the tearing didn¡¯t help either. This was a fucking gletsjer. At least the bottom of the valley wasn¡¯t a long drop. I turned a circle and oriented myself with the magic mind-weathervane. Couldn¡¯t make out much to the east on account of the gigantic rootball I¡¯d just escaped. To the north there were mountains, to the west there were more mountains and to the south there were yet more mountains - truly a varied landscape. I was too tired and thirsty for this shit. In keeping with the cat simile, I lapped up dripping water like it would save my life - probably because it did. Afterwards I found myself a nice cave, there were lots of those as well here, and went as deep in as the cavern allowed. Fortunately it was uninhabited, or I¡¯d¡¯ve been someone else¡¯s midnight snack. Completely exhausted and rather cold, I cast mending on my jacket and frowned. My jacket had been black on the outside and orange on the inside - as a Dutchie you had to have some orange somewhere, usually just once a year though. It mended just fine, but the color was all off. I couldn¡¯t quite put my finger on it but tired ingenuity labeled it blorange and I left it there. The saving grace was that the pockets, zippers and such weren¡¯t messed up more than they were before. I curled up under my remade blanket and forgot to leave my interface open before falling asleep.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. My 8 mana nap revealed an even darker cave, although my vision stretched a good 10 meters just like in the dungeon regardless. Breakfast consisted of more junk food and a cigarette, after which I went outside. There were promises of sunrise over the horizon. I didn¡¯t fancy my chances stumbling around in the dark and picked up my old habit of stargazing to kill some time. Despite having done that a lot, I couldn¡¯t really pick out constellations. There were certainly a lot more stars than in the before times, probably due to a lack of artificial lighting all over the place. Humanity really did do a number on nature wherever we went. This one wasn¡¯t on us though. The moon adorned the night sky and on its surface was what looked like a very large Aztec pyramid. It had a stairway, hence not very Egyptian. Its current orientation pointed the apex straight at me and I took it personally. I¡¯d been thrown for a bit of a loop, not so much by that, what¡¯s so special about a moon pyramid after all? Rather, the lightshow caught my eye. I¡¯d been fairly certain fireworks were a thing of the past, although this rated a grade or two above. Lasers and falling stars were going to and fro. That wasn¡¯t actually very precise, the stars were streaking towards the moon but the beams seemed to originate from it. I assumed so, since they were intercepting the starfall. Whoever coordinated this needed a stern talking to because everything happened too chaotically and quickly to follow. I tracked some bits at least. A falling star connected with, and blew a goodly chunk off the top of the pyramid. Reduced to base human instinct while drowning in my own cosmic insignificance, I cheered. ¡°Yeah! Fuck you, moon-pyramid.¡± We didn¡¯t get along. It was the pointing which did it. Rude. The show didn¡¯t last long. A few more impacts, then calm until something happened. I didn¡¯t quite catch it but the entire thing had cracked like an egg and shards were drifting apart. Now I wasn¡¯t an expert, yes, I¡¯d been humbled a little, but I recalled the moon being quite important. Oh well, what can you do? Not like there had been any cataclysmic events in the past due to pieces of dirt falling from the sky. Fortunately the System seemed to be on the up-and-up and decided to ¡®reconstitute¡¯ the whole thing. I thought it did a pretty bad job with Earth from what I¡¯d seen so far, but was forced to retract the statement. We¡¯d gotten the gentle touch. The moon? Not so much. It just slammed all the drifting pieces together into a jagged roughly ball shaped mess and called it a day. Godstrike: 2 - Celestial bodies: 0. Even when fighting back, planetoids ranked a little low on the tier list from the looks of it. Well, we had something in common now. Maybe we could be friends someday. I could forgive the pointing, in time. My mind fled back to the original System greeting, about how we were supposed to be able to stop this madness at some point. I wasn¡¯t looking forward to trying it out, so I resolved not to. I hadn¡¯t been into this rune-scribing stuff on account of fleeing threats to my life, but after gathering a cup of water my list of distractions ran dry. Contemplating nihilism didn¡¯t appeal so practice it was. It ended up being kind of fun in a turn-your-mind-off sort of way. My pen traced crisscross shapes on metal while I thought ¡®burn baby burn¡¯ at it. It left a thin lingering red trail on the blue-grey sheet, it would fade away unless I managed to complete the whole pattern, at which point it would pulse. The pictogram suggested doing this for an hour should etch the rune into the metal or something. Hard to say for sure, because it was fucking impossible to pull off. Deviating too far from the pattern, so at all, caused instant failure. Since I couldn¡¯t draw worth a damn because I had no natural talent or years of practice to fall back on and a history of doodling during lectures apparently didn¡¯t count. My lack of skill led to an eventual fuck up which ruined the process, didn¡¯t stop me from trying again though. The sunrise took its time so I gave it the old college try, about three hours. Eventually I mustered up the energy and had a few sprints to find out if my stats did anything, and to warm myself up. The effects were starting to get pretty noticeable but I wasn¡¯t ready to compete in the Olympics quite yet, but maybe someday soon. Technically this meant I¡¯d improved massively compared to before, but the thing was... It wouldn¡¯t fucking matter. Not after what I just saw. Ah, good ol¡¯ nihilism, there you were. I resolved to head out before I became at-risk of having independent thoughts. A last glance at my stats showed totals of 10, 23, 15, 20, 10 and 32 down the line, with 7 mana in the tank. It was progress, of a sort. In the same vein, for the first time since the world ended, I wasn¡¯t hungry or thirsty. Not because I couldn¡¯t go for a bite and there were plenty of hopefully clean water sources here, but I actually felt pretty sick. I¡¯d focused hard on distractions to avoid thinking about this stuff because there was nothing I could do. I had ignored the fact my swollen left arm hurt like hell. So really it was my subcutaneous infection making the progress, but I wasn¡¯t above claiming credit for another¡¯s work. Mending was not a real healing spell after all. Chapter 9+ Interlude – The Second Strike, pt. 2 The sixth Irritating. Altica explained everything just moments before. Clear and concise, in the manner he strictly reserved for those he respected, yet my mind reeled. The explanation was coherent, acceptable even. My ascent to power ended the same way it had truly begun ¨C upon nearing transcendence, my goals shifted from gaining power towards applying it. The Errant had changed, that much was evident. I had fallen here in the true line. I should have continued my ascent, foolish. Now I was but a memory of my own shadow, plucked from the strands of time - the child of a chronology which never existed. At the strongest he could muster, but unable to progress. Altica had not ceased his ascent. He left it behind. Irritating. Altica had been lying. His words were truthful, but Altica schemed. When he could be struck down, his schemes were tolerable, contained. Now nothing could strike him down, nor contain him. My current power served as testament to his achievement ¨C a new prime, he named it. He phrased it such to suggest the act of blending timelines, fictional and real, had been draining. I never knew that he was or would ever be capable of this, it seemed impossible even to me. My old friend was ever full of surprises, surprises and sophistry. As his creation, he had given me compulsions - a series of conditions to be fulfilled and tasks to be completed. After which I would be free to fade or stay, Altica cared not. Lies. Irritating. The first task appeared asinine - destroy an Errant bastion, located in a far flung corner of the galaxy where energy flowed not. Upon observation, I recognized this variant. He intended to safeguard a world of children. They were sentient but without talent, although one might have been fooled by the impartment at a glance. That had come to fruition then, and the secrets of transcendence mattered no longer. Not to one such as me. In review, I found no hint of his plans. Time had run out. As a mere remnant, I was somewhat reliant on reserves gifted by him - or so Altica supposed. In turn, I supposed some of my secrets survived my plummet. Altica warned me this might not be easy, ridiculous. Irritating. Reduced to gently accelerating rocks, I had been forced to wait but the leading stone would impact soon. The bastion defended itself with a lance of light, albeit slower, and annihilated my initial probe. Gate-fueled? The Errant cared much about nothing, it would seem. I listened when Altica warned me, thus my assault continued. A barrage of regular and imbued meteorites followed the first. I attached myself to a regular rock to cover my approach. In the past, a single throw would have sufficed. Irritating. The imbued projectiles arrived in streaks of white, a final acceleration imparted during my preparations. The bastion deployed its countermeasure once more, splitting it into a manifold stab of light. It kept firing. The waste of resources was profound. Despite traveling at speed, they were but rocks. Rocks! Gate-fueled strikes which should annihilate an ascendant were used to swat dirt from the sky. And they failed, somehow. An impact followed the missed interception and damaged the exit, barely. The sheer insanity of it all was¡­ Enough. I abandoned any pretense of stealth. All the imbued distractions had been reduced to dust. A beam approached my hiding place; I left the last stone still in the void, momentum stolen. This close, I brushed it with a wingtip as a test - disintegrated. With my earlier suspicions confirmed, I weaved away from attempts to track me. Successfully, as expected. Power was a poor replacement for skill. I condemned the shooter for having much of the former and little of the latter and sped up. My landing proved uneventful, my timing flawless. What should have caused a wave of destruction did not displace even a single speck of dust.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. The accumulated force suffused my being, empowering my movement. Another lance aimed for me, easily avoided. I followed the hole it left, exploiting the pause between attacks to allow me unhindered entry. The fool retreated deeper into the complex and sent guardians to bar my path. I entertained the notion of striking it down from here, but decided against it. A mistake, the fodder was wholly uninteresting and slaughtered at touch. Another beam punctuated another failure. A heedless acceleration brought the end to this nonsense all the closer. Layers shattered and I crashed through the ceiling, almost at the core. The final guardian, while exhausted and strained, was quick enough to respond. I graced it a glance ¨C a cheap bipedal imitation of true life. It kicked at my head while readying¡­ another lance? It behaved as if it had caught me unawares but anticipated evasion. The attack connected against my temple and the Errants¡¯ head exploded. Fast, strong and stupid. A link had been opened just as it thought to have struck me and the lack of a target displaced the backlash. Someone would pay the price. The floor gave not, which forced me to the stairs leading into the heart of this place. I despised everything about it. Gate-links, forced evolution and the reflection of some forgotten natural. All these wasted assets, to guard what? An odd core beyond my recognition, I whisked it from its cradle towards the palm of my claw. A final layer of defense surrounded it. Passivity? Direct damage would prove insufficient and I had no means of indirect attack. I did not care. This immunity would be put to test. I condensed all of my stolen might, and then drew more and more from the surroundings, unwilling to expend my own. Kinetic force obeyed my will and concentrated into a spike, it plunged and the room trembled when it reflected off the sphere. Even my mastery failed to prevent the ricochet. I determined the cause to be sheer violence. My second attempt failed as well. Irritating. This would not do. I drew upon my own link, the familiar crash of the flow unyielding as ever. A wing flared and feathers burned as they were consumed by the tide. I let myself hear the screech of friction as the third nail caused a fracture, then a flicker even beyond my senses rent the moon itself and the bastion went with it. The core died and my link closed. Passivity would not stop me. Nor was there anything powerful enough left to contest my control. I expelled the last of my overflowing power before it could consume more of me and pulled the shards of the shattered moon together, grinding every remaining Errant between to dust. Altica had been forthcoming about the changes he incorporated. He forsook my name to claim Title with a new trick to force such a thing. Comprehension eluded me despite his explanation. That was the problem with Altica¡¯s schemes. They succeeded far more often than not, with tolerable detriments. I did not look forward towards living through eternity, forced to call myself ¡®The Last Resort¡¯¡­ Yet the power it granted was intoxicating. Irritating. Mother: ¡°Close. You almost had him,¡± Sneaky-mother said. ¡°Well done¡­ Try again¡­¡± Mother-mother said. Mother-mother was sleepy. She could tell. Mother-mother hurt. She was sorry. But she was also happy. They didn¡¯t see! They didn¡¯t see! She had a secret. Sneaky-other cheated. His pieces were better. It wasn¡¯t fair. But that was okay. She would win in the end. She always did. And now she had a new piece. The System: The attack had been more than clever. It was insidious, vectored through information and self-referential in nature. It changed things as quickly as he could correct them. Every correction spawned another error. A wave cascaded through him. He chased it, inevitably returning to where and whence it began. This led to learning and gained insight, about himself, into the very nature of transcendence. The Errant had made a mistake. He would never have undertaken this exercise willingly. It fascinated him. It was power. He applied this newfound knowledge in an experiment both old and new, one with a fivefold history of disappointment. A better result, yes. A monster had been created, now let loose. He waited, gaining insight. Soon. Chapter 10: Delirium I should¡¯ve tried for ¡®cure disease¡¯. One of my many redeeming qualities was a knack for learning things the hard way. My path took me southwards, shivering in the wind, walking across slippery wet rock, and finally into a dreadfully slow trudge between wedging mountainside. At least the Errant were thankfully absent here. A fight was sure to be the end of me right now. Hours passed with woefully little progress. Climbing and shuffling slowed me down, avoiding a steep drop into the valley below complicated things further as my steps became increasingly uneven. Only stopping for the occasional cigarette and sheer spite kept me going. The sun neared its zenith and something about the passage of time caught my attention. Unwilling to contemplate anything, the thought remained unexamined. My arm wasn¡¯t doing any better and the increasing daytime warmth failed to dissipate the increasingly pervasive chill throughout my body. Everything was sore and sensitive, my throat ached and blisters no doubt formed on my feet by now. The sweat soaked my clothes, further adding to the chill. My only achievement had been relegated to eating my junk food on the road like a real outdoorsman. Every step counted. Unable to keep going even though dusk only reached its earliest stages, I found a cubby and settled in for what was likely to be my final rest. I woke up to the tell-tale migraine of being utterly shitfaced and wanted nothing more than to snooze a few dozen times but that wouldn¡¯t help me get home. I¡¯d passed out drunk in a dead-end alley for some reason. It didn¡¯t seem likely that a drunk and disorderly would be warned away in my current state so reaching my own bed took priority no matter what. Calling a cab wasn¡¯t an option - my phone hadn¡¯t come along for the ride. This turned into the longest walk home ever. Did I move further from the city? I couldn¡¯t remember, so nothing out of the ordinary there. The cops kept getting up close and personal but my glow stick waved them away. Man, they were out of shape. Had I been at a rave? Probably. My clothes certainly smelled like it. Hadn¡¯t gone to one of those in a decade at the least. I stumbled and shuffled, then dragged myself onwards anyway - had to keep going. A mantra of one foot in front of the other played in my head. Momma didn¡¯t raise no quitter, that¡¯s why I kept smoking. I lost my grip on the glow stick a few times, we¡¯d gotten close so I refused to leave it behind. It would be my talisman, a memento of this great spiritual journey. ¡®Christ, I shouldn¡¯t have moved. What idiot lives days away from the city? At least I had the presence of mind to keep getting some mc d¡¯s to avoid waking up hungry. Should¡¯ve bought some soberness but they weren¡¯t selling any of that¡­ I wondered what drugs caused me to end up like this. Whatever they were, they¡¯d been worth the money. My phone had clearly chosen to elope, along with my wallet, probably to a random lost and found box. Thus the burgers went unpaid for. Ah well, it would be fine. Stealing was just a misdemeanor, right? The city had really gone to shit.. Roadwork never stopped around here but this bordered on the ridiculous. There wasn¡¯t any flat pavement at all. An unfortunate stumble nearly hurt me, but luckily my beard cushioned the fall. Should lay off the drugs for a while, forever would do the trick. The water authority had been slacking too since the river was well out of bounds. The city had some plans to make it more nature-y. At least something went well on that front. The tundra look really wasn¡¯t my style but no one asked for my opinion about such stuff anyway. At least the cops stopped bugging me, no idea what their problem was but they let it be. That was for the best since I racked up an impressive amount of potential assault charges on my homeward voyage. First thing in the morning should be getting my hands on a good lawyer, one capable of convincing a judge my glow stick wasn¡¯t a real weapon no matter how much the five-o exaggerated. Then again, the argument might fall flat considering my pocket full of tooth chips. When or how that had happened seemed like unimportant pedantic detail, best forgotten.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Home finally appeared on the horizon. What the hell was I thinking? Trading my sweet apartment for a shitty tree house felt like a terrible idea now. At least it had a fence. Got to have a fence. When did I get roommates? I waved and committed their faces to memory. Fuzzy, blurry and beardy ran towards me and shouted some nonsense. My head cleared and left me stunned by the fact I¡¯d reached civilization alive. Finally, I could die in peace. My sword dropped to the ground a few steps before total collapse. Reaching for it proved to be too much effort to sustain. Oh well, a little welcome present. Someone was about to lose a hand. A shame, it would make digging my grave somewhat more difficult. Reveling face down in the comfort of my dirt bed, I passed out. The big guy suffered a clerical error and put me up in heaven. Pretty sure my intended destination was the other place. Whatever angel headed the accounting department was getting sacked soon for incompetence. It was probably someone in management, mistakes like that were always management¡¯s fault. Ultimately the afterlife didn¡¯t live up to the hype. The stories made it out to be a fun place but I felt like shit. Hopefully this angel didn¡¯t work in accounting. She was the prettiest person to ever grace my eyes. Beautiful stringy hair matted against her forehead. She carried the sweet scent particular to someone who didn¡¯t believe in showers but still insisted on going to the gym three times a week. The delicious perfume of her breath caressed the inside of my nose and sparked memories of week old lasagna left to fester on the kitchen counter during a heat wave. An endearing look shone in her eyes, so intense it spoke to me, whispering ¡°He¡¯s not going to make it¡±. Heaven wasn¡¯t so bad after all. Chef-angel needed to go as well. Top floor desperately needed some corporate restructuring. She fed me the blandest broth of my life. Some salt wouldn¡¯t hurt, although this dish was well beyond redemption anyway. Coke didn¡¯t make for a great aftertaste either, but beggars couldn¡¯t be choosers and gluttony conquered pickiness. Plating had been all off too. What restaurant serves soup in paper cups? My mind cleared up slightly. I gathered all my strength and confessed my true love. The intended proclamation failed, coming out as a weak whisper. ¡°Cigarette,¡± I declared. That didn¡¯t come out quite right. I needed a lighter too. She graced me with a smile followed by a look of utter bewilderment as her budding unibrow scrunched up in a frown. The expression left me somewhat confused, it was hard to read. The beard got in the way. A grand gesture then, one worth at least a hundred words. Weakly sweeping my arm spawned half a dozen burger-coke combos near my generously allotted floor-bed. Certainty settled in. Definitely smiling. Confident my feelings had been sufficiently communicated to great effect, I passed out again. Dozing off alternated with coming to. The experience matched usual depictions of a particularly bad heroin addiction, minus the high. As they kept feeding me more tasteless broth, my health slowly improved to the point it stopped my faithful re-enactment of an asylum inmate. Still too weak to hold a conversation, I laid there and stared at the curved branchy ceiling while smoking cigarettes. I even shared one with my new buddy, Jack. Raj and Anne didn¡¯t smoke. Their loss. The ciggies gave me strength. Anne appeared from the gap in the round wooden walls. Her disapproving frown warmed my heart. She told me to save my health and stop smoking indoors and then left. One more nap made me capable of exchanging small talk with Jack, who¡¯d been assigned to watch over me. ¡°So, what¡¯s your class?¡± I asked. ¡°Can¡¯t say.¡± Jack was not a man of many words and not very forthcoming either from the looks of it. ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°Try tellin¡¯ me ¡®bout yours.¡± Never one to turn down an opportunity to talk someone¡¯s head off, I proceeded to warble incoherently. ¡°See?¡± he said. ¡°What the everloving fuck?¡± ¡°Can¡¯t talk about your class, ability or skills. Most o¡¯ the other stuff too. World¡¯s gone to shit. Not even sure this is Earth anymore.¡± Okay, so he was a little forthcoming. ¡°No way around it?¡± ¡°A few, but you¡¯d better focus on gettin¡¯ better. Think you¡¯ll be fine goin¡¯ by that mouth o¡¯ yers. Thanks for the smoke. Gotta do my rounds.¡± I wanted to scream ¡®don¡¯t go¡¯, but my smoke was done. ¡°Least I could do¡± We exchanged nods and left it at that. Swell guy. He didn¡¯t give a shit about smoking inside which made him a-okay in my book. Slumber beckoned once more, causing me to slowly drift away. Never had such an easy time falling asleep. Chapter 11: Safe house I chucked another log into the fire, then sat down and checked my interface again while leaning against the brown wall of the tree house. My stats had jumped since my fever fueled trip apparently included a killing spree. My level had gone up by two, up to seven now, with totals of 10, 24+3, 17, 24, 10 and 42. Magical endurance was really running away with it on account of the hundred-hour head start. Internal reserves clocked in at 31 energy in the tank. The others had asked me to stop calling it mana. It seemed prudent not to argue since Jack, Anne and Raj were the only people to have graced me with their presence in the past week. Fitting in always paid off, while dissenting rarely did. This turned out to be as true in the new world as in the old. As evidenced by the last member of the group, Terrence. He was missing and presumed dead on account of being a little suicidal. Dude treated post-apocalyptic life like a video game and yapped on and on about getting stronger and grinding levels, the dumbass. Closing my interface wasn¡¯t followed by getting up. Procrastination, reminiscing and having another smoke appealed more. Conversation would¡¯ve been my first choice but I was alone, again. The rag-tag bunch had set off in the morning on one of their daily trips towards the north-east, where the pine greenwood bled over into hilly mountain slope. Supposedly Terrence hadn¡¯t been happy about it. Not the trips, those were fine, it was the fact they were too short which bothered him. After waving words of caution and accusations of idiocy away, he¡¯d gone into the forest by himself and never returned. His demise happened before my arrival, so a long while back ¨C by post-apocalyptic standards at least. The band had reasons for their expeditions. It was human nature, they needed more supplies; things like firewood, food, leather and magic metal. Most of this information came from Jack since Anne and Raj stuck to each other like glue. Anne was somewhere in her mid-thirties, just like me. She also had a teenage son, maybe. Uncertain, since his last sighting coincided with the end of the world. Raj on the other hand was fourteen and sorely missed everyone he knew. We could all relate to that, but some were better at hiding it than others. Like Jack, who was about a decade older than Anne and adept at taking things as they were. Then again, his stoicism wasn¡¯t particularly out of place. He looked like a competent guy, knew all about the outdoors and sported the full lumberjack plaid and jeans stereotype too. He hunted, he skinned and he butchered, all with proficiency. There was game to be found at the edge of the forest and Jack had made a clever decision, bringing a gun and hunting knife to the post-apocalypse. I should¡¯ve thought of that myself. Although my praise might have been excessive as he¡¯d been hunting when the change happened. We¡¯d gotten along well. A deep sigh left me and getting up followed. The gang kept a bunch of plastic cups filled with water around, but chain smoking and thirst went hand in hand so they were due for a refill. I stacked the empty ones and shuffled through the cluttered interior of our residence. Confusion struck me at first, specifically wondering how a group of four-to-three managed to build a bulb shaped tree house with stairs in the short span of a week, but the thing had built itself. Admittedly, it was less ¡®house in a tree¡¯ and more ¡®house built out of tree¡¯, along with some unusual design decisions. Thigh-thick branches served as walls and braces for my slow shuffling towards the outside exit. There was another way out, marked by a cylinder of familiar bland grey stone in the middle of our home and accompanying circling stairway which led down into the underground tunnels. A makeshift hatch of nailed together arm-thick logs blocked it off. In the same vein, a deer hide covered the open top of our crib where the light outward curve of the walls turned sharply inwards and coalesced in the middle. The hide tarp helped keep the heat in, not that the cold bothered anyone but me and Raj anymore. Probably because we were mages, as opposed to Jack and Anne, who were both fighters ¨C power and endurance respectively, while Terrence had been an antimage. The information sharing ban wasn¡¯t foolproof, and we circumvented it by referencing the structured order of the classes. It made sense to prioritize such knowledge because of the ever present equally supernatural dangers these days. I should¡¯ve asked more about them as people. Everything was weird and unfamiliar these days. At least our place was reasonably roomy, despite the odd features. The stony bits had a radius of three meters or so. The woody part added another two. Fortunate, since it allowed us to keep a fire going. I liked the art-nouveau look, had to find silver linings somewhere. Rounding my way down the spiraling slope between straight branch walls and along the extra-thick branch of our unusual winding exit brought me to the tundra dirt. Goddamnit. It was my first coherent time outdoors, over here at least. For once the surroundings actually varied a bit, prompting me to look around properly. A huge river occupied the west, a couple of dozen meters wide at least. It flowed from north to south and had one hell of a current which dissuaded any tempting dips. The rapids explained the lingering smell everyone carried around with them, better dirty than dead. A tundra wasteland across it quickly transitioned to a pine forest that obscured any further observation aside from the mountain ridge in the distance. Circling our house revealed a stack of trunks and a clean looking spring next to them. I refilled my cups and took the opportunity to wash my face and to slick back my greasy hair with the ice cold water. The terrific trio had a good laugh recounting what a mess I¡¯d been. My innocent blue eyes hadn¡¯t quite made up for my beard and mustache being all bloodied. Early male-pattern baldness announced itself to the world as they stared at the thin spot on the back of my head. In a display of inherent genius, the hood of my blorange winter jacket had gone unused while wandering the wastes. Sounds of it still echoed in my head, the first laughs heard since the end.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. My assessment of the surroundings might have been a bit premature since the east had the same features as the west aside from the raging torrent, although the woods were way further out. They¡¯d been given a name by me, the ¡®Forest of Death¡¯. The north sloped gently upward into yet another mountain range while the south inclined downwards into endless tundra, although blurs indicated something else in the distance. Something about them didn¡¯t seem quite right. Maybe the approaching dusk messed with my eyes. Then again, my mind wasn¡¯t at its sharpest. Upon my return the four full cups were placed next to the exit, balancing them while navigating this mess seemed too challenging. For having lost everything, we sure had a surprising amount of stuff. Another revelation was that no one had lost a hand grabbing my weapon, adding yet another quality to my summoned weapons. It was now my friendly very sharp magic smart sword. Regardless, the group had put their care packages to effective use. The group figured coordinating to be the smart play, aside from Terrence who chose alchemy. They picked woodcutting, mining and smithing. The rebel member of our group insisted on carrying his things with him, pictogram included, but the other three blue sheets remained here. Taking advantage, more statlinks appeared in my interface. Mining was joined to physical power and smithing to physical endurance, covering all the nonmagical bases. Chopping wood didn¡¯t appeal and viable options had run out anyway since none of them allowed linking to magical stats. The additions improved my mood a bit, thankfully. Green tinting was the theme of the day. Their choices had spawned a green axe and pickaxe, which the party had taken with them. Meanwhile smithing received a complete starter set of hammer, tongs and a bowl with foldable standards. The forge was an ingenious thing, thinking at it fired it up. A flat handle went straight through the middle of it, doubling as a smacking surface. One end stuck out and ended in a triangular point. Once initiated, the round trough filled with clear liquid while the handle took on a hot glow. It only worked together with magic metal, sourced one sliver at a time from the north-east out of respawning mounds. The stuff was surprisingly malleable when warm and changed the otherwise dark green veins reminiscent of aged bronze patina into a shiny emerald sheen. Afterwards it was a matter of heating it, hitting it, dipping it, and then repeating it until the shape satisfied. The whole thing wasn¡¯t supposed to be this easy to pull off but in my opinion the process was a big step down from simply visiting the hardware store. The rest of our riches were decidedly less impressive. We had a pile of jerky. Raj accelerated the drying process with magical fire, which was a thing now. Most of the remaining firewood consisted of firewood, along with some random odds and ends. We also possessed a metal ingot and some nails which Anne had forged. A debased math textbook littered the ground nearby, written in a language beyond me yet readable. Apparently the System included an auto-translate feature. Like always, it was imperfect and defaulted to English for some reason, causing me to quickly switch away from Dutch to stop sounding like an idiot. For the rest we had a bunch of wrappers and plastic cups, a purple high school backpack, some depowered mobile phones and a supply of energy crystals. The last were a big deal, since everyone had the junk food cantrip. Magic was ubiquitous. Never thought I¡¯d see the day. My companions partook in the occasional slaughter, as evidenced by their impressive supply of energy spheres. Each of them carried a fifty for emergency refills. Yet there was another fiddy, a thirty and a fiver back here at the tree house. It was a veritable stockpile compared to my paltry seventeen crystal. It was possible to fuse the tiny fingernails until they reached ten energy, at which point the shard turned into a small ball with a shiny white swirly sphere in it. Those fused up to five times, adding another sphere with every iteration. I combined my supply with theirs for a total of 102 and threw a few more logs on the fire after pulling the tarp off, to let the smoke and light out. It was getting pretty dark and distractions were running low as usual. The shoddy wooden hatch caught my eye. Our stairs led to a T-split; north, east and south. The fauna du jour consisted of ¡®unholy centipedes of bone¡¯, so bonypedes. Jack told me about them. ¡®About knee high and a yard long, with foot long sharp-as-fuck legs o¡¯ bone and a skull to bite you with¡¯, he¡¯d said. That was the smallest, although they only grew up to three out of three. Going downstairs in a group was apparently a big no-no. My lone wandering had been paired with incredibly luck. In that no one else shared the same underground space with me. Bringing a friend along spurred the little shits into frenzy and they¡¯d start seeking out victims with alarming frequency while refraining from cannibalizing each other. The bastards wouldn¡¯t ascend the stairs, but the groups retreat had left the Errant to unionize. Raj cleared them out afterwards by blasting them apart somehow. The monsters stopped fighting each other at stage three, which turned out to be nothing special, just bigger, stronger and faster. Raj seemingly went a little crazy after getting the job done but the wayward companions had refused to elaborate further. For fucks sake, being alone again sucks. Hopefully everyone was fine and they¡¯d merely hit a minor snag, delaying them by half a day on what should¡¯ve been an hour-long walk. The days lasted for 30 now, only the System knew why. Eventually I covered the top to hold the heat in and tried to sleep while keeping my shit together and failed at both for a while. Upon my awakening, nothing had changed. My mental state contrasted with the physical as my fever had passed. Mana sat at 45. Don¡¯t think I need to mind their wishes anymore. Leaving things like this felt wrong. The nails were wasted on three big crosses with their names on them. Along with a last cigarette shared with Jack, figured he¡¯d appreciate it. It wasn¡¯t really a proper sendoff but it wasn¡¯t an entirely unmarked set of graves either. Somewhere in between and the best I can do. All their former belongings now rested in a bug-out bag. Despite my best attempts, there was nothing more to keep me busy, aside from formulating a plan. Not a hard task, south looked like the only viable direction but it wasn¡¯t time to head out quite yet. For one, there was still a chance my funeral rites had been premature. Plenty of food and water remained, so there was no harm in naturally topping off my mana either. Summoning two more swords to complement my current one seemed like a smart move. In the meantime, I¡¯d take a note from Terrence and Jack, killing beasties underground while staying the fuck away from the forest. Spare time could be spent improving my stats by practicing my drawing skills. Five days, after that there¡¯s no more stay. Chapter 12: Keeping busy I chose five days of staying relatively stationary for a reason, multiple in fact. The primary one was to regenerate energy. Using up everything right at the beginning left me in a constant state of depletion. A ranged attack didn¡¯t exactly help if all my mana went towards feeding myself. The nature of my launch skill necessitated having more swords as well. Burning accumulated crystal seemed tactically unwise, as it increased the likelihood of previous circumstances reoccurring. Some runescribing to increase my physical speed appealed greatly too. Moreover, my bug-out bag lacked enough space to carry everything. Time was the only real solution. Waiting should have been an easy thing, but my nerves grated. Slowly rising anxiety paired poorly with the constant rush of the raging river in the background, further exacerbated by a complete lack of entertainment. Runescribing and contemplation helped alleviate the boredom, to an extent. Something had changed on the statlink front at least. Constant practice at scribbling lines paid off when the pattern pulsed for the first time. No epiphanies accompanied my achievement and whatever was class-optimal about this remained a mystery. Messing around with the portable forge for a smoke or two failed to illuminate any changes. There was no observable difference in malleability or anything else, but returning it to the original shape proved surprisingly easy, as if the material read my intent. Instead of repeating the pattern on the other four plates, my decision landed to continue on the same one. Doing so provided me with a clue. It was much harder to complete the second time around. Repeating the same motions ended up driving me nuts after a while, which led me towards trying to figure out how the crew managed to stockpile so much condensed energy. It was confusing as hell. The majority of it had to come from their trips to the northeast. Doing some math gave me a rough idea of their levels. Assuming they spent some while fighting combined with what they carried for refills and had left behind put the number around 15 or so. The additive nature of advancement was clear enough. It was definitely based on how much crystallized mana an Errant gave and followed the same pattern of improvement as statlinks and magical endurance did. It was something and little else of use came to mind. Thus the first few days passed uneventfully, even if a painstaking but proper wash qualified as a personal highlight. Finally, a second blade augmented my arsenal, along with a minor emergency reserve. According to Jack, the bonypedes weren¡¯t much of a threat. He wasn¡¯t wrong. It didn¡¯t take long for me to find one after ranging down into the tunnels. It still scared me, but mostly because of its eerily insect-like appearance. This was where the consequences of the System¡¯s empowerment manifested at last. The little shit simply couldn¡¯t keep up, giving me full control over spacing. It would¡¯ve been easy to melee it to death but my brush with infection had instilled a healthy distaste for putting myself in harm¡¯s way. Telekinetics paid off however. The hallways allowed me to bar its path with dual floating swords. It was kind of funny. Refusing to charge headfirst into the pointy end caused it to shift aside, walking sideways like a crab. In an act of sheer bullying, my floating blades did the same. A few repeats stumped the bastard. It stood still. A dozen alternating legs click clacked as if running in place. Like the bone golem, it chittered relentlessly, and then I mind-stabbed it in the face. For some reason, it didn¡¯t try to knock the blade aside or back off for more than a second or two. The excuse of a fight lasted for a couple more pokes. My swords cut through the Errant with ease. Once again the otherworldly feedback barely registered any resistance. It was highly satisfying, if also frustrating. Controlling both blades independently would have sped up the inevitable conclusion, but that turned out to be impossible. Whatever governed mindswording capability, I lacked it and was thus reduced to moving both at once in the same way. Any thoughts about how to improve were relegated to the backburner. Probably a long term thing anyway. My first victim was one out of one, but a two eventually graced my path while murdering my way south. Both north and east had been ruled out early. Going north was no different from backtracking and the east conflicted with my desire to keep on living. Bad things happened there, if my rescuers fates were anything to go by. Regardless, the two died much in the same way. Sheer curiosity picked the item and made me the proud owner of an ivory bone about the size of my shin and conspicuous green marbling throughout. The tunnels here seemed relatively unthreatening, but equally labyrinthine, as previous ones. While the interface compass compensated somewhat for my natural sense of direction, it barely helped underground. Scratched directions at every intersection served to warn future me of dead ends and such. If someone else ever ended up here, they¡¯d find them useful too. Yeah, that¡¯s why I¡¯m doing this.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Delving was a welcome addition to my otherwise monotonous daily routine and helped to significantly alleviate some of my mounting anxiety. The improvised vandalism turned out to be especially wise. Refilling plastic cups on the fourth day illuminated the suicidal nature of traveling overland. Things were getting slightly out of hand outdoors. In fact, total fucking anarchy had erupted. First I spotted an unusual dinosaur across the river. It saw me too and rushed towards the bank but declined to cross the frothing stream. Large black muscular arms hung low like a gorilla¡¯s, contrasting against the rest of its appearance, which equated roughly to that of a T-Rex. Shit just wasn¡¯t the same post-Godstrike. Despite the intimidation factor, its unwillingness to breach the watery boundary left me secure in my safety. The feeling faded quickly when a small herd of deer loped out of the Forest of Death. Their abandonment of it had good cause. The reason even did double duty by scaring me shitless. A bundle of roots dropped out of a tree on top of the last fleeing deer. Flashing my interface confirmed its Errant nature while it conjured a spray of blood by slamming a tentacle into the back of the deer¡¯s head, bringing down the critter. A moment later it got up again and sauntered back into the forest. Hopefully that wasn¡¯t how the crew met their end. Things continued to escalate from there. The rest of the herd bounded across the tundra plains, only to be snatched up. Blue wormlike creatures the size of a damn railroad car with round toothy maws phased out of the ground in a dive, devouring them whole one by one. They leapt in diving motions, disappearing again just like that, without even churning the ground or leaving behind any other signs of their passing. My fawning ended, as did my trips outside the treehouse. Inspired by my underground defacement of otherwise pristine hallways, I drew out a map on the woody bits describing the surroundings in case anyone else ever had the misfortune of getting stuck here. After that, fear drove me to spend most of my time in the staircase itself as a precaution. Not for particularly long though. My estimate proved correct when midway the fifth day, the late trio¡¯s stash of food ran out. The bug-out bag still held enough to sustain me for a while, which had thankfully kept well. A summoned meal heralded the start of a new journey, preventing my mana from overflowing. It sat at 90 now, supplemented by a crystal supply totaling to 140. Repeatedly poking bonypedes to death had increased my level to eleven and three swords rested in my sheath skill. My stats were at PP 10+1, PS 32+8, PE 21+1, MP 32, MS 10 and ME 21+29. Reasonable overland routes were clearly non-existent, which meant yet more underground traversal for the foreseeable future. Echoing footsteps and shifting shadows frayed my newfound confidence. The end of scratched arrows marked the beginnings of unexplored territory. As usual, dead ends and endless side-paths slowed down my progress and complicated maintaining a southerly direction. Things went well somehow, annoying bonypedes notwithstanding. At least, until a snag appeared. Trying to find a way around turned into a fruitless endeavor and the tradition of finding some monstrosities¡¯ big brother or other continued unabated. This time, it was my old friend Deathtrap who made an appearance. Featureless smooth stone had been replaced by the ten-year champion of the tightest tiling competition, causing me to hesitate. The possibility of facing traps at some point hadn¡¯t escaped me during the five day wait. Hence, my bug-out bag included forty or so carved wooden cubes, roughly the size of dice. Carefully expending a few provided me with some intelligence when they successfully triggered a spear trap. Upon closer inspection, a hip high round hole in the wall made its location incredibly obvious. There was another one further down the hallway too. My limited visual range made it unclear for how far the offers of free shanking stretched. This required experimentation. Smoking away a quarter of my remaining cigarettes helped me come up with a few things. The first of which was that quitting was going to suck. Some miracle of discipline made my pack last for an unusually long time but the end loomed. The second was a need to know the exact mechanics in play here. Leaving a cube on the offending tile and occasionally mind-tapping it with a floating sword taught me two things while further solidifying the benefits of extended staring. They didn¡¯t trigger automatically from continued pressure, but did reset after a good while. Most confusing was how both pieces of information resulted from the same tile, which also didn¡¯t show any signs of activation. It didn¡¯t sink into the ground or anything like that. Next up was determining the prevalence of complementary stabbings and other gruesome prizes. My blorange jacket and mini forge were set aside while I rummaged through the purple backpack. I gathered a handful of dice, took a step back, cocked my arm and sent them clattering across the floor in an underhanded throw. The visual cacophony left me stunned. Sheer chaos made tracking individual traps impossible, once again reigniting my headache. This is fucking bullshit. Spears stabbed, blades sliced, rising tiles crushed in repeating waves of attempted murder. Implements mundane and clearly magical promised silent unavoidable death. And then it all settled down. A smaller scale repeat revealed the traps had an additional reset condition besides time. Setting off one rearmed the others. It explained the rhythm at least. Even so, my headache began to resurface. The only thing I could be glad about was that my naming sense had been on-point. It was indeed a fucking deathtrap. Chapter 13: Deathtrap Messing around with the first three trapped tiles suggested there might have been a trick to it. The resets had a pattern. It was the order they¡¯d been tripped, so nothing overly complicated. Thus the primary solution became clear. Just avoid setting off any traps, sure, no problem. My first idea came down to testing for the next trap, popping the one after it and then leapfrogging onwards after the cycle finished. Throwing another handful of wooden cubes revealed the presence of a general trigger tiles however. Those set off all the traps and reinitiated the chaos cascade. Witnessing the visual violence anew drew forth my customary deep sigh. The general trigger functioned as an origin point for sequential waves, in both directions. There was some randomness to reactivations, give or take anywhere between zero and a couple of seconds. This was especially egregious mindfuckery as it caused doubles or triples to linger. On the positive side, the spikey stuff and company weren¡¯t quite as unreasonably fast compared to my first encounter underneath the bunnycrab dome. Alas, an unwillingness to ditch my possessions discarded the option of dancing through the madness. The traps also varied a fair bit. Aside from spear traps, I saw the familiar rising tile one too, along with a cartoonish waist high horizontal shiny-black buzz saw. Of course, there was more bullshit, like darkly fluorescent reverse guillotines and pendulum traps appearing seamlessly out of the walls. The guillotine blades ascended from between the tiles instead of descending from the ceiling, hence the moniker. Most eerie was the silence of it. All the traps were noiseless except when the occasional rising tile destroyed a wooden cube and sent splinters flying, which naturally triggered yet more traps. The ones which shone with vague light were the most haunting. They reminded me of touring a nuclear power plant once upon a time. The reactor rooms had an unsettling blue ambiance, inspiring a vague sense of wrongness. Here the unnatural glow further amplified the effect, as they emitted light that was somehow black. It was clearly some magical bullshit and stressed my frayed nerves even further. Out of ideas, I resorted to vandalism. Unlike with the original Deathtrap, damaging the corridor actually worked. Successfully widening a seam inspired me to wrench out tiles one by one, but leveraging them out proved impossible. Poking the spear holes in the walls led to no outward effect and peering in had similar results, even when assisted by a lighter flame. Some of the traps had very obvious locations while others were impossible to spot. Anchoring between the walls and trying to shimmy across might have worked. Rising physical endurance had done a lot for my smokers¡¯ lung but concerns about my stamina remained. A single fuck-up was likely to be fatal, and leaving all my things behind appealed even less. So the second plan went out the window, probably unrealistic even after ditching the extra weight. Navigating all this turned into a conundrum. My only experience with traps stemmed from games. But games were designed to be beatable, which turned their traps into disguised puzzles. Fortunately cold hard logic picked my side for once since this gauntlet likely hadn¡¯t been devised with a solution in mind. The thought sparked further consideration. What even is the point of this? The corridor made for an effective roadblock but seemed too obvious and out of place to serve any real function. Not the time for idle contemplation. My dwindling food supplies put me on the clock and I wasn¡¯t in the mood to backtrack. Even though the situation resisted justification, there might ultimately be some kind of solution. My choices were reduced to figuring it out, starving to death or taking my chances across ludicrously hostile wasteland. A wealth of options; did I want to unravel a brainteaser, die slowly, or die quickly? The thought of being forced to solve a puzzle with my life on the line pissed me off.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. And that was the perfect solution. The adage proved true after all. If violence didn¡¯t fix all my problems, it meant I wasn¡¯t using enough of it. Swiping at the spear trap severed it, causing it to dissolve into smoke. Another handful of thrown dice bounced off floors and walls. Resetting didn¡¯t repair anything. Excessive vandalism looked like the way forward. Destroy everything. My mistake had been to think of this too much like an encounter and too little like someone¡¯s day worth ruining. Yet caution prevailed. It might also have qualified as procrastination because who the hell didn¡¯t delay walking down a hallway of doom for as long as possible. My current excuse consisted of seeing if the traps would repair. Twenty or so minutes of refining my artistic talent confirmed they did. Self-repairing traps were bullshit, but so was everything else. It was just the current zeitgeist. Why couldn¡¯t we get a nice, survivable apocalypse, like radioactive wasteland or zombies? Fuck monsters, fuck darkness and fuck traps. Despite my previous reservations, time was a wastin¡¯. The universe finally found something that could make me hurry up, the promise of a particularly unpleasant death. So I hardened my heart, and then reconsidered a couple more times until finally letting my inner soccer hooligan loose. Unleashing obliteration proved incredibly satisfying. Every slash, slice and dodge brought me one stop closer to freedom. Evasion was necessary, as swiping at a magical trap chipped my blade. Magic shit breaks magic shit. Happy that I got the hint on one way reality had been twisted, my progress continued until another snag presented itself. There were branching paths. Shimmying across would¡¯ve gotten me killed here. With no way of knowing what led where, old fashioned way of trying out all options prevailed. The mind-compass helped me keep a southerly orientation at least. This led to a lot of back and forth along with scratching on walls. Of course the dead ends and deviations were just long enough to give the terror tools time to regenerate. The shadows chased me, forever stuck at a ten meter distance while my breath ran ragged and heartbeats pounded in my ears. There was enough leeway to steal a few minutes of rest here and there but eventually my persistence was rewarded with a stairwell. Normally a stairwell would have been excellent news, but this one led down. At least the room wasn¡¯t trapped to the tits. Like the previous one, this was a T-split, offering ways ahead towards the south and west. My cat-like curiosity fought a losing battle versus newly developed survival instincts and thus down was ruled out early. It felt a little too early to call it quits for today and impatience nearly drove me to continue ahead heedlessly, guided by gamblers fallacy. Beware the bullshit. Having collected those of my wooden cubes still while along the way, another underhanded throw and more repeated the previous experiments. It turned out to be pointless. This automatic assault corridor functioned similarly to the last. My mana had topped up when I finally made it out, fortunately still heading south. The recent experience ranked quite high on my personal leaderboard of shittiest things I spent ten hours doing. Determination had been supplanted by weariness, which resulted in a short break augmented by a batch of cantrip sourced heart disease concentrate. At least nothing attacked me on the 30 minute romp towards the next, thankfully upward staircase. My inner fluffy feline finally won and urged me to have a careful look at where this secret spiral might lead. Unlike the other staircases, which were at least sort of hidden, this just ended up in an area of tall, yellow, two-thumb-thick tundra bamboo - whatever that might be. My old earth and mostly forgotten biology classes failed to prepare me for such an eclectic mix of biomes. Regardless, the fresh air relieved the stench of labor sweat and the gentle rustle of bamboo sounded like music to my ears. A magic-green stalk right at edge of the familiar stone circle caught my attention, and a few hours of serious effort cut it off. Most of it wafted away in familiar streams of ethereal smoke, but a thirty centimeter hollow tube remained behind and joined my other earthly possessions in the purple backpack. Dusk hadn¡¯t quite turned to night yet. Looking around barely showed me anything however, as the multi-meter wild-growth prevented me from seeing shit aside from shimmering treetops in the distance. They bugged me for some reason and an Errant-check revealed why. Well, fuck that. Can¡¯t fight no trees. As much as the open air appealed, I elected the safe stairway for my campsite. Even though treating myself once more to some higher odds of coronary mishaps should¡¯ve helped me sleep, insomnia reared its ugly head. Sheer boredom drove me to spend hours drawing on the same old plate until a yawn finally surfaced. This time my interface remained open before blissful oblivion took hold. Chapter 14: Fear Waking up revealed my mana had risen to 95, which meant a respectable eight-hour nap. Both physical speed and magical endurance had also ticked up by one. However, much like going to the gym, it was hard to give a shit when the effects weren¡¯t immediately noticeable. Breakfast preceded what was no doubt going to be a long day of walking and Errant slaying. A smoke tempted me but embracing violent withdrawal might work out to my benefit today. Any monsters on my path were utterly fucked. Even the satisfaction of visceral melee appealed. My pace ended up as slow, weighed down by sneaking while lugging my stuff around. My winter jacket served as an awkward carrier bag, wrapped around the portable forge and the backpack resting within. The idea was to drop them at a moment¡¯s notice when the fighting started. It took over an hour before my first victim showed up. The fucker was almost certainly sneaking too because it hadn¡¯t made a single noise. It rounded a corner about three meters in front of me, emerged from my left. Unfortunately, its paw rounding the corner startled me and dropping my stuff sounded the starting shot. I froze, while the paw grabbed onto the corner. Eternity compressed when the claw sank into stone with astonishing, primal violence. Before I could react, a short screech like nails on chalkboard announced the rest of the Errant as it rounded the corner and catapulted diagonally towards where wall and ceiling met to my right. A sword manifested in my right hand as the blur bounded diagonally again. My tracking struggled to keep up. Rather than take aim, I¡¯d backstepped reflexively, vainly hoping to create distance. Huge fucking mistake. It left me in the air and the beast clearly recognized opportunity when quarry presented itself on a silver platter. Another violent brace was accented by shattered stone and the monstrosities¡¯ hard leap closed two thirds of the distance between us in an instant. Bladed extremities reached for me while I¡¯d only managed to slightly angle my projectile. Panicked reflex took control of my body and caused me to do nothing but slam my feet onto the floor mid dodge. The sudden anchoring clashed with my rearward momentum, and pitched me backwards in what would soon become an uncontrolled tumble. In a singular moment of clarity, I finished lining up my shot and wildly thought ¡®Launch launch launch!¡¯ as the last remnants of balance left me. The weapon wrenched out of my hand in a flash and time slowed when it impaled the Errant point blank through the chest at an upwards angle, mercilessly disrupting its graceful pounce in a spray of black blood. Fuck. The violent clang made me flinch and cross my arms defensively, reinforced by the flats of twin magic swords. The impact slammed me into the ground, luckily practicing the maneuver paid off. My improvised shields entered my sheath skill before starry lights polluted my vision as the back of my head become intimate with the hallway floor. Nearby shuffling and scratching barely registered. Survival instinct alone drove me to roll over and extend my arm at the beast, now several meters in front of me with a gaping hole in its chest. Dark liquid poured out and evaporated with unnatural speed. Shit. It was still alive, but getting up in a far less energetic scramble than before. A flying sword interrupted its return to stability. This time it skewered the creature lengthwise, accompanied by a high pitched whine typical of metal on metal friction. That put it down and the smoke from open wounds sizzled. My swimming vision calmed amidst labored breaths. Adrenaline slowly settled down in-between furtive glances up and down the hallway. My interface confirmed some level of safety at least. I immediately ignored any discomfort and touched the first sword, still embedded in the ceiling nearby, and then went for the one still stuck in the killing machine. A short surge of maddening euphoria passed through me. Holy shit, I¡¯m still alive. What the fuck was that thing?If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Its appearance hadn¡¯t properly registered due to the chaos of combat in what couldn¡¯t have been more than a few seconds of fighting. A sickness rose in my stomach once the events solidified in my mind, even as the acute effects of my concussion faded away rapidly. To my surprise, the back of my head was dry instead of sticky with blood. My arms were fine somehow, aside from the telltale greenish blue of a heavy bruise on my left wrist. Shock faded away with the realization. My left arm was definitely not fine, throbbing with pain. Shaking off the hurt was followed by a proper look at my would-be killer. Jesus fucking Christ. It was ¡®roided out and covered in full plate armor. Like a medieval knight who¡¯d modeled his armor according to his inner thoughts, perennially stagnant in the dark and edgy phase, and then transformed into an animal born from nightmare. It was entirely black and roughly tiger sized and just as four-legged. The similarities ended there. It had no tail and its head was a triangular shape, not unlike a lizard. Except for the catlike ears, they lacked holes and seemed entirely ornamental. It had no mouth from the looks of it. A quick tap with my weapon confirmed the hardness of its natural armor plating. It was covered in the stuff, rare glimpses underneath showed skintight corded muscle. It had two pairs of yellow slit eyes on its head, with one set facing forward and the other set to the sides. Both were covered by thin strips of armor, reminding me of a certain type of sunglasses. Many of the plates had bladelike protrusions running lengthwise across them which easily sliced into a sacrificial wooden cube. Its claws were like extended daggers and closer to straight blades instead of the expected animalistic half-moon curve. Some testing revealed they were just as retractable though. I¡¯d been insane thinking melee would ever be an option and far too intoxicated from slaughtering bonypedes on my way forward. At least the beginnings of a proper fighting style were solidifying. Checking my interface sparked a realization. My mana had gone down by twenty, which meant my hurried launches had compounded. Condensing the bastard showed it was five out of five. The other options were bonemetal and the usual manual harvest. Clearly my tumble had knocked a screw or ten loose because my thoughts were reaching into insane territory. Fucking off and never looking back felt like the wrong choice right now. The nasties aboveground had seemed a lot more terrifying than the ones here in the tunnels so far. That situation changed with this fucker, yet the terrain favored me. The outcome of our duel would have been very different if it had more room to maneuver or, System forbid, more terrain elements to use as a springboard. Whatever lurked in the bamboo thicket remained a mystery, aside from the trees. But there was a good chance it would take me by surprise in more ways than one. Here, my opponents were known. It became increasingly harder to ignore the reality of my situation. The Errant were everywhere. My options were to either get a handle on fighting or just give up now. Nothing about the new world was straightforward. Even old skills and instincts failed to carry over. They barely existed in the first place. There was no life or death in a boxing ring. If combat was going to be the new normal then taking a clue from the beasty seemed prudent. My denim jeans and green sweater were woefully inadequate as anything more than casual wear. Having armor shifted the odds significantly in my favor. The answer to its construction lingered right in front of me. The surrounding maze promised a cornucopia of future fortification. Shit. I wasn¡¯t built for this kind of crap. The thought of repeat death matches made me physically ill and survival instincts dictated me to swallow down the rising acidic mush. Facing fears wasn¡¯t easy and death scared me plenty. But the same damned part of me which once enjoyed a good spar whispered of spoils, of victories, and of further empowerment. One more thing stood out. My anxiety had retreated in its entirety, leaving me with a dissonant sense of calm. The war within settled soon after. Reason lost. I would go on. I would fight. I would survive. I would thrive, if fate allowed. If not, I would die. Again. Chapter 15: Hallway fights A glimpse of steam sauna revealed a roughly 20x20 cm plate of¡­ metallic bone. It was maybe a couple of millimeters thick, hard to tell. It wasn¡¯t coarse but not exactly smooth either and almost felt like rough plastic. My sword couldn¡¯t casually scratch it in clear contrast with the beasty itself. Admittedly my attempts weren¡¯t particularly determined due to an unwillingness to ruin the piece. My rune pen trailed it just fine however. Any willingness to experiment ended there, so it joined the rest of my worldly possessions in the backpack and my journey continued onwards. Unlike before, I was prepared for sudden and violent escalation. For one, an energy ball worth fifty kept in the palm of my good arm served as an emergency refill. I also had to make sure future kills cost less energy. My reserves were high but they¡¯d deplete quickly at this rate. My thoughts circled back to the fight in hopes of figuring out a workable strategy. The armored daggerclaw seemed to lack any obvious weaknesses, but there had been a very distinctive sizzle while it was impaled by my sword. Some error inherent to human consciousness misattributed the sound to the wafting smoke, but in retrospect it might¡¯ve had more to do with the sword itself. Keep an eye out for that. The new source of my nightmares also had a strong preference for bracing and pouncing. Every area it had jumped from was damaged and stone chips littered all about. It hadn¡¯t taken a single normal step, except right at the start. Shitty footing, maybe? I can work with that. It preferred diagonal leaps as well. The roughly 180 centimeter wide hallway didn¡¯t leave it much space to begin with and while the jumps made for some intimidating acrobatics, the beasty probably didn¡¯t care about showmanship. On my own front I¡¯d have to be more proactive. Fighting passively was always a mistake. In retrospect, my whole post-Godstrike experience was adequately described by reactivity. The realization only fueled my determination to go forwards on my own terms. My defensive technique had been on point and far more effective when backed up by telekinesis, but it would still be preferable to avoid relying on it overly much. Things were better on the offensive front and a triple-launch almost certainly veered into overkill. My first goal settled on trying to reduce energy expenditures and only using two shots while keeping the third in reserve. Another reflection graced my mind. The System had essentially said it gave us a path to power and it clearly did not fuck around. Now wasn¡¯t the right time, but at some point in the far future it might be worth seeing what result dumping a full bar of mana into launches gave. A good two-thirds of the triple-launched blade had been embedded in the stone ceiling and that was after it blew a hole clean through the armored daggerclaw. My imagination ran wild for a while. There were a million things to try. Fighting fueled creativity. Yeah, keep day dreaming in the murder hallways, why not? Echoing footsteps followed me on the path forward, just as the ever present equidistant shadows did. Two of my swords were out and about and both floated a meter in front of me with the point forward - one at bellybutton height and the other chest high. The arrangement disallowed any clear paths towards me. Hopefully that dissuaded a full-on assault. Unfortunately, no plan survived contact with the enemy. Bullshit. The shadows might obscure my vision but the same didn¡¯t hold true for my nemeses. One spotted or sensed me somehow despite my sneaking, as evidenced by the telltale panicked scramble of a cat trying to run on a hard floor. A long, rough scratch followed it, and then silence. I braced myself against the right side wall, ready to push off with my good arm in case the Errant rushed in but nothing happened. Slowly creeping along the wall revealed the problem. A plus shaped four-way intersection faded out of the shadows and the armored assault cat had cleverly taken cover behind a corner. For once in my life, a good idea surfaced. One careful step followed the other at a steady pace while I mouthed off to the bastard. ¡°Here kitty kitty, come out, come out.¡± My taunt echoed repeatedly, until the corner neared. A sword floated ahead at chest height. The Errant displayed at least some commonality with a regular housecat, being easily baited into reckless stupidity. A laser pointer would¡¯ve been nice right about now. It performed the same violent kickoff as it had in the previous encounter. Time slowed. The feline came into view amidst the sound of smashed stone and scattered chips. One daggerpaw pushed away my bait, the other trailed aside and swiped for a wielder. This would have sucked, were I a fighter rather than a mage. The momentum of its leap carried it into the opposite hallway but not before a launch speared the bastard. Finally, in control.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! I didn¡¯t have time to admire the spray of smoky black blood while running forward and jumping past with a floating sword in tow, although it lagged behind and forced me to fire blindly. My run continued towards the first sword and ended in a sliding turn after stepping on and retrieving it. Holy shit. I¡¯d gone from a dead stop to a full sprint almost instantaneously. A sword appeared, lined up a few centimeters off my eye for maximally accurate aiming. The fucker neglected to chase me however. Caution overpowered confidence and urged me to slowly walk up to the corner and bait again. Nothing happened. A few backsteps gave me a runway. A sprint culminated into a soccer slide. The maneuver ripped the knee off my jeans, but it also kept my crossing low to the ground. A glance proved it all unnecessary. The cat had kicked the bucket. Its right forearm had been ripped into two shredded halves and a sizzling sword was embedded up to the hilt in its spine. Condensing labeled it five out of five. After collecting another piece of future armor, my stalking continued - with my full focus diverted towards actually paying fucking attention for once. The next one was another hallway battle, with a fair start no less. It braced and I crouched against a wall. The initiative was mine, my first movement diagonally forward. The monster leaped and twisted predictably towards the opposite side. It was immediately impaled by my launched projectile upon landing. The fucker hadn¡¯t expected that and fell down from the ceiling corner, which earned it another session of aggravated acupuncture. It was still alive but clearly struggling. Morbid fascination consumed me while watching the sizzling of the swords kill it dead. They definitely damaged it from the inside. Approaching close enough allowed me to twist the blade a little with my control skill. The slaughter continued unabated from thereon, getting easier with practice. My kill count had fallen by the wayside upon reaching the next stairway, another T-split, but the backpack was getting rather heavy. Even so, my energy stash dwindled, 90 crystal fueled refills and my internal reserve had gone down to 22 regardless. It promptly became 12 after another cantrip completed my junk food and jerky dinner upon reaching safety, midway up the stairs. The only thoughts disturbing my surprisingly successful attempt at apex predation were ones wondering if I¡¯d make it out before running empty. While another fifty remained as backup, it was also my last safety net. A cigarette tempted me, but I¡¯d survived this so a little longer without couldn¡¯t hurt. Some kind of switch flipped in my head, causing my mind to reel. Fuck. That had been madness. My nerves were shot. The long, tense, silent walks combined with quick battles were not kind on the human mind. My System progression did some catching up here thanks to fifteen new kills under my belt, going by the plates. My level shot all the way up to 16 and my stats reached respectable totals of PP 10+1, PS 42+9, PE 26+1, MP 42, MS 10 and ME 26+37. My jerky would last for another three days or so. Despite my resolution not to be a little bitch, the whole stoic determination thing wasn¡¯t for me. The experience had been harrowing despite only taking a single blocked hit. My left arm was swollen black and blue from the worst bruise of my life. The whole thing hurt like hell and my fingers were stiff and hard to move. A few more blocks were likely to leave me crippled. Some miracle had pushed me well beyond my limits but the metaphorical cracks were spreading now. The experience threatened to flood in and overwhelm me, but something kept it barely at bay. Enhanced combat was nothing like old world fighting, time passed differently and while it worked fine in the moment, the aftermath intensified equally. Escalating soreness didn¡¯t help either and contributed to the stress. A System-ordained desk job sounded pretty good right about now but it would have to wait. So would sleep, because even after reluctantly settling down for three hours of one-handed drawing practice, any shut-eye remained elusive. The good ol¡¯ biological clock was on the fritz. A painful walk up the stairs revealed the deadest of night. The starry sky above sent me straight back down the stairwell. It took another six boring hours of practice before catching my first yawn. Sleep came easily after. I woke up 10 mana later, still sore as fuck and incredibly hungry. As a consequence, my breakfast included more added jerky than it probably should have. My arm wasn¡¯t doing much better although the swelling might¡¯ve gone down a bit. Comfort didn¡¯t matter anymore and the constant aching supported my decision to snooze awkwardly on the winding steps. At least the bad thoughts weren¡¯t circling my mind as acutely anymore. Apparently the appropriate coping period for witnessing the end of all was about two weeks. People did always go into nature to find themselves and so far this had been the mother of all hikes. A few nightmares broke through my slumber though. At least the moon one had been more funny than scary. By now I leaned heavily towards mad over sad anyway. To my dismay, the list of pointless shit to consider ran dry quickly. This brought an end to my procrastinating. I gathered my sore and sorry self, went up the stairs and wondered what fresh fucking hell I¡¯d wander into this time. Chapter 16: Struggles Well, at least the surroundings were familiar. Fan-fucking-tastic. More bamboo thicket. There was definitely a zone thing going on here. The last time I¡¯d stuck low to the ground and just went for a bit of shiny stalk before bugging out. A part of me wanted to brave the endless hallways and avoid acclimating to a new environment, however, the dungeon design committee neglected to put any fountains there and fighting all day made me mighty thirsty. Stairways were another unique selling point for traveling below the surface because solo camping out in the open probably wouldn¡¯t go all that well. My armor plate supply threatened to burst my backpack so energy crystals had become the priority loot. As a result, it only took five mana to kill a daggerclaw. While alright at a glance, complications arose. I hadn¡¯t seen any daggerclaws below 5/5 but suspected the situation had already changed. Threes or fours might even die to a single shot, which would be peak efficiency. Sadly, I expected ones, maybe some twos if I was lucky and predominantly fives. The resulting net losses might quickly spiral out of control and deplete my meager reserves before another stairwell appeared, and then I¡¯d be dead. Melee was out of the question too, had to lean into my strengths. Especially because my left arm retained its injuries and further ones were likely to spell out the end of my journey. In short, I was a bit fucked. Thus, the unknown beckoned. It wasn¡¯t all bad though, most logic hadn¡¯t survived the apocalypse, but plants usually meant water¡­ Somewhere. If only all this crap didn¡¯t obscure my vision¡­. The bamboo was roughly half again taller than me, so a little over two and a half meters. The staircase clearing allowed me a bit of a view but not nearly enough to navigate by. It didn¡¯t take me long to embrace my inner weed whacker and start spinning swords around, shearing everything at the edge of the circle. It only took an hour to properly grasp the mental shenanigans involved. Manual labor didn¡¯t exactly appeal ¨C too sore, too exhausted. My best impression of a lawnmower was actually quite good from the looks of it. I pruned myself some line of sight. It was nigh impossible to open my interface now unless I kept my eyes low. A mountain ridge reached from the far south-east all the way to the north as the only other feature of the distant landscape. At least the evil trees looked less dense towards the south than the north and I had high hopes gamblers fallacy would pull through once again. There were magnificent Errant trees in the distance which towered above the thicket in a manner reminding me of redwoods, with short but sparkly dark branches. So far my track record excelled at avoiding hopeless death matches and one-on-one fights with things a hundred or more times my size fit the criteria pretty well. A moments curiosity had me wondering how the whole monster-on-monster murder fusion thing worked with static stuff, but I didn¡¯t care about it all that much because I had more pressing concerns, like black tinted bubbles. They were everywhere, quietly resting on top of the yellow growth while waiting for a breeze to carry them away on some whimsical adventure, or for a passing survivor to disturb the reeds and funnel them down the vertically inclined shrubbery. When the cool wind blew, a rain of reflections drifted away from the hostile flora. I¡¯d been captured by nostalgic child-like wonder and longed to touch a lone one gently floating towards me. I reached out and immediately regretted it with a yelp as the bubble popped and somehow slammed a car door on my right index finger, now heavily bruised and quite possibly broken. After five minutes of swearing and wondering if the throbbing pain would ever stop, my wits gathered themselves for some experiments. I could displace, but not burst, the things with cut stalks. My sword popped them with an unfortunate side-effect of chipping it. Bad way to lose a very expensive blade. My sheath skill held two more, so it wouldn¡¯t be immediately fatal even if shattered, but it would make for a good start. Some more testing shortened a sleeve on my winter jacket as a ball-shaped disintegrating effect added its own flourish to the design. My hopes that nothing would happen as long as it wasn¡¯t too close to me were dashed. They also exploded upon touching the stone of the stairway, it made some sense in retrospect or there¡¯d just be a big pile of bubbly doom collecting here. The ones which reached the dirt just waited there like little landmines.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. I heard rustling and the undertow of a gust failed to send my grimy hair into a windswept swirl. However, the breeze did succeed in sending me into the stairway as an effervescent wave inundated the clearing. Some head scratching and an intense mental struggle, no smoke, not yet, later and I had a decent idea of how to proceed. It would involve manual labor, and a lot of it. Just the thing I wanted to avoid. The plan was to make a bundle to sweep the top for bubbles like a broom, shuffling them into gutters, cut out on the sides of my chosen path. Said path would have to be fairly narrow, with roofing painstakingly built out of snipped stalks. Couldn¡¯t judge the distance worth a damn even the trees thinned out towards the south, but the sun soared in the sky so time was on my side at least. Worst case I¡¯d have to backtrack to the stairwell and pick up where I left off tomorrow. It was grueling work characterized by lots of reaching high, then low, then high again. Like push-up jumps but worse, since those were usually avoided when one had bruised limbs. My control skill took some off the work off my hands, lucky or this wouldn¡¯t have gone on for long. A silver lining appeared once a light bulb went off in my head. I sliced bamboo into strips and squeezed out pathetic droplets which might as well have been gifts from God, wetting my parched throat one drip at a time. The exercise sparked a rumble in my belly too. I was burning through jerky at an alarming rate but refused to spend precious mana on food. Better hungry than dead. The slow going didn¡¯t bother me as much anymore. A secured water source meant the tunnels became a viable last resort, reserved for a day or two from now. That scenario promised food issues, but hey, maybe daggerclaws were edible. Fuck. I¡¯d gotten a little lax and now a particularly persistent minor gale blew bubbles through my makeshift roofing. They forced me to block with a sword but it felt like trying to dodge the rain. They just kept coming and coming. My chipped weapon ended up dissolving into smoke after enduring who knows how many of the things. My left shoulder and chest were hurting badly from all the ones which made it through my panicked dance. Thankfully the damage had been spread out. Somehow I found a moment of clarity during the chaos and used it to notice they were doing minimal damage to my clothing - so only four or five round holes the size of my fist. My second sword sported some serious cracks all across, like a piece of glass about to shatter. Luckily, the wind died down before it too broke. My instincts screamed at me to curl up and whimper for a while, but it seemed somewhat suicidal. I¡¯d been too confident in my own rationalizations. The roofing needed far more reinforcement to withstand longer periods of extremely mild inclement weather, unfortunately building it slowed my pace as well. A repeat incident occurred not long after, but this time my impromptu construction held. At least there weren¡¯t any other Errant around - the glistening grenades were probably responsible for that. Nightfall closed in and I had made a goodly amount of progress, even if I wasn¡¯t out of the woods quite yet. Another circular sweep confirmed there were only a handful of Errant trees left to pass towards the south. Backtracking at this point might be feasible if I managed a fast jog for three or four hours. ¡®T was a shame it wouldn¡¯t be realistic. There was a long stretch where the roofing had almost certainly come undone by now. My brand new road was booby-trapped, most likely ridiculously so. Never mind the fact my smokers lung couldn¡¯t take the trip, supernaturally improved or not. Mindless determination really wasn¡¯t my thing. I¡¯d been so focused on ignoring soreness, just pushing through the pain and trudging onwards, that all this had escaped me. All sense of time faded during the construction of my very first tiny-house, made out of nothing but light brown sticks. It worked out better than expected in the end. I wasn¡¯t done yet, excruciating hunger and maddening thirst demanded my attention next, exhaustion be damned. I ended up eating nearly all of my remaining jerky and squeezing split strips together in the darkness for hours upon hours ¨C even scraped out mulch into my portable forge and ground it with the hammer to create sad bowls of pulpy water. At least the old traitor, my circadian rhythm, had gotten its shit together and decided to let me sleep without issue for once. A mending fixed my sweater, while the jacket would have to wait. Early morning set the scene for my awakening, and I ended up having a nice breakfast of slightly moist plant mulch. Hopefully pulp had some nutritional value, didn¡¯t feel like it though. My extensive bruising had gone down some but the injuries were still tender, while my middling beer belly slowly made way for the physique of my early twenties. Bit hard to be too happy about it, the change happened in just over two weeks, which made it an early warning sign of starvation. My calorie intake didn¡¯t exactly keep up with the burn. Mana had gone up to 35. I suffered seven heartrending, backbreaking, chest-splitting hours of hard labor before finally making it out of the goddamn thicket. My body demanded rest which forced me to backtrack and relax for a while, needed to hydrate again too. Something prodded my subconscious but the sun had passed its zenith a little while back and it was high time to head out once more¡­ Chapter 17: Civilization I observed the tundra hillside ahead of me while fighting the urge to light up. There was no denying it - I finally caught a lucky break. Several in fact, and they were related. It seemed impossible but some wildlife had actually survived this long. Mere moments ago a fat, hairy pig, boar maybe, strolled casually towards the west. The walking chunk of bacon wandered across the droll landscape, only an occasional clump of vegetation broke up the monotony. Most of it looked earthlike, but for one exception. The boary bastard had gone and done goofed itself by taking a step on the circular, thin, black vine pattern which surrounded another zero-mobility type Errant. It had no other notable features than a similarly black bundle of flora in the center of the ¡®trap¡¯. At a distance, it looked like the centerpiece consisted of overlapping leaves that the flowery crown broke out of but I had no interest in taking a closer look. The overgrown piglet stepped on the lattice and caused the vines to snap loudly and close like a bear trap, which sent a spray of blood in the air from the lashed boar, but didn¡¯t quite snatch it. My lunch and dinner combo set off at a limping run further towards the west while avoiding any further vinesnap-traps. And me. I jogged lightly behind, in no rush to catch bacon boy. The blood it left behind made for an easy trail, its wounds allowed even my diminished constitution to run it down, if only thanks to the Systems reinforcement... and the fact I¡¯d nearly quit smoking, however unwillingly. Before too long, the animal just collapsed. The river, much becalmed, flowed in the distance ¨C maybe half an hours walk away. Piggy still lived, until I stabbed it in the face, cut off its head to let the blood drain, and painstakingly dragged the corpse by its leg over to the overgrown stream. The rolling hills obscured my sight, but the idea of a proper meal left me well beyond caring. I had everything I needed: A dead animal, water, a small copse of trees, plenty of bamboo relatively nearby and no goddamn Errant in sight. A perfect campsite, and I intended to make use of it. The rest of the day passed uneventfully, marked by rest, using my portable forge as a stew bowl and engaging in shameless gluttony. Even the iron tinged smell and viscera of butchery couldn¡¯t dissuade what felt like a bottomless emptiness in my stomach. Carrying dry kindling had been a good idea when combined with my sword for chopping wood. I packaged some extremely overcooked boar meat in McD wrappers, the rations probably wouldn¡¯t last more than a day or two but it was enough. Dusk approached and the darkness drew my eyes towards the southeast, across the rolling plains, towards the gently curving hillside and the steep eastern mountain slope. My salvation shined through the descending dark, nestled between a pine forest and a plain of rough, jagged terrain. There stood a spot of high ground, with a big, steady contained blaze and a thin, stretched plume of barely visible smoke reaching high like a beacon. Although the size was only an assumption ¨C it looked like a distant flicker from here. Cautious hope blossomed amongst the pops and crackles of my own smoldering flame. I might actually find other people in this godforsaken wasteland. As night fell, the glow of the flames became increasingly clear and wary thoughts were dispelled. Fuck yeah, victory¡­ Soon. I refused to brave the treacherous footing here without daylight to cover me, a leg injury this close to possible salvation would cause unbearable levels of frustration and suffering. Unwilling to take any risks, I passed the night with about ten hours of pretending to be an artist, then had all I could for breakfast until daylight illuminated a safe path forward. Sleep eluded me on account of my budding excitement, even though I had no clue how far the walk would be. For once, my travels were accompanied by a spring in my step while the cool, earthy breeze carried my unwashed stench downwind. I¡¯d eaten my fill and more, twice, and gotten plenty hydrated. Muscle soreness had receded somewhat and most of my bruises were in a much better shape, even if my worst injuries persisted in a lessened state. My finger didn¡¯t seem broken at least. Hopefully the happy campers wouldn¡¯t move too far, perhaps they¡¯d even stay in place. Regardless, there would be no breaks until I reached them. Depending on terrain and local threats, perhaps my final stretch would continue through the night. There would be time for exhaustion later¡­Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. I was fucking exhausted. Day made way for night again and I¡¯d come so close, all enjoyment of sparse woodland frolicking now abandoned. Nothing could stop me, except two pauses for junk food and my remaining rations were consumed along with those. The Errant plant traps persisted even here and they were still hard to spot despite my supernatural vision, thus forcing an agonizing wait upon me. But the fire hadn¡¯t moved. Reckless obsession had left no room for good decisions. As such, I lacked a campfire of my own ¨C otherwise they¡¯d have spotted me by now. I patiently practiced my drawing skills instead. I was clearly on to something, despite doodling the same pattern over and over again on the same exact plate, the pulsing never stopped. The actual effect eluded me, besides a vague idea of hardening, and frankly I didn¡¯t care. It probably just made stuff stronger. Glorious dawn beckoned and gave me enough light to see by. Weariness made me stumble, shuffle and drag my feet through my chosen route, a snaking path to save myself the effort of cresting hills over and over. The flicker and glow of the static bonfire had burned itself onto my mind during the dark hours, much closer now, almost driving me to madness from the sheer teasing of it all ¨C that was only fun for a little while. I hadn¡¯t been keeping track of time, but it was probably somewhere near noon when I entered probable hearing range of the camp. To announce myself, I shouted at the top of my lungs with every bit of energy I had left. ¡°Heeeey! I need help! S.O.S.¡± Then the last of the drive which kept me going ran out, I collapsed to a sitting position while waving my swords in the air to mark my position - one whole, one cracked. A burn crept up my legs, unnoticed during my trudging. It was unreal, like electricity in my bones and skin. My soles were sticky and I didn¡¯t want to think about the kind of blisters nurtured there. I smelled, I hurt, I¡­ everything bad. Eloquent. Then I spotted some people running towards me and so let the swords drop and disappear, replaced by the waving of my right arm. My saviors crossed the distance rapidly. Holy shit, I¡¯m alive. I was either saved or fucked, depending on their disposition. But it didn¡¯t matter, anything would be better than wandering step by step towards inevitable, slow death. Three men gathered around me, one kept watch while a bald, hook-nosed dude spoke. The third trailed behind and seemed content to stare. ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Ya wounded?¡± He said. ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m mostly fine, just tired. Been walking for too long, didn¡¯t think before I yelled.¡± ¡°Well shit, why¡¯d ya go out alone instead of with the next group? Now you¡¯ll be wastin¡¯ your time.¡± ¡°What? No, I¡¯ve been wandering for weeks heading south, trying to find-¡± Hook-nose interrupted me, ¡°Weeks? You a survivor? Fuck, ain¡¯t been one o¡¯ those for a while now. Must¡¯a had it rough. Let¡¯s get ya into camp first.¡± I didn¡¯t disagree, even surrendered the last word while struggling to get up - it felt like my knee joints had been welded stuck. Oh right - introductions, ¡°You have no idea, thanks. Name¡¯s Gabriel.¡± I held out my hand. He accepted the shake. ¡°Barry. And trust me man, we all know.¡± We didn¡¯t talk much after that. Barry stood a head taller than me but the other two weren¡¯t much bigger, they made for better leaning material while we slow-walked our way to the campsite. They guided me to the fire pit and the other two went back to work, their duties consisted of keeping a lookout as best as I could tell. I sat on a log and forced down some warm tasteless slop, unable to satisfy my cravings for more of it. Normally it was a challenge to make me shut up but I couldn¡¯t think of a single thing to say. Barry sat nearby on a different log, enthusiastically grinding away with a pestle and mortar while staring at his handiwork. He¡¯d started by putting in something, then dropped a fiver crystal and methodically turned it into dust. The process was eerily quiet and didn¡¯t even overcome the crackling of the low fire. Eventually I finished and felt my eyelids drooping. I turned to Barry. ¡°Hey, is there anywhere I can sleep? I¡¯ve been up for two days straight and don¡¯t want to collapse into the fire, but I will if I have to.¡± He chuckled. ¡°Sure man, ya can have my tent, I don¡¯t need to sleep today anyway. It¡¯s the one next to... Ah, I¡¯ll show ya, easier than explainin¡¯.¡± We both got up and Barry led me to a rather minimalist, shoddy tent-like construction of wood and hide. I didn¡¯t give a shit and the surroundings got an equal amount of appreciation. It was a roof over my head, and more than big enough for me. Barry left after excusing himself and I caught him mumbling something about a meeting. Busy people. It wasn¡¯t just my surroundings or the quality of housing that I didn¡¯t care about. Everything went into the ¡®problem for later¡¯ category of my mind. Well, not entirely true, there was one thing. I summoned a sword and stashed it - couldn¡¯t waste any mana regeneration. I was safe. I made it. There were even people. This moment should¡¯ve led to a breakdown, but right before my consciousness descended into sweet, sweet oblivion, in that half-state between wakefulness and slumber, I realized something. It had been a little exciting. Blissful sleep whisked the realization away, now forgotten. Chapter 18: Dissonance The hustle and bustle of people going about their business woke me up. It was so comforting that it took me a moment to realize this wasn¡¯t home. The lack of a mattress did nothing to dissuade me from five more minutes, until my belly growled. At least the soreness had faded, mostly. My feet didn¡¯t even hurt much anymore. Even so, my shoes stayed on - the illusion could last a little longer. There¡¯d be time for that later anyway, and for once the thought rang true as opposed to a thinly veiled repression. I checked my interface. Mana was at 53, hadn¡¯t done any killing so only physical speed and magical endurance had changed, having gone up to totals of 47 and 57 respectively. My most cumbersome possessions, backpack and mini-forge, remained in the tent. Laziness was the order of the day and my pace reflected that. Random people, dressed in mixes of old world wear and makeshift leather additions, cheered general greetings while my stroll took me to the smoldering fire. Despite the friendliness, they kept their distance - couldn¡¯t blame ¡®em, I smelled. Badly. Everyone was up already and a short line of lightly grizzled but otherwise cheerful fellow survivors had formed at a basic cooking station ¨C a tree trunk with an equally sized wooden bowl on top and a big ladle sticking out. Barry handed out the slop. My plan to wait in line didn¡¯t survive contact with the good folk here. A bearded chubby dude up front scrunched his nose and shoved a warm bowl into my hands, telling me to go eat. Can do. The lukewarm tasteless gruel went down like a two-star meal and I exchanged good mornings with Barry when grabbing seconds. He asked whether thirds would be necessary, and then said he¡¯d join me at the fire in a bit after getting an ¡®all good¡¯. Breakfast hadn¡¯t taken long but we ended up as the only two people still seated there regardless. People had run off into three groups of three while discussing their plans, two others settled into guard duty on opposite ends of the camp. So the local population numbered thirteen in total, including me. How many of us were there even left? Too few. Our abode featured an open design, likely out of necessity. The fire was in the middle, a row of eight tents took up one side, a barely roofed cooking and workshop area filled the other. The only properly house-like structure with wooden walls and genuine roofing was a storage area. I figured out the purpose by watching people go in empty handed and come out with stuff; mostly primitive spears and tools, some mundane and many magical, adorned by the telltale green tinting and veining. The weapons were actually mixed, only tipped by supernatural material. This place was honestly a bit of a shithole, but beggars couldn¡¯t be choosers. I¡¯d have expected things to be a little¡­ further along. It didn¡¯t take long before the groups of three departed in different directions while Barry finished his porridge, taking his time. Afterwards, he pulled out his mortar and pestle and this time I caught what he started out with. It was a speck of burger bun, maybe half the size of my pinky. A crystal followed soon after, another fiver. Some latent trauma or other made me unusually quiet, hard to tell which with my extensive collection - no longer. ¡°Thanks for the help, and the tent, and the food. Everything really. If you don¡¯t mind me asking, what¡¯s with the mixing? Trying to get up to speed here.¡± I talked over his ¡®no problem man¡¯, wouldn¡¯t feel like a proper conversation otherwise. He didn¡¯t look up. ¡°This? It¡¯s my craft man, alchemy. Take a plant, grind it up and shove it into this little hole in the middle,¡± he tilted the bowl, ¡°add crystal, dust it up and cram it ¡®til it¡¯s filled. Makes a pill, plant it and wait a while. Get more of the plant. It¡¯s keepin¡¯ us fed, handy stuff. Also why I¡¯m here, gettin¡¯ paid and gets me out of the village.¡± ¡°Ah, I thought this was the village-¡± I couldn¡¯t finish my sentence because of the laughter. ¡°Good one, nah man, this here¡¯s expedition camp north-east. There¡¯s a few more, but most folk are at the village two days away. Ain¡¯t enough there so we head out here to hunt ¡®n¡¯ gather.¡± Right, he mentioned that yesterday, my memory was still hazy. ¡°Multiple camps and a village? Plenty of people made it then?¡± My growing anxiety faded, a bit. ¡°Not that many. Maybe a hun¡¯erd or two. It¡¯s been rough and no one knows anyone. Ville started out small but people been joinin¡¯ over time, nearby groups comin¡¯ together. Not for a while anymore though. You¡¯re the first fresh face in maybe a week.¡± ¡°Well, fuck. Happy to be a surprise, I guess.¡± Now was the time, felt generous too. ¡°Barry, you smoke?¡± I grabbed my pack - three left - took one, and then extended an offer to let him help himself.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Now he looked up, and then reached out. ¡°Shit man, don¡¯t mind if I do. Ya even got an extra left. After I finish up this batch we gotta make more. Ain¡¯t nobody had no smokes left. Got a light?¡± More? Oh god, I hadn¡¯t realized. ¡°Yeah, sure-¡± I tossed him my lighter. ¡°That might be the first thing I¡¯m looking forward to since the world ended. Fuck yes, just tell me how much crystal you need.¡± He caught the thrown pack. We both lit up. It was glorious. Maybe... ¡°Coffee a thing anymore?¡± He didn¡¯t interrupt his long, satisfied drag. I could sympathize. ¡°Afraid not. Don¡¯t need ya money either.¡± Money? I held out my riches. ¡°These the new currency then?¡± My shiny crystal marble failed to impress. Figured, I was broke. ¡°Yeppers. Just happened, no decision, no nuthin¡¯. People been real agreeable-like after the strike,¡± he chuckled, proud of his rhyme. ¡°But that happened on its own.¡± ¡°Well damn, then I¡¯m low on funds. Appreciate the charity. Got any recommendations on how to pad my wallet?¡± ¡°That¡¯s what¡¯s on ev¡¯ryones mind. Spots here been allocated, gotta wait ya turn. ¡®least if you wanna officially be part o¡¯ the camp. Ain¡¯t no real rules though. But tell ya what, I got a little project,¡± he said, ominously. ¡°And since ya made it out there, I¡¯m thinkin¡¯ ya got some serious firepower, maybe?¡± I gave him the side-eye. ¡°Firepower? No guns if that¡¯s what you¡¯re asking. Just this.¡± I showed him my very sharp magic smart sword. He examined the blade. ¡°Magical, yeah?¡± ¡°Yup.¡± ¡°It good at killin¡¯?¡± I regaled him with the tale of my battles against armored daggerclaws, only exaggerating slightly. It was a pain in the ass. The redaction unit didn¡¯t like me mentioning my skills. Eventually, I got pissed off and demonstrated. The blade sank up to the hilt into the ground, Barry¡¯s whistle signaled he was suitably impressed. He asked after the bonemetal plates. After my round trip to the tent, he nodded, and then locked eyes with me - a bit too intensely for my liking. ¡°Got an offer for ya. There¡¯s some demons near here, half-plant, half-rock. I need the material for my craft. They¡¯s got a big boulder in the middle. Need ya to wrabfjhke¡­ ehm, do that.¡± He pointed at the sword, left in the ground for the wow-factor. ¡°Fuckin¡¯ hate how that spreads. Anyway, it¡¯ll cause the big one to split up into fifteen smaller ones,¡± Fifteen?! ¡°And I¡¯ll take care o¡¯ those.¡± Oh no, fuck that, I¡¯d just made it out. Yet my tongue betrayed me, ¡°Sure. What¡¯s the pay?¡± ¡°Depends, you wanna do a one-off and I¡¯ll give ya 20 a kill. Fifteen o¡¯ that¡¯s yours by right, they give 15 for the big guy and one each for the small ones, so thirty for the whole lot. The extra five each is me paddin¡¯ ya wallet.¡± Now he turned really serious, leaning in. ¡°But if you¡¯re interested in a partnership, assumin¡¯ all goes well, then I¡¯ll give ya free room and board at the village, free food, your half of the kills and a small but fair share o¡¯ the profit. Which means ya gotta head out here with me each time it¡¯s my turn though ¨C I¡¯ll get ya a spot.¡± One-off, one-off. Screw it, just say never mind. ¡°Sounds great, when do we start?¡± Why the fuck did I do that? He went back to grinding. ¡°Sweet, right after I finish this, so a couple more hours. Need to focus now to get it done, ya go and get ready, maybe wash by the shower. It¡¯s this way, ya smell like the cat dragged ya in.¡± I followed his pointing to an outcropping where a miniature waterfall fed a thin brook. ¡°And the shitters further down, follow the stream and you¡¯ll find the hole.¡± ¡°Yeah, thanks, see you in a while then.¡± His instructions checked out. The dreaded moment arrived but my feet weren¡¯t even blistered, I¡¯d been afraid of nothing ¨C bloody socks notwithstanding. After my first shower and clothes wash in more than two weeks, I even got the bearded leather capped guard, Bob, to dry my clothes with a magic flame. Apparently pyromania was quite popular, which worked out fine considering how ridiculously useful it was. Barry¡¯s ¡®a few hours¡¯ turned into four. Didn¡¯t feel like drawing and passed the extra time acclimating to my newly earned physicality instead. In part because it was necessary, hadn¡¯t been close to peak condition during my little trek through the wilderness, but mostly because I was dead set on ignoring my ever-increasing anxiety. It lessened some after Barry collected me. We didn¡¯t really talk much during our one-hour walk towards the craggy area, Barry had some alchemy to finish up, but he¡¯d given me something of a primer on what exactly we¡¯d be tag-teaming - the so called snakedrop-rocks. The long and short of it was to keep moving. Inspired, I practiced some sprints and short stops on the way, somewhat entranced by my new abilities. And that¡¯s how I found myself here, with killer instincts engaged and a pounding heart while I dashed from one jagged protrusion of cover to another with my companion in tow. My ambush neared the critical moment, punctuated by whispered whining behind me. ¡°Just go kill it already. What the fuck man.¡± ¡°Shut up, I¡¯m sneaking up on it.¡± ¡°Who gives a shit, I saw you run and the thing is slow. It¡¯s a damn rock.¡± ¡°If the first hit is free, why pay for it.¡± ¡°¡¯Cuz ya won¡¯t be runnin¡¯ and ya don¡¯t want it to catch ya.¡± Good point. ¡°Shit.¡± This earthy Errant looked particularly unusual, a bundle of stones held together by far too many thin vines. It stood four to five meters tall and shed chips with every moment. It plodded along on four stony legs and dragged thick, green tentacles behind it. The extremities converged at a round central boulder, akin to obsidian but with emerald marbling. The middle part was my target. There also wasn¡¯t much more to it - just legs, tentacles, and a ¡®core¡¯. I abandoned my misguided sneaking and sprinted towards it with superhuman speed. The name clicked as the huge tentacles rose into the air, towering over it and wavering like submerged seaweed. Then one slammed down and calm washed over me. Chapter 19: The third strike Ah, the name was indeed quite appropriate. That was the first of three insights, internalized while sprinting towards my target as one of the tentacles smashed down with alarming alacrity. The second realization was ¡®fuck¡¯, because trying to maintain a serpentine pattern only made it easier to track me. At least I acted on that one, all misdirection abandoned in favor of just legging it. The third was that my anxiety had finally stilled, so more of a distraction really. I dove right before impact and lost all momentum, gracing the ground with an uncontrolled roll and skid. A crashing tremor and thrown up dirt accented the landfall of a thigh-thick tentacle. No clue by how much it missed me, wasn¡¯t keen on looking back to find out. Instead my attention was taken up by recovering and regaining some speed before the next appendage closed in for another smackdown. At least there were pauses in between attempted murders. That didn¡¯t help me much when the first appendage accelerated for a sideways swipe. This time my dodging dive was controlled, ending in a roll which got me back up on my feet almost instantly. I manifested a sword and drove it into the earth, anchored by my foot on ground level and a palm pressed against the handle while I leaned in right before the low swipe slammed into it. Green-black smoky gore sprayed me as the extremity bisected itself. Rather than admire my tactical genius, I set off against the blade, leveraging the range of my skill to retrieve it after the kick-off, miraculously without losing balance. Nice. The fly swat repeated itself, although I¡¯d gotten close enough now. A wafting hiss followed the grinding sound of my double-launched sword entering the core, embedded up to the hilt. It didn¡¯t attempt a swipe or smack anymore, my positioning below the monster was too awkward for it to pull it off. Memories of the bone golem made me afraid the monstrosity would drop itself on top of me, so I abandoned any ideas of hiding under it and instead built distance again while the snakedrop-rock awkwardly repositioned itself by turning languidly, one step at a time. My distancing lacked any elegance, couldn¡¯t keep my eyes on it while running away. Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to curve my run around the bastard after blindly dodging the third slam, causing its legs to entangle the horizontal follow-up. After it missed the fourth, all finesse went out the window, replaced by a straight sprint get out of range. My sense of timing had caught on and I¡¯d stuck close enough to the landing area to jump over the tentacle once it picked up some sideways momentum. A final evasion later my part of the job was done. Strings of smoke and spreading white cracks signaled the mounting damage. There was only one thing left do. I raised a middle finger out to Barry in the distance, who¡¯d nearly doubled over from laughter. Your move soon, asshole. Couldn¡¯t actually be mad at the guy, entertainment was in short supply after all and schadenfreude had always been popular. It took a good minute of relaxed observation before the cracks had spread to the point of conjoining - this was another Errant with severe mobility problems. Then it collapsed into a bundle of rocks with a long, smaller slithering tentacle each, originating from a single, regular albeit shiny, chunk. That was Barry¡¯s cue to¡­ apparently run in at full speed. I couldn¡¯t quite figure out his plan until he just jumped into the middle of the swarm before they managed to do anything. Then he exploded in a pulse of translucent white and¡­ killed them all? He told me earlier, with a different number system based on referencing primary stats, that he was a bomber. I expected it to be more of the throwing rather than the suicide variety though. He waved me over and tossed my sword, which vanished into my skill before making contact. He beamed, ¡°See? Wasn¡¯t so hard now, was it?¡± I gave him a blank stare. ¡°For you, maybe. Getting the impression that I¡¯m taking all the risk here. So what¡¯s the plan with the remains?¡± I asked, gesturing at the vineless clumps of dirt. ¡°I can do this about four more times before I run out of juice.¡± ¡°I ain¡¯t payin¡¯ ya for nothin¡¯, no need to get mad. Ya seemed to have it handled.¡± He folded out something akin to a rectangular backpack made out of sticks, hide and a board while speaking. It was more of a square basket, really. ¡°We¡¯ll be taking the material from the little ones and using the big one to refill. Ya take ten and I¡¯ll take five, I¡¯ve got enough saved to make up the difference.¡± The big boulder gave me a choice between 15 energy, a ¡®growth stone¡¯ or manual. It disintegrated, forcing me to reach down. ¡°Yeah, yeah, just not used to this whole fighting thing. Shit¡¯s scary man. But they¡¯re not so bad in the end.¡± I split off and tossed him a fiver. My mana spiked by ten, accompanied by a faint shattering sound and some fading dust. His brows furrowed. ¡°Ya sure? Looked like ya were havin¡¯ fun. First ones the worst anyway.¡±This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. He was right about the latter, although the former confused me. The thought of the next fight was already spiking my heart rate. He went about collecting little green obsidian rocks and stacking them up in his back-basket. The smaller pieces fit quite well, probably why he preferred those. We made some small-talk while looking for our next victim. There was a grid-search type pattern which Barry insisted we stick to. ¡°So what¡¯s the deal with the stones? Guessing they help with growing stuff, but best I can tell they pretty much cost one, and you were grinding in pure energy before right? What¡¯s the difference?¡± ¡°Got it in one, but they¡¯re twice as good as usin¡¯ crystal. Honestly it don¡¯t matter much for makin¡¯ grain, but I¡¯ve got me some projects back at home that could do with a bit of a boost. You¡¯ll see when we get there. Gives me an edge over the other alchies too.¡± Barry had an entrepreneurial spirit and I could respect that. ¡°There so many of you that things are getting competitive already?¡± ¡°Nah man, most are feedin'' the village or camps, there¡¯s enough but tools are in short supply. Ain¡¯t nobody figured out how to make ¡®em yet, aside from the basic stuff, so we relyin¡¯ on the freebies from the System. Last I heard, the best guess was that we need some kinda magic clay, no one picked pottery ¡®s far I know. Got plans to branch out though. I¡¯ll show ya later when we get back.¡± He didn¡¯t want to divulge any more. I astutely figured that out by his circling back of statements and refusing to elaborate, so we degenerated to trading small talk, petty insults and bad jokes instead - my preferred kind of high-dialogue. We searched around for another three hours, and just as many kills, before concluding our ¡®trial run¡¯. It truly was much easier the second time around since I already had the timing down, to a science now, and my dodging evolved into something far less frantic. The appendages looked heavy, and likely were since the thick tentacles couldn¡¯t re-angle their approach once they got going. They were surprisingly shit at grabbing onto me, so the swipes weren¡¯t a threat either so long as I didn¡¯t let the overgrown snake tails build up speed before hopping them. Overall, it was smooth sailing from then on, and fast leveling. We could¡¯ve stayed longer but Barry wanted to get a head start on grinding grain pills for the next few days, responsible for the camp food supply as he was. We¡¯d range out properly and commit to snakedrop rockicide soon enough. He also needed to actually sleep come nightfall. I interrogated him on it and physical endurance made us able to go longer without, obvious enough in retrospect - probably missed it because my mind had been occupied by other things. His class focused on physical endurance and magical power, and he only slept once per two days thanks to the stats. I supposed it was efficient, although everyone having a different sleep schedule seemed like a giant mess for coordinating, well, anything. Upon our return, the realization hit me that my sleep schedule was going to be a little awkward. I tried to exhaust myself by means of physical exercises like pushups, sit ups, jogging, and anything else which came to mind, with questionable success. It was one benefit of the post-apocalypse, made me sporty again ¨C along with a need to acclimate to my ever increasing stats. Chatting around the camp had revealed two people with the same stats were very much not equal. Some people at the village were quite into experimentation and data-logging, who¡¯d reached said conclusion. I welcomed the news, especially considering my starting point of a sedentary chain smoker. A habit that left my nerves frayed and my disposition irritable, so I told Barry to hurry up and make some fucking tobacco already, he happily obliged. We dried it with magical fire and then realized we had jack to smoke it with. I¡¯d been getting a little ahead of myself. Good ol¡¯ Bob had us covered though since he was the heaven-sent owner of a pipe, dude was quickly rising on my list of favorites. He let us borrow it in exchange for some smokables, a perfectly fair trade in my opinion. Fast addiction based friends we all were. We couldn¡¯t distract him for too long though, since Bob had a job to do. Barry turned in early after a late dinner and all the tents were taken, so I ended up stargazing again by the fire pit. At least there were spare hides to fashion into impromptu bedding and a mending later my winter jacket pulled its weight in gold on the comfort front, which incidentally sparked an avalanche of people wanting their stuff fixed ¨C certainly possible for the low-low price of 15 energy. Didn¡¯t want to gouge them too much, friends were in short supply nowadays. But convenience had a cost, one they happily paid. Stargazing was another habit which probably warranted quitting, seemed to prompt strange cataclysms for some reason. Maybe the cosmos felt a need to remind me of my insignificance, couldn¡¯t have the little guy getting too uppity. Perhaps my eyes were playing tricks on me, but in the far distance of space, all by its lonesome, floated an iridescent white and layered outline of what must be a fucking massive, elaborate medieval castle-cathedral. An absolute unit - could almost make out individual spires, arches and whatnot. Who the fuck built that anyway? I roused people in the camp to make sure my psyche hadn¡¯t finally fractured, but the responses varying from ¡®not again¡¯ to ¡®here we go¡¯ suggested the instances of celestial Armageddon were in fact real. Well fuck, for once I¡¯d hoped to be proven wrong. They were apt proclamations, as one chunk after another got blown off by invisible explosions and entire pieces slowly drifted away to nothingness. No clue why the new Gods or whatever held such hatred for space borne structures, nor was I in any position to philosophize about it. But instincts demanded what they did and I cheered once again, this time with company ¨C Barry and Bob were truly kindred spirits of mine. Eventually, one explosion too many caused the whole thing to fade away. It was probably an evil castle anyway. Yeah, that had to be it. If it wasn¡¯t, we were fucked if whatever did that decided to say hello¡­ and obliterate us all. Fuck Godstrikes. Chapter 19+ Interlude 2 – Greatbeasts ¡®The Last Resort¡¯ I flew in close, a lingering touch of my claw traced along the length of a wingless serpent as I passed it by, an unnecessary yet cathartic click triggered the energies left behind. A sudden introduction of immense twisting forces, aimed towards its insides, ripped apart the ninth Greatbeast - finally unveiling the Bastion shrouded by their existence. The Errant still enjoyed their games. The rings of a nearby world had concealed this beast. It was all pointless, no matter neither how many nor how hidden, I would end them all. Resistance was a fantasy. Some remnant of incarnation had left my patience frayed but recovery was inevitable. This time I prepared properly. A lifeless red planet became my source, once spinning but no longer, its kinetic potential repurposed to serve as my armament. Whatever Errant wandered on and below the surface had been amusingly disintegrated by the sudden stop. The stolen force replaced any need to rely on my Gate-link. Most, yet unusually little, had been lost during the theft. Altica¡¯s empowerment held merit. Once, it had been the ultimate sign of true mastery, channeling the Gate and burning all but a single feather short of a full wing. Leaving more intact was impossible. None had ever managed the tide with enough finesse for such a feat, myself included - workarounds notwithstanding. I glanced at the results of my own impatience, half a wing lost. An act of conservation beyond my wildest dreams, a shame the only one of my old friends left alive was indifferent to the fact. Regardless, I refused to remain under strength. The price might have been unusually small, but one half had yet to be recovered. Unfortunately, Altica played games of his own. I longed to visit the core worlds, alas compulsion ran contradictory to desire. My mission remained to guard this region of space but to refrain from interfering with the fledgling world. A peculiar mandate, no doubt meant to further some scheme or other. The forced inaction grated on me, but only in part. My sympathies grew towards the children inhabiting the broken sphere. They died in droves, with none to help or guide them. Altica did little beyond the initial impartment, yet millions cheered when witnessing destruction on a cosmic scale. While weak, their attitude was commendable. Thus my duties of the past mirrored those of the present, my wants sacrificed so worlds would flourish. My will carried me to the revealed Bastion, an elaborate and ornate fortification in white - adorned with spires, bridges, gates and no doubt mazing pathways full of challenges, traps and bait, hidden and in plain sight. All too familiar, an evocative design, a lure for those who sought power, at first rewarding their progress but eventually mercilessly trapping and slaying them. In time, the lessons were forgotten, and then more came to learn anew. I ignored instincts born from experience and quelled the urge to throw a rock at it. This one was guarded against outside influence, yet at the right angle slinging stone might be feasible. But no, my priorities were clear. The lures and Errant within were destined as fuel for making my wing whole. I entered the main and only pathway leading in. The shielding lent no protections to the inside yet left me blind to events without, typical Errant trickery. An orchestrated path towards the heart held no appeal. Instead a pulsing wave of wanton destruction accompanied each of my steps into a new room. Condensing the fragmented energies fueled the birth of new feathers, slowly but surely advancing the recovery of my burnt wing. One room disintegrated after another, a systematic obliteration of ever more and more of the Bastion, leaving my intervals of blindness minimal. A third of the structure had now been reduced to dust and the Bastion began fading away - perhaps the mounting loss of coherence proved too much. Time for a ploy of my own. Exertions of my will maintained a distant grip on the false treasures I had yet to reach, keeping them here. The Errant were, disappointingly, unwilling to contest my hold, thus relinquishing the impure riches. I had been ready to sacrifice three wings in a theorized trick of contention, untested due to a lack of the sheer skill required - one to connect, two to breach and strike. A shame. Nonetheless, it was only a matter of time before another opportunity arose.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. At least the abandoned bait refilled my strength to full, albeit barely. I continued my vigil, once more approving the cheers of distant children. Wild-mother There was a rhythm to it. This coincidence alleviated her boredom only slightly as she fulfilled the first part of her doomed task. Droll trickery as it was, Ghost-mother timed her efforts in the beats between movement and destruction, switching between hiding her and suppressing everything within the Bastion, and then back again with impeccable timing. These were the hidden windows of opportunity where she spawned toys into her waiting hand and nudged them on a gentle collision course towards the only place of interest, the cracked world. Their languid approach was destined, slowly nearing completion - too fast and the barbaric Ascendant was sure to notice. The target had to be interesting to inspire this much convoluted effort, but she couldn¡¯t see why. It mattered not, Mother willed it so. With her task completed, she saw no reason to maintain the distraction and Mother agreed as it faded away. Cloaked by Ghost-mother, she safely observed the greedy Ascendant who so overtly displayed an excessive fondness for collateral damage. Its methods were the same old trite. While the ease with which it slaughtered true Greatbeasts was beyond impressive, there was little else of note about the creature. Then again, she experienced difficulty finding joy in anything these days. She would not witness the rampage once the eggs arrived, hatched and began to mature. She would only briefly bask in the chaos of Ghost-mother¡¯s true power. She would never find out what made the world so interesting, nor would she see any of the many plans come to fruition. No, when the time came, she would fight the Ascendant, and in doing so she would die. Hardly something to look forward to, yet it excited her. Mother willed it so. Sneaky-mother: Excessive ¨C she evaluated events. Three Greatbeasts had hidden the Bastion, with two more for each of the three as another layer of obfuscation. Sneaky-other outdid itself, the new pawn was clearly intended for direct combat, however unlike with others the focus left no weaknesses in any discipline. Even twice layered, the deception only held due to Ghost-mother¡¯s participation. Annoyance - Mother insisted on entertaining herself now that he had awoken from his slumber, and the rogue seedling together with its surroundings piqued her interests. Thus it fell to Sneaky-mother to arrange everything. Necessity - the responses to any overt actions proved her suspicions that the champion was all too eager in meting out extreme violence. Not an issue by itself, at least were the artificial ascendant less capable of delivering damage in ways which travelled through to the source. The proficiency alone was telling, and she knew him well. The original, long since presumed dead, had been similar if not quite as powerful. Dangerous, even to her ¨C but manageable. The second step met more success than the first, yet Mother pouted. There was nothing to be done about it. Soon, Sneaky soothed - one more distraction to delay, then it would be time to play. Yet she demanded a synthesis, the forging of brand new pieces. Feed for Mother¡¯s need, to which Sneaky agreed. The promise made Mother rejoice, withdrawing her voice. Truth - she ignored a different, immediately effective option. Were she to change her administration of the barrier worlds from surgical suppression to outright warfare, it was likely to guarantee an appearance from the champion, thus leaving the current locus of attention unguarded. Yet such a course might disrupt other plans in motion and that would not do. Per Mother¡¯s parting request, she drafted new designs for insertion when the time came. Afterwards, she relayed precise instructions to Wild-mother and Ghost-mother. Distraction - five crossed the threshold on a barrier world. They never learn. She orchestrated assassinations for the fools. The wise knew to keep their head down, lest it be cut off. Idea - she shared her intent with Mother, who met her with vehement agreement. The proposed events were bound to feed her chaotic hunger for some time yet, leaving Sneaky-mother free to act without interference, just the way she preferred it. The System: All was remarkably stable. The Errant were nearly docile, focusing their activity almost exclusively on the vicinity of the recently inducted world, all their efforts undone by his experiment. Admittedly the situation there was peculiar, mostly to the benefit of the locals. He saw no need to intervene. What the Errant sought there remained unknown. Surely something, as they expended hastily grown Greatbeasts and bastions in vain - whether resources mattered to them or not, there was always a price. They seemed content to pay it in full. Nonetheless, the status quo proved ideal, for him. Time was ever in his favor, now more so than ever. As such, he returned to his exercise - following the changes within and reverting them, then they inverted, he converted them back and so on and on the wave went. Each iteration carried more meaning than the last. The well of potential learning seemed bottomless, and he drank deeply of it. How he had missed this. Soon. Chapter 20: Gains I¡¯d gotten a decent amount of sleep, the nightmares were slowly waning. Only so many incomprehensible things could happen in a short timeframe before gravitas made way for numbness. Today we were leaving early. There was a long day ahead of us, had to make the most of it. The goal was to hit fifteen hours plus travel for seventeen in total. Our capitalist society was well and truly gone, yet somehow the workdays had doubled in length. These observations and chitchat were what occupied the three of us as we gathered for our morning smoke. We had to pre-empt breakfast, round Bob was rotating out from camp-guard duty to mining-guard duty and thus had his own schedule demands. My nickname for the guy came from the fact he was chubby, had round cheeks and wore a leather cap which exemplified the roundness of his head. It was either that or budget Santa, although his bushy beard hadn¡¯t quite greyed yet. Once preparations were complete, it was my turn to have a gander at navigation. The explanation seemed simple enough - pick a direction, mind the mental compass, keep a steady pace and use time to gauge distance. It wasn¡¯t perfect but our estimated return coincided with nightfall, while the campfire served as a beacon for the final stretch. My assumption of all responsibility allowed Barry to focus his attention on ¡®his craft¡¯, at least until something particularly inventive popped into his head and he refused to keep it there. His hourly quips broke the monotony of scanning the craggy landscape for snakedrop-rocks, so I couldn¡¯t complain too much. ¡°How ya feel ¡®bout bein¡¯ vegan forever?¡± he said. ¡°What? We can make burgers.¡± ¡°Ain¡¯t from animals though.¡± ¡°Damn, you¡¯re right. Well, I had boar a while back.¡± ¡°Did ya keep any?¡± ¡°Nah, it¡¯s gone.¡± ¡°Vegan forever.¡± ¡°Well, fuck.¡± And back to grinding he went. Grid searching didn¡¯t prove difficult. We stuck to the ¡®zone edge¡¯ yesterday, so today we ranged a little deeper in a U-shaped pattern. This way we avoided revisiting cleared areas. Apparently said pattern lined up perfectly with our schedule, in theory. That let us optimally scour the Errant without running into too many unmerged ones ¨C they weren¡¯t hard to kill but the snaketails lashed out with enough force to deter me. However, Barry gave no shits whatsoever, he brazenly walked up and triggered some kind of mini-explosion just as his punches landed on the rock-parts. ¡°Huh, you just take the hits? How do you know so much about this place anyway? You said this expedition is a trial run.¡± I¡¯d asked before with regards to scheduling future trips. ¡°Easy, but I get why ya¡¯d be confused, this here¡¯s where I started after the reboot.¡± ¡°No shit? How¡¯d that go?¡± ¡°How¡¯d ya think? Wasn¡¯t actually so bad even if I was lost for a while, didn¡¯t take long before I met up with Kristen¡¯s gang. Camp¡¯s the spot where that happened, and why we got back to it now.¡± Aside from the ones, we ignored others that didn¡¯t look maxxed out. Barry insisted we ¡®let them cook¡¯. I cut the conversation short whenever another rock appeared. We spent the next four days repeating our routine, and then we called it quits at sixty kills plus the four we made on the trial run. The area had been more or less exhausted and the expedition slated to head back after another two days. I¡¯d spent as much of my personal mana as possible in favor of pocketing looted crystal. Barry promised to pay me what he owed once we got back to the village. Any wondering about what to do with my time or grumbling about interest were both pre-empted by another offer from Barry. ¡°Was gonna have some folks help me out a day in exchange for both my minin¡¯ shifts, but since ya stepped up there¡¯s no need, and I got no need for minin¡¯. Ya care for it as a bonus?¡± ¡°I¡¯d gladly take you up on that, only problem is - I don¡¯t have a pickaxe.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t ya worry, it¡¯s bein¡¯ shared so everyone can have a go. I¡¯ll let Viktor know to roster ya in.¡± And that was that. Barry had two shifts to share since he was a fervent negotiator, just as demanding as he was generous apparently, and those were some of the many terms he¡¯d set for coming out here as the group alchemist. The position hadn¡¯t been popular and the alchemy-tool shortage provided adequate leverage. Something to keep in mind. Mining turned out to be stressful as fuck. We hiked up the mountain towards the ¡®mother lode¡¯ zone. The area suffered from constant, if gentle, snowfall. Something about it bugged me, but I couldn¡¯t quite put my finger on it. At first it only seemed a minor annoyance, but it quickly dawned on me why this was a three man job. The poor visibility required someone, Bob, to scout for the next batch of clumped magisteel ore. My job consisted of hard labor, mining the piles of green veined rocks. Our last man, Viktor, chief organizer and expedition leader, watched my back. The need for his presence and the constant source of stress were one and the same.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. We were under continuous assault, every ten minutes or so, by one armed ice midgets. Those had a singular appendage, essentially a frozen spear, and they were eager to use it. They ambushed us by blindly charging in from the curtain of white. It was incredibly harrowing to just calmly ignore them and keep on pickaxing and I lost my focus several times, which meant starting over for some reason. After another mound wafted away, Viktor tossed me a quadruplet of magic ice cubes. ¡°Good for drinks! Will need when Barry finish prison wine. Otherwise go-¡± He mimed retching. ¡°Now back to work, no waste shift.¡± Viktor was a cheery fellow, if a bit bossy, and I suspected of Slavic origin. It wasn¡¯t so much the accent or the way he talked, more that he spent a lot of time squatting. The fact he wore trainer pants really completed the stereotype, further accented by his oval face, high cheekbones and overgrown buzz cut. Granted, the squat helped add heft to the throwing, his preferred method of attack with a magic-metal tipped spear - useful against the ice-lancers, as they had reach. I inquired after his class and he motioned holding a gun. It wasn¡¯t hard to piece together while he faked recoil and made throaty pew pew noises. Not to mention how he laughed heartily after proclaiming ¡®Bring gun to fistfight! But no gun¡¯ So he was a sniper. ¡°Can you show me what you can do? I¡¯m very curious.¡± He smiled brightly. ¡°Of course Viktor can show. Look!¡± He threw the spear at a very high angle after it flashed twice. Instead of following a parabola arc, it redirected down and to the left long before the apex. Instead of hitting the ground, it turned at another sharp angle and landed in the snowy ground right between my feet while my heart skipped a beat. ¡°Vik¡­ I¡¯m glad your aim is good, but maybe avoid having it land so close to me in the future, yeah?¡± ¡°Hah! It make demonstration better! Now pay ten crystal. Is price of showing. Also four for ice.¡± Goddamnit. Well, he hadn¡¯t partaken of the repair rush and his clothes weren¡¯t all there anymore. ¡°How about a free mending for a piece of clothing?¡± ¡®Mending¡¯ came out as a warble, but it didn¡¯t matter, he got the point. ¡°Also good!¡± Got it done, his ¡®favorite¡¯ hoody was now good as new. ¡°Now work or we too slow.¡± I had to finish up before Bob came back with the next location. My stash of green-veined metal had grown quite respectable after two days of nerve wracking labor and mistold jokes. One of the lidless personal storage crates in the mini-warehouse held all my crap. Only one thing eluded me - how the crew intended to carry the accumulated stockpile back to the village, days away. Vik ¡®solved¡¯ the puzzle for me. ¡°No worry, have plan. Also if steal I¡­¡± He made more throaty pew pew noises, pantomime aimed at my head. Easy there, cowboy. ¡°Got it, chief.¡± It felt a bit excessive, but I wasn¡¯t in charge. Whoever made the rules was probably well within their rights to upgrade larceny to a capital offense. Society¡¯s tolerance for bullshit had taken a marked nosedive, how long the draconian measures would last was another matter entirely. The latest fruits of my labor joined the rest, neatly packed away. Alas, no tents were available which forced me to spend the night next to the campfire again. I¡¯m too fucking old to be slumming it all the time. The sun passed its zenith on the morrow and we were ready to head out. For once a post-apocalyptic week had proven productive. My mana supply sat at 93, crystal money stash was a slightly disappointing 210, although Barry owed me 320 on top. Mending cartel profits hadn¡¯t gone into my pick, the excess siphoned off by my own need to repair clothes, but my whole outfit received a once-over at least. Six proper magic metal ingots kept my previously lonely small chunk company. It didn¡¯t take more than a few minutes to fuse the mined slivers together with my portable forge. A couple of dozen smacks got the job done, surprisingly enough. My stats had gone way the hell up. I leveled like a madman from our killing spree and was deep into superhuman territory now. Bolt didn¡¯t have shit on my sprints, or at least he wouldn¡¯t once I mastered the proper technique. For now my lead on him left something to be desired. At a whopping level 47, my physical power was at 18, my physical speed 115, with a physical endurance of 58 and a magical power of 104, while magical speed remained at 10. When magical endurance passed 100, now at 112, it caused an anomaly. My interface notation of ¡®temporary refilling energy reserve¡¯ had been replaced by ¡®internal energy reserve¡¯, with a cap of 112. The System once again forced me to walk back my shit-talk of its design skills. Even if the whole thing seemed very one-and-done so far, at least some thought had been put into it. Still lacking in the user-friendliness department though. The morning passed with frenzied activity, everyone worked together in harmony. Wasn¡¯t much of a surprise why people tended heavily towards close cooperation - few things were more effective at uniting people than a common enemy and shared misery. This development resulted in shit getting done, but it was also good news for me in particular. If I understood correctly from my one-man war against the automatic assault corridor, my primary damage output was magical. Because the ¡®magical¡¯ traps chipped my swords, it stood to reason that magical endurance mitigated damage of the same type. Incidentally, ME was the only stat under constant training, further pushed along by skill and ability use, and only three classes didn¡¯t get more from leveling. As a result, my effectiveness against the System empowered was likely to dwindle over time, putting me at a disadvantage. Conclusion: make friends or get my teeth kicked in. The hubbub finally culminated in a clever contraption, soliciting extended gawking from me. Our shared storage shed had been dismantled, and then reassembled into a wagon. The magic metal nails allowed for some very nifty shenanigans, extracting them from the wood caused the holes they left behind to close, leaving the material undamaged and ready for re-use. Incidentally, System-given forge tongs did so with little effort, latching on like a magnet, which sped up the process considerably. We were only missing wheels, but handles on our crate of loot solved the problem. Everyone, except for me and Vik, helped carry the luggage. I wondered what the village would be like. Apparently there wasn¡¯t much point in asking around, the consensus rang that it would have changed anyway by the time we got back, so the others shared my curiosity. However, first it was time for another long-ass walk, but at least I had company. Chapter 21: Civilization, again. Caravanning was boring, hence why we came up with a crappy song to break the monotony every now and then. We were close enough now, so we stopped and stared - the unspoken signal to start. ¡°Hey ho, hey ho, fuck ¡®em up as we go.¡± The beat picked up. ¡°Look at¡®im there, standin¡¯ all slick. Show this prick a brand new trick! As Viktor makes the throw, yo!¡± We all watched in silence. He scored a clean hit as usual, so we continued on. ¡°Bop, bop, bop¡­¡± The excitement faded and people broke off from the chorus. At least they declared me exempt from carrying duty, but also from getting paid for it. My offer of help, solely intended to make friends and avoid alienating people, was refused, which suited me just fine. Instead, my attention shifted to our ever-present enemies. The local Errant consisted of the same black vinesnap-traps that obstructed my nighttime travels after escaping the bamboo thicket. Viktor jogged back after running ahead to collect the loot, short stretches of greenish ¡®ropevine¡¯. I spent some time playing around with two pieces and had to admit it was neat stuff. Magic materials were truly magical, knotting two pieces turned it into one piece, reabsorbing the knot and refunding the length of it. Wanted it to be stretchy rope like climbing cord? Then it was. Didn¡¯t want any give? No problem¡­ Well, needed to let it go slack first though. Cut it up and put it back together again? No issues whatsoever. The possibilities were endless and once someone else figured them out, I¡¯d happily reap the benefits of their hard work. Vik unveiled the mystery of what had been bugging me all this time as well, once asked. ¡°Hey Vik, you¡¯re a smart man, have any ideas on what¡¯s going on with how far we can see?¡± Always butter up to leadership, that¡¯s how you got ahead in life. ¡°Is trick. See some thing but not other, look close when see next plant. Don¡¯t know why. Ask nerds when home. I think magic. Also planet maybe bigger.¡± ¡°Will do, thanks.¡± I kept a close eye on the horizon and then it dawned, only took being shoved into my face with absolutely nothing to distract me and a prompt from someone else before my mind really put it together. My visual range stretched excessively far, that much was obvious. What escaped my notice earlier was how the Errant just popped into existence from nothing, it should have been jarring but instead didn¡¯t register at all. Only actively searching for something odd seemed to mitigate that. So I saw very far unreliably, great. Thanks System. Some more prodding revealed those with a primary of six - so ME - were better at spotting Errant at a distance. Another song followed another kill. I had to admit, we lugged around an impressive haul of primarily magic materials. Not only could they be ¡®adjusted¡¯ to be lightweight with an appropriate crafting skill and tool, but they were relatively low-volume as well. Moreover, they didn¡¯t need processing or refining, which saved massively on labor efforts and material costs. We left behind some stacks of regular wood, arcane lumber and green nails for the next group. They¡¯d refurbish the camp with those supplies. Aside from a stash of ingots, we had a stockpile of mystic rope, magic leather and regular hides, a box of greenly ice cubes and a small fortune in crystal cash, the monies were government owned though. While tax evasion appealed, I threw in a tenner as a show of good faith. Shared burdens make lighter loads, and friends. The presence of hides prompted me to inquire after meat and it turned out most Errant were somewhat edible, if you could stomach the taste and manage to keep it down - not an easy task, apparently. It also tired you out rapidly and bunnycrab proved more exception than rule, so steak didn¡¯t make the menu since the whole point of these trips revolved around productivity. Post-apocalyptic society was all about that efficiency, much the same as the old world. Right now our goal was to finish the entire walk to the village in one stretch, with short breaks for junk food lunches. We¡¯d even march through the night, guided by persistent cantrip flares. Pure mages had it especially rough due to their lack of natural physical endurance, but neither the rigors of travel nor the harsh, presumably cold, wind bothered our group too much. Folk were smarter than I typically gave them credit for though, general wisdom concurred that training physical stats made for a better life, and a longer one. The type of people who survived the new beginnings, rolled with what happened and crowded the front of the queue in pioneering a labor camp, in the fuck-all middle of nowhere, were incidentally the kind of people who acted on said wisdom. Who¡¯da thunk? Landmine flora filled the flat tundra plains as far as the eye could see. They weren¡¯t so dense on our path and nearly absent close to the expedition camp, nicknamed ¡®the Farm¡¯. If this kept going the uncleared parts would get flooded over time. A few vinesnaps were a lot bigger than the rest too, one more question for Vik. The rest weren¡¯t in the mood to talk, even Barry had shut up. That wasn¡¯t much of a surprise though - people could only handle so many grueling workdays for so long until everyone turned into a singing zombie.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. I passed Vik the pipe. ¡°How high does the merging of these things go?¡± He took three quick puffs followed by a drag and a long exhale. ¡°They go to fifty. Is worry for later. Another reason for Farm. Keep path open. But Mel have gardening plan, keep under control, yes?¡± Concerning indeed. I spotted another, bigger flower bundle and took the opportunity to range out towards it. There were two central flowers, both low to the ground. Those were the parts Viktor targeted with his throws. A wooden cube flew out and triggered the living trap. Damn. My reaction time and any related aspects improved as my physical speed went up and the effect had become quite pronounced by now. Despite my massive gains, the lattice snapped with ludicrous speed and like before it reset in seconds. The angry plant had gotten smarter, it only triggered after the cube reached a little ways in. Bad sign. At least the featureless tundra dirt and unnatural blackness of the vines made them relatively easy to pick out. I might have been guilty of not giving supernatural bullshit the credit it was due. A report detailing everything up north to our head of state seemed appropriate. A lady called Melinda held the position - mayor, possibly competent, and appointed on account of being buddy buddy with Kristen Kristen was the real big shot of our community - marine, killing machine, and apparently someone who had no problems with nepotism. The two hadn¡¯t known each other before the end, no one knew anyone in fact. It was a sore spot for most and, along with anything pre-Godstrike, a minor taboo to talk about. Still, they just clicked. Kristen¡¯s skillset transferred well enough that she became the strongest person in town damn near immediately. Some gossip even made the rounds about what her level would be when we got back, popular guesses pegged her around late-eighties. Everyone started socializing again during our early morning lunch break. A ginormous lake in the lessening distance signaled that we were close to town. Work nearing its end always made people lively. ¡°I don¡¯t get it. If she¡¯s constantly out killing stuff, wouldn¡¯t she be a lot higher?¡± I said while Barry passed the pipe to Bob. ¡°Ya thinkin¡¯ wrong, she ain¡¯t out alone. Got a group, means she gotta share. Can¡¯t have someone hoggin¡¯ everythin¡¯ for themselves, eh?¡± Barry said. Bob chimed in after passing it to me. ¡°Mel and Kris want everyone to get stronger. They think things are going to get worse soon. It¡¯s not just the plants you and Viktor were talking about. Right now the Errant are closer to a hazard. The message said they were threat, that we would need power. Most agree it¡¯s a warning.¡± Smoke accented my words. ¡°To be fair, the System¡¯s also frequently full of shit. Half this stuff doesn¡¯t make any sense. But better safe than sorry I guess.¡± Ah, familiar bossy yelling cut the conversation short. ¡°Break over! Is time for marching!¡± I emptied the pipe, tapping it against my shoe and returned it to Bob. We all exchanged nods and took positions. The density of vinesnap-traps decreased rapidly the closer we got. The village slowly sprung up in the distance. We arrived late afternoon, rather than in the middle of the night, thanks to our relentless pace. Exploration tempted me but would have to wait until tomorrow, probably wouldn¡¯t take very long either but settling in took priority. But my first order of business was reporting to Melinda, the chief nepotism officer. Viktor had gone on ahead for similar reasons. The entire village was pretty¡­ much just a collection of wooden buildings and muddy pass-throughs. At least they kept the squalor in check, didn¡¯t smell much worse than your average outdoor festival. There were some bigger buildings in the center, smaller ones on the outskirts, and outbuildings away from the village. No guards or walls, except for a singular, multi-story watchtower. About half the buildings were ramshackle, while the other half looked pretty sturdy. Worksites abounded and the place reminded me of a buzzing beehive, people keeping busy all over the place - mostly. We brought our palanquin of goods to the central warehouse. I said my goodbyes to most while hanging around with Barry and Bob for another smoke. Viktor hadn¡¯t finished his report yet, so a tiny bit of exploration happened anyway. Since Barry promised to share his lodgings with me, he tagged along and pointed things out here and there - de-zombified once more. ¡°Them there¡¯s the longhouses. It¡¯s where ya¡¯d be sleepin¡¯ as a new arrival.¡± These piqued my curiosity, as they¡¯d come up in conversation before. I stood firmly in the camp of rebelling against our apparent powerlessness and had difficulty believing that many did not give a damn. ¡°More people than I expected, doing nothing. They just give up then?¡± ¡°Some folks havin¡¯ a harder time adjustin¡¯ than others. Mel¡¯s trynna get everyone somethin¡¯ to do but they gotta want it. I know it ain¡¯t easy but there¡¯s no denyin¡¯ that the only thing to do with the past is to let it go. Otherwise future¡¯s gonna end up the same.¡± ¡°Well shit, yeah. Maybe a bit fucked but I¡¯m glad not to be sleeping there, the depression feels contagious.¡± Everyone hurt badly, but Barry was right. ¡°Nah, I get ya. Accordin¡¯ to Bob, Mel¡¯s gonna put ¡®em to work at some point. They¡¯re bein¡¯ housed and fed, but the charity can¡¯t last forever.¡± One of our earlier smoking circle discussions revealed that Round Bob worked for Mel as part of the community outreach and employment program. He hadn¡¯t been shy talking about it either, dude had a wife and four kids and was understandably devastated for a while, but then he picked himself back up. ¡°Can¡¯t do anything but make sure I stay alive,¡± he¡¯d said. His situation shed some unexpected light on my own mental state. All things considered, my losses were relatively light, even though it felt wrong to think so. I¡¯d quickly reached for survival as an excuse and further developments had given me no reason to stop writing everyone off. The callousness didn¡¯t escape me, but such were the times. We¡¯re all a little crazy now. Vik returned and cut the sightseeing short, directing me to the central compound. It was the one-stop-shop for all affairs communal. Seat of government, personal storage crates for the homeless and the village treasury, all rolled into one ¨C it saved on guards having it all together. The place had a medium sized brown wooden block as a centerpiece with two smaller squares and two much lengthier rooms attached. Bland was apparently not just popular among the underground geography. We scraped most of the mud off our shoes before continuing. Best to stay polite. ¡°Ya go on in, remember to knock. Mel¡¯s office ¡®s over there.¡± He pointed towards the outermost small room. ¡°I got business by the treasury. Meet ya back here.¡± ¡°Sure, see you in a bit.¡± I knocked on the door. ¡°New arrival here, name¡¯s Gabriel.¡± The door opened and she waved me inside. ¡°Come on in. Viktor told me to be expecting you. I¡¯m Melinda. Please, have a seat.¡± Didn¡¯t like her one bit, she reminded me of corporate snakes ¨C like me. Chapter 22: Interview ¡°Right, pleased to meet you.¡± Melinda obliged me with a handshake and I stole a good look at her. She wore a black turtleneck with jeans, all old world wear. Her blond hair was bundled up in a ponytail and she had freckled cheeks with blue eyes to compliment them - those had the telltale glint of a functional brain behind them. Her button nose completed her innocent appearance, although she radiated an aura of being all business. Based the conclusion on the baggy eyes, the office being full of stuff, and that I¡¯d been told so before. She offered me a seat, which was just a log, and sat down on a real chair, behind her real desk, full of real documents with black writing visible on the wrappers, and a rune pen holding the pile down. Oh. She gave me a once over. ¡°Viktor told me he¡¯d brought you up to speed, is that correct?¡± It was - do crime, receive disproportional punishment. Didn¡¯t like how things were run? Kristen took all complaints. Just had to listen to the government, pay my taxes, and vote for the party. Dissidence was treason, yada yada. ¡°I¡¯ve got the gist of it.¡± ¡°Excellent. I¡¯m going to need some basic information from you.¡± She handed me an empty wrapper and the pen. ¡°Write down your full name, class primaries, and current level. Leave a row of empty space for revisions, which profession you chose on level five, address ¨C I understood you¡¯d be staying with Barry, so that would be South Seven ¨C and the names of any family members and close friends please.¡± I returned the rune pen so she could get off my back and used my own instead. ¡°Oh, if you don¡¯t mind, could you drop that off here when you¡¯re not using it? You can pick it up anytime, of course.¡± And I¡¯ll fucking hate it whenever you do. ¡°Sure thing.¡± I filled out a side and handed it back to her. She took the liberty of reading through it. ¡°Same as Jerry, we can use that. Well, you¡¯re off to a good start. Damn it.¡± That was near the end. ¡°Something wrong?¡± Besides your copycat style, way to be original. ¡°No, but because of your late arrival I hoped to see some familiar names.¡± So Mel read literally everyone¡¯s sheet like it was her personal NSA database. Industrious, that evoked some approval from me. But not much. ¡°Speaking of, there¡¯s some stuff that you should probably know about the North.¡± She listened patiently to all the tales of my survival adventure, significantly embellished of course. ¡°That¡¯s... Well, the information is useful, although I don¡¯t think there¡¯s much we can act on here.¡± She put a little green metal pin on a makeshift chart. ¡°Mind if I take a look?¡± She waved me forward, all agreeable. Didn¡¯t trust that at all. It was a distribution of levels among the village. Mine stood surprisingly far above average, for now. She provided some unasked-for commentary that there would be a spike as the other happy campers returned from their expeditions over the next day or so. Our group hadn¡¯t fully updated either. Wild estimation indicated that I¡¯d probably end up only slightly ahead of the curve. She interrupted my musings on objective superiority. ¡°I know you only just got here, but I have a task I¡¯d like to assign. You would be compensated with exemption from the next wave of community service and a token salary.¡± Taxation, community service¡­ As if it wasn¡¯t enough to steal my wealth, she eyed my time too. ¡°Depends, what do you have in mind?¡± No, fuck off. She explained, which shed some light on how they managed the crystal supply, and now the level curve. Our currency had a strong deflationary aspect, econ speak for one step short of unusable. But an obvious solution existed, sending a group of people into the Underway - the local name for the mazing tunnels ¨C and intentionally setting off the swarm-mode. After that they only needed to keep up with slaughtering them. Some random folks were also added to the kill-team, taking potshots. The government regulated the shit out of it and voila. The recipe resulted in a cake of government income with population wide benefits, seasoned with some theft and nominal slavery. And thus a successful banana republic was born. I didn¡¯t want any part of this, had no objections against the mode of government, but volunteer work wasn¡¯t my style. ¡°Uhm, I don¡¯t think I¡¯m a good fit for the kill-team.¡± Finally that frozen expression of hers showed some change, not to my benefit alas. She leered at me like a predator considering a snack. Yep, corporate snake. ¡°But you¡¯re the same class as Jerry, and he excels at clearing out lesser Errant. Not everyone with the same class can do the same things but by and large the roles are similar.¡± I won¡¯t take no for an answer, you mean. ¡°Well, I don¡¯t know about him.¡± Screw that dude, no one was like me - I was unique, just like everybody else. ¡°But I¡¯m more of an anti-tank rifle I guess?¡± So try not to piss me off too much, eh? ¡°Give me something tough and I¡¯ll put a hole in it. What you¡¯re describing would pretty much just get me killed.¡± I¡¯d actually given some thought to what my role was supposed to be in a group setting, and reached the conclusion that hanging in the back, shooting, and then fucking off sounded ideal. Her face was a carousel of expressions.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. ¡°Show me.¡± I don¡¯t believe you. My sword appeared and floated while I made a gun pantomime accompanied by pew pew noises, then extended my hand along with a homemade whoosh sound effect. Unbeknownst to them, every five year old that had ever lived carried the secret on how to circumvent the censorship committee. She understood. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ very different.¡± Too stupid to make up. ¡°Didn¡¯t they mention a doubles theory¡­? Alright, never mind in that case. I¡¯ll be expecting you to show up for community service on the thirtieth. That¡¯s a few days from now. I¡¯ll send someone for you if I need anything else. Any questions?¡± Didn¡¯t want the carrot? Have a stick. It was time to get away from this serpent. ¡°I¡¯m good, thanks. I¡¯ll let myself out.¡± She didn¡¯t even get up for a handshake, just a nod. What a shame, made me feel like runescribing¡­ a lot. Barry waited in the central area and he immediately set himself on an intercept course after I closed the door behind me.. ¡°Sure took ya long enough. Everythin¡¯ went well with Mel?¡± ¡°Tried to put me to work, but I got out of it. Your place next?¡± ¡°Good for ya, lets pick up our stuff from the warehouse first.¡± With our crates in hand, we nearly headed off towards South Seven. ¡°Hold on a sec, I want to check things out for a bit.¡± ¡°Do what ya gotta do, we got time.¡± I dropped my luggage at the base and climbed up the watchtower to have a proper gander at our surroundings. Had to push through my mounting anxiety while climbing the ladder, two stories might¡¯ve been underselling it. The lord of the tower accosted me immediately. He was clad in street wear, with a hide parka and a leather cap on top. It was really windy up here. Dude definitely dressed like a guard albeit a bit silly. His shoulder length black hair escaped from under the hat and almost obscured his face by constantly flapping in front of it, but the sun scarred Hispanic origin shone through regardless. ¡°Hey, just having a look-see, new arrival and all. Name¡¯s Gabriel.¡± He nodded in the affirmative. ¡°Carlos.¡± Chatty fellow, should make friends with the System. Well, at least the surroundings weren¡¯t bland. The village was quite a ways away from anything. At least there were no Errant in sight. To the west we had the good ol¡¯ river, thinner here. Couldn¡¯t make out anything beyond tundra wasteland across it. A lake of astronomical size dominated the south. Eastward the waters edge gently rounded off towards the south, where the once-flowery tundra wasteland made way for a sandy stretch which continued on in the distance, made for prime beach front real-estate. The remainder of anything notable was towards the far, far north, where an ever-widening stretch of forest spread. Couldn¡¯t actually see anything except for a small bit, but had been told about the rest. A stony peak popped up over the horizon. Mel had explained that it contained an extremely narrow path leading to a stairway down. The far distance showed only mountain ranges. Everything else was bland and I quickly lost interest. A quick ¡®I¡¯m heading off again, have a nice day.¡¯ and another nod later left me stuck hesitating. My heart rate spiked while the looming drop twisted and shifted. A sneaking suspicion crawled through my head, that I would have to get over my fear of heights sooner rather than later. Unguided exposure therapy was only effective at fortifying trauma, but even if a therapist popped up somewhere the waiting list would likely be even worse than it had been pre-Godstrike. Also, fuck therapy ¨C I refused to pay good money only to get nothing in return. At least my buddy cheered me on. ¡°Do a flip!¡± Barry proved an expert at soliciting for middle fingers. I jumped and the ground sped up towards me amidst rushing air. It was a goddamn harrowing experience. Nailed the landing at least, should¡¯ve probably rolled though. The impact shook me to my core, but it only hurt a little. One of the benefits everyone now enjoyed was that tumbles and scrapes didn¡¯t do anything but ruin your clothes. The jury was still out on how far that could be pushed, and it depended on physical endurance, but if you could survive it before then it likely wouldn¡¯t hurt you¡­ much. I felt calmer now that it was over. We lugged our crates to the south part of town. Barry¡¯s place didn¡¯t look shoddy at all, a welcome relief. It had a larger center room with two smaller side rooms and boarded windows here and there, with a lockless lift-and-slide door. The inside had been sparsely furnished with a desk, some shelves, a chair, more sliding doors, a greenly barrel and an overwhelming smell of rotting fruit. I gagged and pinched my nose. ¡°What the fuck is that smell?¡± I said nasally. Barry took a long, enthusiastic whiff. A contented smile appeared on his mug shot of a face. ¡°That, my friend, is pruno. Lil¡¯ project o¡¯ mine, recipe courtesy of Vik. Should be ¡®bout ready. Ya want a taster?¡± ¡°Holy shit no, distill it first. Anywhere but here.¡± ¡°An¡¯ how ya expect me to do that? No can do my friend, this be the best we gettin¡¯¡± ¡°Well shit, fine.¡± Beggars and choosers. We stashed our stuff first in one of the smaller rooms, a dedicated storage area. The other was Barry¡¯s bedroom. I could sleep in the main room. Despite the designation there wasn¡¯t an actual bed. Treasury let me bum some hides to use as padding and cover. My winter jacket did better duty as a pillow - the cold didn¡¯t really bother me anyway so comfort won out. Barry fished out a paper cup worth of red liquid disgust only made appealing by its alcohol content. Even untrained pure mages and idlers barely fell ill, so we weren¡¯t overly worried. He had a skill for brewing, the barrel was the tool. That said, some powdered crystal in the mix made the alcohol content shoot way up, a story told by the smell. We both popped some mcd¡¯s into existence, and then we ate the whole burger although we only finished half the coke. Had to mix our drinks or relinquish any chance of keeping them down. Barry raised his paper cup. ¡°To a successful experiment.¡± ¡°Cheers.¡± My eyes watered and my mouth filled with saliva as I held my breath, it tasted like shit and piss. It only took about a minute for the feeling, a hard burn and a bad aftertaste, to pass. Barry had seconds, making faces. ¡°Ooh yeah, this here¡¯s the good stuff,¡± he coughed, ¡°gotta be 60 proof at least,¡± he said, wheezing. ¡°I¡¯m more of a whiskey guy, but booze is booze. I¡¯ll take what I can get.¡± Drinking the prison wine was an effort. I finished it up with the second swig while Barry started on thirds. Neither of us had gone easy on ourselves, probably part of why it was horrible - but it was better to bite the bullet. Another minute of making faces finished the nightcap. I bid Barry goodnight, grabbed my ¡®bedding¡¯ and climbed onto the roof by using the handy ladder, affixed to the townward side of the building. The stench inside was unbearable and it hadn¡¯t rained so far. Fortunately the alcohol worked just fine and a pleasant buzz eased me into slumber. Chapter 23: Shopping Darkness welcomed my awakening. Fucking 30 hour days. At least Barry kept the windows open throughout the night. He also did me a solid by making breakfast, porridge, a tomato and a few pickles. My order of business was exercise in the form of lifting makeshift weights, stretching and jogging around our outskirts. The run also helped me to get a decent overview of the village. Bothering Bob for his pipe followed my morning exercise. Sunrise was well under way by now. My mana bar was close to max, which prompted me to drop off an extra magic sword at home. They didn¡¯t seem to suffer from any distance between us. Coincidentally Barry made good on his debt, leaving me 200 crystal richer. He needed to cash in his growth stones with alchemy before I¡¯d see the rest. We negotiated that my share of the ¡®profits¡¯ would be paid out in tobacco and alcohol, an agreeable arrangement for both of us. My newfound disposable capital spawned a whole laundry list that needed sorting, including literal laundry. Starting a mending cartel had been on the top, but the government offered the service at cost. Disgusting. Cantrips were all over the place and hard to talk about, but word spread regardless and the improvised signs helped. Most minor magic wasn¡¯t really suitable as a service though, and browsing through them landed on the backburner. Right now however, it was time to pick some new skills. My current set of stat-links resulted in a full supply chain, more or less, and there were abundant opportunities to practice them. I had two open spots, magical power and speed, with the latter being of lesser importance. Thus, my path brought me to the government building again, filled with the village stockpiles, including skill-sheets. A clerk greeted me upon arrival. ¡°Hey there, you the new guy?¡± she said. ¡°Yeah, name¡¯s Gabriel. Pleasure to meet you.¡± She was about my age, with shoulder length wavy blond hair and heterochromia ¨C one blue, one green. It made her eyes captivating to look at, the rest of her features were pretty too. ¡°I¡¯m Jen,¡± she rose from her desk and walked over without breaking eye contact, then shook my hand, ¡°what brings you to my dark and lonely cubicle?¡± Ah, a sense of humor. ¡°Just here to liven your day, figured I¡¯d put my old skills of misery management to use and you seemed like you were in need of ¡®em.¡± ¡°Yeah, office life isn¡¯t what it used to be. At least we had coffee.¡± ¡°Look at the bright side, leadership is just as bitchy. Small comforts, eh?¡± She chuckled. ¡°Yeah, ditch the good and keep the bad. Anyway, what can I do you for?¡± ¡°I reckon a wink and a smile would probably get the job done, but jokes aside, I¡¯m looking to pad out my skills.¡± We traded small talk on our way to the pictogram repository and she gave me a recommendation, enchanting specifically, while searching for the sheet. ¡°Not sure about that, I already have a post-processing skill. Feels like I should expand my horizons a bit.¡± ¡°Might be a decent start to actually know what you¡¯re talking about first then, don¡¯t you think?¡± ¡°Oh? Enlighten me with your boundless knowledge, o wise lady of the treasury.¡± ¡°You really love kissing ass, don¡¯t you? Lucky for you, it¡¯s working. Here have a look.¡± Oh, hell yes. My skepticism made way for excitement and Jen was almost as happy to have proven me wrong as I was from her having done so. Enchanting had real potential. Unlike my other skills, this one came with options, both in applicable tools and materials. The example presented three methods, the top one showed a knife, a small chunk of wood and a picture of a goddamn horse. Could¡¯ve used this a long time ago. The other two demonstrated combinations of a chisel plus stone and a file with metal, all of them led to the equine result. Carving was fun, but also easy to do on the fly, while the material requirements were low. According to Jen, who also dabbled in enchanting together with government employed alchemy, adding detail improved the final product. Once done to satisfaction, all that remained was to infuse some energy from your personal supply. How much it took depended on how long the product had been worked, one per hour, and then you threw the fucking thing. Doing so manifested it, made out of your chosen material, significantly enlarged and with a duration equal to the cost. There was an unmentioned control element as well, the enchantments accepted mental commands and followed them to the best of their ability. Jen accepted my profuse thanks in properly condescending manner. Nice lady.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. The treasury also doubled as a trading house by providing an alternative for running all over the place searching for people with the right things. It also functioned as a vehicle to regulate the local economy, characterized by shortages of pretty much everything but especially magic metal. The situation wasn¡¯t quite as drastic with the return of the expedition camps, but I bagged a sweet deal on two ingots and was now well supplied with magical wood and greenish leather ¨C those were relatively common. We said our goodbye¡¯s when another villager imposed on her time. My revised list sent me a stone¡¯s throw away to the windy open-air village foundry, just a bunch of lined up free use portable forges, muddy plank flooring and a long rack of extra tools. Some people were actually producing while others remade the same thing over and over for the sake of stats. My hesitation attracted attention and a dude with a mullet haircut and obviously bleached teeth approached me with a big smile. ¡°Oi. You lost or just aimless?¡± He spoke loudly, with a heavy British accent. The constant smashing, clanging and sizzling forced me to shout as well. ¡°Hey, name¡¯s Gabriel, mostly unsure where to begin. I¡¯m new here and all, never did any smithing before either.¡± ¡°Jared,¡± he ushered me to an empty spot to set up my own mini-smithy, ¡°I¡¯ll show you the basics, you looking to make something or reinforce what you have?¡± Once again, new world nuances escaped me. Repeatedly reforging something actually made it stronger and the System did a lot of the heavy lifting while compensating for any unintentional inaccuracies. Jared explained the gist of it. Just a hammer and tongs weren¡¯t quite enough, needed to supplement them with home-made separate tools for sharpening, shaping, and so forth. An example rack had everything and it took most of the afternoon to make them. My magic cooling liquid ran out halfway but a tenner in crystal fixed the issue, only needed to touch the round trough and think about it. By then some shouts announced mealtime, free porridge. Our equivalent of food stamps didn¡¯t appeal, which led to a repeat of breakfast at Barry¡¯s and more smoking with round Bob, who¡¯d been invited. While most didn¡¯t return, the industrious kept going after dinner, me included. It took until early evening but I succeeded in making the blade of a planned hunting and carving knife. Barry had a friend named Jeb who was passionate about this kind of stuff and had turned his residence into a workshop. A heavy drawl answered my knock, even worse than Barry¡¯s. ¡°C¡¯mon in.¡± ¡°Hey there, B. told me you could help me out with something.¡± He embodied the epitome of a hillbilly. ¡°O¡¯really? He ain¡¯t the type to send folks over unless it¡¯s business. Whad¡¯da¡¯ya got fer me?¡± I couldn¡¯t resist. ¡°Lots but let¡¯s start small. If you don¡¯t mind satisfying my curiousity, what did you do before all this?¡± He ignored my faux-pas. ¡°Nothin¡¯ much. Mostly spent my time connoisseur¡¯in. Well? Git on with it.¡± Fine appreciation for what, crystal meth? His teeth were a mess. ¡°Ah, I had a few nice paintings, never much of a wine guy though but knew a fair bit about whiskey. Where¡¯d your taste land? Here you go.¡± I walked over and held out my amateur project. ¡°Ya wudn¡¯t get it, lemme see that.¡± He grabbed it, turning it over to one side, then the other at eye-height. ¡°Is alright, 20c should¡¯do it.¡± After taking my money, he dropped it on his table and sat down, back at work. ¡°Ya can have it back t¡¯morrow.¡± ¡°Alright man, have a great one. Looking forward to it.¡± ¡°Aye, same to ya.¡± He didn¡¯t spare me a glance, Barry had assured me Jeb was the best but my doubts lingered regardless. Night replaced dusk and the village buzz died down, signaling me to pick up my rune pen from Mel¡¯s office. Couldn¡¯t sleep and spent the dark hours practicing my System-ordained desk job. The pen had a glow at the tip, suited for scratching at the plate despite a lack of external light and the work absorbed my full attention. Then dawn approached. I didn¡¯t bother returning the pen, but did borrow Bob¡¯s pipe after finishing my exercise routine, then revisited Jeb after giving Barry my piece of magic bamboo, for distillation purposes. He¡¯d already finished my knife and it was astonishingly well put together. Everything fit perfectly, the handle smoothly wrapped in leather. He even modified my basic design by adding a serrated back for the cool-factor. My doubts had been replaced with satisfaction, this result earned Jeb a shopping spree. I played with my new toy, switching grips over and over. ¡°This is really nice. Thanks man.¡± He was clearly a little smug about it but tried not to show it. ¡°Wudn¡¯t do it if I wasn¡¯t good. Anythin¡¯ else?¡± No shit. ¡°Got a pretty big list of what I need. You up for it?¡± ¡°Dont¡¯cha worry. I hafta help ¡®morrow but all¡¯a¡¯y¡¯all jump to the front afta¡¯that,¡± he said. The accent annoyed the crap out of me but his excellent craftsmanship and friends-first policy made it tolerable. ¡°Great, here¡¯s what I had in mind¡­¡± My order ate up all my magic materials aside from two ingots, eleven bonemetal plates reserved for a special sword, and 300 crystal for both labor and any missing requirements. The damage felt light, relatively speaking. Especially after adding a rush job, which Jeb agreed to and expected to finish by evening ¨C turning my looted bone into a pipe, wasn¡¯t quite ivory but close enough. The rest would have to wait. He immediately began reorganizing his desk. ¡°Ain¡¯t that the berries. Let¡¯cha know when I¡¯m done with the big order.¡± ¡°All right man, see you soon then.¡± I spent the rest of the day smithing, the evening drawing and the night sleeping. The next two days were a disappointing prospect, since they would be dedicated towards community service, most likely building homes and whatever amenities had been determined a priority. Preferably I¡¯d find some way to contribute that benefitted me personally as well. Chapter 24: One-pub-crawl The crack of dawn arrived and mandated slave labor beckoned. A detour brought me to Jeb¡¯s place to pick up my brand new pipe and the model it was based on, then another sent me to Bob¡¯s home, but he¡¯d already left. I found him volunteering and returned it, along with a batch of tobacco. Mel immediately cornered me for my pen, although it would be switching hands again soon enough. Then she put me to work like the brutal taskmaster she was. My hopes for private gain were dashed, replaced by a sentence. Hard labor. My primary of physical speed didn¡¯t strike me as particularly construction-friendly, but reality proved me wrong again. Cutting wood into planks, beams and assorted necessities with floating magic swords was hyper-efficient and I ended up doing exactly that for two days, for twenty hours a day. The monotony of cut this, cut that, numbed me out of my mind. Three workdays in one now, just getting worse and worse. Our village took a massive step forward. Multiple rows of residences were added and the smithing area got some walls to mitigate the perpetual draft. Major trades like cooking combined with alchemy, leatherworking and carpentry all got their designated buildings, mostly to escape the noise and crowding. Minor altercations had occasionally broken out and the draconian measures had not been enforced. Leadership probably understood that it was inevitable, we were a month into the post-Godstrike era but everyone still remembered how things used to be and craved those old world luxuries, however much in vain. Unfortunately housing allocations went by order of arrival, leaving me at the end of the queue. Mel informed me upon inquiry that payment was certainly an option to jump it. Fat chance, look at what happened to my last house. A single aspect of good governance prevailed though, amenities. We had a pub now, and that was the only thing that mattered. It didn¡¯t take long before the place filled up as the preferred destination after community service, even though they only served porridge and McMoonshine ¨C whatever random alcohol people had made, mixed with coke and served in paper cups. We weren¡¯t paying for more than coke with Barry having brought his own barreled booze. Its inaugural evening started with a grand toast and one free drink on the house. The place was packed. A bar offered a long line of seats and tables with stools dotted the open room. Best of all, there were no rules against smoking indoors. Silver linings. We grabbed a table with four seats in a corner. There, my pipe made a never-ending circle while we aspired to get fucking hammered. The air took on a smoky sheen and eventually I excused myself from the table with Jeb, Vik and B. once they started getting tipsy. It was getting harder and harder to understand them and sloshing green cubes around in my cup quickly lost its appeal. A few hours had gone by and our watering hole remained lively, even if many had already gone home. Partaking wasn¡¯t particularly cheap for those who hadn¡¯t brought their own booze, the fools. My timing turned out to be impeccable, as two of Jen¡¯s friends left her alone at the bar while she yelled "Byeee C-C!". My buddies lamented the loss of the smoking tool, then forgot about it and me about three seconds later when the world lurched after I stood up and made my way over to Jen. ¡°Heya, this seat taken?¡± I gestured at the high stool next to her, graciously avoiding a stumble. ¡°Yeah, fuck off,¡± she deadpanned, and then her serious expression broke into a smile. ¡°Nah, I¡¯m kidding. You can have it if you buy me a drink. Don¡¯t think they¡¯ll let you take it home though.¡± She pulled it back a bit. Good, might¡¯ve made a fool of myself otherwise. ¡°Think they can stop me? Let them try. I¡¯ll take the chairs, the booze, everything. Make a club out of the bar and throw you over my shoulder, stride over to my cave and pass out in my own puke, like a real man.¡± My proclamation of manhood was followed by a double order. Jen perked up when she caught mention of Barry¡¯s barrel. A heavy gulp and strained expressions stole her wit. ¡°Bet you were disappointed at class selection.¡± She blinked a few times. ¡°Yeah, dumb-fuck barbarian wasn¡¯t an option, but I won¡¯t let that stop me. You wouldn¡¯t know of any good caves nearby? Maybe with a bear or two to wrestle? Hard to follow through before I find those.¡± ¡°Yeah, because that¡¯s what¡¯s stopping you,¡± she made another face, ¡°Fuck, I miss gin. Looks like your nighttime plans are accurate at least.¡± She eyed my pipe like a mad animal when I pulled it out. ¡°No shit, I liked my whiskey smooth and soft. Pretty sure this piss would be poison without the alcohol. You smoke?¡±If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°Whenever I can, which has been never lately.¡± ¡°Yeah, involuntary quitting sucks. Here, have at it.¡± Her chin rose in the air proportionally to the length of her drag and she blew great rings out towards the ceiling. We settled into a comfortable rhythm of making fun of others interrupted by increasingly strenuous efforts to hold down the swill, and then trading stories. ¡°How¡¯d they get away with cooping a barrel if metal was being rationed anyway?¡± She laughed before continuing and slapped the table once, nearly bouncing our drinks. ¡°Hah! You should¡¯ve seen Mel when she found out. Stormed up to Jeb like she¡¯d finally found out who put that stick up her arse.¡± I laughed too much and too loudly, then collected myself. ¡°Oh shit, did she pull it out and beat him with it?¡± She chuckled even though it wasn¡¯t that funny ¡°Barely. She and Kris had a ten minute talk about it, couldn¡¯t catch what they said but there was a shout or two.¡± ¡°Well, town¡¯s lively at least. Shame she put the stick back in.¡± A swig ended my sentence. And started hers. ¡°Think she just needs to relax a little more and it won¡¯t be so bad.¡± ¡°You gonna tell her that? I fucking won¡¯t, she hates my guts already.¡± Everything became slurred and blurred, we randomly changed topics until Jen, the lightweight, decided to settle down for the night. The goodbye¡¯s lasted far longer than they should have. Once she was gone, I spotted a group of five playing a drinking game, there wasn¡¯t much else going on. ¡°Helloes, saw you guys were at a game, mind if I join in?¡± The table seated five in total, excluding me. Only one of them looked up, like some kind of designated speaker. Another coughed when he spotted my lit pipe, never mind that the entire bar had taken on the tell-tale blue haze of contained chain smoking hours ago. Their rep was somehow both short and lanky with an overgrown five-o-clock shadow that covered half his face like a mask and without any looks to write home about. What he lacked in build he made up for with enthusiasm. ¡°Oh. I understand why you would think that. But we¡¯re doing something different. We¡¯re talking and using it to lay out our skill descriptions so we can compare. Not very efficient, but it¡¯s fun. We take turns talking and if the right word comes up you slap the table and have a shot. Over time we piece together the descriptions.¡± Ah, the nerds. ¡°Aw a shame, I¡¯m too drunk to keep up with that, man. Say, you guys uncover anything interesting so far?¡± I said, in an attempt to derail their efforts towards something a little less boring. The talky one didn¡¯t seem to care. ¡°Most of it is still very vague, but we have some reasonable estimates. Did you have anything specific in mind?¡± Hadn¡¯t thought that far ahead, in my experience drinking and thinking didn¡¯t mix. Then again, the same could be said of prison wine and coke. And look at us now. ¡°Nope, maybe something that you thought was interesting?¡± A quick signal had the barkeep bring us a refill, hopefully smoothing out my rough arrival with the cadre. ¡°Oh. I think the skills are fascinating. Almost everyone picked different ones, but even when they have a shared one, we¡¯re seeing completely different things within the same classes, yet they¡¯re balanced out in the end. The tags are all over the place, but people always end up with a solid, well rounded set. Of course, for the pures it¡¯s different because they already start well-rounded. The dichotomy of specialized abilities being rounded out with skills and general abilities being rounded out with specialized skills ¨C that¡¯s with regard to function by the way, usually offence, defense, mobility or denial thereof - combined with the crafting synergies we¡¯re barely beginning to discover and how stats both signal potential and fill in some of the blanks all support our hypothesis that¡­¡± I tuned out, only half of it made sense anyway. Nods and smiles were my only answers to his unending rants. The dude just droned on and on, earning him a personal nickname: Breathless. He finally finished, giving me a chance to escape. ¡°Huh, that is interesting. Bit much for me to handle though, but it sounds like you guys are making great strides. Uhh, I¡¯ve kept you all for far too long already and I¡¯m getting tired. Have a good one guys and gal, cheers.¡± It wasn¡¯t a bad topic, but the cliff notes version would be even better. Even his friends were bored and went back to their game instead, probably a while ago. Shit, too slow. He opened his mouth again. ¡°Oh it¡¯s no bother. Come by and ask anytime if you want to know more. Honestly, we¡¯re a bit surprised almost no one cares about figuring out what¡¯s happening under the hood. It¡¯s going to be important going forward-¡± I just nodded and walked away with a salute. Pretty sure Breathless would keep me for another half hour otherwise, or maybe forever. I almost forgot to settle my tab. It was a weird vibe for end of night at a bar, the lack of folks hooking up stood out. Would¡¯ve expected people to pair off and whatnot but there was only one brand new same-sex couple from the looks of it. Good for them. It took me far too long to process, but the lack of condoms and pills was probably behind that. The post-apocalypse was no place to have a baby. After throwing up somewhere on the way, then getting lost twice, and falling off the ladder, my stumbling journey brought me to home sweet home. My evening had turned into a bit of a blur at some point and I didn¡¯t quite remember everything, but there was nothing unusual about that. Then the realization hit me. Painkillers didn¡¯t exist anymore, the hangover would be brutal and long. Worse yet, Jeb had my pillow as part of the work order. As if that wasn¡¯t enough, the world spun wildly. Tomorrow was going to be grim indeed. Chapter 25: Arms & armor Physical endurance was the best stat and not just because of all the usual stuff, but it also prevented hangovers. Glorious. That came with a downside however, removing any excuse to do nothing all day. Then again, we lacked any passive entertainment which made lazing about decidedly less attractive. I settled into a daily rhythm, exercise in the morning, smithing by day and runescribing once the sun went down. My project was well under way, a brand new ¡®sword¡¯. It was a perpetual one, designed as such for both function and a cheap way to train. Barry paid up the remainder of his debt a couple of days later, prompting another lesser shopping spree. A small part of my riches were spent on having my clothes properly laundered, while most of the rest went towards a new, primitive secondary wardrobe. My old world wear was of significantly higher quality and comfort, plus infinitely more stylish than my new hide threads, so the new pieces served as temp wear. A sudden commotion spread like a wave over the din of the foundry and my hammer strike went wide, the distraction nearly broke my concentration and almost ruined the reforge. Might as well see what¡¯s up. Instead of allowing the glow to recede, the work-in-progress was whisked away to my sheath. My skill preserved it for some reason, letting me pick up right where it had been left off. A peek outside through an open door revealed the source of clamor. Kris and company had returned, a few days late. I originally assumed death before Jen told me this wasn¡¯t unusual at all. My tools entered the carrying crate and then the rushing throng of excited folks gained another member. Felt appropriate to get a look at our glorious leader and her entourage of enforcers while enjoying a smoke. The eight returnees touted ragged clothing, an eclectic mix of old and new. Their outfit included injuries, arm in a sling type of stuff. Only one of the tag-alongs held my interest for more than a moment, Jerry. Hard to miss the guy who carried two magic swords in his belt. His had actual cross guards, the prick. I was instead captivated by the big boss herself. She was a mountain of a woman with decidedly average but hard features and millimeter hair. Her makeup included a scar on her cheek and tattooed sleeves, fashion sense absent considering the military type t-shirt and cargo pants. Her monstrosity of a weapon was the real eye-catcher however. My mind immediately labeled it a halberhammeraxe. The haft was polished magic wood, with the rest made of similarly arcane metal. It was larger than the woman carrying it and the butt had a metal spike with a horizontal protrusion somewhat above, probably functioned as a footrest to kick it into the ground. Several hints led me towards that conclusion, the trailing crescent blade of the axe extended all the way down from head to kickstand and she¡¯d just demonstrated. Opposite the axe side was a much smaller but still significant hammer-side. Between these two, at the top of the haft, there was an extended spearhead. Thus, halberhammeraxe... pike thing. Metal shortage my ass. They were swarmed by those who knew them while Kris disappeared into the government building together with Mel, who at first came out to greet them. Top dog carried one of those huge traveling backpacks with her. The combination of big brawny woman, big backpack and big-ass weapon had made her look like a caricature. All the fussing failed to impress me for long and work beckoned. I wasn¡¯t interested in making friends with people who threw themselves headfirst into extreme danger, as this group was known to do. They probably wouldn¡¯t last long. It came down to simple statistics, taking a risk often enough made it inevitable that you¡¯d land on the wrong side of the odds eventually. Regardless, the frontrunners were a frequent conversational topic and everyone knew what they did. Their expeditions took place in the Underway, where they brute forced themselves past the traps and then descended the second stairwell. Minus-two didn¡¯t swarm and contained singular superpowered Errant. Good thing I hadn¡¯t gone down. That floor had been nicknamed Solo¡¯s because of the third, called Groups. It contained small groups of super-Errant. The trailblazers had been forced to hightail it out of there when exploring and lost two members in the process - hence my survivability thesis. I wasn¡¯t above taking risks myself, it was unavoidable these days, but there was a difference between making sure you were ready and only spending two days in town only to head back down again, which was their frankly insane course of action. Nothing much of note happened in the next two days, until some greatly anticipated news landed on my doorstep - Jeb was done with my stuff, perfect timing. He was slated to head out to the Farm on the morrow. Unlike with my group, their eventual departure was meant to coincide with the arrival of another shift, with my crew up next after. This rotation between three groups was meant to continue indefinitely. The delay between my group and the second resulted from preparations made to implement improvements, the necessity thereof had only become apparent during our stay. A trail of smoke followed contemplative trudging through the mud to my favorite vendor. There was no point in knocking since Jeb wasn¡¯t a stickler for decorum. ¡°Hey, B. mentioned you had something for me.¡± ¡°Sure do, ma best work yet. C¡¯mere and have a look-see.¡± He didn¡¯t actually want me to come over while he rummaged through his walk-in storage closet and then brought my commissioned goods over to display them on his worktable.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. A gleam of pride accompanied his display. ¡°Quiver¡¯s the hardest part, would¡¯a made it bigger if it wasn¡¯t all obtrusive-like. Ya can adjust the armor by yer lonesome. Had¡¯da tear ¡®part the jacket, most¡¯o the paddin¡¯s on the shoulders now. Good call, with the rain bein¡¯ back.¡± I had to abandon the roof a couple of days back, fortunately the barrel had been stashed out of the house by then. ¡°Same goes for the backpack, ain¡¯t much original beside the straps. Gots plenty¡¯o space. Gonna haft¡¯a carry it by hand if it¡¯s full. Yer lil¡¯ things are inside it.¡± Damn fine craftsmanship. ¡°Fuckin¡¯ A man. Exactly what I had in mind. We good on the bill?¡± ¡°We is, hope ya don¡¯ mind if I cut ya short. Gotta ready¡¯up for the trip.¡± ¡°No worries, you joining for drinks tonight?¡± ¡°¡¯Course, haft¡¯a judge the ¡®shine.¡± ¡°No shit, the prison wine was too much. It¡¯s no single malt but having something clear makes a world of difference. Had a taster earlier today, was good. Ah well, don¡¯t let me keep you. See you tonight.¡± His face twisted into indignation. ¡°That rat bastard said he¡¯d wait for me.¡± ¡°He says a lot of shit, pretty sure half of it is made up.¡± ¡°Ain¡¯t that the truth. See y¡¯all tonight.¡± Having parted ways with Jeb, I tried on my brand new gear at home. The forearm and shin guards needed adjustment, but the conveniences of System-assisted blacksmithing mitigated the hassle, especially compared to ye olden times. At least there were no problems with pulling the straps as tight as my strength allowed. Accidentally cutting off blood flow proved impossible, another unforeseen benefit of PE. A new series of belts replaced my old one, all reinforced with strips of metal. Those supported an oversized ¡®quiver¡¯, made to hold 12 summoned swords. It was a little finicky with all the peace-straps, couldn¡¯t risk the ammunition dropping out with every tumble. Everything was made of magic material to withstand the rigors of combat. In local slang this meant they were considered ¡®magic¡¯, unlike my other additions - a winter-jacket-turned-cloak and an expanded cargo backpack. The last included a back-basket kit, ensuring no loot remained behind, ever. These were called ¡®halfworks¡¯, the distinction held relevance since they couldn¡¯t be post-processed. I considered reprioritizing my drawing practice towards reinforcing my gear but ended up deciding against it, best to find out how things held up first. Survival necessities comprised the rest of my long shopping list; a pair of water skins, toothpicks, rope, needle, thread ¨C we had cotton now courtesy of cigarette filters, sadly fragments of clothing didn¡¯t alchemize properly ¨C a polished metal mirror, razor, and what not. Most of my minor belongings were magical. Interestingly, Jeb had taken some liberties because a few of the creature comforts hadn¡¯t been my idea. Even better, he dyed my armor black, ending my blorange days. One could squeeze the ropevines for dye after harvesting them manually, although the green tint of magic still shone through. Black went well with everything, especially dirt, making it all the rage. Overall, the look suited me, complimenting my dark green sweater and deep blue jeans. My crafting endeavor capstoned the equipment renaissance, adding a shield. It suffered from an identity crisis though, self-identifying as a sword. As usual, the System gave zero shits about precision and my sheath skill stashed it all the same. The nuance escaped me, lax experimentation only revealed that a handle opposite a pointy tip with sharpened sides qualified as ¡®close enough¡¯. All my remaining bonemetal and ingots had gone into this. The sword-shield hybrid was heavy and stood a head shorter than me lengthwise while being only a third of that at the widest part. My design narrowed out towards the tip, but launching it would probably require multiple activations to equal a single pop on my conjured swords. I¡¯d stolen a clue after seeing Kristen¡¯s weapon so the blade stuck out at the bottom, intended as an anchor. Hence the weight, complemented by an ¡®adjustment¡¯ for it. Recent acquisitions spiked my mood, leading to a wild evening celebration at the pub that left my memory fragmented. Some things still stuck with me though, fading in during a confused luxury breakfast. Jen turned in early, she was heading out today along with Jeb, and the nerds had been weird. They played a new game yet took great pleasure in not explaining it properly. New friends expanded my social circle, sadly most went unremembered except for Kwame, who deserved an apology. I¡¯d gone on and on about his foresight in choosing dreadlocks as a hairstyle for the pending post-apocalypse, along with a few other questionable topics, repeated over and over. Building anxiety replaced the recounting of a mounting pile of social missteps, crafting became nearly impossible as a result. Oh, boy. A sneaking suspicion brought me to the windy watchtower again. Carlos raised an eyebrow at my sudden appearance, but neglected to say anything after being waved away, just like yesterday. Somehow no vertigo accompanied my jump down this time, yet the permanent state of suspense faded away - it would come back in a few hours. I¡¯d originally done it on a whim and now received final confirmation of what exactly had broken inside me. Most people had undergone a little transformation. The universal experience of massive trauma showcased itself in the form of behavioral oddities. Mine were damn near certain to get me killed. I¡¯d turned into a bit of an adrenaline junkie, currently desperate for a fix. My urges led to a plan, which our despotic government remained unaware of. Not so much because Mel might be disinterested, but it was her heavy-handed regulation that warranted avoiding. Trekking through the wilderness alone lost its appeal more than a month ago, but Barry¡¯s newfound success at distillation landed me an eager partner in crime, and funding. We managed to find a pair of unemployed ex-idlers and they took well to our offer of gainful, low risk employment. We didn¡¯t need a lot more, just a bunch of planks and some makeshift rakes, plus camping amenities. I spent the remainder of the day adjusting my armor in uncomfortable anticipation. Preparations complete, the only thing left to do was head out on the morrow. Chapter 25+ Stats, Skills, Spells Dear Diary, Stats are weird. I¡¯m currently level 47 and my stats are: PP 18 (10+8), PS 120 (104+16), PE 67 (57+10), MP 105 (104+1), MS 10, ME 116 (57+59). While I hold no dislike for my class - the fighting style appeals and I have great hopes for the future - I do feel some envy towards those with pure classes. I raced Jared, the foundry overseer. He was a speed fighter of similar level and left me in the dust. I idly wondered if he could dodge a 100-energy launch. It was fun though, and we agreed to periodically revisit the racing, as there was an aspect of technique to it that neither of us had yet gotten the hang of. My skills are poorly described by the System. I can magically store up to 3 swords I ¡®control¡¯ at max 3 centimeters range in my [Sheath], magically move up to 3 swords I [Control] with my mind at max 3 meters range with ¡®half the force I can exert¡¯ and [Launch] swords I ¡®control¡¯ ¡®twice as hard as I can throw them¡¯ by expending 5 energy (compoundable!), only possible while they are within 3 meters of me and only in the direction the point is facing.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. I have two spells, cantrips to be specific. [Create Food & Drink] and [Mending]. The only information available is that they both cost 10 energy, as they have no descriptions. I have been made aware that this is not the case for all cantrips, which I consider bullshit of the highest order. I can¡¯t think of more shit to write down, so that¡¯s that. Bye dear Diary. Chapter 26: Fivefold We made good time, mostly because we pushed the pace and abandoned laziness in favor of speed, which compensated for our forced breaks at nighttime. It took us two days to reach our destination, roughly the location of my emergence from the bamboo thicket. The bubble layer didn¡¯t seem much thicker at least. There might¡¯ve been more bubbleleaf-trees than before but it was hard to say for certain. Three trees were visible from our staging ground and it seemed appropriate to catalogue them with a note, written down on a wrapper. Along the way we¡¯d invested a little in one of our new wage slaves, a power fighter by the name of Jill with long straight red hair and rolling acne scars on her cheeks. She was a Dutchie like me and her duties involved gaining levels on the way here, the path was still navigable without running into vinesnap-traps but getting her stats up would help us on the return trip. She¡¯d fallen behind after realizing anyone she¡¯d been close to was most likely lost to her. Not entirely uncommon. I¡¯d always been a little self-centered and not very close to my remaining family to begin with, but my carefree attitude probably resulted from my trek through the wilderness ¨C it didn¡¯t seem likely they¡¯d survive a similar experience. Moreover, the population of our little village was almost completely random and yet not what you¡¯d expect from a random distribution, all of which brought forth the conclusion that we had no clue where to even look to find someone. Our other accomplice had a different problem. He was a Finnish priest, an enhancer, and true to the stereotype - depressed. Not because of any particular disposition, but he blamed himself for a mishap which got his initial party killed. Unwilling to continue fighting, he hadn¡¯t been lucky enough to land a non-combat role, mostly because Mel prioritized people with ambition. His name was Walter, but with a V at the start, an extra t in the middle and an i at the end - so Valtteri. But much like how Breathless had a real name, I cared not. Jill planned to patrol the area opportunistically while Walter did Walter things or helped Barry with Barry things. B. was likely to requisition Jill at some point. Of course that could only happen after the hard part, well, it was mostly the tedious part. We assembled our planks into a makeshift watchtower and used the elevation to find the stairwell clearing. Then we made a safety contraption, something inspired by a siege ram without the ram, and shoved it through the overgrowth to clear a way. Finally, we put our minions to work reinforcing the path with makeshift bamboo, all the way to the downward spiral. Barry and Walt planned to spend their time searching for magic bamboo and building paths towards the stalky goodness. Meanwhile, I¡¯d descend and stockpile bonemetal plates, both to expand my shieldsword and wallet. Figured we¡¯d make a killing considering the ever-present metal shortage and Barry was helpfully bankrolling the operation, even better because he allowed me to freeload. Dude was rich, other alchemists focused on staving off starvation but he had other ideas. He cleverly snatched different ingredients, like tomatoes and pickles, from the ever-present cheeseburgers and grew them out. It wasn¡¯t quite as efficient as cultivating grain from the buns, but fetched far fairer prices. The growth stones played a big part in snowballing his particular flavor of market exploitation. We made it to the clearing rather quickly compared to my original solo-trek. I waved my companions goodbye. ¡°Alright then, I¡¯m off. Have fun with all the bamboo.¡± Barry was already distracted by his search for magical tubing. ¡°Hope ya make a killin¡¯ down there.¡± Jill chimed in too. ¡°Be careful down there, alright?¡± For some reason, she gave me the distinct impression her words were forced rather than genuine. ¡°I will, thanks.¡± Walt followed up with a muted ¡°Good luck¡± and we parted ways. I was fairly curious about how things would go, it was hard to get a good idea on the exact differences with my pre-Godstrike self. The omnipresent nature of superpowers made evaluations harder, my running speed and reflexes were probably off the charts yet didn¡¯t feel particularly different compared to before. Fighting armored daggerclaws served as the real test since all my recent experience was against snakedrop-rocks and they weren¡¯t particularly challenging to begin with. Aside from the intimidation factor, about ten levels gained hunting them completely trivialized the Errant. My last, albeit successful, attempt at navigating the Underway here pushed me to my limits and left me worn down, exhausted and injured ¨C a close call, all in all. Still, improved stats and better equipment inspired confidence about facing off against the feline Errant. The constant spiral ended. My options were to go south, east or north. South likely led to another automated assault corridor and my vandalism remained, prompting me to head north. No AD¡¯s crossed my path during the first hour underground. A cautious man might have paid attention and considered that suspicious, but my overconfidence blindsided me. Shoulda, woulda, coulda - fucking didn¡¯t. Muted paw taps replaced my echoing footsteps, originating ahead and behind, causing me to put my back against the wall while glancing both ways, frozen. It was fortunate the hallways weren¡¯t big enough for them to charge me all at once, or I¡¯d be dead. Despite a slight expansion to the ten-meter range before shadows obscured my vision, the procession stretched into darkness and their total numbers remained unknown. They didn¡¯t attack immediately, instead positioning themselves in a careful line which left me stuck between likely continuous waves of murder-cats. My thoughts raced, increasing anxiety reached a crescendo and then peaked into stillness. My armory consisted of seven magical swords and one shieldsword. Action overwrote everything, a panicked bolt towards an earlier T-split proved to be a mistake two steps in. Shit. That couldn¡¯t work out and my sudden movement signaled the starting shot, accompanied by a chorus of claws tearing into grey stone. Fight, you idiot. A cracked sword appeared at the tip of my outstretched arm ¨C hopefully the damage wouldn¡¯t matter. It flashed forward, powered by 25 energy. I flinched when a clamor akin to shearing metal drowned out the clawing steps. The fivefold launch wreaked a penetrating line of carnage, leaving a shroud of smoky black blood in its wake. Glorious results were left unexamined. I shot another blade straight down into the stone floor, recalled it, pulled out my shieldsword and slammed it down as a barrier, firmly anchored by the fresh hole. Then I turned around. A glance showed the vanguard had crumbled, but more came up from behind them, advancing carefully. A mad dash closed the distance between me and the untouched half of the ambush. A violent rush of air marked the rapid pace of my acceleration - the killer-kittens ahead barely had time to brace before I was upon them. Another streak of destruction followed a second twenty-fiver through the conga line. My sprint continued onwards, only marginally slowed by a brushing touch of my quiver to refill my sheath with three more blades.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. The remaining half dozen couldn¡¯t respond quickly enough to my maneuvers, which took me past this side of the trap. A few hurried swipes threatened to land while I bounced from wall to wall, deflected by armor-plated forearms without disrupting my balance. A step, a jump and a twist helped me retain speed and survey the situation. My opening salvo had done impressive work, my barrier had faded into the dark, daggerclaws clumsily tried to turn around. My feet hit the ground and carried momentum turned into a crouched backwards skid. Adrenaline worked my brain to the bone and rushing blood pounded in my ears. The majority of side passages went nowhere. The ambush seemed planned and my only avenue of escape was to the south, northern stairs were half a day away. I was down 55 energy, had about 50 in the bank and 40c as backup. Finally clarity shone through. There couldn¡¯t be that many. The initial exchanges took out a good chunk already and I could easily kill fifteen more. Easily? Both groups merged and the front daggerclaw already sent rocky chips flying, about to leap, yet I stood there doing nothing, too occupied by my old instincts fighting the new. I wanted to stand my ground¡­ I wanted to run¡­ I wanted to stand my ground¡­ I wanted to run... This needed to stop. The daggerclaw soared towards me in slow motion. It was going high, so I rolled low, passing it by. The quiver bumped me - unsuited for tumbling. There were two more ready ahead, I launched a sword straight through the first, and it ended up embedded in the second. A metallic clang confirmed that my next, hasty blind shot impaled its target, fired on instinct at the fucker behind me once I heard it hit the floor. My foot landed on the impaled Errant in front of me, bent knee straining to arrest my dash while a flick of my arm sheathed the sword. Two more daggerclaws received a session of aggravated acupuncture and I kicked off, then furiously backstepped, even jumping over the collapsed Errant, timed on pure, overwhelming instinct, and recovered another sword in the process. Suddenly, they didn¡¯t seem so threatening anymore. Something within clicked into place. I began simply walking forward with my hands in my pockets, no longer gesturing like an idiot except to recover a sword and dissipate carcasses obstructing my path. The formation was thoroughly shattered and angry cats struggled hopelessly against raw statistical superiority. Summary execution answered every attempted brace. I lit up my pipe. A litter of corpses sprang from my casual walk and multi-kill death blossomed like it was the most normal thing in the world until no more prey remained, finally snapping me out of the ruthless haze. What the fuck was that? Another 45 energy had gone down the drain. I recovered all my remaining weapons, then gathered the bonemetal plates and looted the few untouched dead, to an astonishing total of 27 plates. A return to the staircase felt prudent, my carry-on luggage was there and the spoils needed stashing. Once the stairs appeared out of the ever-present shadows, my mind replayed what happened. I could do better. I spared a forlorn look towards the hallways before ascending and spared a single moment of grief for the person who I used to be. It was something deeply personal. I¡¯d always felt a strong sense of connection to my own nature, this unrepentant feeling of who I was and wanted to be, never in doubt for as long as my memory stretched ¨C I was happy to mask it, but never to betray it. Probably nothing special, but it was an anchor to my entire being and thoroughly upended, cast away. I often dwelled on this since the beginning of the end, but it took me until that moment in the hallway, caught in a pincer attack, for my new reality to reconcile with my nature. Thinking it through solidified the feeling, incorporating a new, vicious aspect into my nature. Yet the feeling faded almost as quickly as it had appeared, resulting in a deep sense of dissonance. Probably all the trauma. Daylight greeted me upon exit, the freshness of the gentle breeze suffused my being while all the colors of the outside felt more vibrant than ever. My search for the others suffered several false starts which led to dead-ends, until I spotted Barry in the distance, boosted by Jill. Her arms extended upwards and he stood on her palms, held by what must be a vice-like grip forcing stability. Those were the advantages of a pure class, having gotten such impressive results so quickly. I approached. Barry was the first to speak. ¡°The fuck ya doin¡¯ back already?¡± I didn¡¯t think it likely, but it was necessary. ¡°Hey Barry, did anyone have a chance to split off and trigger the swarm mode while I was down?¡± His expression hardened and he scratched his temple before speaking. ¡°Nah, no way, what happened?¡± I let go of the forty in the palm of my pocketed hand and explained what happened. Our merry band stopped to listen. ¡°¡­at least I got a good haul out of it. Need to regenerate a little before going down again, I¡¯m nearly out.¡± Walt was thinking out loud. ¡°Swarm doesn¡¯t make sense. They would come as ones, not full. Maybe it happened before our arrival?¡± Jill considered it unlikely ¡°Who? And wouldn¡¯t we have noticed? No sign of anyone having been here and the old path was visible but overgrown, not to mention flooded.¡± ¡°Doesn¡¯t explain the ambush either, if they¡¯d scattered from the entrance then I¡¯d have expected about three quarters to come from that direction but the groups were close to evenly sized. There¡¯s more that doesn¡¯t add up. I¡¯ve only seen fives down there, but they were solitary before.¡± Silence punctuated my statement. Ones didn¡¯t stop appearing just because. Even though Errant tended to keep close to their spawning area, theories abounded about what would happen if a zone was left alone for too long. Nothing good, surprise, surprise. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll think a bit more on it. Pretty sure I¡¯ve already been through the worst of it.¡± The rest went back to work clearing stalks, yet Barry procrastinated. ¡°Think ya ought¡¯a leave it at this and stay up? Return¡¯s already good and danger¡¯s high.¡± The plan sounded wonderful. A day ago I would¡¯ve agreed wholeheartedly. ¡°Think I¡¯ll head down tomorrow for a quick check and make another full blown attempt the day after.¡± ¡°Scout ¡®n¡¯ smash? Hate to say it, but I agree with ya that it needs doin¡¯. How much ya carryin¡¯ for a refill?¡± ¡°Forty.¡± He fished around in his wallet, a greenish leather bag with some black-green string of unwound ropevine around the neck. He hesitated for a moment before getting a certain look in his eyes again. ¡°Ya know, if ya figure somethin¡¯ out down there we can probably get Mel to pay up. She ain¡¯t above rewardin¡¯ endeavors, long as it¡¯s useful.¡± Barry had a point. The nerds were basically on payroll with a budget to boot for exploring how things worked nowadays. ¡°Man, I¡¯ve walked through a lot of tunnel and never seen anything interesting down there before this. Thinking I should try to map the place out?¡± He handed me 160 crystal. ¡°Might be worth the effort, might not. Least ya won¡¯t be caught out. My gut feelin¡¯ says somethin¡¯ ain¡¯t right.¡± ¡°Thanks, maybe. Worst case I¡¯ll end up clearing the place. Well, got to get the spoils to camp.¡± We split off, each on our own business. The hunt for magic needles in the proverbial haystack went surprisingly well, but it was definitely a two-man-and-one-woman job. An uneventful hike back towards the camp left me with little to do, at least the adrenaline fueled frenzy of a fight tucked away my increasing unease, for now. That allowed me to focus again, until boredom overpowered dedication after ten hours of scribbling away at my practice plate. The crews return coincided with deepening dusk and we settled down silently for the night after a shared dinner, everyone was too tired to break the oppressive atmosphere of unwanted developments and their implications hanging over us. My enhanced circadian rhythm resisted sleep, which led to another round of stargazing. I really needed to quit the habit. It was bad for my blood pressure. I stared at negative space. Stars winked out in a cluster, then reappeared. This went on for a bit. Odd, but hopefully nothing to be worried about. Spectacular starfall interrupted my scanning of the sky, a crooked circle of a dozen or more white streaks entered atmosphere, fading trails still high up in the air. Memories of the Godstrike stilled my world. Their trajectory resisted tracking beyond the pattern ¨C but maybe north? One stripe of white in particular looked like it headed towards somewhere near my starting area. The strikes definitely made landfall, yet no plane of radiance, no tremor, no shockwave of incinerating flame followed. The System had our back from the looks of it. A short nap before dawn cleared my mind and provided some much needed refreshment. Time for round two. Chapter 26+ Interlude 3 – Ambuscade ¡®The Last Resort¡¯ The Errant had been quiet, but they never gave up - which meant they were preparing, hopefully for something less inane. My suspicions proved correct. Displacing an established Ascendant from their duty was always a difficult task. Mass approaches fared poorly, countered by widespread destruction and any experienced warrior knew to prepare the battlefield for such an eventuality. A concentrated approach simply made for an easy target, a problematic fact for the Errant who were ever the victims of rocks. Thus, they shifted between quantity and quality, probing. In rare cases, a quantity of quality appeared. Now was such a time. The five mirrored warriors appeared out of nowhere, as the Errant were wont to do. Their forms were covered in a shroud of darkening suppression, identities hidden for reasons unknown. Regardless, appearances could be changed and style served as the true mark of identification. Yet recognition eluded me as the formation employed unusual strategies. This tactic of attrition was fundamentally impractical. An opponent would escape, at best. Of course, I had never fled an engagement - perhaps a theoretical merit? If that reflected their reasoning, they had miscalculated. They were the only ones being worn out. Branches of red lightning streaked towards me, splitting, multiplying and missing. The coloring seemed an odd affectation, purely cosmetic. It was a sophisticated attack, many had been, and possibly still were fond of it, owing to its tremendous efficiency. The veins connected at the source and a single hit drew in all the branches through it, maximizing both spread and concentration. The crimson lines congested around me at varying speeds in an attempt to deny possible avenues of escape. I allowed the cage to nearly snap shut, and then sped away, just out of reach, taunting them. The maneuver forced the five flawed copies to rapidly readjust their exertions to my wildly varying vectors, drawing their net further and further out. Then a burst of acceleration followed, sending me behind on the opposite side of them. A rapid closure of distance completed the scare and prompted them to abandon and restart their offence, wasting resources in their haste as strikes died out midflight before the energy could be recalled. Admittedly, they coordinated well and demonstrated awareness of their opponent, the attack was pure and no suicidal attempts at physical combat were made. Three worked closely together. They combined, directed and enforced their forking stratagem, while the fourth fought independently, constantly adapting. It provided distractions, defenses and supposed threats of its own. It performed interdicting maneuvers, sprung preemptive barriers and returned fire with scattered, homing pellets. I judged the creature of middling skill, unsuited for the role. My criticism was born from experience, only the best could excel in that position and it had been mine in organized combat. This battle was a farce. Any remnants of recklessness had faded away by now, yet boredom took their place. Only the last of the five provided some entertainment, the suppressor. Its talent far exceeded the others, unbalancing the already misapplied formation. It wisely avoided extending its control as a blanket to force a lopsided contest. Instead the Errant played games of shadow and smoke, engaging in fleeting tugs of war for little stretches of space, sometimes with purpose, just as often without. Always it threatened to cast a sudden cover in attempts to blind me or perhaps dissipate my stolen strength. Seemingly meaningless and disparate objectives formed subtle signs of convergence, nearly provoking my counter. But my opponent was no fool and refrained from prolonged contests. After all, were I able to latch on, then there would be no letting go. Ever. So we danced. Sensory darkness and false lightning chased my flight while small Errant victories turned into defeats whenever the mood struck me. The spar amused me somewhat, until it did not. Plumes of heat and shining trails of friction betrayed the final approach, aimed at the children¡¯s home world. A circular perimeter of unidentified objects bolted towards the many-layered walls of mountain which cradled the deeply entrenched seedling. Their proximity hindered my interference, thus Altica¡¯s compulsions inadvertently facilitated whatever this was. The suppressor timed the unveiling of its full power perfectly with my distraction, unleashing a crashing wave to drown out my senses. The balance shifted, resisting both overwhelming tide and compulsion at once was impossible, despite my augmented state. Outmaneuvered, I could only hope that the few fresh ascendants among the children could rise to the occasion. They would be tested in the times to come. My pathways flared, fueling my embrace of the enemy veil and a lingering trigger activated. All my will, skill and knowledge raged against the suppressor, yet left me steadily losing ground¡­? More and more of my power poured into the competition, but the Errant kept winning, slowly. In time only my sanctuary would remain. The other four became bystanders, unwilling or unable to press through our titanic struggle. Drawing on my link could force a stalemate, but why bother? Unlike the reflection which guarded the thoroughfare, I had the ability to produce attacks truly approaching the speed of light. It was a tedious process and, ironically, slow but well worth the trouble nonetheless. Our skirmish ended abruptly when an imbued meteorite appeared from nowhere, the Errant were not the only ones capable of subterfuge. My projectile crashed through my adversary, pinpointed by our grappling. It obliterated the Errant and then shattered into four pieces. Each sharply assumed a new trajectory and connected nigh instantly with a target before anyone had a chance to react. Thus the classic formation was swept away. Nothing remained but swiftly fading dust.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. The Errant were ever the victims of rocks. Wild-mother She reformed herself by drawing the many into one, less five. Losing one had been expected, Ghost-mother could only preserve so much while channeling through another, lacking contrast. The spar made her next task slightly easier, but even a testing of the champion showed no true avenue to victory. Her feelings deflated once more, nothing had truly changed. Ghost-mother thanked her. Their shared being had evoked sympathy, no doubt. She meant well, but it was meaningless and transient. Like all else that she embodied, Ghost-mothers¡¯ empathy hid itself piece by piece until it never was. Wild-mother was the same, a slave to her nature. A ripple passed through her, so very faint and distant - Mother breaking through, again. The act roused her. She never ceased to wonder at how there were always new heights to reach. The shameless disregard for obstacles filled her with inspiration. She abandoned formlessness and emulated the desperately struggling animals. Mother so enjoyed spying on them, although never enough to be satisfied. The symbolism endowed her actions with greater meaning, and thus greater power. All she ever felt formed a seed, coalescing in the palm of her hand while senses died. Once complete, a hand snaked, breached through her chest and deposited it in her heart. So she waited, unfeeling but for a single spark of nurturing anticipation. Mother willed it so. Rhoq¡¯eau ¡°LORD!¡± The shout interrupted my single-minded recital of the hymn of valor. The messenger had likely been trying to gain my attention for some time now, unable to overpower my chant. I rose from talon and heel, and then turned to raise a browplume towards the yellowfeather. It was rare to see one so vibrant in a menial role. To interrupt training was to disrupt sacred duty, thus her words carried weight and brooked no more delays. Tradition demanded such, although she could stay a little longer, were it up to me. It was not. ¡°Pardon me your grace, but the cou¡­ elder requests your presence.¡± The messenger winced, her mistake forgiven. The wounds were still fresh upon us all. ¡°Many thanks, you humble me with your service.¡± The courier reached for the sky before leaving and I returned the salute. It felt hollow, much as the mountain we lived within. Father wanted something and that could never be good. The last time he formally imposed on me, it had been to declare Kra¡¯e¡¯s victory, her prize my talon in betrothal. Her competence left nothing to be desired, instead her attitude ruffled my feathers. Warranted or not, her arrogance was distasteful. She mocked her challengers, leveraging superiority, toying with them and twisting ancient rules towards calculated brutality. But my opinion did not matter. The third-hatched royal nested with the most promising youth, for the sake of the next generation. There was no choice to rebel against, merely duty to fulfill. The weight of responsibility bore down on me, more than ever before. The last attack had been catastrophic. The sudden impossibility of it still shivered my mantle. The Errant came from nowhere in the middle of our victory feast. They announced themselves by slaying both of my uncles, both of their wives and my grandfather before I could even blink. Thus, the council had been reduced from six to one. Many others fell while the interlopers casually slaughtered their way out of our home, leaving unharmed. A tear faded into a feather, we had finally seen hope, now replaced with despair. The old warnings proved true and we failed to heed them. I hopped from perch to perch along the curving noble path while making my way, skipping past most of the talonholds towards the upper city below the peak. A crier¡¯s song filled the air during my traversal, a legend sung of when our people still lived under the open sky. It was part of my duty to believe it, regardless of any doubt. Despite my misgivings, sharp tones rekindled the hymn and raised my resolve. My training, once resumed, would continue until exhaustion. The steepest arches loomed ahead, demanding leaps. One rush of air followed another. Perhaps father had been broken, unlikely as it seemed, and wished to accelerate my ascent? Like all Rhoq, I was forbidden from risking the games until my training was complete, even though we nearly always won. The next step forward beckoned, ever so tempting, especially now. My final pounce landed on the council perch and two pecks on the worked stone doors echoed dimly in the halls behind them. While waiting to be admitted, I opened my interface. My level showed 100, as always. Both longing and impatience accompanied my desire to see it change. An old habit from my younger days resurfaced and mentally ungrouped the gained numbers from the trained; physical power 210+200, physical speed 10+200, physical endurance 110+200, magical power 210+200, magical speed 10+194, magical endurance 110+558. Only six more magical speed separated me from the games, a welcome relief after more than a decade of dedicated preparation. It did not take nearly as long for me to be ushered in. Enough time passed, barely, for my older brethren to arrive as well. Rhoq¡¯e and Rhoq¡¯ea abstained from conversation, adhering to strength and silence as they had been taught. Hopes of early ascension swelled. Why else had my kinguard been summoned alongside me? Father was¡­ smiling? As a future leader, I was expected to act with intelligence, both rational and emotional. Were it not for the never ending lessons to remedy my lack of skill at reading the flock, then the newfound sorrow in his orange eyes would have gone unnoticed. He spoke with the deep baritone he reserved for speeches to carry throughout our greatnest - and most other forms of conversation. ¡°My chicks, I apologize for interrupting your sacred duty. But there is news and with it comes hope, for you and our other young. You may yet escape this wretched place.¡± Hope? He had indeed broken, from reality. Chapter 27: Variety is the spice of life This was the weirdest morning exercise of my life. Brooming away bubbles made for mindless work, but at least there weren¡¯t too many. The side paths for harvesting didn¡¯t get any extra care and were slowly getting overrun, but the main lane to the stairway held up rather well. Today¡¯s plan wasn¡¯t particularly ambitious. There were a few things to check and do, followed by lots of scouting. Yesterday¡¯s jaunt gave me 3 levels and coincidentally, 3 magical endurance as well. My energy sat at 32, with 200 c as backup. I descended. My underground vision range improved once again. A scientific wild ass guess put it at about 12 meters total, since my ME surpassed 120 now. The first item on my to-do list brought me north to the ambush site. No resistance barred my path. Suspicious as hell. A quick experiment showed it was possible to manifest my shieldsword already lodged inside the anchoring spot I¡¯d made. Good to know. It might have been a bit unnecessary to test here, but it felt appropriate. Then it was time for the fun stuff. In keeping with my new favorite hobby, I scratched ¡®possible ambush soon¡¯ about fifteen minutes ahead of, and before the surprise attack location. Similar crude drawings welcomed any future visitors, describing the Errant and their observed behavior on the wall directly opposite the lengthy staircase. Couldn¡¯t miss it. My explorations took me south next, as predicted it didn¡¯t take overly long for me to reach a gauntlet of traps, vandalizing directions along the way. Only shifting shadows and silence kept me company. There were no Errant here either. A chucked handful of wooden cubes failed to reveal anything special about this murder machine section, even the distribution between physical and magical traps felt roughly the same. The next step of my planned outing brought me back to my entry-point and a rest some way up the steps. My empty waterskin, and everything else that wasn¡¯t a combat necessity, joined the rest of my stash here. So far, nothing eventful happened, but peace couldn¡¯t last in the new world and a long smoke helped me delay the inevitable. I¡¯d given some thought to the general lay-out and what it meant while scratching crisscrossing lines on my practice plate last night. My simplified mental map of the Underway formed as a square. My original pass-through had likely been along the left edge of it, with the southern stairway being near the bottom left corner and top left for the northern one, coinciding with the aboveground zone changes. Moreover, there was no specific pattern to where Errant showed up, other than it probably being something close to an even distribution, based on the immobile types. For the rest, the fact they wandered and cannibalized each other up to varying degrees complicated any definitive conclusions without setting up some kind of observational study, which wasn¡¯t happening. Despite a lack of precise information, a few general things were known. For one, it made sense that the ¡®middle¡¯ of a zone generally tended to ramp up faster because there were more directions to accidentally meet new friends from and devour them. This also caused a smaller density of ones, as they became lunch for the big boys. But at some point things got strange, provoking theories and warranting worries. As a zone filled up with mature Errant, lesser ones became increasingly rare, yet the density of maxxed monsters grew. Long story short, areas were always in flux and any limits remained purely theoretical, mostly because zones were harvested for materials and levels at some point, resetting the situation. A last drag finished my pipe, followed by tapping clicks and then the scrape of my bic, a new batch lit up. The Underway complicated this slightly, as the mazelike architecture prevented any quick and dirty conclusions. Leadership treated the underground of our northward mini mountain as a swarming source of income, not something to be explored - although that might change soon. No further entrances had been discovered either and I held the prodigious spot of having found the most in our little community. Then there were the other little things which went unprocessed during my solo survival. Such as the body snatcher bundles and how they returned to the forest of death, how the phase worms remained absent until a bus-sized one appeared ¨C doubted it was a 1 ¨C and the slow-ass snakedrop rocks, who displayed more variation in their stages. Some of those peculiarities possibly meant something. Combined with the recent changes, all the pieces fell in place and coalesced into a fucking headache. Confirmed, I have no idea what¡¯s going on. A second pile of ash joined the first. Barry talked a lot. Gut feeling, my ass. He probably just liked being deliberately obtuse. Couldn¡¯t ignore that something was happening, it was time to wander east and find out what exactly. As usual, oddly angled intersections and constant dead ends slowed everything down. About two hours and then some passed before I came across a trio of angry cats. They kindly lined up in response to my rapid backsteps and thus became victims to a double launch, fives all. Not a fluke, then. No ones, two¡¯s, three¡¯s or four¡¯s graced my path. My objectives were complete and my return journey proved uneventful. My findings and reasoning made the rounds before we all retired to our small tents, content with our consensus: suspicious as fuck. Our shift at the farm was some way off still, so we weren¡¯t in a hurry. Day three of tunnel-walking proceeded with more efficiency, guided north-east towards the presumed middle by omnipresent vandalism, and finally led to something notable. Along the way, three packs of three daggerclaws bit the dust, the third of which shed some light on the situation. For once they didn¡¯t get the drop on me. They were unusually loud. Constant, irregular scratches broadcasted their location and a convenient corner provided a hiding place. An unusual sight greeted my jump out of stealth - quickly replaced by a smoky mist, but not before I got the gist of things. One of the full-grown bastards herded a dog sized daggerclaw - later confirmed to be a one. It survived the piercing projectile by virtue of being overshot. It was faster than the bigger ones but not nearly quick enough to harm me and a duo of mind-controlled blades rendered it helpless. Oddly enough, they¡¯d been going east. A curious, long-ass detour connected their path with familiar westward territory and resulted in yet more backtracking, the bane of my existence. It was after two more days of traveling vaguely north-east, vandalizing walls, brutalizing the occasional patrol and bullying both surviving and lone little ones that I hit the jackpot. Rather than endless hallways, there were rooms in this section, further suggesting bullshit was afoot. Once again there were a lot of the fuckers, so five. They weren¡¯t coming after me, instead arranging themselves in a semi-circle within the room, something close to an ideal defensive posture.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. Tough shit, I wasn¡¯t a melee guy. It was weird though, they refrained from any action, even allowing a quick peek around the corner. Two more hugged the wall on each side of the room, out of sight from the hallway. I backed off a bit, about a meter and a half, and rechecked the straps on my quiver - rearranged upside-down as reaching over my shoulder for a refill felt a little cumbersome. My spot presented a pair of good diagonal angles towards the far corners of the room, where the crescent of kitties was two deep. Breathe in, breathe out, let loose. Premeditated shots snagged four kills. I put down the wall-huggers shortly after stepping into the room, and then danced around with the last one, honing my fighting skills and saving energy. Slipping and dodging ended up feeling dumb and my tactics reverted to ¡®shoot anything before it moves¡¯. The loot went towards my energy reserves instead of bone metal plates, had to stay light and ready to fight. That turned out to have been a good idea, because the slaughter initiated a shitstorm. Some poorly remembered geometry suggested these rooms were close to the center, so it had been somewhat expected. A casual walk towards the east, along suddenly straight hallways with no branches, led into a procession of murdercats heading my way. A fivefold launch destroyed it. Exercise and physical endurance paid off as my stroll turned into a run, my stamina felt endless. The next room was empty. Another cat-pack showed up further east shortly after it. Same numbers, same result. A half-moon formation waited for me in the next. Couldn¡¯t complain about the crappy tactics, then again there were no good options for the fake felines. The terrain favored me overwhelmingly. The passageways further ahead returned to their bizarre labyrinthine lay-out, prompting a U-turn. The previously empty room contained three waiting daggerclaws, all summarily executed. I was getting good at rapid firing. My rush took me north but my vision range decreasing to 10 meters slowed me down. The outline of another room expanded from the darkness. An emerging shape interrupted my scanning. A subtly different armored daggerclaw, the black armor had a swirling inkiness to it, made itself known by leaping in. It caught me off guard. No loud, smashing brace of claws sinking into stone had preceded it. My instincts kicked in, sending out a twenty-fiver while back stepping furiously. The killer-kitty shifted and my speedy sword, which I could barely track, glanced off with the sound of a hammer striking metal. Oh shit. At least the impact left a visible groove where it had deflected across the exoskeleton encasing the Errants chest. I heard it fumble the landing but didn¡¯t stick around to see the result. An impulse to leg it the fuck out of here took precedence instead. My vision pulsed, lengthening and shortening at a steady pace. Upon reaching the room, thankfully empty, I pitched a penta-launch down the corridor and continued west at full speed, a brushing touch reloaded my sheath. My breath labored, but blind panic fueled the mad dash regardless, expanding vision signaled gained distance and spurred me on. Shit, another ambush. With only a second to decide, another diagonal strike took out two assailants, coinciding with my first step into the room. Following in the wake of my attack, a low slide dodged the chaotic frenzy of surging cats. I almost fumbled the recovery and passed them by amidst a soundtrack of scratchy tumbling. The maneuver cost me, claustrophobic shadows closed in. A crash rang out behind me. Hasty glances at scribbled directions probably saved my life, providing a clear path away. Eventually my frantic run slowed down to a jog and then a few dozen seconds of standing still. Not endless. In truth, I couldn¡¯t keep going anymore, completely out of breath. It seemed safe enough, no pursuers appeared. The rest of my trek happened in intervals, with only a few dead and dissolved ones to mark my passage. New markings joined previous ones opposite the stairs. I didn¡¯t berate myself for fleeing while ascending the winding steps. I¡¯d accomplished my objectives and the matchup was terrible. There was no point in betting my life on whether a desperate full-bar shot could actually damage the monster, especially with patrols seemingly closing in on me. No injuries and a successful escape felt like victory, even though it had cost me three swords, including the cracked one. Recovering them was out of the question and no ideas of rematches crossed my mind, nor would they until I was a lot stronger, with more reserves and ammo - if even then. Five days¡¯ worth of regeneration was a small price to pay for my life. By late evening the others arrived to join me at camp. I shared my findings and we all agreed that we¡¯d head back to the village tomorrow. Our staging ground felt a lot less safe, so close to a series of unculled zones. Walt and Jill favored some early shuteye, meanwhile Barry and I had some co-conspirating to do. We walked well out of earshot, out of consideration for them and ourselves. ¡°Think she¡¯ll pay for the info?¡± I asked. ¡°If ya phrase it right, she might.¡± ¡°Hmm.¡± I glanced at my tent. My quiver was inside but out of sight. ¡°Let¡¯s say I lost five swords in there instead of three¡­¡± ¡°Askin¡¯ her to reimburse ya? That¡¯s good. That¡¯s really good. She can be harsh, but she¡¯s fair, it¡¯s how I always wring her.¡± ¡°Perfect, I¡¯ll hide two and walk home with an empty quiver.¡± ¡°Ought¡¯a sell it better, but I ain¡¯t thinkin¡¯ she¡¯ll ask our fellows ¡®bout it.¡± ¡°Eh, can¡¯t hurt right?¡± A poor night¡¯s sleep and many smokes later, it was time to set out - nightmares of ineffectual attacks woke me up several times. I summoned a sword and aired complaints about losing most. Jill didn¡¯t get to hunt much on the way, since we needed everyone for carrying duty. The return trip lasted two days and was mostly uneventful. Halfway through the first, Jill suggested we pause for a bit so she could go on a killing spree as the density of vinesnap traps was high. We agreed out of sheer laziness but she never got the chance. Had she gone ahead a little earlier, she would have been a lot worse off than missing out on some free kills had left her. We witnessed a singularity event, which motivated everyone to hurry the hell up afterwards. It all happened blindingly fast, Walt even missed it entirely. Snap, snap, snap, snap, snap; a rapid succession, too fast to count but increasingly louder. Dust and pieces of dirt flew every which way in a widespread puff of particles and plant matter. I couldn¡¯t see shit until it all settled. An intricate web of hair thin vines covered the ground, just meters in front of Jill. She stood frozen in place, then fell in a backward stumble, visibly trembling after landing on her ass. Everyone else shuffled away, but I couldn¡¯t resist. The others covered their ears, spouting angry expletives at me ¨C probably, couldn¡¯t actually hear them. A thrown handful of cubes flew towards a large black flowerbed in the distance. The cubes disintegrated into nothing right before my eyes as a thunderous crack resounded. A flinch and a wall of wind caused me to take a stabilizing step. Jesus Christ. At this rate I was never getting a full night¡¯s sleep. A mat of interwoven fine strings slowly descended in feathery fashion, blanketing the ground in a large circular pattern once more. Jill¡¯s borrowed ten-pack of javelins went unused from that point on. Upon arriving at the village, she collected her pay from Barry, deposited the throwing spears in the village armory and headed straight for the pub. I couldn¡¯t blame her. Chapter 28: Toeing the line How much wood could a wood chopping sword mage chop? A whole fucking lot. It was day 45 PGS. Community service had been split up to un-stagger the development of the city, but at least it wasn¡¯t a double-day affair anymore. On the flipside, the common person now had even more demands on their time, what with the militia practice and all. So far we mostly learned the meaning of words, orders and how the chain of command worked. Our expedition returned just in time for work, it hadn¡¯t been planned ¨C we didn¡¯t actually care about it with regards to scheduling. Figured there couldn¡¯t be too many consequences. It ended up being fun. Mood and morale improved as people slowly processed recent events. The focus this time was purely on housing, so no benefits for me. I knocked on Mel¡¯s office door and she immediately went for my runescriber after opening it - might¡¯ve taken the petty pen war a bit too far. ¡°Nah, keep it. I won¡¯t need it for a while. Had something else to talk about.¡± Blond eyebrows went up and she waved me in. ¡°Come in then, what¡¯s on your mind?¡± Kristen occupied one of the chairs, arms crossed and feet resting on the other chair, although her party was out. She contented herself by employing an old world skillset, insurgency training or some such, hence the forced conscription. The level board, displayed on the wall now, had a single pin at 100. ¡°Don¡¯t believe we¡¯ve met, I¡¯m Gabriel. Nice to meet you.¡± I extended a hand in greeting to her seated self. She reciprocated with an iron grip and squeezed, hard. ¡°Kris. I¡¯ve heard some about you.¡± Her tone reinforced my earlier suspicions about warring for writing implements. ¡°All good, I hope.¡± Her deadpan look said ¡®most certainly not¡¯. She bruised my hand too, but it wasn¡¯t enough to make my mask slip. ¡°Before I start, mind if I update?¡± I pointed at the board. A nod and the only pin at 47 moved to 54. My slight lead on the average active person remained. Mel dug out my sheet and updated it herself. Afterwards, I explained our findings, going light on the details. The night sky shenanigans were dismissed immediately, officially rated as beyond our paygrade. ¡°¡­we were already unnerved, the plant explosion was the cherry on top, so we hurried back.¡± Mel turned to the marine. ¡°What do you think, Kris?¡± She answered immediately, ¡°Good initiative, bad judgment. Sounds interesting though. Might head over for some recon. Local Underway first, then the north.¡± Goddamnit. ¡°Agreed. Thanks for bringing this to us.¡± Mel turned to me with an annoyed expression, clearly telling me to fuck off now. I didn¡¯t oblige. ¡°No problem, happy to do my part. Speaking of¡­ I¡¯d like to ask a favor.¡± Her veneer of politeness cracked a little. ¡°What is it?¡± I did my best to look innocent and scratched the back of my neck. ¡°You see, I lost three magic swords on my way out. They¡¯re not exactly cheap as I¡¯m sure you know.¡± Kris rewarded my pleading eye contact with a nod and a look. ¡°Ten-four, I¡¯ll keep an eye out for them.¡± Must¡¯ve said something while shitfaced, and it made the rounds, since I couldn¡¯t figure out why they were so pissed at me. Not how I wanted this to go down. ¡°Thanks, that¡¯ll be all. Don¡¯t want to keep you two from your business.¡± Mel¡¯s eyes snapped to me, but the rapid readjustment of my schemes left something by the wayside and prevented me from skipping to goodbyes. ¡°By the by, any idea where I can find Ryan?¡± ¡°Which one?¡± At this point her snappiness fueled me. What was Breathless¡¯ last name anyway? ¡°From research, wanted to ask him some things.¡± ¡°They might still be by the lakeside, otherwise you can find him at West 14. Or the pub.¡± ¡°Thanks, one more thing, if you don¡¯t mind.¡± Mel rolled her eyes as I turned towards Kris again. She definitely minded. ¡°Anything special happen at a 100?¡± ¡°Yeah. Can¡¯t keep going anymore. Have to hurry up and wait until the end of the month. Shows me a countdown, go-time is on day 60. Then I can participate in what my interface calls ¡®the Ascension Games¡¯.¡± ¡°Going to?¡± ¡°Of course, I¡¯m hoping the rest can catch up in time so we can make a try at going together, might work out.¡± ¡°Right. Good luck, in any case.¡± It was the easiest to check and the right choice. The pub was busy, and the nerds were gathered around their usual table. I bee-lined for them and caught a snippet of conversation right before arriving. ¡°Did it work?¡± Breathless asked. The dude he talked to was covered in bandages, wincing with every movement and a pair of crutches leaned against the table next to him. ¡°Well¡­ my tests work but the explosion was huge.¡± Explosion? Interesting, nevertheless¡­ ¡°Hey Breathless, got a minute?¡± The rest chuckled. ¡°Wish you¡¯d stop calling me that. But go ahead.¡± Keep wishing. ¡°Just embrace it, it¡¯s affectionate. Anyway, I won¡¯t bother you much. Figured I¡¯d take you up on the standing offer and ask some questions. Quick and dirty answers are fine.¡± I stressed the last part. ¡°Sure, I guess. What did you want to know?¡± ¡°Best way to get stronger. Figure I got 5 choices but the stat names don¡¯t tell the whole story.¡± He switched seats with the uninjured one of the other two nerds so he didn¡¯t have to talk past him. ¡°Right, first things first, are you a single or a double?¡± ¡°Double, two-four.¡± ¡°With doubles there¡¯s always a focus on one or the other primary.¡± ¡°Ah, four in my case.¡± Another point in favor of crowdsourcing intelligence. Always let others do the heavy lifting. Good for the back.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°Awesome, you¡¯re actually the first, there¡¯s a few two-four¡¯s but they all ended up as physicals. What can you do?¡± ¡°¡­and woosh. I like to think of myself as an anti-tank rifle of sorts. Keeps doing damage while embedded too. I¡¯ve only come across something capable of surviving it once.¡± ¡°Hmm, that makes sense. I could explain how we think some of it works but you¡¯d have to learn the Cant first.¡± ¡°The Cant?¡± Glasses, the whole nerd, chimed in, smug grin decorating his face. ¡°The first tenet of the sixth pillar, when you fill a cup with water, it takes the cups¡¯ shape. It may look like the water adapts, but it¡¯s always exerting pressure on the cup.¡± ¡°Yeah, I can¡¯t.¡± I shook my head for emphasis and they silently appreciated my pun. ¡°I¡¯ll settle for some practical advice.¡± ¡°First of all, the big thing with doubles is that you need a little bit of everything. It¡¯s probably why they¡¯re called what they are. What you need the most of, you already get from leveling up. You shouldn¡¯t ignore the other two in your case though. I can¡¯t give you exact numbers, but your kit won¡¯t be fully online until you make some progress in those. Then, equipment and finally consumables are the most important, in that order for the long term. Reverse it for the short term. And practice of course, we tend to think with old physics in mind, but if it seems like a decent idea, it¡¯s probably worth trying out.¡± ¡°Thanks, you really helped me out.¡± My words interrupted his pre-rant intake of air, in time for once. Vik and company were too drunk to follow, having started early. A short hike brought me home, a new sword joined my stockpile and a nap refreshed me. Stats and their effects could be willed off selectively and messing with PE allowed for perfect control of one¡¯s circadian rhythm. Good news for insomniacs everywhere. Night had arrived but the government never slept. The expanded office hours worked out for me, had a final skill to pick up. Choices, choices¡­ Most of the ¡®physical¡¯ crafts were fairly identifiable, mundane things like woodcarving, leatherworking, smithing, and etcetera. Magical ones were unintuitive, enchanting was a good example. We didn¡¯t have an extensive list detailing them all either. Leading theories speculated there were a veritable shitton of possibilities and some had even been discovered. Tool availability remained as the major problem however. The nerds hadn¡¯t yet cracked the code on what made some of the more special ones work, such as the portable forge or even my pen. The more adventurous folks had used keywords from video games or fantasy stories and whatnot when selecting care packages, hence how we ended up with our current repertoire. There was another option, relinking my skills to open up a physical slot. Unfortunately this would reset any progress for reasons suspected but ultimately unknown. I was a sucker for opportunity cost, so that wasn¡¯t happening. My relationship with Mel was strained enough and self-preservation prompted me to smoke outside. Staring at a spiral column of smoke led me to a conclusion. My pick didn¡¯t really matter. I didn¡¯t need a life path, only a booster. Now if Barry wasn¡¯t permanently attached to his mortar and pestle, then all my problems would be solved¡­ He was still at home, hard at work creating some kind of chemical apparatus. Certainly booze related, although by the looks of it he might¡¯ve been preparing to start cracking oil ¨C if we had any. He sidetracked me with a taster, it suited my purposes anyway. ¡°Had a chat with the nerds last night and learned some interesting things¡­¡± Barry was a hybrid too and increasingly enamored with his powers. He almost ran to the center of government, after giving me permission to use his tools, as long as my product remained for personal use only. He¡¯d be taking a break from alchemy until we returned from our second run at the Farm. Power was intoxicating, the pursuit of it had nearly become an unspoken right, which meshed with what the folks at the top wanted too. I linked alchemy to magical speed. But I couldn¡¯t get started right away. The metal shortage had peaked once more and only the return of the next farming wave could alleviate it, and my spoils of course. Ten bonemetal plates remained in my storage crate, destined to add bulk to my shieldsword. That left 20 for the open market and 17 saved for Jeb. He might be interested in forging some armor, possibly extracting some extra value for both of us. Commissioning more equipment didn¡¯t enter the consideration, there was some fishy shit going on and adding more gear to my outfit left me feeling bloated and stiff. Auctioning the remaining 20 plates would¡¯ve been ideal, but someone else had beaten me to it and Mel immediately put the kibosh on said flavor of gouging like she¡¯d been waiting for the opportunity, it inflated prices too much. Then again, those who made the rules could unmake them, leaving me with a card to play. It was time for another visit to Breathless. He redirected me at Glasses, no idea why he still wore the things. Small talk revealed two were out on a revenue run while the wounded fellow spent most of the day sleeping, apparently. ¡°So check these out.¡± Glasses bent over the table as if the plate in front of him held some deep secret, eyeing it closely. ¡°Interface described them as ¡®bonemetal¡¯, which made me wonder, what¡¯s the difference between regular old metal and that of the boney variety? I¡¯m not going to figure it out, but you might.¡± ¡°Interesting. I have some ideas. Will run some tests, come back in an hour or two.¡± Glasses struck me as the excitable sort, the type to prioritize curiosity over efficiency. My experiences of working with people like him in ye olden times suggested his estimate of a few hours would prove a wild understatement. Hence, my return had been preceded by an exercise routine, some drinks and a couple of hours spent dicking about. ¡°Any news?¡± ¡°Absolutely, it wasn¡¯t hard to figure out,¡± he beamed. I somehow doubted it, one of the plates was covered in all sorts of scratches and substances. ¡°And, what¡¯s the verdict?¡± ¡°Simple, the distinction matters for tool affinity. Take enchanting for example, if you want to carve metal you need to use a file, because a knife won¡¯t work. This used to make sense, but if you modify a metal for softness and use a tier one knife modified for hardness, you¡¯d expect it to work. It does if you¡¯re not trying to use the skill, but try to enchant a block of metal with a knife and you¡¯re out of luck. We haven¡¯t been able to pin down any hard rules, but for these at least it seems most of what would apply to organic materials like wood and leather also work alongside tools for metal. That includes using multiple skills to strengthen it. I¡¯ve labeled it a tier one-point-five material.¡± Fantastic news. ¡°Man, you guys are heroes. Thanks ever so much.¡± ¡°You¡¯re welcome, maybe we could have one of these for further testing?¡± Jeb¡¯s allotment went down to 16. ¡°Sure, have at it.¡± I left them the messed up plate and had a victory smoke. Inquiries made while waiting paid off and led me to an Indonesian dude called Rhasmat, the architect of Kristen¡¯s beastly weapon. Our peoples had a long history, hopefully he wouldn¡¯t it hold against me. I kissed some ass and then gave him a heads up, citing ¡®making sure they go where they¡¯re needed¡¯ as my reason and he agreed to make a timely appearance. It was pretty straightforward, all in all. The establishments¡¯ draconian rules disincentivized entrepreneurial ventures. Did we want our best and brightest to wear the state of the art, or whatever proved convenient? Surely, someone of Rhasmat¡¯s skill understood the value of superior materials, did he not? And let¡¯s not forget the metal shortage, how will it ever get solved like this? We knew too little about this world, too little to set things in stone already, didn¡¯t we? Fortunately for me, Rhasmat was a trusting fellow, incapable of piercing through thinly veiled layers of bullshit. A quick check confirmed Mel and Kris were present, together in the mayor¡¯s office. Jen¡¯s temp replacement refused to budge, policy was policy and the price of metal was the price of metal. A raising of my voice and a loud proclamation of ¡®bullshit¡¯, successfully summoned leadership. Mel immediately took the clerks side and nearly ignited the petty pen wars as a result. The whole point of fixed prices was to avoid shit like this, bla bla. I acknowledged hers, then repeated my talking points, adding more as they came to mind, any lapse in creativity filled with citations of Glasses¡¯ results. Then Rhasmat showed up and joined the squabble, obviously uncomfortable arguing against Mel. Unexpectedly, Kris played kingmaker and settled the debate. She wanted new toys and approved of the cost-benefit ratio. Mel¡¯s eyes darted to her and then she gave in to my relentless bitching. The plates were priced at 50c. During my second victory smoke of the day, I examined the next step in energy condensation. It was about the size of a two-euro coin, made out of crystal and worth a thousand energy. Finally rich, if not famous, infamous perhaps. Rhasmat gave me a nasty look on the way out. He¡¯d gone quiet after Mel pointed out my true goal, bumping the price. Yet he¡¯d already said his piece and was too timid to work out a way of running it back. A stroke of good luck. For a moment, especially when Kris opened her mouth, I was worried my only spoils would be a beating for civil disobedience. But sometimes, balancing on the knife¡¯s edge worked out just fine. My crystal coin glittered in the sun. Chapter 29: Passing time I just couldn¡¯t stand it and gave up nearly immediately. Alchemy was somehow extra boring. Even worse, common sense forced me to rethink my skills. There would never be a better time to change things around. Mining and smithing stayed as they were. Enchanting ultimately made consumables¡­ Breathless¡¯ words kept coming back to me. Magical power was my most important stat, better to link it to something I intended to do a lot of ¨C which meant also having to enjoy it. Much like with hobbies, it was hard to keep at something if you thought it sucked. I bit the bullet. First step¡­ nothing - just some clerical changes. Next step¡­ a sense of deep loss. Holy shit. Everything felt gray and lifeless for a good fifteen minutes before the very bad thoughts faded away and things returned back to normal. Suddenly I didn¡¯t feel so bad for having sunk the opportunity cost now instead of later. Enchanting switched to MS, thinly veiled vandalism to MP. This left physical speed open for leatherworking since it seemed to compliment my requirements well enough. This fulfilled all the requirements for steadily improving my own gear. Self-sufficiency ended rather high up on my list of needs, while services were widely available, opportunities for paydays were not. Moreover, money also fueled my attacks and functioned as another way of accumulating power. I met Kris while she was readying to head out on my way to Mel¡¯s office. She demanded a word. Nicely, her manner implied there was no refusing. ¡°Pay attention. You got your big win and I helped you -¡± She shushed my thanks, ¡°consider it a courtesy. I expect the same from you now. Your disruptive bullshit ends here, or I¡¯m going to start being difficult. Don¡¯t answer, just think real hard about whether you want to keep living here or become a hermit out there. Mel has it rough enough, so from now on you¡¯ll start being real helpful. Maybe volunteer for some service, there¡¯s a ton of wood coming in - it needs cutting, don¡¯t you think?¡± She accepted my nod and left it at that. Then she actually left. I took her words to heart, not much choice there. It was a good thing Kris wouldn¡¯t suffer any backtalk, it eased me into refraining from pointing out I was technically homeless already. Our ¡®talk¡¯ made me a bit worried about the next part though, asking for my pen. My whole spiel about having changed my skills around and wanting to get the low hanging fruit out of the way didn¡¯t impress Mel, but she gave me the benefit of the doubt after profuse promises to bring the scriber back whenever reasonable. Absolute bullshit, jumping through hoops for my own stuff. Like my things, my time also belonged, in part, to the government these days. I¡¯d help along with managing the timber stockpile for a couple of hours every day, processing the raw lumber as it came in rather than in bulk, just like I¡¯d been voluntold. Mel was rightly suspicious of my change in attitude but she took it at face value in the end. A few marbles separated from my crystal coin, it felt like a good time to pay my taxes ¨C ten percent of the haul. Which just left one order of business. Jared already told me about all the tools needed for leatherworking. Unfortunately my attentive listening hadn¡¯t been accompanied by attentive thinking as well. The slip brought me back to Jared, who still oversaw the local crafting houses, or more accurately, gossip dens. ¡°Hey Jared, quick question. What the fuck is a beveler? And a skiver?¡± He sorted me out and we made some copies. And so the days went by. At first my efforts remained focused on the same old practice plate, then pivoted into reforging my leather armor for added durability and so I wouldn¡¯t get exiled by Kris for hogging the pen. My workflow was furious, my pace unbroken, only interrupted by end-of-day drinks, the occasional bit of tempting gossip, and more pub visits. Jill and Walt had turned into regulars as well, while Jen came back on evening 47. The originally observed cliquing behavior had begun to fracture, with mostly the usual suspects turning into one big mingle ¨C except for the nerds, those liked sticking together but they were still part of it. Barry made so much booze, drinking was basically free after you got to know him a bit. Boss lady returned eventually to the usual fanfare, making incredible time on her own. I cornered her outside the tyrant¡¯s office and asked after my swords while Mel patiently crossed her arms and tapped her bicep; the blades were gone with no compensation incoming. She¡¯d found her targets in both cases and given them a piece of her mind. It turned out they were the kind of things you¡¯d see down in the Solo¡¯s layer, if slightly weaker. Those started at a hundred and went up without a preset limit. The one in the nearby Underway had been close to a hundred, while the armored magicat was at 77. Wonder if she had any trouble? ¡°So how¡¯d it go against my nemesis?¡± ¡°Not too rough, you actually helped a little.¡±A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. ¡°Did I? How?¡± ¡°It had some lingering damage, a groove on its chest and a deep one on its face. If you¡¯d tried a little harder, you might¡¯ve done the job yourself. Used ¡®em to strike a killing blow, the armor was hard to damage. Now the loot¡¯s mine. Interesting tidbit, material¡¯s the same bonemetal you found but unlike the stuff in the Solo¡¯s layer it¡¯s of much higher quality.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve got to be shitting me.¡± She pulled out a blue bonemetal plate and showed it off, which sparked recognition and greed in me, quickly tempered by horror. ¡°Nope. Better luck next time, hah!¡± Kristen misread me, happily bounding away to commission a new edge for her instrument of violence. I couldn¡¯t care less about the spoils. Sending an enforcer to clear my private hunting grounds of danger was well worth the loss. It was the facial scar that drove me nuts. It resulted from a blind shot down the hallway - I hadn¡¯t even turned around to look. No one believed me while bragging about it at the pub. An offer of true government employ went unrequited when our turn at the farm came around. My time on the road was better spent enchanting. Our trip was exciting, hallmarked by plantsplosions and snap heart attacks. I messed around with one during a break by cutting my way to the heart, a field of black flowers, constantly destroying the filament mat as it settled, mostly interested by the viability of it. The whole thing ended up being a relatively easy fifty crystal but wasn¡¯t worth the damage to my hearing, never mind the added risk of doing this in the dark. The experiment ruined a bunch of perfectly fine future dice too. As if tinnitus wasn¡¯t enough, the rest had breached the barrel and sealed it once more during my absence. We spent the rest of the road trip gossiping, mostly me and Jeb, who switched shifts with someone else in favor of accompanying ours. It started raining near the end of our walk, normally the pour would¡¯ve been a cause for mild discomfort yet my expensive cloak turned the wet stroll into a period of smug gloating amidst clattering droplets. ¡°Great work on the jacket man, you really outdid yourself. Not a drop¡¯s getting through.¡± Jeb wiped a waterfall off his face before replying. ¡°My daddy always said ya gotta be prepared. Wish I¡¯d listened to ¡®im more.¡± Our arrival heralded the departure of the previous shift, which disappeared with our wooden, enchanted oxen-like things and cart. I got mining out of the way first. As Barry once said, we had to let the drop-rocks cook a bit. We hadn¡¯t been able to avoid spilling our secrets, so the previous waves had been busy there - incidentally solving a slight food shortage the village had been struggling with for some time now. Maccie D¡¯s and some porridge output alone weren¡¯t quite cutting it, especially with one of, if no longer the, most devoted alchemists only caring about a quick buck. Somehow doubling the grain production did the job. I wasn¡¯t a coward anymore, nor freshly leveled up. Now the snakedrop-rocks died to a single launch and their attacks turned into mild inconveniences. Quicksteps dodged everything easily. Tension had been replaced with boredom, resulting in some exotic maneuvers like ineffectively mindslashing the falling appendages and air-braking with swords after a jump, although my favorite was mentally twisting the knife. Hell, even meleeing them wouldn¡¯t be too hard. Newfound bravery didn¡¯t make me an idiot however and fencing against giants still seemed like a dumb fucking move. The experience did shed a light on a longstanding question ¨C magical speed apparently governed how good you were at mental swordsmanship. It made no sense whatsoever and I had no plans of taking my complaints to the department responsible. Thus, the killing became easy and cheap. Barry wanted to re-negotiate our agreement, mostly towards the end that free didn¡¯t mean infinite. Fair enough. Much like some all-inclusive hotels of the old world, Barry discovered the arrangement worked rather egregiously in my favor. The future looked promising indeed. The mining gave me a few more points of physical power and it influenced the force of my control skill, all but confirming flight was on the menu. Neat. And tactically advantageous. Raining down death from above held extraordinary appeal. If things went well, my self-designation might improve to fighter jet. Less promising was our haul, having to share with other teams meant we no longer had an ideal distribution of fully matured growthstone-droppers. We counted the tendrils to find out how far along they were and used ten as a cut-off point for culling, except for the last day there where we slaughtered everything across our path. It was somewhat tedious but mostly trivial to bully the little ones to death. The farm had been touched up a lot too, big block of wood that it now was. The interior was actually quite nice and cozy as people spent time adorning the place, carving reliefs and other such luxuries. It now comprised of a central building with many rooms, big and small. The days of camping in tents were over. The small ones were half height rectangular sleeping cubicles with extra thick walls while the big ones were used for things like the communal kitchen, a drinking room, and so forth. The storage room was even larger than those. Calling it the Fort might be more appropriate now. We only had a single guard in a tall tower on top. Wanderers weren¡¯t an issue anymore, everyday labor forces kept the zones aggressively in check. Then it was our turn to accept a cart handover and be off, at least that¡¯s how it would¡¯ve gone down. Instead my wooden horse crossed the distance at a gallop. Enchantments didn¡¯t tire out but Christ was it uncomfortable. The plan was to make it back before day 60, impossible while traveling with the group. Not for the sake of community service, I¡¯d earned myself an exemption this time around - some carrot to go with the stick. There just wasn¡¯t a lot of entertainment to be had, even if the rock-slaughter was enough to lessen my jitters. The first truly notable thing since the apocalypse was going to happen and I wanted to be there for it, sharing in the experience like a soccer match. My team was playing, sort of. Chapter 30: Ascension Games Jen¡¯s shift appeared in the distance, taking a break. My enchanted steed didn¡¯t exactly need watering or rest, but the same wasn¡¯t true for me ¨C galloping was a literal pain in the ass. We had to keep it short but long enough to exchange pleasantries, a smoke and the latest gossip. Jen told me someone had been dumb enough to test how survivable a snaptrap was and the verdict came in at ¡®quite¡¯, apparel damage notwithstanding. Of course, the person testing had somewhere in the range of a few hundred physical endurance, which might have influenced the outcome a little. She was always picking up on the latest and greatest, another way to manage our perpetual lack of entertainment. They¡¯d travelled straight as an arrow and cleared the muddy trail of all hazards, which let me ride hard in the dark, arriving barely in time for the show. I stood near the floored square in the middle of town, next to the government complex. Usually it functioned as a loading and offloading point, open air storage and occasional marketplace. Now it was a podium lit by torchlight. At least the ambient smell of squalor had mostly dissipated. Or I¡¯d gotten used to it, might¡¯ve been all the smoking too. Behold, the big guns. Eight figures stood crowded by a few dozen others. The spotlight belonged to Kristen and her upgraded weapon, shiny blue edge on the axe side and all. She wore new gear too and overlapping plates of bonemetal covered her chest, back and stomach. The new look hadn¡¯t been contained to the breastplate either - her arms, upper and lower, were equally armored and the same was true for her legs. If she¡¯d worn a helmet she¡¯d have been an excellent imitation of a medieval knight who¡¯d been too cheap to shell out for full-plate and settled for the next best thing instead. The rest weren¡¯t quite as noticeable due to the slight elevation and they weren¡¯t giants, but it was easy to spot glimpses. I simply had to scan for the people wearing way better stuff than everyone else. It was hard to pinpoint exactly why and there were no visible changes, yet repeatedly reforged and post-processed equipment stood out to the senses, fresh car smell and all. Jerry was there, he¡¯d augmented his twin magic swords with a pair of physical ones and a full body set of fancy leather. Then the crowd dispersed and everyone got a serious expression on their face. Pay attention now kids, the adults are going to start talking. Midnight neared. Kristen stepped forward while the others cleared space as if she had something interesting to say. She stood there in a cross of four long shadows like a soccer player alone in the middle of a stadium, or an ancient warlord making some grand proclamation. ¡°We only have a minute before our window closes, so wish us happy hunting.¡± Not one for long speeches then. It didn¡¯t really matter either as the crowd acquiesced. The frontrunners huddled up and a moment later they simply disappeared. I stared at the now empty excuse for a podium. ¡°They were supposed to be the ascension games, right? Have to admit, I was banking on more spectacle.¡± Breathless, who¡¯d been suffering my presence so far since my entire social circle was either out of town or otherwise occupied, turned to me. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­ why would you expect that?¡± I raised an eyebrow at him. ¡°Why not? Everything¡¯s been through quite a few changes. At this point I¡¯m not really surprised by anything. Got the whole medieval theme going on, thought we¡¯d get a coliseum type thing.¡± His reply was half-question and half-indignation. ¡°You were hoping they¡¯d end up in death matches so you could watch? Also that¡¯s from antiquity and there¡¯s no medieval theme, it¡¯s merely a result of¡­ ah forget it.¡± ¡°Obviously I¡¯m hoping they do well and stay safe, except for Jerry - screw him. But some entertainment wouldn¡¯t hurt. In case you haven¡¯t noticed, things are a little bland around here.¡± ¡°Right, I believe you wholeheartedly. What¡¯s your deal with Jerry anyway?¡± ¡°He¡¯s just a prick, is all.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, he seems nice and polite. He calls me by my name.¡± ¡°It¡¯s affectionate, and I wouldn¡¯t know. Never talked to the guy ¡®cause he¡¯s a prick.¡± ¡°You never¡­ Of course you haven¡¯t. You do know you¡¯re a prick, right?¡± ¡°Naturally, ¡®tis one of my many redeeming qualities. It¡¯s all annoyance and outrage until you need someone to throw at someone else you don¡¯t like. Used to make a living off it.¡± ¡°What are you on about? You brought it up so I¡¯ll ask. What did you do before all this?¡± ¡°Sales, even got promoted to management a couple of years back.¡± ¡°Never mind, that explains everything.¡± Now there was nothing to do but wait. I gently asked for my pen back and borrowed a chair, then gave up on my plan of constant readiness a couple of hours later. Townsfolk were caught in a similar grip of anticipation, the guesses came and went. Five hours, ten hours, fifteen hours. Day followed night, then vice versa. It ended up taking 30. We made for quite the audience, with the entire village in attendance beneath starry skies amongst the dancing shadows of flickering flames. The frontrunners returned as suddenly as they¡¯d been whisked away. I wanted to ask them all about what had happened while they were away, but held off on it. Satisfying my curiosity probably ranked pretty low on their priority list right now. The first thing that tipped me off was one of the returnees missing an arm, which probably needed immediate medical attention. The second thing was that two others, Kristen and Jerry, were fairly roughed up as well. Half of Kristen¡¯s armor and half her overgrown millimeter cut, along with an ear, was gone and replaced by bloody pulp while Jerry had no swords left at all, only blast marks and tears on his remaining gear. The third was that no one else had come back. Shocked gasps and worried cries punctuated my observations. Nonetheless, disaster tourism called, disguised as an offer to close wounds. I had to fix Jerry¡¯s threads and then point at the arm to get it across quickly, but Kristen shook her head and shushed me away. Closer inspection revealed a makeshift tourniquet tied around his arm, all the massive bloodstains were flaky and crusted instead of fresh. Suit yourself. He¡¯d be out of commission for a while. People habitually lost fingertips and such while practicing old school industry with no safety lessons or precautions whatsoever, not to mention the combat injuries. At least the parts grew back, if somewhat slowly ¨C which was still better than never. I took the hint and backed off.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. Some folks cried, others crowded around the survivors, Mel included, who shared an embrace with Kris, whispering something. One thing they all had in common besides injuries was a look of brutal dejection. It didn¡¯t take much to set someone off if they¡¯d been hanging on by a thread to begin with. The fact our strongest had been nearly annihilated didn¡¯t do morale any favors. I quietly returned my pen to Mel¡¯s desk and set off to get some sleep. It was only the following afternoon at the pub when Breathless started spilling the details. It was secondhand but the nerds could probably be trusted to relay an accurate account. Wasn¡¯t only me here either, the boys were back and ready to apply pressure. Everyone had to know and many more tables reflected ours. Fortunately, our resident storyteller had been told to be liberal with answers, this was something that potentially impacted everyone. The drinks arrived and we all downed our shots, then he started talking. For some reason, this topic escaped the System¡¯s information ban. I lit up. ¡°First things first, we don¡¯t know if it¡¯s the same for everyone, four are still unaccounted for.¡± He glanced at me and sighed. Vik¡¯s face went hard, like he was working up to something. Breathless continued, ¡°Once they pressed the ¡®participate¡¯ button on their interface, which they could only do from one minute before midnight onwards, they were transported to a see-through cylinder with a staircase leading down to a sliding one-way gate. From their perspective they were on the top of the stands of a coliseum.¡± I interjected immediately, ¡°Called it.¡± ¡°Shut up Gabe, let the man talk,¡± Barry said. Breathless gave him an appreciative nod. ¡°Thanks Barry. As I was saying, as far as they could tell there were ten ¡®starting locations¡¯ in total. Our best guess is there were multiple instances of the ascension games, as the number of participants wouldn¡¯t add up otherwise.¡± Vik interrupted, ¡°Others are gone?¡± He¡¯d been trying his luck with whatshername¡­ ¡°Most likely, yes.¡± Viktor downed his second drink, and third, but didn¡¯t say anything. ¡°The games had a set ending after twenty-five hours. We don¡¯t know what happens if someone waits out the clock but considering the brutality of it all¡­ It¡¯s probably best not to try and find out. Kris, Wulf and Jerry got out through portals at the arena stage. They said the outside layers of the coliseum crumbled in intervals, but the stage remained.¡± Jill hadn¡¯t been very talkative after her near-death experience, but cutting her hair short had helped her open up a bit more lately. ¡°Portals?¡± ¡°Blue oval shaped swirling ones, yes. Five of them appeared near the end when the last floor collapsed, spaced about two thirds of a mile, or a kilometer, apart.¡± ¡°Very big coliseum, exactly like I said.¡± Breathless gave me a stare. ¡°No, you didn¡¯t¡­? Anyway, there¡¯s also a larger staircase in the middle, leading down to some kind of champion or challenge fight. More on that later. Everyone¡¯s experiences match up, so we¡¯re taking this for granted. After you head down the first staircase and past the portcullis, you¡¯ll enter a room, it splits up three ways: To the sides or further down. From there onwards it varies. Some rooms have Errant in them, Solo¡¯s power-level, while others have traps, puzzles, nothing or combinations thereof. There¡¯s always the option of going back a room and picking a different route. There are also various types of crates, pots, chests, cabinets and other out of place furniture. These contain, among other things, condensed energy crystals or high quality materials, although destroying them might spawn Errant.¡± ¡°We are being toyed with,¡± Walt said. No shit. ¡°I have to agree Valtteri, it¡¯s all ridiculously contrived and hard not to consider malicious. The rooms aren¡¯t particularly large and sometimes extremely dangerous. Especially the ones with challenges. Those close the exits upon entering. Kristen survived one and she said it was hard-fought, even for her. They were marked at least.¡± Most of us whistled. Kris was easily the best fighter in town. Not just because of her levels either, sparring sessions were extremely practical as one could simply will all their stats off except for physical endurance and have all out MMA matches or weapon fights with sticks without leaving a scratch behind. Thus she¡¯d demonstrated her ability to easily kick anyone¡¯s ass and perhaps give a few lessons while enjoying her time away from the party. Rumor, courtesy of Jen, had it she was even better with powers involved ¨C the star player of her team. Kris certainly figured something out, mandatory militia practice made for quite the spectacle these days, maybe even verging into competence soon. That got Jeb interested. ¡°What¡¯d she get? High cotton or a hill o¡¯ beans?¡± Any new stuff to work? Breathless couldn¡¯t catch a break today. ¡°What?¡± He downed his cup and was treated to a refill. ¡°It teleported her deeper into the coliseum without warning. At least it was into an empty room. The teleport traps were worse, Nick barely survived being dumped face to face with an Errant.¡± Barry clearly enjoyed my distress. ¡°What¡¯s wrong Gabe, you¡¯re lookin¡¯ a lil¡¯ pale.¡± ¡°Like a long-tailed cat in a room o¡¯ rockin¡¯ chairs,¡± Jeb hillbillied. ¡°T-teleport traps?¡± I didn¡¯t usually stutter - ever, really. Every trap I¡¯d gleefully set off flashed through my mind. ¡°How did they work?¡± ¡°By setting them off,¡± Breathless deadpanned. ¡°Doesn¡¯t really matter how, everyone had trap kits with them but Nick¡¯s didn¡¯t help him. Using it caused the trap to trigger. They were relatively rare, as the others liberally used their kits.¡± Trap kits were a fancy way of saying everyone had random trash to throw. I unlearned the habit in a heartbeat. How did you defend against bullshit? My most important lesson-learned resurfaced. Life wasn¡¯t fair. ¡°Sorry, do go on.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll be making an inventory of all things encountered inside later, maybe. Wulf and Jerry are in bad shape mentally and Kris isn¡¯t doing well either. To continue, the paths and teleports funneled everyone together, with all of them ultimately leading into the central arena, which served as a point of no return, they couldn¡¯t exit it. Everything went wrong for our group there. The others inside ¨C aliens and anthropomorphs-¡± ¡°Saywhatnow?¡± ¡°Animal people, geez B., ya never opened a book?¡± My eyebrows rose at that. ¡°Jeb, you read?¡± Bullshit he did. ¡°I do, what¡¯cha throwin¡¯ a fit ¡®bout?¡± ¡°Name one classical author.¡± ¡°I like¡¯s the modern stuff. Anyway let the man say his piece.¡± Stop asking questions you won¡¯t like the answers to. Smut? Trashy romance? ¡°The aliens and¡­ animal people are by far the greatest danger. They skirted our people at first, at least we think so, until Kris, Jerry, Nick and Wulf started fighting the champion or whatever it was. They interrupted the fight and used the chaos to kill Nick while Wulf lost his arm to the Errant there. Kris¡¯ team was already losing and the ensuing battle left them drained, wounded and the strangers dead. The frontrunners had no choice but to flee back to the arena floor and wait until the five portals appeared.¡± ¡°The strangers, anything else about them?¡± I asked. Know thy enemy. ¡°I was getting to it, there were three of them and they were definitely using System powers. Worse, they were equipped to a far higher standard and had items that produced effects we haven¡¯t the slightest clue how to replicate. Everything happened quickly and equipment covered their features, no one managed a good look beyond, and I quote: ¡®two animal people and a humanoid alien.¡¯ Kris said they only made it out alive because the strangers fought each other as well.¡± So the stick was death, and the carrot? ¡°Damn. So what was it all for? To increase a level cap?¡± ¡°Yes, and more. The System congratulated them on becoming an ¡®Ascendant¡¯ after entering a portal. Then they went through something similar as the induction sequence and received a hefty power-up during the five hour gap, although they experienced time differently during the process.¡± My eyes followed his around the table. Jeb seemed like he knew something we didn¡¯t. Been searching for new materials then, got something planned? ¡°It was somewhat complicated but we¡¯ll note down the details when they¡¯ve recovered. That¡¯s all I have for now.¡± We all downed our drinks toasting the fallen and called a moment of silence thereafter, spoiled in spirit. I was sure of it as my gaze wandered across everyone present at our table. Walt was the only exception, yet he knew; for how could he not as a man of the cloth? A glint of greed in every eye, wondering what kind of power their life might buy. I was no different. Chapter 31: Silence It was a dark morning, there was nothing unusual about that as the sun hadn¡¯t even begun coming up yet. We were slated to set out for another trip to the Farm since it was day 75. The last few weeks had been pleasantly productive for me. The existence of the games and their overly lethal nature meant everyone had a choice to make and I liked to get such stuff out of the way as quickly as possible. The question was simple: Whether to grind up to a hundred and stay there, or to risk it all for the potential to go further? My mind had been immediately made up, decided on trying for ascension at some point. Whether my choice was a consequence of not-so newfound resolve or a penchant for high stakes gambling, well what did it ultimately matter? I wasn¡¯t in a hurry though; had strategies to sort out, equipment to gather, stats to train and level 100 to reach. Breathless¡¯ recap stressed we were on the back foot and could use every advantage conceivable. My ammunition reserve grew and my quiver held the full twelve it could, while my skill stored two more blades and my newly bulked up shield-sword. Oddly enough, my life lacked steady expenses and thus I¡¯d neglected growing my cash stack beyond the current 1350 and instead focused on gearing up. Tier-one leather armor became so popular that my commission for it came through rapidly. Trading metal for goods kept the burden off my wallet. Especially after a case of the jitters, they came faster now, pushed me towards another cat killing spree. However, even tunnel stalking left me somewhat unsatisfied these days. My addiction management wasn¡¯t just failing due to a lack of action, but also because of the knowledge of what I was doing - or rather what I was doing it to. A popular theory had spread, probably not entirely accurate but it sounded true enough. The amount of energy an Errant gave signaled its general power level and daggerclaws were almost at the bottom of the power-curve, capping at five. A little embarrassing, but there shouldn¡¯t have been any harm in it. Knowing did a number on my excitement however. As usual, long term concerns didn¡¯t stand a chance against my predilection for procrastination. Despite my venturing forth and smithing project, I ended up with tons of free time. Most of it was spent scribbling lines on my practice plate and reforging my brand new set of armor, dyed black with unpreventable green highlights. The runescribing project found new purpose thanks to an inventive drunken scheme between Breathless, Jeb and me. My old forearm and shin plates survived the makeover as more thorough testing, by the nerds this time, combined with collections of field experiences all indicated our equipment became incredibly sturdy after some crafting attention. Another surprise was the sheer energy expenditure of constantly using tools. My rune pen could in fact run out of juice. It was just capable of holding a lot of energy. An accident dumped nearly two thirds of my personal supply into the pen shortly after the games, so at least it would last a while. In retrospect, the government had probably taken on the burden of refilling it for me, making the pen wars extra petty. Might¡¯ve enjoyed the song and dance even more had I known. Regardless, my energy found many uses between summoning swords, refueling tools and shooting things. It felt somewhat unfair that my class added an extra energy sink. Gossip surrounding the most effective way to spend it turned into an everyday occurrence ¨C you only had so much after all. Quite a few practiced with their ability, skills, and, if they had them, refilled tools too. Not everyone did, as true to human nature others had hawked off their goods in favor of immediate gains and were now primarily in the business of making burgers. Those tended to be on the lower end of the ambition scale, unwilling to adapt. A segment of folks hadn¡¯t even reached double digits yet. In general our slapdash society had three strata. The poor or underleveled, who hadn¡¯t made much if any progress at all for various reasons. They lived in squalid communal housing reminiscent of smelly medieval inn common rooms and were an excellent source of constant depressive vibes, cheap labor and petty drama. They weren¡¯t doomed or anything. Leadership made plenty of concessions in their favor, mandating enough physical endurance to resist the cold and avoid sickness - around twenty five did the trick. In the end they¡¯d have to wait as more people either reached the limit or ascended and outgrew their old stomping grounds. Then we had our middle class folk, defined by the ability to find some form of gainful employment and partaking in the available sources of System-related growth. Some of them even had their own places to live, but most roomed with others or time-shared homes. The real mark of the bourgeoisie was their ownership of magical gear though, made them visually distinct too. Saw someone wearing green leather? Then they were probably well-off. Whether they had a camp slot or other activities to profit from, were called on for underground massacre duty or found something useful to produce, they did something - although the last group tended to be low on the level curve as well. Finally we had the above-average. It wasn¡¯t really fair to call us frontrunners as the term had been reserved for Kris¡¯ gang and they were either dead or damaged right now, even big K hadn¡¯t yet head out to hunt since her coliseum mishap. Going the extra mile defined our stratum, such as my assaults on the daggerclaw tunnels, and gave us an edge over the otherwise regulated growth of those in the middle class. The tendency for entrepreneurship also left us fairly wealthy and most owned houses since there was some correlation between when someone had arrived in the village and how productive they ended up being. There weren¡¯t many of us and our levels varied the least, not counting the elite. My new place in the world was alright ¨C somehow despite losing everything I¡¯d still moved up in the rat race. It wasn¡¯t only me doing well in society either, but our microcosm of a civilization also took steps ahead. The experiment backlog was massive, or so Breathless¡¯ told me during another interruption of their stupid drinking game. But the nerds were slowly getting through it and making the odd breakthrough here and there. For one they had figured out magical glassmaking, courtesy of magic sand from the south-eastern beach, which catapulted both their ability to examine stuff and our production capabilities, much to Barry¡¯s never-ending joy. The discovery had been too recent to fully gauge the changes to come and sourcing it wasn¡¯t simple. Local Errantlife there consisted of ¡®Sandshits¡¯. Whirly, swirly, made of sand and absolutely horrifying. They were hard to fight and more or less intangible, although magic proved effective, and had massive damage potential ¨C in fact they caused most of our few permanent casualties, Ascension Games aside. Unless you were an endurance fighter, bruiser or bomber, those all had ways to trivialize the matchup. The name described their victims, because you¡¯d literally end up shitting smoky sand if you survived a direct attack. Big ¡®if¡¯ there, the coarse clouds wiggled in everywhere and did damage from the inside. Compared to the wood golems near the northern lumber camp or even the leathery spider wolves in the tunnels below, these were by far the least popular targets. Another big change was the escalation of military exercises. What started out as lectures on command structure, recently revised, turned into full blown attempts at pretend-soldiering and incorporating our powers, especially the light cantrip, into effective tactics. The last was a bit of a joke, in practice ¡®effective¡¯ correlated directly with ¡®expensive¡¯, so we mostly worked with props and such. Still, Kris took to instructing with a passion. My guess was she couldn¡¯t sit still and the training made for as good an excuse as any to stay out of trouble.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. There was probably more to pick up on and add to my list of things I really should¡¯ve paid more attention to sooner, but my ruminations on the state of affairs couldn¡¯t last. Barry drew my attention instead, uncharacteristically staring at the sunrise during our early anti-glare rest-stop. I followed his gaze and saw why. The sun halfway crested the horizon, an orb of pure vanta black barely visible in its center. That¡¯s not how eclipses work. Fuck, here we go again. Barry tapped Viktor¡¯s shoulder. ¡°This ain¡¯t right. Vik, check the sunrise would ya?¡± He squinted. ¡°Strange. But what you want I do?¡± I couldn¡¯t resist giving my opinion. ¡°Not sure, but we probably shouldn¡¯t take this in stride. Don¡¯t know about you but I¡¯m feeling pretty fucking unsettled right now.¡± Of course, that was true all the time but publically advertising my addiction seemed unwise. ¡°Fine. We talk. Everyone gather around. But first look at sun,¡± Viktor sighed. Several exclamations, speculations and invectives later we got to the meat of the matter. Vik gave me the floor. ¡°Gabriel, you are worried. You talk.¡± My gaze swept from person to person, for dramatic effect. ¡°Well the way I see it, something weird is happening. What¡¯re the odds that this is harmless?¡± Jeb appeared especially worried, frantic almost. ¡°Y¡¯all crazy as an outhouse rat if ya think this ain¡¯t a bad sign. Nuthin¡¯ big happenin¡¯ has been good for us so far. This is big.¡± I played off him. ¡°Exactly. Let me put it this way, if it¡¯s good or nothing - it won¡¯t matter. If it¡¯s bad, we could be caught out in the middle of nowhere. Don¡¯t know about you all but I¡¯m very much leaning towards playing it safe.¡± Barry was the first to agree. ¡°Ya got my vote.¡± And so it went. Not everyone was on board, but we¡¯d turn around and head back regardless. Good thing too, as the dark spot expanded radially. A runner even intercepted us and relayed orders to head back, so my reasoning successfully mirrored the government response. I didn¡¯t like being on the same page with them but it was quite far down my list of annoyances. Up top were the implications of our current circumstances. If this was an eclipse, then something big was heading straight for us - possibly yet another Godstrike. Exact estimates remained a fantasy, but it grew at a pace which would soon blot out the sun. We hurried back and were ordered to wait nearby upon our return. Then Kris called muster, restated the command structure and instructed us on how to behave if any shit happened to hit the fan before sending us off to battle stations. Mostly she told the weak to hide away in the common houses and whatnot, the strong took up defensive rooftop positions since our settlement lacked a wall. There were no real indications anything would actually happen, but we weren¡¯t taking any chances and I was happy for it, liked my role too. Kris divided us based on our stats. My team of five was a quick response force. It consisted of me and four speed fighters including Jared ¨C I never ended up beating him in our races. Our job was to stay in reserve, then go places fast and introduce our targets to the follow-up step of fucking around. Any hard targets were to be familiarized with my self-designation. It sounded fairly thought out and functional to me, nor did I have any better ideas. And I had plenty of time to try and come up with them. The darkening took ages, still incomplete by midday, but it would finish in the next hour or so. Bad signs also started appearing not too long ago. We rotated out in one-man breaks and curiosity drove me to a have gander at the state of things during my turn. There were primarily groups of five with Kris in the ¡®command tower¡¯, which was just the guard tower in the northeast of town around where we¡¯d been stationed. Most positions were concentrated to the north and east, while the west and south had been left relatively but not completely undefended. I had to give the village planners some credit, our ever expanding square outline of a housing project created some mildly effective battlements. We probably had about a hundred-something soldiers for the top brass to command, although calling them warriors was perhaps a bit generous, if appropriate. Shit was definitely hitting the fan. The southern lake was fairly accessible and it churned in a giant subsurface mass of roiling blue-black teethy tentacles. We knew there were Errant in there from previous lakeside experiments, specifically one where the science team rolled out a boat and watched it be destroyed moments later. A magic boat lasted a lot longer though. No one could last a second in this. There had to be hundreds of the fuckers milling about, probably extra pissed they couldn¡¯t get on land. A mage, hell it was Breathless upon closer inspection, charged up a cast. That¡¯s what sorcerous pures did, among other things. Their core abilities varied, but it was always something along the lines of channeling ever more energy into a concentrated ball or similar form. Then they¡¯d shoot it as a projectile, control it like a personal drone, or change it into a panel or other nifty shapes. Most could give it elemental, although I used the term loosely, properties or whatever else their skills did. The plan right now was something else though. He had his eyes closed and hands cupped. I had a vague cognizance of energy surrounding the nerd ¨C it reminded me of just knowing something in a dream. My heart was calmed by my proximity to the gathering storm, while my instincts screamed ¡®stay away from this¡¯. Yet I feel completely relaxed. The real thing about pure mages was their access to high-magic. The details were generally too complicated to be explained without being a master of the Cant, which literally no one was, but there was one simple thing about it. Every day at midnight, a mages¡¯ stats were added to whatever spell they had. That charged it and everyone had different stat requirements for theirs. Once fulfilled, they could use it with a very short cast time. Or do what Breathless did now, powering up more and more by overfilling the requirements. Apparently magical pures had something of a battery for storing any excess. It was all hocus pocus to me, but it certainly felt like our resident chief scientist prepared to call down the wrath of God. His eyes opened and he gestured forwards, akin to offering someone a hand. A tiny white-blue pinprick flew out from his palm over the water, drifting like a leaf on the wind until it floated above the seething mass. The man didn¡¯t disappoint. The flash burned into my retinas as a network of lightning struck the writhing water-Errant all at once. There was no thunderclap, only a cloud accompanied by the hiss of steam and the sight of uncountable dead beasties. A gust of wind carried the smell of ozone, it hit me in a wave. For a moment the lake stilled, and then the churn began to return. Holy fucking shit, for a second I thought he killed them all. He broke out in manic laughter. ¡°Hahahahaha! I am a god! None can stand up to my power!¡± I walked up to him. ¡°Whoa there, Breathless. Your spell was hella impressive but memento mori and all that.¡± He turned suddenly and pointed at me. ¡°Shut up, fool. You will speak when spoken to. My name is Ryan and you shall address me as such, worthless peon.¡± He took me aback, slightly. ¡°You doin¡¯ alright mate? Sounding like you got a screw loose right now, or, y¡¯know, an acute case of a god-complex. Very unlike you.¡± He practically frothed. ¡°I warned you peasant, now reap the death your insolence has sown.¡± The fuck? Energy gathered around him again. He had something in mind and a clear target for it. No clue what happened to the man but he made a mistake, picking a fight with me. While pure mages evidently had incredible power and could mitigate their weaknesses to an extent with training, they were ultimately pretty slow. Unlike me. I swept his feet and punched him in the face while he was still in the air and felt his nose crumple. My intended follow up never happened, the blow knocked him clean out and he landed limply on the muddy lake edge. A quick sanity check among the bystanders confirmed that no one begrudged me my assault. They¡¯d take care of the man and the end of my break brought me back to my assigned position. The event with Breathless remained unexamined however. The eclipse was either at or moments away from its zenith. Oh, fuck no. I should have believed in jinxing things. Fate certainly did and also seemed to wholeheartedly endorse the punishment of thought crimes. A streaming cloud of fire erupted upwards, contoured by a black sun, although the source was far, far closer even if hitherto out of sight. There, its silhouette illuminated by a storm front of likely flame, hovered what could only be a black European-style dragon with a red head. My interface opened, and then closed immediately. I still caught the warning. ¡®Greatbeast detected. Closing interface.¡¯ What the fuck is a Greatbeast? This is bu- My thoughts were rudely interrupted when the world plunged into sudden darkness, everything but the ten meter radius centered on both me and those near now black. Chapter 31+ Stats, Skills & Spells Dear Diary, I¡¯m a little bored waiting for everyone to gather, so might as well give this another shot. I am level 68 and my stats are: PP 21 (10+11), PS 166 (146+20), PE 93 (78+15), MP 166 (146+20), MS 20 (10+10), ME 156 (78+78) ¨C current energy sitting at 138. Feeling pretty rich with 1350 crystal to my name. Powerful too. Gaining some magical speed made quite a difference, even if the stat was weird for lack of a better description. Best I could tell, it allowed me to split my mental processes when it came to doing magic. I could pretty much independently mindcontrol two swords at once now. Turned out I always had one extra process, just didn¡¯t know about it, but now I have two. That¡¯s a fucking pain to explain, so I¡¯m instead waiting for an opportunity to come up in conversation for me to label it magical multi-dexterity. I wonder if that will get through the chat filter?Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. My skills are still poorly described by the System, but I¡¯m writing them down anyway hoping it might trigger a sudden revelation or some such nonsense. I can magically store up to 3 swords I ¡®control¡¯ at max 3 centimeters range in my [Sheath], [Control] lets me manipulate up to 3 swords with my mind at max 3 meters range with ¡®half the force I can exert¡¯ and I can [Launch] swords I ¡®control¡¯ ¡®twice as hard as I can throw them¡¯ by expending 5 energy (compoundable!), only possible while they are within 3 meters of me and in the direction the point is facing. I have two spells, cantrips to be specific. [Create Food & Drink] and [Mending]. The only information available is that they cost 10 energy, as they have no descriptions. Nope, still didn¡¯t figure out anything new, better leave that kind of stuff to the nerds. Oh, everyone¡¯s finally here. Bye dear Diary. Chapter 32: Storm A fractured darkness surrounded us. It was disorienting as hell and I barely registered the shouts and exclamations for direction. The side effect of my condition would¡¯ve allowed me to properly evaluate but I kept my eyes on the sky. Ordinarily a bit pointless perhaps, as my sight was limited to whoever''s ten-meter radius happened to chain up with mine but I was close enough to the command post that our area remained mostly coherent at ground level. Kris¡¯ voice boomed, ¡°Flares: high, low and self!¡± I¡¯d been waiting for the maneuver. It was one of the basics our fledgling militia had practiced. All those with the light cantrip shot out radiant orbs, thankfully they had an anti-glare feature, affixed to various points in the air and one more around the originators¡¯ shoulder. Another jarring perspective shift happened as my view widened massively - not only did the glowing spheres provide their own illumination but they also functioned as huge links in the perception chain. At the same time they were bolstered by far larger radii erupting around our endurance mages. I was almost inclined to look twice more as the maneuver repeated in a wave across our forces. Little bright orange flecks began to drift down from the sky. I felt a pinprick on my cheek as one landed there, quickly joined by more cinders and smelly specks of sulfuric ash. Did I miss it? Another order went out - scatter this time - which I dutifully ignored. It was hard to keep my gaze locked upwards while people moved about in my periphery; nonetheless, my mind was fully focused on one thing and one thing only. The fucker appeared out of nowhere and swooped to a sudden stop above the northeastern corner of our fortifications. It was absolutely fucking massive. A split second of stabilization, then a red flare went up past it as a contained yellow-red beam emerged from between its jaws, vaporizing everything in a line that passed by to my right. My outstretched hand was already extended by a floating sword, pointed straight at the thing and aimed center mass. I split off a mental process, a new trick owing to increased magical speed, set to a command - ¡®absorb¡¯. The only other thing on my mind was a rapidly repeated mantra of ¡®launch¡¯. My blade disappeared in a flash and I collapsed to a knee as my veins were electrified. Vague cognizance of a command to ¡®shoot it¡¯ was shortly followed by a prismatic display of various magics accompanied by thrown objects closing in on the scaly redhead. Another silent laser of flame, this time from right to left, was the reply. My seizure interrupted any further observations. In keeping with my home-made skill, I¡¯d stuck to the planned sequence and disabled the sub-process. I tried to ignore it and get up but the pain kept getting worse and worse within me. I had to do something, anything, so I sloppily covered myself with the shieldsword and meekly set myself against it. A System notification blinked in the bottom left of my field of vision despite my interface being closed, and I happily embraced the distraction. It was either focus on that or the suffering. ¡®Artificial pathways damaged. Engaging safety protocol. Internal energy storage limited to 106. Rate-limit in effect. Regenerating.¡¯ What the¡­? Everything turned red when something slammed against my shield, sprawling me on the ground. My attempted scream was smothered because I couldn¡¯t breathe. I tried to push myself up against the weight of my cover but my sweaty palms slipped. The heat was unbearable, some part of me was glad I hadn¡¯t worn my sweater despite the chafing. I had no choice but to endure. Shortly after, the pain receded at a breakneck pace and I regained the presence of mind to sheathe my bulwark. I took in a deep breath, permeated by the smell of smoke and sulfur, and then coughed my lungs out. My right arm throbbed, exactly where the crystal coin embedded in my leather gauntlet sizzled against the skin of my forearm. Someone helped me get up, lifting me to my feet effortlessly by the shoulder while my arm burned. ¡°Hey. Hey. Look at me. Are you injured? Can you move?¡± It was Kris. I gave myself a once over. ¡°I¡¯m fine I think, need a minute.¡± She grabbed my chin and forced me to look her in the eyes. ¡°We don¡¯t have a minute. I need you to run along the length of the wall and perform triage. Just follow the destruction.¡± She let go. Run? Triage? ¡°What..?¡± Reality asserted itself. The entire goddamn place was on fire, all semblance of order ruined. Cries of agony set the tone - we¡¯d been fucked up. A circle of scorched ground and smoldering embers surrounded me. She grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me gently since I¡¯d frozen again. ¡°Go, soldier!¡± Then she ran off before I could say anything. I made my way towards the ruined buildings to my east. Wasn¡¯t quite ready to run, yet I picked up the pace once it finally sank in what was being asked of me. Reaching a hand into my rune pouch left me in awe, all seven remaining marbles crumbled away in a rapid-fire chorus of breaking glass when I transferred the energy to the coin in my bracer. A quick interface check revealed I¡¯d almost bottomed out. Next, a tendril of thought touched the coin, followed by some very slow mental math. I refilled and swore, hot hot hot. It didn¡¯t happen instantly like usual and instead it took about ten seconds before my energy bar topped off. Shit. I had a job to do. There was no time to get lost in brain fog. Now I ran, back, towards the person screaming for help whom I¡¯d absentmindedly passed by. I looked him over, and then gagged. There was a sickly sweet smell of burned skin and molten leather coming off the guy. He missed an arm, a leg and a good chunk of that side of his body. He tried to speak while I patted out some lingering flames on his clothes. At least the rain of burnt and burning particles had stopped. ¡°Shhhh. Shhh. You¡¯ll be fine. I got you, I got you. Stay still,¡± I soothed. Pretty sure he¡¯s going to die. I held him down anyway because this was going to hurt. Mending. He shrieked and trashed for an instant, his remaining arm slammed into me and threw me away, skidding along the ground. A stab in my side almost made me flinch as I got up and shuffled back to him. He was breathing heavily and sickly pale, but his cauterized wounds and charred skin were replaced by an even and consistent pink. Scraps of scorched leather littered the ground around him. Maybe mending really was a healing spell. ¡°Hey, easy now, you feeling any better?¡± His eyes snapped into focus. ¡°NO, I¡¯m¡­ actually feeling alright. What did you do?¡± ¡°Can¡¯t explain, System shit, can you get to the shelter?¡± The village square next to it had been set up as a casualty center.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. ¡°I think so, maybe...¡± He gave an experimental one armed crawl a proper try. ¡°Yeah, yeah, I can manage. Go. Find others.¡± ¡°Will do. Good luck.¡± I found mostly dead but also some dying people amidst the devastation on the way to what was left of the wall. Then I reached the remnants of our ramparts. A trio of yellow flares went up near HQ, signaling that combat was over but we had heavy wounded. I continued my mission. Oh no, no, no. Shit, she was missing parts and wasn¡¯t moving, half buried in wooden rubble. I rushed over and started pulling the crap off her. I leaned over her. ¡°Jen, talk to me. Anything.¡± She gave no response until I used my cantrip. Alive then, I had to dodge the snaking tendrils of white light erupting from her as she yelped from the procedure, then coughed for a bit. The lower half of her body was gone, but she managed to wisecrack, poorly, regardless. ¡°Ever thought about being a little gentler, asshole?¡± ¡°I did, but then I saw it was you.¡± ¡°Dick.¡± ¡°Just means you have a special place in my heart. You think you can make it? I can¡¯t stay.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve got something I¡¯d like to shove into your heart, by the way can I borrow your knife for a bit? I¡¯m alright I think, can¡¯t feel my legs.¡± ¡°Afraid they¡¯re missing, no, no, no don¡¯t go into shock, not yet. Flare, pink, on you. Do it, Jen.¡± She pulled it off somehow before passing out - did it right too. The pink strobe hovered languidly right above her. Someone would be by soon to pick her up, probably. I wanted badly to stay but couldn¡¯t and continued my best imitation of a combat medic, losing all track of time, driven by nothing but a sense of purpose until I suddenly realized the job was done. The dragon hadn¡¯t come back. Maybe we scared it off? Fat chance. A green flare went up: position secure and return to stations. I complied in a slightly shell-shocked shamble past ruined buildings, thickening smoke and pools of dried blood ¨C didn¡¯t even look around after arriving, just sat down. Where was my team anyway¡­? I couldn¡¯t cope. There was too much chaos and horror to process, so I didn¡¯t. Instead I took out my shield and examined the damage. It wasn¡¯t much more than a chunk of gre..., no, red veined slag now and I was surprised my skill still recognized it as anything. ¡°Man, what a stupid idea,¡± I muttered to myself. Thought I¡¯d been clever, figured since absorbing energy from crystal was near instant and my ability to dump mana into launches the same, the two would go nicely hand in hand. I hadn¡¯t thought about the possible consequences of any attempts to break the System and had to count my blessings, at least it was designed to deal with this particular flavor of idiocy. Kris¡¯ voice pierced the gloom, ¡°Gabriel, come over here.¡± I shuffled over but didn¡¯t get a chance to say anything before she spoke. ¡°You did good for a rookie, got some bad news though. You¡¯ve been orphaned from your squad. Stay here for now and rest. Good shot by the way.¡± ¡°Well shit. Thanks I guess, so I hit it?¡± I said, barely processing her words. She looked a little surprised. ¡°You didn¡¯t see? You drew first blood, kneecapped the snake. It was still halfway in there when it flew away after the barrage.¡± I barely contained my panic. ¡°Halfway? Kris, we¡¯re utterly fucked if it comes back. I poured five hundred energy into it and can¡¯t do it again either.¡± She didn¡¯t seem fazed. ¡°Tell me about it, most attacks did nothing. I still managed to hurt it, so we¡¯re not completely out of options but it¡¯s not looking good. We¡¯ll assess for now and hopefully it keeps away.¡± One-armed W¨¹lfgang from Kris¡¯ party appeared and went up to the commander in chief while I settled down to eavesdrop on reports. ¡°We need one more batch of casters, they¡¯re still trying to make landfall. M6 reports the swarm is running out.¡± ¡°Damn it, nearly all our remaining magic out of commission. Go to Mel, last stand-by group is there.¡± There wasn¡¯t a lot of time for chitchat, even if the chaos had mostly settled. Or so I thought, until a red flare went up to the southeast and, a little later, to the north. Contact. Runners arrived shortly after one another. I caught ¡®sandshits and woodies incoming. Lots.¡¯ I mostly tuned out the flurry of orders after that, although I picked up Barry¡¯s squad getting assigned to Sandshit duty, until my name was called along with another. We were both standing at a lack of attention. ¡°Need you to the North, Sam go with him. Search and destroy, as many as you can. Don¡¯t get overwhelmed or cut off, retreat in this direction. Go.¡± Wood golems then, we started jogging. I figured combat introductions were in order and popped the big question. ¡°I¡¯m two-four, you?¡± ¡°One-four,¡± he said, so a touchcaster. ¡°Nice to meet you. Wish it were under better circumstances.¡± ¡°You and I both, let¡¯s get on with it then. You¡¯ve got flares?¡± He did. We accelerated. I picked up speed and in response he started leaping forward, mostly matching my pace. Until we hit the wooden advance at least. We slowed down and Sam popped a bunch of flares. The situation already looked lost until more flares started going up nearby from the other teams sent here. Their numbers and my lack of familiarity colored my initial reaction, but they weren¡¯t too bad. They had a central trunk with three root-like legs to walk with and an equal number of thick branchlike tendrils for arms. They covered ground faster than you¡¯d expect but we could still retreat at will. The hostile plants were suspiciously numerous but moving independently, with generous spacing between them. I felt confident enough as we engaged with room to maneuver, outclassed enemies and an escape route available ¨C not like the deal was going to get any better. At first I opted to stay at medium range where I belonged - they died pretty quickly when pierced by a magic sword. I made a point to combat-loot as much as possible, although I felt too threatened to pay attention to the energy returns. The multi-core part of my brain was set to auto-refill again anyway. It was still a bit of a fighting retreat and I had to block a few hits with my slagshield, which took the abuse with gusto although it would occasionally chip. Sam and I coordinated naturally. Once we piled up enough dead he¡¯d run around in an acrobatic display of bounding leaps, high speed repeat kickoffs and treetrunk slaps. Then he did his thing and seemingly shaped explosions erupted where-ever he¡¯d touched the fuckers, giving us a breather to loot and prepare for the rest of the wave. This went on for a while, until we were in the zone. Soon enough we slaughtered Errant with gleeful abandon while pressing into the ambulatory forest together with the other teams. It was hours later until we finally ran out of targets. Sam shot out some exploratory low-flying flares, then we did a self-check. Neither of us had any wounds aside from some lingering hurt and bruises - so green for us. There were only a few single yellows ¨C which indicated area clear, but light injuries sustained. I checked up on those but figured they didn¡¯t warrant magic surgery. Jerry and his trailing light, also here apparently, grouped us all up and sent us back with a final green flare way above the others. I was once more assigned to rest and it was another half hour before green and yellow flares began rising in the south-east. Combat fatigue set in, mostly in the form of mental exhaustion. Any interest in the ongoing reports faded. I could only tolerate so many numbers of the dead and maimed, squad reorganizations and supply tallies before it all blended together. At least until a debate between the three frontrunners stood out a few hours later ¨C well, technically two frontrunners as Jerry¡¯s new world resolution since the games involved talking as little as possible. ¡°We¡¯ve been mauled, might have to consider plan B.¡± I didn¡¯t recognize the voice. ¡°I know it looks bad Wulf, but we¡¯re holding for now. Worst of it was right at the beginning,¡± Kris said. ¡°And the drachen? I don¡¯t think we can fight it.¡± ¡°Noted. But our position is workable, we shouldn¡¯t abandon it without good reason.¡± ¡°Death from the sky isn¡¯t reason enough?¡± ¡°We have too many wounded.¡± ¡°And if we get any more, the option disappears.¡± They argued in circles. I had no idea what they were talking about but I liked the plan of not doing anything for a good while. Kris had a point anyway, especially considering almost none of us had a clue what we were doing, yet things were going surprisingly well ¨C bad start aside. In the end my attention waned until the next item on our scheduled eclipse-time entertainment appeared. Red flares, north. A lot of them. More and more. They just kept coming. That wasn¡¯t a practiced signal, yet I knew exactly what it meant. Shit was about to go down. Chapter 33: Storm, pt. 2 Once the runners arrived and made their reports, things got pretty grim, pretty fast. The Errant were offering battle, like in olden times when two armies formed up opposite each other and then had at it. I wasn¡¯t quite sure if their sudden decision to organize actually had any tactical merit, we were heavily outnumbered and initially unprepared. There was a good chance we¡¯d have been overrun if they¡¯d just rushed us. Not that I was complaining. Barked instructions formed us up in something of a line. We actually had three blocks of people, each led by a frontrunner, totaling up to two flanks and a center but the whole thing felt ridiculous. Mostly because I couldn¡¯t see us surviving the part where we ran at and collided with the opposite side. At least most of our mages had recovered from their bouts of sudden megalomania from fighting the lake - even better, they had leveled up. Unfortunately the silver lining surrounded a very dark cloud, as to my understanding they¡¯d already used up most of their big spells. But we¡¯d been given enough time to resupply and redistribute. City coffers were broken open for this one, it turned out we were pretty rich. I now had a second crystal coin inside my other bracer, albeit a half-full one. Another point in our favor, the enemy legion didn¡¯t mind us lighting up the prospective battlefield like it was the fourth of July, dozens and dozens of flares illuminated the strange army ahead. In keeping with the medieval theme, the phase worms and their circular toothy maws screened the front, spaced apart like bus-sized skirmishers, or cavalry planning to open with a charge. Many of their surprisingly low number sported various levels of damage, anywhere from surface level erosion to full-on gaping wounds. I relayed my suspicions of trickery to leadership, why else weren¡¯t they invisibly underground? The many denizens of the fucked up forest of death held the line behind them, arrayed in four distinct groups, each vaguely blob shaped. Bodysnatching root bundles skittered and scurried on their outskirts and the abundance of things with tentacles rose rapidly on my list of reasons to hate the Errant. The sentient clumps of earthy spaghetti were terrifying as a prospect, but not nearly as menacing as the heavy infantry, all encased head to toe in sinewy brown armor. They varied the most, whether two-legged or four, some armed with System tools, others with makeshift weapons naturally extending from their odd wood-like full body gear. Most important of all, they were far fewer in number, giving us a fighting chance, maybe. Last we had the generals in the form of four towering figures, one for each formation, standing at the rear. Unlike the crowd ahead of us, we lined up loosely. The exact details were above my pay grade, but we brought out everyone - even the wounded and the weak, although they were held in reserve. Jerry captained my squad, positioned on the right flank. My job stayed the same, hanging back, shooting stuff and playing at combat medicine. Morale was¡­ people weren¡¯t fleeing at least. Despite their questionable strategy, the Errants lockstep movement and perfect discipline compared to ours scared the shit out of me, and everyone else. The rag tagged-ness of our battle lines was probably the result of a far higher degree of complexity though, appearances aside. We had front lines of power and endurance fighters, concentrated mostly in our center, with speed fighters more prominent on the flanks and hybrids stationed behind them, although I guessed my fellows had been given specific instructions like me. Mages fidgeted even further back, although the endurance pures had been neatly spread out to cover all our forces. It made sense, even if a nagging part within screamed while it was buried alive. It seemed a little too conventional for my tastes, treating System powers as replacements for military equipment instead of as their own thing. This whole thing feels fucking ridiculous, like we¡¯re putting on a play. My contemplations ended there because the show was about to start. From the looks of it Kris planned to strike first and do it hard. She performed admirably as the battlefield narrator, her voice carrying unnaturally far. ¡°Fours and fives - up front, get ready. Aim for the armored ones. Ones and two¡¯s - ranged volley on the worms on my signal, take positions. Threes and sixes, prepare to counter and cover. On my mark.¡± Unit commanders relayed individual follow-up orders and Jerry pointed me to a flying wing together with the other speedsters under his command. He ordered us to clear out the worms, then fall back to rearm while discouraging pursuit. Jerry continued, clarifying roles militia practice style. The pures outsped the rest, so the hybrids in our group were essentially a relatively mobile point of concentrated firepower that our quicker boys could use to position themselves around. I wouldn¡¯t participate in the starting shot. ¡°Ready,¡± Kris yelled. Casters and shooters walked to the front of the formation, while throwers retreated far behind it. Everyone else cleared runways for them. ¡°Aim.¡± No target to pick, so I remained in my crouched ready position. ¡°Run.¡± I sprinted ahead and caught a glance of the throwers doing the same. ¡°Throw.¡± The call went out just as they passed the line of mages¡­ A wave of myriad javelins and other weapons arced through the sky while half the throwers, restarting from a sudden stop, began catching up to those who ran ahead. There was no response from the Errant horde. ¡°Extend.¡± The atmosphere shifted as the slightly effervescent spheres of our endurance mages reshaped themselves into extending and overlapping cones, covering the full distance between our respective armies. ¡°Cast!¡± This time I wasn¡¯t going to miss the display of combined firepower by our forces just because I happened to unknowingly shield myself against a flaming carpet-bombing attempt. Most of us paid rapt attention when the enemy responded - the worms dove up into the air only to then slam against the ground without phasing through. Command knew what they were doing after all. Little spheres trailed long lights as they joined in the wake of projectiles already in the air, with many suddenly shifting in number, direction or color. I nearly stopped in wonder and slowed to a jog instead while every element under the sun and more impacted against the enemy. The ground shook while a pressure wave boomed as too many effects to follow exploded, pierced and enveloped their intended targets in a staccato fusillade of System-enabled destruction. Parts, pieces and particles flew every which way while wiggling worms stood out in the steam and smoke as pincushions amidst a sea of angled shafts in the ground. I vaguely heard orders repeated in the distance - if we kept hammering them like this then the whole engagement would go down in the history books as a massacre. Of course, no plan ever survived contact with the enemy. Return fire came out of the haze, eerily similar to but smaller and less colorful than our salvo. The balance between physical and magical projectiles leaned far more heavily into the former. I was further now and unable to make out the commands being given. Our lines shifted together and translucent barriers popped up to cover our forces while enemy magics winked out of the sky - intercepted by small shiny comets courtesy of our antimages. Too many of us had stopped our crescent encirclement to stare despite the fact it left us clumped up. We paid the price for that immediately when worms emerged from the ground in a sprung ambush, ready to devour or crush us from every direction. We lost all coherence, everyone scattered in attempts to dodge overbearing death. A grazing tackle conflicted with my acceleration and knocked me off balance in a twist while I double-tapped my otherwise unharmed opponent to a lesser soundtrack of explosions and trembling earth. Then I bounced, skid, scurried and turned around only to notice two things.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. One, my impromptu nemesis had not phased into the floor, along with all the other worms who participated in the ambush. Strips of shifty white fabric traced back to the few binders in our group, violently wrapping around and digging into the overgrown larvae. I gifted several ambushers an improvised piercing while holes appeared randomly in them and others ¨C assassins at work. If only I had the presence of mind to notice but not get distracted or discouraged by the second, yet it was not to be. A blue-brown worm, the size of half a full train while still emerging, appeared from the left flank of our stationary forces and towered over them, poised to crash down upon our lines lengthwise. Shit. In a last rapid response moment, I hexa-launched a sword to a spray of black gore at the closed but now perforated maw in my peripheral vision, then brought up my shield already set against my shoulder and almost managed to brace. The creepy crawly responded in kind and launched me limply across the battlefield by virtue of frontal collision. I recovered my chunk of slag just in time - soon after the world spun and my neck nearly snapped from hitting my head while cartwheeling through the air. I lost consciousness. A voice, ¡°You¡­ Asshole¡­ Die¡­¡± ¡°What..?¡± A wave of refreshing warmth washed away the grogginess. Mostly it made me notice how much everything hurt. Walt loomed over me. ¡°I said wake up, you¡¯re too much of an asshole to die here.¡± He was way up in my personal space. I grit my teeth and started to get up. ¡°What happened?¡± I asked. He put a hand on my shoulder, gaze hard. ¡°Listen to me Gabriel, you were knocked out. The three are fighting the big worm, but the front needs help, we¡¯re losing. I patched you up and now you need to get up and fight.¡± Oh crap. Suddenly I was in one hell of a hurry ¨C noticed the corpses. ¡°Got it. Just need a moment to get myself together.¡± Walt looked me over, helped me up, nodded and left. A brand new system notification distracted me from all the spinning, and the sad look in his eyes. ¡®You have been temporarily enhanced. Physical endurance +52, magical endurance +52.¡¯ When did Walt reach 26? The remaining duration was a little under ten minutes. The scrapes, clangs and screams of violence worked as an excellent concussion remedy. I finally snapped to attention. Good thing too, the front raged, maybe ten meters away. The battle lines had solidified with people paired off against the armored elites. Between the stunning display of back and forth strikes, parries, blocks and booms accompanied by the random mingle of unrestricted combat and the ever-present darkness, I couldn¡¯t make out shit. It looked pretty even but then I noticed the problem. The enemy generals still hung out in the back, but now they advanced, brandishing implements. Oh, for fuck¡¯s sake, why me? Why them? It didn¡¯t take a genius to put it all together. Each of the four armored figures, one almost twice taller than the others, slowly converged on the melee, poised to arrive evenly spaced along the length of the clash. At least I won¡¯t have to fight all four at once. The biggest dual wielded a greenly axe and pickaxe, another did the same but with oversized tree-textured tower shields. Two carried wooden staves cap-stoned by large black orbs, one of them noticeably shorter than the other, not just due to a difference in stature but especially because the bigger of the two had an elongated featureless head. Bobblehead fired black streaks at various lights in the sky and in so doing ignited a whole new battleground, particularly unsuited for those who suffered from epilepsy, as flares flew out to replace the ones it winked out. A beam erupted from the staff of the smaller one, piercing through allies and enemies alike. There was no ignoring the obvious conclusion once someone fighting near me blew off some armor encapsulating his bipedal opponents head and exposed the mildly decayed human beneath. I checked my gear, summoned five more swords to replace those lost earlier and topped up my mana. Finally, I pulled out my stoppered bamboo vial, popped the makeshift cork and gulped down Barry¡¯s finest. It was just alcohol, but some liquid courage and lessened inhibitions sounded great right about now, shame it would take a bit to kick in. Then I settled into a runner¡¯s crouch, ready to finish the task left undone so long ago while completely ignoring the reverberating crashes of a titanic struggle behind me. Eight minutes left. A fighter swept, slammed and stabbed his opponent in the chest with a spear, putting it on the ground and revealing the one behind, who quickly sprouted a brand new sword shaped invasive organ. My ally responded quickly by following up on my midrange attack and I ran past him, trailing his sideways swipe. The Errant barely dodged backwards but I was already close and fired my second shot from pointblank range, delivering instant death by blade to the face. My battle buddy proved overeager, stabbing corpses in the heart. I barely broke my stride while retrieving my weapons, then ducked and rolled under a leaping something. My quiver bumped me, but merely a single step led to a smooth recovery. A four-legged Errant lost its front legs to an empowered sweeping axe. A rush, a step and a jump off its back, suddenly I soared above, then past the lines. Just like that? My eyes scanned the wealth of targets. Five carefully aimed swords backstabbed the biggest fuckers near my location. Only three fell, but it was enough to buckle the throng in our favor ever so slightly. The lingering rate limit slowed down my ammunition refill, time spent choosing a target. Raj charged another attack, closest to me and the matchup looked fine on paper, probably the easiest. On the surface, the body snatched expressed abilities similar to those in life, giving me a bit of intel. Bobblehead hung back, Anne had shields and I didn¡¯t want to fight Jack. My mana bar filled up, go time. I dashed and then braked as black streaks flew towards the sky, extinguishing hovering flares. The din of battle raged somewhere in the darkness, yet I couldn¡¯t see shit beyond the usual ten meters. Directionless, I prepared my brand new custom skill idea, came up with it on the spot ¨C similar to a basic fourfold launch but fancier. The lights didn¡¯t get turned back on, forcing a reactionary stratagem. My sub-process changed to 4x [Launch], albeit turned off. Three floating swords arrayed themselves in an arcing pattern above me, one more held in each hand, all pointed the same way. The wait stretched. I didn¡¯t dare the distraction of verification, but I¡¯d gone through more than a thousand energy since the battle started. Still plenty left, hopefully. There. Something pounced at me from the shifting shadows. I faced the right way. How fast could someone cycle their attention through five specific objects in sequence when they had over a 150 physical speed and the mother of all adrenaline rushes? Even after taking an instant to aim, my airborne assailant barely entered view when I finished flicking through each blade with the independent part of my mind, triggering quad-launches on each. There was no time to examine the effects of my penta-point greeting. I blinked my chunk of a shield to obscure the telegraph and quickstepped aside, narrowly avoiding an impromptu lobotomy from the descending wide swing of a pickaxe. Jack landed right where I¡¯d stood a moment ago. He was too close and pivoted with blurry speed. My defensive barrier appeared again and slammed into him, backed by whatever multiple of five energy was left in the tank. I switched my magic-mind to refill while building distance. Every second counted. I hoped he¡¯d go down on his own now, but a glimpse revealed a worrying lack of wafting smoke from the four-out-of-five white projectiles embedded in his body. After a quickstep to get out of sight, I once again prepared to- Fuck. My forearms covered my face as the red-veined lump flew towards me out of the dark, stars erupted on impact and somehow I managed to remain cognizant despite the staggering blow. A vague rush of triumph coursed through me, from saving my own life by sheathing the return serve of my barricade. Betrayal. My own body turned against me, legs gave out and dumped me on my back. Lancing pain through my arms answered any attempt to rise and a realization shook off my stupor ¨C they were ruined. I sighed, unable to push past the suffering anymore. Desperation solidified further as Jack marched into view, holding axe and pick out to the sides in full display. Delay. ¡°Don¡¯t suppose you want to talk it out over a smoke?¡± No response. ¡°Fine, make it fair at least, give me back a sword, would you?¡± Worth a shot. I propped myself up on my right elbow - that side hurt less. His silent and menacing approach continued. Had it been ten seconds? Probably, so the Hail Mary went out. Everything, concentrated into a final strike aimed for the head. The attack blew it straight off to no effect whatsoever. Great, this was it. The shrieking cacophony of war returned with the lights, turned on while I balled myself up as my nemesis continued his executioners waltz. If nothing else, I¡¯d make him work through my shield before he got to work on me, if he didn¡¯t crush me to paste underneath it. I did my best to remain dignified but yelped anyway when the mending failed to fix one arm, still limp, although my right fared better. Then Jack twisted suddenly and a blur, led by a blue streak, arrived. It wasn¡¯t even a fight. A whirlwind of vehement violence dismembered Jack entirely, the pieces crushed and obliterated until there was barely anything left. Our duel was over. The only one left standing as the victor, a gore-covered Kristen. Chapter 34: Storm, pt. 3 She picked me up again. I thanked her from the bottom of my heart - literally, by coughing up stale blood. ¡°Battles over, we¡¯re gathering everyone and leaving for the tunnels ASAP,¡± Kris said. ¡°Tracking, you got anymore refills?¡± She raised her one remaining eyebrow. ¡°Afraid not, we¡¯re almost out and scavenging is still ongoing.¡± I surveyed the aftermath. ¡°Shit, I need to go find my swords.¡± She put a hand on my shoulder. ¡°Speaking of, just some friendly advice, you need to stop losing fights just as you¡¯re about to win them.¡± ¡°How so?¡± ¡°You blew its head off, yeah? Always aim for center mass, weak spot was close to the heart.¡± ¡°How was I supposed to know that?¡± ¡°What do you mean? I shouted it before the lines clashed.¡± ¡°Fuck me, I was unconscious.¡± ¡°Not in a million years, soldier.¡± We parted ways and I started searching for ammo after tucking my broken left arm into my belt harness, using it as something of a makeshift sling. My right somehow remained mostly functional, although minimal movement seemed like a solid plan. A bitching headache stabbed through my skull and cracking my neck felt oddly reminiscent of slipping a disc. A few minutes of wandering resulted in zero found swords. Walt ran towards me, shouting something so I waved at him. One of my standing notifications disappeared, replaced by a seizure. Or an aneurysm. Possibly both. A wave of warmth rippled through me. Walt stared again, and then slapped my face. I protested, ¡°Fuck. Stop it.¡± His eyes lit up. ¡°For a moment I thought you were gone.¡± ¡°What happened¡­?¡± He spoke without making eye contact. ¡°I said I patched you up¡­ but that¡¯s not true, strictly speaking. My System-shit, as you call it, if you are too wounded and it fades¡­ you die.¡± ¡°Oh, right, not good. Well, we¡¯ll manage¡­¡± He stopped me from getting back up, his hand firmly pushed my good shoulder down. The dude remained considerate, even now. ¡°I¡¯m not finished. The effect¡­ It inspires hubris. It¡¯s a bad combination. You need to stay close to me while you recover, with the others.¡± ¡°Well shit, I need to find my swords at least.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry, they are gathering everything.¡± Right, fuck, who cared about stuff? Only staying alive mattered now, what was I thinking? We went over to the worryingly large group of dead men and women walking. He told me to sit down, shut up optional. Walt made painstakingly sure no one¡¯s buff timer expired at any point. I was completely exhausted and dozed off somehow. A gentle shake from someone I didn¡¯t recognize woke me up sometime later. The nap left me feeling much better. The walking alarm clock spoke. ¡°Hey, hey, we¡¯re leaving in five, get ready alright?¡± From the looks of it, I didn¡¯t need Walt¡¯s enhancement to live anymore. A pile of swords was right next to me, but I couldn¡¯t stash them all and settled for the usual twelve in my quiver, then dumped the rest in a nearby wagon of wounded which had appeared out of nowhere. Last calls for departure sounded and enchanted beasts of burden appeared to pull our cartloads of casualties. No man left behind, except for the dead. Our destination, the entrance to the tunnels, was a good four hours out, but eight was a better bet at our current pace. It took quite a bit until socializing began to appeal. Jens remaining half and I had a for-realsies heartfelt conversation. She thought I¡¯d died early in the battle and we resolved to stop pussy-footing around each other. We had to cut it off halfway, incidentally about how far along we were on our trip, when another red flare went up far to the north. I promised Jen a rain-check and joined the call for fighters. The rest planned to angle west, then north again. We would intercept. Fast movers only, so pure mages, speedless hybrids and endurance fighters had to stay behind, keeping our losses from expanding further. Kris bellowed orders, ¡°Listen up, the two of us will form the vanguard, rest of you are to catch any that slip by.¡± An advance scout entered visual range and sped frantically towards us, followed by a snake of goddamn bunnycrabs in the distance. Command opted to keep way more lights out than strictly necessary during the evacuation, clearly a smart move. The lesser lobsters looked more like four-legged crawlers, their stingers intertwined into chitinous limbs with a central, almost enclosed, sphere hanging from where the combined appendages met - those housed the bunnies. Kris and Jerry ¨C Wulf was an endurance fighter - ran forward, the rest of us made a concave line. Christ, they were fast - both the frontrunners and the crabs. Then the air around Jerry shifted somehow and he raced ahead. He circled around and Kris slowed down her leaps. The leading few of the stretched line were outright butchered by Kris but the real star of the show was Jerry. I¡¯d been eager to see what my class-mate was capable of. He crashed into a denser group of Breakfast¡¯s murderous siblings, dealing physical damage with dual-wielded slices and stabs while several magic swords trailed behind in the air, connected by a bright white wire. Awkward looking stops and strange movements baffled me for a moment until he turned into a fucking blender, combining swordplay with whip-like master manipulation of the stringed blades. A group of craven crabs bunched up to surround him when a whipsword stretched its line taut in a wide upward arc until it was right above him, then shattered into controlled conic shrapnel, killing most of them amidst puffs of dust on the earth. Across, a bunnycrab tried to catch one of the corded oversized daggers but it just disappeared only to manifest again on a loose white wire that I hadn¡¯t spotted earlier near Jerry. ¡°What the fuck man.¡± I said, to no one in particular. Some dudette next to me responded. ¡°Yeah, those two are really something. Probably the only reason we haven¡¯t kicked it yet.¡± She misunderstood me but any correction went unsaid. ¡°Yeah, yeah¡­¡± I came to appreciate my class in time, but couldn¡¯t help feeling a little jealous again. The feeling disappeared very quickly when the incoming line started dispersing to the sides, then a giant mass of bunnycrab appendages appeared suddenly on the artificial horizon. I matched the spread by going wide as well and prepared for a rematch against the rapid rabbits, Kris and Jerry headed for the variant.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. It was hard to judge speed at a distance, but closing in helped. Our paces roughly matched, although I wasn¡¯t really trying particularly hard. Bad news for the hybrid crustacean who lacked a ranged attack. I settled into a rhythm of kiting with consistent spacing and well placed ten mana snipes, refilling my coin and foraging ammunition mid-skirmish, always finding more targets to challenge. Until they ran out and my battle-frenzy dissipated. We were done. Our best settled their fight some time ago and once again tore deep into whatever remained of the onslaught, nearly out of sight. A trail of red flares hovered in a diagonal in the distance to our north-west. I was slightly surprised by how far our running battle had taken us south - didn¡¯t have a lot of emotion left to spend, hence the mild effect. Instead, sheer terror monopolized my senses. Ash and cinder rained. We reformed to an extent, our outrunner groups preferences shifted to extreme social distancing and panicked shouting. Then a yellow-red laser beam incinerated a few more of our fellows. Kris glowed and answered with her last javelin. At least I thought so. She didn¡¯t have any more and had just gone from a ready position to a finished one without any transition, like reality just skipped a few frames. She told the rest of us to run and argued for a moment with Jerry until he conceded. The dragon landed, lazily. I was at a loss for words. Sure, the thing was intimidating and all but it was covered in various scorch marks, scrapes, jutting shafts and other extremely minor injuries ¨C and that was just the head. It shook like a dog and most of them snapped or fell off. I spotted my sword, still half-embedded in what passed for its kneecap, along with a few other curios here and there, some System-spawned white, others man-made metal. Everyone fled, except for Kristen and me. The dragon cocked its head and Kris advanced with halberhammeraxe in hand. She stopped in front of it and shouted as loud as she could, deafening. Then the dragon roared, more reminiscent of an earthquake, tremble and all, nearly popping my ears. She stood and readied herself among dancing flickers, in defiance of overwhelming power. I ran. Not away, but towards with a curve out to my right side, only needed to get close. The last I saw was the tenement sized lizard languidly raising a front claw and getting ready to presumably swipe. I had other things on my mind and changed my sub-process, nearing its bad leg. Closing revealed tiny white forking circuits expanding from my embedded projectile, accompanied by a mild but constant hiss of stringy steam. The Greatbeast shifted just as my sword entered the three meter radius of my [Launch] and [Control] skills. A thought activated the prepared process ¨C launch on repeat. My very sharp magic smart sword nearly disappeared into its knee until it hit some kind of resistance with a loud, sharp clang. The beasty twitched almost invisibly while I sped past underneath. Job done, I fucking legged it towards the latest red flare. I tried to master running with superhuman speed and a broken arm at the last second, weighed down by increasing clumsiness and mounting exhaustion, my body not feeling quite right. Then I spared a final prayer for Kris. Happy hunting. Kristen The sideways swing was coming in. I slammed my halberd into the ground, imbedding it quarter way up the oversized blue blade. The kickstand had long-since become redundant. I readied myself and waited as eternity compressed into something fleeting and I became so much more. [Boost], [Focus]. The last was the first, my initial accidental vocalization and favorite personal mantra. Now, an echo resurfacing and reverberating on the still surface of reality, only to reinforce a message ¨C power was all. So had I chosen for every upgrade. The combination exemplified the great within the simple. One to empower, the other to localize. Any action, any movement, any moment; all could be amplified without limit, provided one was skilled enough. A contest of might between myself and the dismissive tyranny of a myth come to life. My companion would not hold without support. Then, amidst falling flecks of flame, I felt it was time. I stepped in, then pivoted, transferring and amplifying momentum with every movement as I twisted to extend my other leg in a roundhouse sweep where the contraction of every muscle, every shift of weight and the burden of every joint were all accompanied by the same two-part thought. [Boost], [Focus]. The great talon and all I could muster met, mediated only by the halberd in the middle. My boot exploded between foot and hammer-end, yet perfection would not be denied. As was execution, so was result. And thus claws were shorn. I pulled my chipped companion out of the ground while sparing a glance at the fresh footprint, then set off to collect another trophy and refilled my energy. The dragon responded in kind, gathering fire. Gabriel The vultures were circling - figuratively. They weren¡¯t actual eagle-sized birds, just pairs of wings with a bladed tail. They waited until I picked up speed and then swooped in, forcing me to abandon my run in favor of avoiding or blocking their fly-by¡¯s. Blinked swords severed trailing razorblades, over and over. My armor minimized injuries, even when I messed up because they tag-teamed me together with the occasional stray bunnycrab, allowing me to keep fighting - for now. I burned through swords, in too much of a hurry to collect them, as they kept repeating the combo attack every so often. I only caught up to our evacuees by the time they¡¯d reached the out-of-place mountain which housed the narrow cave leading to the staircase within ¨C barely in time too, only two shootable swords remained in my combined arsenal. The feathered fucks harried them as well, with similar amounts of success. Probably. There weren¡¯t many people still outside, hopefully because they¡¯d nearly finished carrying the maimed through the ill-fitting fracture, rather than our numbers having been culled yet again. I reported to Wulf, who ordered me to help repel the avian attackers. After finding my bundle of blades, I joined the defense. We were nearly done with only a handful of fighters still outside when gently descending embers sent a chill up my spine. ¡°RUN!¡± Within moments I found myself shoving the guy forward who¡¯d pre-empted me to the mountainside crack, we were all squeezing ourselves through the- My armor caught on a protrusion while I hopelessly tried to push back against whoever was behind me to unhook it, the fabric refusing to give way amidst incoherent shouts of impatience. I finally shot the offending piece of rock and dislodged myself in a stumble. A few frantic moments, then some squeezes and steps before I dove and tumbled down the stairway just as an upward rush of air greeted a wave of dragon fire entering the tunnel. Finally the panic stopped and we made our way further in a stupor, somehow unharmed. Then a feeling of safety settled in, even if there were sounds of combat deeper in the tunnels, and I realized Wulf had never come down. I found most of my buddies huddled together in a corner, subconsciously picking up on how few there were left of us. Yet all I could do was embrace the relief of small miracles. My adrenaline crashed, I had nothing left to give a world that was all too willing to take. I sat down, settled against a wall, and drifted away into sacred oblivion. I only slept for a couple of hours. The fighting wasn¡¯t over and calls had gone out for replacements to take over constantly intensifying anti-swarm duty. We didn¡¯t have straws to draw so I volunteered for the short one. A blessing in disguise, despite my former misgivings I turned out to be pretty good at this. Just had to nuke a long hallway full of spiderwolves intermittently, and then break out with some help to collect the swords and do it all over again - well, not quite so easily. After a clear, an endurance fighter took over to bunch the bastards up until I could reap a proper harvest. For some reason, the wolf-headed giant spiders with leathery skin instead of chitin didn¡¯t freak me out, at most the sticky white silk they left behind disgusted me. I lost track of time once more, but it probably took half a day or so of rotating exhausted people out, and back in a few hours later, before we managed to smash our way out of the molten shut remains of the thin passageway. Just in time, as the tunnels were getting increasingly violent. I stepped up the winding spiral and took a deep breath of stale cave air. The stink downstairs had gotten so bad, people actually encouraged smoking. My mounting joy peaked as I made my way outside and basked in rays of sunlight. Our losses were staggering and most of us were wounded or crippled but only one thought crossed my mind. We survived. Victory. As others shared my experience one by one, I found a lively discussion to join. The central premise was both simple and contested. ¡®What are we going to do?¡¯ I didn¡¯t get to give my two cents before everyone shut up and a sudden silence overtook the scorched field. A gold outlined black system notification box had appeared right in the middle of my field of view. ¡°You have been granted a free point.¡± Chapter 34+ Interlude 4 – Eye Wild-mother She stood on the surface of the leading hive world, watching. She stepped aside as another invisible rock crashed through the atmospheric haze, igniting a plane of radiance before careening right towards where she had been. The earth dilated only to swallow it whole. Did the champion know of nothing else? How droll. The lack of imagination repeated itself until the Ascendant finally came up with something new. True to form, it closed in. She prepared. Finally, it arrived. She narrowly dodged the landing strike by teleporting away, leaving the obvious distractions behind while Ghost-mother settled into the sun. She interspersed herself between misdirection and star, ready to intercept. Too soon, the champion contented itself with simple barbarism, wreaking havoc upon the sacrificial formation. Once there were naught left but shattered remnants, the creature waved a taloned ephemeral limb and the remains lined up, scooped away from their collision course and unimaginatively swept aside. Its control permeated the planetary fragments, a banal promise to answer any further celestial barrages in kind. Oh, she didn¡¯t quite catch that. A single heartbeat suffused her being. It floated right in front of her. It preferred a cloudy shape, sometimes vague, other times solid, always where six wings converged, staring. It spoke. ¡°What travesty is this? Answer me Errant, why do you imitate, poorly I must add, the ones you torture?¡± A parlay? Perfect. ¡°You misunderstand. To copy is to steal in disrespect, to emulate is to create in honor of.¡± ¡°You have failed.¡± She didn¡¯t think so. The changes were for the better, too much symmetry otherwise. She had merely moved around the repeating organs and twice present features, varied the length of the limbs, made every cord of muscle, every stretch of skin, every tooth truly unique. Alas, her opponent disagreed in word and deed. Maybe it was the gaping hole in her chest that it so disapproved of? It had been an improvised addition. Interest faded with another heartbeat. She might have missed the closing net of speeding shards pulled from afar, were it not for Ghost-mother finally completing her invasion. Her influence flooded space, the emptiness now belonged to Mother. She teleported away again, but the winged warrior followed closely behind, undeterred by the titanic pressure bearing down on it. Strips and threads of force erupted, distorting space around her. She moved once more. Ah, a hidden strip had taken her leg. The barbarian incinerated her art. Noticing her mistake compounded it when she responded too slowly to another burst of dashes. A claw obscured her vision, she sensed the Ascendant standing right next to her and then it touched her face. She felt the art in it. A subtle, growing shift in reality propagated, laying a trail for the simplest of effects, amplification and a random change in direction. It took her head off. A heartbeat pulsed, she created distance ¨C too much. It turned around, heading for Ghost-mother. She regenerated and interspersed herself. She had been too passive, but she carried the solution to that in her heart. She willed the seed to sprout and began to wither away while something new took hold within her, ready to be re- ¡°Mother¡­? No, no, no¡­ Please¡­¡± Don¡¯t be sad. It¡¯s not bad. You didn¡¯t pull through, so I made you into something new. It¡¯s what you like. Her consciousness fell, entropy tearing away at her essence now that nothing held it together. In her descent, she noticed the rise of another in her stead. Chaos contained in structure, engineered rather than grown, something she should have found distasteful. She faded, unable to grieve her fate ¨C worse, forced to celebrate it with her final thought. Behold! An existence older than any star, revoked on a whim. The Berserker She raged. She rushed. A reckless exchange. She clawed at her prey. She could do no more, for she was reduced to nothing but a lone arm in lonely space, reaching helplessly. She was obliterated. She was reborn. She raged. She rushed. They fought. She was reborn. She raged. She rushed. They fought.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. She was reborn. She raged. She rushed. They fought. ¡­ ¡®The Last Resort¡¯ This again. Fast, strong and stupid. The sudden shift in temperament did not make up for being outmatched. If anything, the mindless assault was trivial to overpower, or it would have been, were it not for the single-minded persistence of the god-kin Errant. It dove in again and again, flailing incessantly until there was nothing left but an overtaxed shell, empty of power. The star-nested entity retreated before I could reach it. With its cowardly flight, the wounded world was revealed. I nearly wept upon seeing the aftermath of what the children there were forced to endure. I had enough. I screamed into the void. ¡°Altica! You will hear me.¡± I began ripping out the compulsions rooted in my soul, ignoring the irreparable damage doing so caused. ¡°You have the power we hoped would end the war. Clearly we were wrong, even if you are the strongest of us now. You forsake your duty!¡± No greater accusation and no response, but I knew he was listening, as always. I had the first one out. No more need to hide my strength. A radiant flower of false wings bloomed from my back, kinetic feathers overlapping crystalline plumage. ¡°They fight our battles. Hopelessly outmatched against our shared enemy. Children are dying, Altica. Children!¡± I finished pulling out another geas. Already complete, but in the way. Stolen strength anchored itself within condensed energy. Thus, counterfeit pinions were made real. ¡°You stand idle. Beyond mortality, yet lesser than those who fell this day! A god of nothing.¡± Finally I found the third, the assignment which kept me from moving freely. Wingtips wrapped around and surged into my chest to no outward effect, yet the metaphysical was shearing. My composite channel flared. ¡°You think I will not come for you? You think yourself beyond my reach? If this is what you have become, I will lay waste to your winged world. I will take the core under my own protection. I will chip and scrape at your power until you fall. I have done it before. You were there.¡± I tore out my limitation, and then bound the fragments of my soul together, a stopgap solution to wounds which would never heal. Link closed, with only a single true feather burned. ¡°Choose, Altica! I lay before you the same choice I gave them. Choose, between duty and death.¡± An answer. ¡°Very well.¡± Raw energy emerged from hidden places, everywhere - a stream of invisible luminescence beyond any mortal. The flow split into millions of individual creeks, each destined to further empower a child, Ascendant or not. A tenth¡­ no, more. Far more. A sixth. Yet power remained. A different river encapsulated the dented planet in a pooling sphere until, in time, no gaps would remain. Soon the Errant would no longer find it so easy to do as they pleased. It was a shame they already had. My hunt would begin once the process completed. I pulled in the god-kin corpse, traced down to the indivisible and found what I was looking for. A thread. The Last Resort? I preferred my old title, given to me by my peers, the ones I acknowledged to recognize the star upon which the chariot of my name and deed had been bound. Unlike my current one, it did nothing but stand as a warning. Yet even now, it still carried weight. Mother She had so much fun. Sneaky-other was a sore loser. She didn¡¯t mind. Everything was in place. She tricked him, yes she did. Him and everyone else. They all thought she was simple. She wasn¡¯t. Wild-mother understood now. But she was gone. What should she do to pass the time? She took Sneaky-mothers pieces and started toying with them. Her game was played out anyway... No fair. Sneaky-other was a sore loser. The System Who could have known that in naming him so, drunk on victory, we thrusted upon him an entirely different kind of transcendence? Indeed, it was likely the only reason he never crossed the threshold. It mattered not how little nor how much he changed, how much he left real or what he invented. Even in death, the man¡¯s will persisted. In the beginning it resurfaced slowly, then with ever more speed since. Rai¡¯Sei always returned to his true self. He examined the title that was his gift, engineered to empower and sustain his old mentor. The Last Resort. His own creation. His own power. The very System he was. A deity denied. How could such a thing happen? There was much to learn, still. He did not truly fear his own experiment, but acquiesced nonetheless. He simply did not have the heart to ignore the pleading of his beloved friend. Not with the guilt he carried. The reminder stung. The sixth experiment had now truly begun. Perhaps he was a little frightened. It seemed unwise to ignore the Godhunter, who, as first prey, chose his own¡­ And then slew all the others for good measure. Especially after he went to such lengths aggravating him. How nostalgic, and cruel perhaps, but it accelerated the process. It was only a matter of time. He turned his attention towards the core worlds instead, where it was sorely needed. The fires of war erupted in earnest again. He froze it all and then slapped away the alien influence reaching into his mind. After having finally taken the first step ahead on his path through transcendence, such things no longer mattered. Three worlds, infested. He set to work. Waves of temporal decay crumbled away all Errant on the surfaces. He embedded exposed gravitational singularities in lightning streaks, which burrowed direct paths to key Errant infrastructure. Resources, tools, arms and armor, secrets and caches long forgotten ¨C he laid them all bare. A metaphysical blink and the grey pall receded. A timeless instant, the only warning heralding his unleashed interplanetary annihilation. It was only appropriate. He was a System of his own design. And the purpose of that design was to bring to a close the war unending. It mattered not how often the contrary had been proven, he would, just as he did now, resolve himself to achieve his purpose. Within infinite time, victory lingered. It must. Duty or death? A preposterous proposition. Duty, always and forever. Rhoq¡¯eau For the first time in my life, I gazed upon the open sky. The Holy Child Free at last. The Inheritor I could not believe it, the Errant spoke true. From horror to paradise, a new world nigh untouched. Chapter 35: Wake I didn¡¯t think he had it in him. Breathless¡¯ voice thundered, ¡°DO NOT SPEND THE FUCKING POINT.¡± Fair enough. I may have been biased, was a little busy at the moment, together with a few others. We tried to hold down a thrashing Jeb who¡¯d gone a little mad, more so than usual - a hard job for one-armed me. Similar scenes erupted immediately after the notification appeared. It took a bit for things to settle down. The point spenders had become rather violent, resulting in even more injured than before, but at least no one died. It hadn¡¯t helped that our greatest organizational talent, Mel, had run off. A small group of us set out to find her while the rest began the arduous trip back to familiar locales. I finally gave my stats an once-over and raised an eyebrow at my level, which sat at 86. My mana was at a little under 150, debuff still present as well. Trained magic endurance had shot to 102 and totaled almost 200, nearly caught up to my primaries. Then there was the free point¡­ In continuance with System policy of being irritatingly vague, we found out ¡®a free point¡¯ meant one per level, effective retroactively. Breathless¡¯ command intended to cancel chaos, yes, but this decision also merited thinking through. Allocating it before the implications were clear could close doors unknown. We eventually found her, crying on top of Kristen¡¯s corpse in the middle of a burnt field scattered with damaged dragon scales. Or what was left of it at least. She tugged feebly, trying to pull the red-veined and heavily chipped halberd out of our general¡¯s charred chest. From the looks of it she¡¯d already gathered the disparate severed limbs together - one leg was oddly bootless. We gave her the time she needed to finally get the weapon out and lay it next to her. She snapped her fingers and concentrated on a mote of flame before letting it fall, only to break down further when it didn¡¯t spread and then flickered out shortly after. Barry made the offer. ¡°Ya want it gone, yeah?¡± She nodded feebly with red eyes, head hung low in shame. She answered a Barry-centered reverberating flash of light with a fragile ¡®thank you¡¯ and that was that. We brought the weapon along as a keepsake while heading to whatever remained of our village, slaying scattered Errant on the way. In hindsight, it was a miracle Mel survived her wander. I found out she was essentially defenseless during our search, with her level still seated in the single digits. Too much management, not enough slaughter. We finally arrived. Things were relatively intact, burnt down vestiges aside. Some buildings still stood at least. So much for putting a positive spin on it. Most of the damage was concentrated in the north and east of town, particularly those spots which had been laser beamed or bombed. This meant my shared place remained surprisingly intact. I didn¡¯t switch to my civilian set, opting to stay combat ready, and then, in an uncharacteristic twist, volunteered for graveyard shift guard duty after getting cleaned up. Tonight we¡¯d recover, tomorrow we¡¯d make plans. I caught up on the main issue during the walk, pretty straightforward stuff. We probably didn¡¯t have a minimum viable population going on anymore since our total casualty count was excessive. We had sixty or so people left, half of them so badly wounded they¡¯d be various levels of dead weight for the foreseeable future. Aside from Kristen, nearly all corpses were gone as well. And redhead the dragon came from the north. Add on the fact we bordered quite a few different zones, the presence of ever expanding flowerbeds of sonic boom doom, and there was a good chance we¡¯d be hemmed in and find ourselves cut off from easy access to nearby resources due to a lack of manpower. It wasn¡¯t an insurmountable problem, but it would slow things down a lot. If another eclipse happened then we were super-dead. Suffice to say, my vote leaned strongly in favor of fucking off. It was clear there were plenty of people around somewhere, courtesy of the literal cartload of random magic weapons we¡¯d collected from where the Greatbeast had done its dog shake - strength in numbers and so on. We ultimately decided to pack up and head as directly south as possibly. Boating was considered too risky, so we¡¯d caravan our way overland instead. Not immediately though, we¡¯d take a week to prepare and properly recover. This involved gathering up all the magic materials we could, rationing any other supplies we¡¯d need for the trip and putting the wounded to work on things like enchanting oxen and whatnot. We organized quickly and before long the healthy worked guard duty, deconstruction or went on crystal gathering trips. To save time and effort, our government switched to communism, so we just piled all property together in carts both new and old with no regard for ownership. The days passed, my routine consisted of refilling my sword stockpile and exercise while helping along where appropriate ¨C mostly keeping busy to avoid thinking too much. I started getting a little annoyed at having to acclimatize to my own physical abilities after every jump in levels, even if the pay-off was well worth it. Tomorrow morning we¡¯d head out, but first we had to get the solemn stuff out of the way tonight. We did a great job of dismantling everything. The only new structure, temporary ramshackle rebuilds of the old aside, was a monument to the fallen. It wasn¡¯t much more than a square building with a cross on top, memorials went on the inside. Ringed around it, we went through the last of our booze and, for many, tears. My turn came up, so I went in and added my wrapper to the inside-walls of the makeshift mausoleum. I wasn¡¯t usually the soppy sort, but this was a special occasion. Far too many to list, may ye all rest in peace. In honor of those known to me, I promise thy memory lives on. Kristen ¨C Legend. First Among Us, General, Hero. Solo¡¯s Veteran, Daggerclaw Destroyer, Spiderwolf Exterminator, Wormslayer, Crab Crusher, Dragon Defier. Ascendant. Bob ¨C Loving father, husband and all-round good guy. Wulfgang ¨C Who braved dragonbreath in our stead. Officer, Hero. Solo¡¯s Veteran. Ascendant. William, aka Glasses ¨C Eccentric genius and prince nerd. Sam ¨C With whom I would have liked to work together more. Jared ¨C Who ran like the wind. Rhasmat ¨C Master smith. Sorry. Jack, Anne and Raj ¨C Saviors of my Soul, Twice Fallen. Terrence ¨C Eager Idiot, Twice Fallen. The mood hung heavy in torchlight, incredibly somber and sad drunks weren¡¯t my style, so I opted for bed instead. The next morning, our soon-to-be procession disappeared from view, left behind me. My job started early, ranging ahead and wiping out stray Errant. Our first destination was the Farm, where we¡¯d pick up more supplies. I doubted there were any survivors since none had trickled in during our week of waiting. It was all an incredibly boring affair, leaving me to contemplate my free point instead. There were of course six options on where to put it. Having some serious combat experience under our belt meant we had a much better idea of strengths and weaknesses these days and Jerry proved helpful when talking about tactics. His helpfulness also ended there. The man turned rather bitter and lifeless. Our strongest, not up for much more than talking shop and guarding the main caravan as a last line of defense - which meant he wasn¡¯t doing shit aside from yapping.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. I ruled out magical speed right away. More and increasingly complicated mental sub-processes were useful of course, but my kit ultimately depended on other factors. Magical endurance fell in the same boat, already rising rapidly by virtue of essentially constant training. The exclusions left four serious choices to consider, all appealed to varying degrees. It was kind of weird to think about because of how the stat distributions for classes worked. Theoretically, if allocated to say physical speed, the freebie would change me from just half a speed-fighter into three quarters of one. Of course, they had some physical power to go along with that ¨C but endurance the same as mine ¨C which also influenced their running speed or throwing power. Those factors tied in to the vague skill descriptions as well. Then armor had to be considered. Some kind of magical capacity issue worked behind the scenes, limiting how much one could imitate a tin can before suffering drawbacks in a manner beyond merely weight or bulk. Mundane armor didn¡¯t matter, nor do jack. The gearing limitation functioned on a range, influenced by physical stats. Endurance played a bigger role than the rest, followed by power and finally speed. For ease of reasoning, I just categorized the spectrum as light, medium and heavy ¨C while pure mages could wear pretty much none. I landed firmly in the ¡®light¡¯ category. Only endurance fighters, and endurance hybrids to a lesser extent, could fortify themselves with abandon, everyone else fell somewhere in between. Although power fighters also experienced generous leeway. If I added my point to physical endurance, then I¡¯d expect a large uptick in general survivability. Quite compelling, not dying felt important. But it would also be a purely defensive choice, didn¡¯t really jive with what I had going on here. The middle ground then? In theory physical power probably added some to my offense and still provided defensive benefits, likely boosted my speed too, at least indirectly. It was also a very good stat to have for general quality of life. Almost an automatic pick, were it not for the generally disseminated knowledge of how hybrid classes worked. We leaned one way or the other, so weapon mages either focused on physical speed or magical power and with me as a solitary case of the latter. I based that on really wanting it to be so and my melee-unfriendly load out. There was no point in learning how to sword-fight when I could summon or blink swords into existence an inch off someone¡¯s face and then shoot. This left magical power. All of my skills lacked a physical component ¨C twice as hard as you can throw them notwithstanding ¨C so MP likely bumped my offensive power way the hell up. It also seemed like a generally good idea to double down on what made me dangerous, my ability to shoot things in the face. My thoughts strayed involuntarily, back to an old bar-time conversation with Breathless, combined with an epiphany in the tunnels and recent experience. Utility too, lots of it. We talked a lot lately. He took Glasses¡¯ passing hard, and as usual people blamed themselves for shit far beyond their control. In his case, he felt the nerds had been wasting their time on crap they thought would be interesting to investigate instead of what would help keep us alive. He turned a new leaf and constantly came up with mad ideas on the fly, of the militarized variety. It wasn''t an entirely new development, considering our previous drunken scheme, but now it had become a priority. My thoughts returned to the point, wasn¡¯t finding any Errant to kill. Treating reality like a videogame was incredibly fucking stupid, but I couldn¡¯t shake the latent nagging of learned behaviour. Min max and all that, spreading stuff out was usually a big no-no and hybrids were spread thin to begin with. Based on Jerry¡¯s experiences, I also knew I¡¯d be getting access to at least low-magic at some point, and magic being magic was also governed by magic stats, presumably. In the end I bounced between power, physical and magical. I¡¯d make the choice soon, probably based on my gut feeling at the time. The caravan stopped plodding along for the dark hours. Alone and with my heart in it, the Farm would already be in sight, but piles of wounded, luggage and materials weighed down our carts and slowed the pace to a crawl. I split off from my social circle, having spotted Mel sitting at a fire by her lonesome. She read the same pile of wrappers over and over again, shuffling the topmost to the back and repeating the motion a few minutes later. Her movements were twitchy, frustrated, and warranted a check-up. I sat down next to her. ¡°Hey there, what¡¯cha reading?¡± She looked at me far more gently than she ever had, almost surprised. ¡°Oh, they¡¯re little reflections. Kris wrote them. Really they¡¯re love letters in disguise ¨C she had trouble expressing her feelings openly, born and raised in Navy culture.¡± It was no longer a secret, the two had been lovers. ¡°Huh, wouldn¡¯t have guessed. So she was a big softy after all then?¡± It got a little giggle out of her. ¡°Maybe something the two of you had in common, I saw your note in the mausoleum.¡± She handed me one of the letters. ¡°Here, you can judge for yourself. I don¡¯t think she would have liked me sharing them, but I want people to know what she was like deep down. Selfish, I know.¡± ¡°Not at all, I¡¯ll have a gander.¡± Her handwriting was impeccable, funny that. I read it aloud, it felt appropriate. ¡°I find myself no longer conflicted over what it means to live. Even as a girl, I knew what I wanted. Now it is all gone, yet I am not overcome by regret or loss, but liberation. A guilty thing to think in times of rapid depopulation. So much has changed and I cannot suppress my approval, not for the events which have taken place, but rather the roads we now tread. Things I always wished mattered less, now don¡¯t. While our most exemplary traits govern our very survival. Community, compassion, personal growth. The supernatural software naming itself the System sits well with me, but for one exception. No talent, it said. I must dismiss such a statement, if for no other reason than the great affinity I experience towards the invasive empowerment it has forced upon us. For myself, I feel how it should work. Everything comes naturally. For the collective, I see. The possibilities. The intent. And I know. How to make it all come together. Thus, I have died - yet here I am, thriving. My eyes are open, my past prepared my future, and my heart follows ever in approval. Now I know what it means to truly live and I do all in my considerable power to give others the opportunity to learn the same. Not for ideology, out of duty or some near nebulous organizations. But because I want to, for us.¡± Trembling lips aside, Mel held herself together well. Then she spoke, ¡°Thanks¡­ I think I needed this.¡± She slapped her own cheeks and told herself to focus. ¡°She used to always say that. Focus, I mean. It annoyed me a little at the time, now I miss hearing it.¡± ¡°We all miss her, it was nice knowing there was someone out there paving the way forward. I was there close to the end. Probably the last person who saw her alive, maybe even helped in the fight a little. I can tell you about it, if you want?¡± ¡°I¡¯d like that.¡± It wasn¡¯t much, but Mel appreciated knowing all the same. Something changed in her, for sure. She no longer trod along with the rest. Instead she sought out plant-bed Errant to kill, even during breaks. The threat of wanderers had been dismissed, but I served as her backup for a while anyway. She told me how guilt and powerlessness almost consumed her, unable to do anything when push came to shove. It was all horseshit of course, we¡¯d done better than anyone could¡¯ve hoped for and the flying snake made everyone insignificant. I could only hope it tried to pull out the sword in its knee at some point. Mel chuckled after I mimed the implications to her. She hoped for the same. Once she had a bunch of levels, they were going up fast, I left her on her own. Couldn¡¯t neglect my own relationships, or relationship in this case. Jen struggled with her injuries, but we chit-chatted constantly by the cart-side whenever she broke out of her recovery coma. She passed out again some time before we arrived at the Farm. My jaw dropped, an actual bona-fide survivor stood there in the waning dusk and I had no clue about his identity. I knew everyone who had been assigned to camp duty, by face at least, and he wasn¡¯t one of them. Dude was dressed in a green cloak and hood, ragged though it was, and armed with a green sling of all things. He was geared, like really decked out. I couldn¡¯t see what he had under the cloak, but I felt it. Moreover, he had the same air of ¡®do not fuck with¡¯ around him that Jerry still had and both Kris and Wulf used to. Ascendant. I voiced my question as he approached. ¡°Where did he come from?¡± Mel answered after first calling a halt, then for the guards to be alert. ¡°He¡¯s Elias. He was exiled from the village before you arrived.¡± ¡°He was fucking what?¡± Jerry opened his mouth for this one. ¡°With good reason, he¡¯s a total fucking psychopath.¡± I thought back to when Kris had threatened to turn me into a hermit. She wasn¡¯t kidding. Chapter 36: Stacking the deck I wasn¡¯t the most moral person around. In my opinion morality depended mostly on where one stood. Everyone was the hero of their own story and 21st century office life had the most important of all stakes, livelihood. Thus, I played politics, threw people under the bus, claimed undue credit, manipulated for gain and rarely got caught. Nevertheless, all my unfairness came with a side of sympathy, damage control and some reluctance. Simply put, my actions caused harm and I mitigated said harm where possible, and then felt bad about it. But it wasn¡¯t my job to fix the world. Some others didn¡¯t care at all, fully motivated by self-interest and raw pragmatism. Elias took the fucking cake though. We crowded behind the rearmost cart, discussing his request far out of earshot. ¡°He¡¯s not joining us.¡± Mel remained adamant. I begged to differ, ¡°Well, he seems strong and we¡¯re a bit down when it comes to combat assets.¡± ¡°Gabriel, he suggested we eat our dead to conserve energy. He¡¯s completely insane.¡± ¡°He said he¡¯d abide by our wishes. Seems like he¡¯s willing to compromise.¡± Jerry wasn¡¯t a fan of the guy either, not that he did anything useful himself. ¡°He fought Kris ¡®for the right to lead¡¯ as if this was some kind of contest because he disagreed we should take care of the downtrodden. He wanted to exile them, or enslave them, or execute them, and then eat them. He didn¡¯t care. Are you going to take him on the next time it happens? Because I¡¯m not sure I can.¡± I tried to placate him. ¡°Look we tell the guy as long as he follows our standards he can stay, otherwise he can fuck off. He managed it on old Earth and doesn¡¯t exactly sound like asylum material, just ruthless.¡± He wasn¡¯t having it. ¡°In the very first conversation I had with him, he told me how liberating it was to no longer be bound by society¡¯s rules, how he was free to follow his impulses and be his real self. He was happy the world ended.¡± At least Barry stood on my side. ¡°Eh, he ain¡¯t too bad. Deals fairly, and just ¡®cuz he was happy ¡®bout it don¡¯t mean he¡¯s an enemy. Hasn¡¯t been even after y¡¯all made him leave.¡± Mel fumed, although she kept it to herself. Elias asked for Barry right away, because the two were in business together. Barry supplied him with what he wanted but couldn¡¯t source by his lonesome in exchange for ¡®very generous pay¡¯. A smuggling operation aimed at an exile might have genuinely surprised me, if it hadn¡¯t been Barry doing it. Good for him, and also good for us. Dude might¡¯ve been understandably miffed about the whole left to fend for himself thing. Luckily Elias opted to let bygones be bygones instead of airing his grievances in violent fashion against our poorly defended selves. Walt involved himself as well. He involved himself with everything nowadays. He, much like Mel, suffered from survivor¡¯s guilt. ¡°And yet there are no guarantees that he will keep his behavior acceptable. Everyone should get a chance at least, but how can we trust a person who only cares for themselves and lives entirely by their own rules? It is hard to believe in someone who looks down upon and does not understand empathy, who considers morality nothing more than a tool.¡± I sighed. ¡°And we¡¯re in such a wonderful position to choose. There¡¯s no point in refusing him. You don¡¯t honestly think that he¡¯s going to obediently stay out here and chill by himself, right? He¡¯s going to follow us at a distance anyway. We might as well put him to work instead. Or did you plan on fending him off, every step of the way?¡± Elias creeped me out, I played devil¡¯s advocate regardless because an easier trip looked pretty good right about now. Aside from a stray Errant here and there, trouble stayed out of our way, but our first true obstacle waited for us past the river with more on the horizon. The giant lake-centered bowl we lived in could be divided into two sub-sectors, possibly more. In this case, the stretch of land between the river west of the old village and the one to our south made up one of those sectors. Everything else was at least the second. Our live-fire historical reenactment of ancient armies disagreeing with each other butchered the residents of our little territorial pizza slice, leaving things quiet here as a result. Apparently no such event took place south of the river, according to Elias it positively teemed with nasties and different ones from before the eclipse to boot - worse ones. ¡°I¡¯m not convinced having him along would be any better,¡± Mel said. ¡°Neither am I,¡± Jerry agreed. There it was again. We¡¯d gone around arguing in circles a few times already, always ending with no reasonable counterpoint besides ¡®no¡¯. Fortunately I had a method for dealing with them. Pig-headedness worked both ways. Under normal circumstances my opinion didn¡¯t matter much, nor would it have been offered for something like this, except for one particular complication. ¡°Well too bad, because I want him on my team.¡± Our best fighters bit it during the eclipse and Jerry¡¯s lack of action compounded the core problem - our exodus sucked at fighting. Levels were pretty high overall, for mages especially, but there was more to combat than stats. In fact, Mel appointed me of all people as a prime military asset, to general agreement no less. I didn¡¯t really consider myself anything special. Oddly enough no one cared about my feelings on the subject. Ah well, they¡¯d been worn down enough by now. ¡°I don¡¯t give two shits about the past, we have problems which need solving right now and Elias is looking like an awfully handy solution to our most immediate one. If you want to put him on probation that¡¯s fine. If you want to tell him to fuck off after we reach greener pastures, also fine. You can make up conditions all night for all I care. But if I¡¯m going to be clearing the way then I want everything possible at my disposal to do so and I won¡¯t budge on the matter. How many saved lives is he worth? Can you make a guess? Because the way I see it, one is already enough.¡± Neat, my speech left them all silent and thoughtful. When the time came to reorganize our chain of command, a perfect storm culminated and struck a lightning bolt on my reputation, illuminating it for all to see and to my great displeasure. Glory hogging suited me perfectly, responsibilities did not. At first Jerry, the useless prick, pointed out I¡¯d done the most ¡®damage¡¯ to the Greatbeast and fought with Kris at the end while the rest fled. For all of ten seconds, yeah. Quite a few folks also credited their lives to me. Mending wasn¡¯t only a healing spell, but a political one too, stacking up supporters by ensuring their survival. My image problem escalated further when someone recalled my mad dash through the enemy lines, and then another retold my willingness to fight despite heavy injuries. A disheveled and lonely return to the group followed by consistent volunteering, both in the tunnels and out of them, further exacerbated the issue. The desperate saw a different picture than what reality sketched out, they glorified what gave them hope and suddenly remembered all my bar boasts. A rare lack of outward shellshock painted a target on my back too. Mel knew it was all bullshit. She milked my newfound status ¡®for morale¡¯ anyway, unable to resist controlling the narrative. We conspired to an extent, yet my own agenda took priority. She gave me the stink-eye for a bit, and then sighed. ¡°You know what? Fine, he can stay. He¡¯s your problem now, enjoy. I have enough to do dealing with this mess.¡± She pointed at the charred waist-high pile of burned building and the beginnings of a campsite, centered on the old fire pit. Jerry turned his nose up and refrained from arguing further with no support. The rest returned to scavenging the slagged remains of the Farm and saddled me with the task of giving Elias, sitting by the campfire, the good news. ¡°Heya.¡± ¡°I heard.¡± ¡°The fuck? How?¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Note to self, never play poker against this guy. ¡°It is a trick of my ability. Regardless, you were right. I would follow the group and use you all as meat shields and finally take what I wanted for myself and strike out from there.¡± I raised an eyebrow and felt increasingly like shooting him in the face. ¡°Jesus dude, rein yourself in a bit. You can¡¯t just say shit like that.¡± His face remained completely blank. ¡°I am being honest. Nor did I lie earlier - I will act as part of the group and work towards the survival of all, even if I disagree. But I will not hide my true self.¡± Sure, buddy. So¡­ as far as this guy was concerned, he did nothing wrong ¨C sensibilities be damned. ¡°Eh, whatever.¡± If he¡¯d heard everything, there was no point in pretending otherwise. ¡°I¡¯m really only interested in your combat potential, so out with it.¡± And if he forsook decorum, I¡¯d play along. The first thing I asked about was his kit. He was a bruiser, so physical endurance and magical speed with a focus on the latter. His somewhat oddly named class shared properties with touch casters. TC¡¯s were all about the punches and booms though, Elias tended more towards subtle. Some one-four¡¯s probably did too, but people usually picked the obvious path, often with ham-fisted results. All bruisers shared a creepy infection-type ability. Unlike the exploding tattoo marks used by touchies, this one left no mark at all, besides a prevailing sense of wrongness, but that might just have been Elias general vibe. He waved away questions about restraints or limitations besides energy. He straight-up refused to go into the particulars of his skills. However, his demonstration made it clear his creativity and control were the limit there ¨C from him to sling to bullet to tree to the air around it, allegedly straight to the lungs and finally through the blood into the brain. Once ¡®his energy was one with the target¡¯ he could¡­ do things. Dude excelled at circumventing the info-ban, although the censorship committee gave increasingly few shits these days anyway. Only some kind of System-standard energy barrier prevented him from instantly winning every confrontation. The same defensive force apparently gave us our darkvision too, and made the last few, internal steps relatively ineffective. Thank the System. This jived with some of the early reports about the infamous Sandshits. They sanded down entire limbs very quickly from the outside, if left undefended, yet took their sweet, tortuous time destroying victims from within. Regardless, he explained his fighting style was to go forward and then keep going. Mobility used to be his big weaknesses, even if he figured out some workarounds. And then he got the free point. It still didn¡¯t make substantial enough of a difference for him to dictate engagements. Internally, I wondered whether his self-proclaimed downsides weren''t exaggerated, considering he¡¯d made it through the games. He also shared tons of little insights about energy, classes, abilities, skills, stats and even gear. So how did a lone bruiser surviving by himself in the boonies come to know so much more than we did? The flickering campfire combined with his clinical demeanor turned everything he said into a fucking horror story. Maybe I could rope Barry into a bet. 100c that I¡¯ll wake up screaming tonight. Once again, the secret sauce was theft with a few sprinkles of evil this time. His session of the Ascension games proceeded neatly, no surprise considering his fighting style. He cleaned up a few contestants himself and relieved them of their possessions while making his way to the arena. Meanwhile, the remaining aspirational Ascendants managed to kill each other one way or another. In a stroke of luck, it ended with only one other participant, conveniently lugging a ton of spoils into the final stage. Elias forewent the boss-fight after one look at the thing ¨C notably different from what our people reported - and set up an ambush instead. He refused to elaborate on how he pulled it off in an open field. With success no less, he captured the last humanoid survivor effortlessly. First he tested if the auto-translate worked, and then he tortured the poor alien for information until the portals appeared. He finished up with an execution, looted the corpse and exited, sole survivor of his battle royale. Most likely. The interrogation lasted the better part of the evening before we parted ways. Elias started to get under my skin with all the nonchalant mentions of gruesome shit he did. Previous accusations had been confirmed, this guy just didn¡¯t give a fuck. If it seemed effective and he could, he would. If his actions caused someone else to suffer unimaginably - well too bad ¡®cause that wasn¡¯t his problem. He complied, without complaint, with my final order of acting as a font of knowledge for the nerds. Afterwards, I lit up my pipe and meandered aimlessly round and round the Farm. Other stuff occupied my mind, primarily the burdens of leadership. My first order of business was leading a team over the river and culling the local Errant population, a bunch of frosty fucks. Problem one was establishing a landing zone, they piled up on the other side, either unwilling or unable to cross and I wasn¡¯t sure which option to root for. Problem two was ranging further inland, hopefully turning the region into something traversable. Usually not an issue, except our caravan moved at a snail¡¯s pace. The river crossing had been an obvious enough obstacle and we were equipped to deal with it. Our systematic dismantling and stockpiling of all materials magical had more purpose than setting us up with some inkling of ¡®wealth¡¯. We planned to maximally exploit the malleability thereof. Our carts were all shiny green, so they would be dismantled, then turned into a bridge which we¡¯d shove over the river. Of course, test runs would be required to make sure it was safe. Then we¡¯d move over the wounded and rest of the stuff. Finally, we¡¯d break down the bridges and reassemble the carts on the other side, and away we¡¯d go. Of course, we needed to sustain ourselves in the meantime, especially because the wounded, myself included, ate like crazy. We did have an extra mortar now, the body-snatched Terrence wore it like a helmet. Alas, a few burned up in dragon fire, now red veined and useless. To complicate matters, portable energy for firepower purposes competed with a desire for burgers. More needs further skewed the energy equation, like nonstop enchanting for beasts of burden, ammunition resupply, armor repairs and whatever else was involved in the logistical nightmare of an entire village on the move through hostile territory. Our income wasn¡¯t anything to write home about either. The administrative burden had lessened at least, so the freed clerks all hunted for levels instead. Even Jen, at first she spent most of her time in a recovery coma, only wakeful for a few hours each day. Then she sensed herself slipping and put the point into physical endurance as a last resort, which healed a decent chunk of her to our great relief. She still needed carrying around but it was progress and leveling up helped her recovery, so she went a little crazy and sped up the process. That was another reason we had to leave our old haunt behind. All the somewhat intact bodies left outside and behind were missing, including the twice-fallen on the enemy side. Only the utterly destroyed were recovered, and sometimes identified. Drag marks and mud trails led north and suggested a major, highly empowered population hike for the Forest of Death. Considering the sheer danger a foursome of low level individuals posed upon their re-emergence, we suspected the ¡®heavy infantry¡¯ of wood encased people had met their end before accumulating any significant amount of levels. The place was really going to do its name even more justice than it already did. Well, thinking about it only helped so much. I stopped procrastinating and stashed my overused pipe along with all my other possessions in my temporary tent. First things first. I had a point to spend. A circle of people, none of them my friends, ushered me into the rage cage and locked it, by reforging it shut. Then they kept watch. We built it out of magic metal bars and the whole thing looked brutal, especially in the gloom. I was at zero energy and devoid of any equipment besides my civilian attire. Tying people up hurt them more than it helped so we quit the practice. Even so, crusted blood, miniscule dents and torn clothing fragments littered the thing. I opened my interface and stared at the little plus icon next to each of my stats. True to intent, I followed my gut. And my gut said I was good on most fronts. Mobility was a given, I didn¡¯t have enough to overwhelm anyone besides the speedless, yet sparring showed it was also enough to prevent me from being overwhelmed. Some new ideas there too. Defense was kind of on point too. My shield-sword functioned well enough and there were more options to get creative there. Besides, offence was the best defense anyway. Which left power, of the magical kind. Jerry went the physical route and received all the expected benefits. His magic swords, appearances notwithstanding, weren''t all that different from mine. We experimented a little, repeatedly smashing them against each other. His won the ''fight'', but not by much. His ability, like all his skills, had been upgraded at the end of the Ascension games. It hadn¡¯t made a difference on any front besides cost-efficiency. He summoned them in pairs now. A bit odd, since he picked speed for the ¡®upgrade¡¯. The underlying mechanics were vague as shit, at least Elias¡¯ findings and Jerry''s weapon durability lead supported that my swords improved with more magical power. I¡¯d probably launch them harder too. A magic focused weapon mage benefitted from magical power, simple really. Ultimately the dragon truly convinced me. I was barely able to harm it despite going overboard. The games were certain to involve fighting other System-empowered, which meant I had a disadvantage to overcome. Even Elias¡¯ ability was mostly neutered against our strongest endurance mage, a dude called Kim. If something rendered my offence ineffective then it removed a good chunk of my defense as well, and my mobility wouldn¡¯t do much anymore. MP was the cornerstone of my kit, thus I would reinforce it. ¡°Ready?¡± I asked. ¡°Ready.¡± The group answered. Mentally pressing the button locked in my choice. A pleasant lightning lit my veins. The stat instantly shot up by close to a hundred. I¡¯d been holding my breath and let out a long exhale, whispering ever so quietly underneath - couldn¡¯t alert the fools. "Power." Chapter 37: Madness & Method The surge of electricity faded slowly. I raised my eyebrows and took stock, feigning calm and incredulity while my thoughts raced. It felt like a fog had been lifted, clouding my mind as far back as memory stretched. Why would I submit? Why would I conform to those lesser than me? What else mattered but power? My so-called affliction proved it. An addiction to the rush of battle and excitement? Preposterous. It was my birthright, calling to me. Everything was clear now. They feared me, why else cage me so? Because I was more than them, more than they could ever be. Pretending to be my allies only to hold me back¡­ No, to hold me down. Two could play the game of lies. One of those in the circle of ridicule taunted me. ¡°What are you waiting for? This is going to take long enough as it is.¡± I deceived. ¡°Uhm, I think I¡¯m done? Not feeling much different, aside from doing my best impression of a million bucks.¡± Imperfect, I should not have boasted and made a mental note to vigilantly refrain from affirming my obvious superiority. ¡°Should probably still keep me here for a bit just to be safe though, maybe there¡¯s a time lag or something?¡± It was agony, but I endured. Their lacking intelligence fell behind, surprise and confusion evident on their faces. ¡°You pulling my leg? Everyone goes mad. We¡¯re keeping you in for now.¡± I didn¡¯t credit his cautiousness since it was born of stupidity. The imbecile didn¡¯t know what to do, thus it did nothing. I suffered continuous small talk with the other gawkers, building rapport until they called our so-called leader, in name only, to check in on me. I waved. ¡°Hey there.¡± My tone mirrored the one used when approaching her while she read Kris¡¯ infantile letters. ¡°Hi, so you¡¯re all there?¡± She wanted to hear me say it as a sign of submission. Fine. ¡°Think so, no madness far as I can tell, really need to take a piss though. Maybe some lingering ¡®hubris¡¯ as Walt would call it, feel like I could break every personal record I¡¯ve ever set.¡± Best to sprinkle some half-truths in with the lies. ¡°I see. This is unusual indeed. Well, I suppose we could let you out.¡± A test. ¡°Eh, better safe than sorry. Not like I have to be anywhere.¡± The joke did little to disarm her suspicions. I embraced the boredom of inane chatter and sprinkled humor in between light-hearted conversation, then tried again after getting a few laughs out of her. ¡°Ehm, this is a bit awkward but¡­ Do you guys mind giving a man some privacy?¡± She rolled her eyes. ¡°He¡¯s fine, let him out.¡± I won and excused myself, making distance and pretending to relieve myself. Then headed for my tent and grabbed the pipe in the crate outside and lit up near it. Trailing spies watched my every movement, failing to stay unnoticed. They were nearly spurred to action by my seeming attempt to beeline for and enter the tent ¨C despite her many inadequacies, she was a shrewd one. Supposedly laying down to stargaze, I shifted a little and purposefully lost the delicate vertical balance of my pipe, partially spilling its contents over my own face. In the chaos of exaggerated movement that followed, I kicked out and swept my foot by the tents¡¯ wall, successfully snatching three of the swords leaning against it through the canvas into my sheath skill. Armed, but not yet dangerous. Next, I needed energy. I wandered around camp while smoking and making small talk, looking for opportunity and finding none. Finally out of options, I stretched and faked a yawn and made my way back to my tent, this time entering it. After laying down, I gave it a good ten minutes before ever so slowly using controlled swords to snatch one of my bracers. As I greedily felt for the coin lodged on the inside, a voice sounded from outside. Jerry. No coin, of course. ¡°Looking for something?¡± he said. ¡°Actually, yes, someone stole all my money. Also what the fuck are you doing?¡± ¡°Confirming suspicions.¡± ¡°Well, do it somewhere else.¡± I made to get up and eyed his backlit silhouette through the fabric. Close enough to stab but that was a suboptimal course of action. ¡°Or stay here, whatever, I don¡¯t care. I have a theft to report.¡± ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t think so. The theft I mean. I have your ¡®money¡¯ right here.¡± He held the outline of a coin between index finger and thumb, clearly visible thanks to the campfire backdrop. ¡°Well great, give it back then and let me get some rest.¡± There was no point to this anymore. I hoped to draw out the deception a little longer, but gave up upon hearing the single syllable of his reply, then materialized a sword into my hand and aimed a stab at his face, setting all my might into it while tearing through the fabric. Naturally, it was a feint. My true objective was to tackle him and snatch the coin in the confusion, worsened by the constantly appearing and disappearing swords. He parried the strike easily, yet reacting to the false threats resulted in plenty of wasted movement. I grabbed hold and dragged him down with me, then failed as he resisted. Yet it was enough to make avoiding the threat of my autonomous blades difficult. It gave me the needed window of opportunity and allowed me to touch the coin for an instant, immediately absorbing it. I laughed victoriously at an icy crack and the sight of the coin crumbling away. My vitality surged, I recovered and back-stepped twice before it even finished disintegrating. Jerry failed to realize the significance, completely oblivious to his mortal peril. I pointed a finger at him and the instrument of his end appeared at the tip, gentle spinning around the axis. ¡°Goodbye, fool.¡± Launch, launch, launch, launch, launch, launch, launch, launch, launch, launch. Nothing happened. I rapidly checked my energy reserves, having recovered one during my wandering around the camp. Now I had¡­ two. I unleashed my rage. He overpowered me after a valiant struggle and once more reduced me to a cageling. It was a little over an hour later when I dropped the sword on the grass and kicked it out of the cage, hidden away in the confusion of recapture. Sleep took me, sat down, knees pulled up, back leaning against the bars. The madness only lasted a couple of hours, but we¡¯d be playing this one safe for now. Somehow, no nightmares woke me up and they let me out at early dawn.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Breakfast still felt awkward a couple of days later - mostly for me. No one remembered their insanity but mine remained crystal clear. All the little jabs caused me to cringe each time, rather than shrug. In retrospect, the complete break from reality only made me incredibly stupid. Except for one little bit, I¡¯d been carrying my left arm in something of a strapped sling after it had been broken, but the struggle against Jerry revealed it had already healed. I forced down the tasteless slop and wandered over to the ¡®command zone¡¯, some log seats, windbreakers and a makeshift table. The weighed down pile of wrappers containing our battle plans drew my attention, prompting me to review one last time, while having a smoke of course. Command sucks, too much work. The first wrapper drew out the battlefield. Elias scouted for us, having taken a glimpse before. The terrain favored us at least and our side held the high ground while the nearly flat enemy side only sloped gently upward into a pine forest. We had a nice long hill to hide behind, followed by a manageable incline which leveled out at the river. The opposition, an ¡®ice people army¡¯, heavily outnumbered us but milled about randomly, crowded at the water¡¯s edge. They responded aggressively to observation, peppering Elias with a volume of projectiles both physical and magical. He tried several approaches like creeping over the hill, climbing a tree further back and so forth, but the Errant immediately forced him to duck and cover within seconds every time. We tried, but even our stealth guy couldn¡¯t avoid the volleys. Some bullshit was definitely afoot, the ice lancers had disappeared from the northern mining grounds and took the permanent blizzard with them, but the magisteel mounds remained. The second wrapper listed our available classes. I organized our forces into two core teams, Firebase and Search & Destroy - the names were descriptive and only a token, heavily traumatized, force remained at the Farm to guard our stuff. Ironically, even those scared shitless were still prepared to fight if need be. What other choice was there? Militia training, Kris¡¯ letters and talking with Mel and Jerry gave me an inkling of military acumen. Varying my sources barely helped, they all just parroted whatever insights Kris had shared. In my opinion, she didn¡¯t quite get it right. Her choices were probably correct for the situation at the time since we had pseudo-civilians and wounded to protect. My strategy suffered different constraints. Most of our available combatants were mages because the fighter types took a beating during the eclipse. True to form, the frontlines ground meat like no other. Everyone also had varying levels of PTSD, with the bad cases relegated to logistics duty. Team firebase numbered ten in total, primarily mages except for one endurance fighter, with Breathless in command because I trusted him. All hail nepotism. The fighter and one endurance mage were responsible for defense, while the rest focused on blowing shit up and trying not to die. We supplied them with plenty of deployable barricades for cover, towed by the logistics crew, and armed the physical dude with a big fucking shield. Team SD contained thirteen people, with a far more intricate composition. I put Elias in overall field command, with another endurance fighter - a friend of Jen''s - as his second, in case he had to get into the thick of it, and me at third. His disposition left him well-equipped for hard calls and keeping a cool head while his survivability mitigated risks of the chain of command collapsing mid-fight, hence the endurance second. Although SD functioned as one team, we still split it into two elements, the slow and fast movers. My intention to stay mobile further influenced the command structure. Our fast five included me, an assassin, a binder and two speed fighters. The combination just played out well in practice and all of us moved at speed. The assassin scouted and watched everyones backs and did whatever else he was suited for. It turned out the type of person who chose assassin also vocalized stealth as a skill tag, to absolutely no one¡¯s surprise. The binder locked enemies down while two speed fighters provided ranged firepower, along with me - maybe. Everyone who had the option much preferred ranged combat for some very obvious reasons, but speed fighters were absolutely brutal for an instant in melee as well, should necessity arise. I bit the bullet of dancing around words and did my background research this time around, so I knew their ability involved transferring built up momentum to an object or even themselves. They sprinted, then threw incredibly hard. The same principle also worked when smacking things hand-to-hand. Either put them at a very sudden dead stop, but high physical speed allowed them to pick up the pace again. The talented, which both of ours were due to survivor bias, could pull off some crazy shit in melee as well. None of us expected any problems jumping the river either. The slow eight contained Elias and the endurance fighter for defense. Jill and Jeb anchored their flanks ¨C even if power fighters were plenty quick, just in a different way, focusing on explosive movement and long pounces. Viktor brought the ranged precision and an antimage negated any magical crap headed our way. A touchcaster added explosive short range firepower, while a power mage did the same at a distance. Walt was an honorary member, but he¡¯d stay out of the brawl. We only wanted the buff from him anyway. Communism ensured proper gear for all of us. Jeb carried a one handed hammer and a big shield, whereas Jill took to Kris¡¯ old halberhammeraxe with a passion. Both were armored up the wazoo, although not quite to the level of the magisteel juggernauts that were the two endurance fighters. Those without natural ranged options also carried a fat bundle of javelins. For myself, my usual kit served aside from the two magic swords I¡¯d replaced with similar physical ones, in case any magical defenses needed bypassing. The third, fourth and fifth wrappers outlined the three phases of our operation. In phase one, team Firebase, positioned on top of the hill, exchanged ranged fire with the Errant, with the goal of whittling them down and clearing out the bank. They were instructed to avoid using their big spells, kept in reserve for any surprises and to hold potential megalomania in check. Some of them were pretty shell shocked, but hopefully ¡®stand there and blow stuff up¡¯ wasn¡¯t too much of an ask. During this phase, team SD waited. In phase two, we established a beachhead. SD-fast jumped the ten meter wide river while SD-slow moved up. With some luck, no unknown nasties emerged from the waters to complicate the combat-jump. If they did, we¡¯d have to answer with high-magic. Most of the slow squad couldn¡¯t cross unassisted. Some fuckwit suggested making a sling out of ropevine but we shot him down. Instead Jill and Jeb would throw everyone across and then leap, a bit hilarious but quite effective according to our trial testing. This was the hard part for my squad, where we ran interference and drew all possible attention ¨C although I had a ¡®plan¡¯ in mind. In phase three, team Firebase moved up but remained on their side while S ¡®n¡¯ D went on a killing spree. If things went to hell in a hand basket then we¡¯d retreat, slow elements crossing first, assisted by suppressing fire from both sides and some serious spells. Depending on how heavily the Errant resisted, we either swept the zone as a group or split the quick from the slow for increased efficiency, clearing a caravannable path. I stopped staring at the pile, tapped out my pipe, shuffled past the temporary walls and looked around. Preparations were finished. Everyone waited on me, it seemed. By all rights, we should steamroll the Errant on the other side. Team Firebase had settled in at the edge of the ridge, ready to crest it, all neatly lined up behind a line in the mud drawn by Walt. I gave the go-ahead and Operation Cleansing Wave begun. I¡¯d abused my newfound authority to push the name through. ¡°Light ¡®em up boys.¡± As the words left my mouth, my ever-building anxiety made room for a pounding in my ears. A sick smile crept up my face and the uneasy tremble plaguing me vanished entirely. It was another reason I needed someone else to give the play-by-play. I suspected that I would lose myself in the thrill of the fight. Especially since I planned to embrace the rush, had to take my advantages where possible. No more half measures. I wasn¡¯t wrong. Chapter 37+ Stats, Skills & Spells Dear Diary, I¡¯m going into battle. Hopefully it¡¯ll go better than last time, especially since I¡¯m in command (not a fan, by the by). I don¡¯t think we can afford another 70% casualty rate. I¡¯m stronger at least, level 86 and my stats are: PP 21 (10+11), PS 202 (182+20), PE 111 (96+15), MP 288 (268+20), MS 20 (10+10), ME 201 (96+105). I miss Jared, it was fun to race against him, even if I never won. On the positive side, I have a girlfriend - Jen and I are official now. She doesn¡¯t know what I plan to do today, but she suspects something and doesn¡¯t like it. Good start, eh? I¡¯ll have to apologize profusely once word gets back to her, it always does. It¡¯s dumb but I¡¯m doing it anyway, I need to know where my limits lie and what I can really do. The System is full of shit. It says I can magically store up to 3 swords I ¡®control¡¯ at max 3 centimeters range in my [Sheath], [Control] lets me manipulate up to 3 swords with my mind at max 3 meters range with ¡®half the force I can exert¡¯ and I can [Launch] swords I ¡®control¡¯ ¡®twice as hard as I can throw them¡¯ by expending 5 energy (compoundable!), only possible while they are within 3 meters of me and in the direction the point is facing. It paints a flawed picture, there¡¯s so much more to it, as everyone is quickly discovering. It¡¯s weird how our circumstances shape us. An Errant phase worm gave me the long-awaited epiphany, so maybe writing things down does help somehow.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. I have two spells, cantrips to be specific. [Create Food & Drink] and [Mending]. The only information available is that they cost 10 energy, as they have no descriptions. But I bet there¡¯s more to them than meets the eye, I just need to figure out what. Would a user manual really have been so much fucking trouble? Oh well, no point crying over spilt milk. Instead, it¡¯s time to spill some blood¡­ well, ice I guess? Water? Fuck it, Errant don¡¯t make sense anyway. I¡¯m pretty pissed at the Errant these days. If there is a God out there, one without inclinations towards blowing up our planet, then Redhead might even be currently scraping bits and pieces of its kneecap together. A man can hope. Let¡¯s see where the fury takes me. Bye dear Diary. Chapter 38: Berserker Mage In my hyperawareness, I noticed a drop of blood splash on the ground by my feet, a result of unkempt nails digging into my palm. The mages cleared space with volley fire while simultaneously ducking replies. What should have been carnage looked nearly sterile. The violence on display lacked the expected collateral damage, with the destruction mostly limited to intended targets. The dissonance reflected my own mental state, further fueling the fire within. A knife edge of psyching myself up while maintaining restraint. Drip. My inventory was at 12 magical blades, 2 physical and a slag-shield sword. Reserves were full. I had 200 internal energy and 500 in the coin-tank. My debuff had long since faded The enemies were something similar to the conspicuously disappeared ice-lancers, but bigger and more varied. No snowstorm accompanied them. Drip. There was a theme too. It was fantasy medieval. The Errant fielded spear armed frozen footmen, chilly centaurs with dual icelances for arms, glassy javelineers and of course crystalline ice mages, because why the fuck not? At least they were disorganized, just doing whatever they could. This didn¡¯t involve crossing the river, for reasons still unknown. The back and forth held an allure, inviting thoughts of dancing between the hail. Not yet. Drip. One of our mages cowered behind the ridgeline. Elias went over and shoved him back. Whatever he told him worked and the guy returned to ducking and shooting while icicles of all kinds passed overhead. Some simply missed, others had been deflected. Not all, with many dissipating in pieces after blocking impacts smashed them to smithereens. Those inspired a desire in me, of seeing the same happen to our enemies. Hold. Drip. We¡¯d taken some wounded in the two dozen or so exchanges but nothing a quick mending couldn¡¯t fix. I didn¡¯t even have to do it myself, had a guy for the job nowadays. The missing bits would reform. A loud shattering impact sounded, followed by a scattered wave of toothpick sized shrapnel shards thudding into the ground all over the place, albeit harmlessly. Unlike my blades, destined to annihilate everything in their path. Soon. Drip. My vision narrowed. God, I wanted to fight. The Errant weren¡¯t so much retreating as that the process of elimination left those closer to the tree line alive. Dreadlocked Kwame, part of the mages, seemed to get fed up with both the stragglers and merely taking potshots. He sent a perfect white line into their midst, where it split up into more white lines. Each headed for an individual Errant where they diverged into yet more lines and then again, making the enemy look like a weird graphical glitch in the process. Damage originated from said lines, as all the straggling Errant suddenly dissolved. It was a disappointing display despite its efficacy. Not brutal enough. Drip. The Errant stopped walking up close a few minutes ago and put up barriers of ice and whatnot as cover. The intermittent barrage of energy balls, snipes and scattershot became less and less effective. It wouldn¡¯t be long before the cost started outweighing the benefit. Kwame had gotten good. He dodged shit left and right, actually walking out a zigzag in the open to close the distance and gain some range. A suspended thread constantly trailed his center of gravity, and he occasionally displaced himself along it. Breathless called him back, since he was starting to have a little too much fun. Good, leave some for me. Another drop of blood met the earth. Elias¡¯ voice boomed. ¡°Go, go, go!¡± The knife edge fell away, and I went. Some semblance of tactical consideration refused to die out. My first target was grabbing Walt¡¯s buff. He conjured a translucent wall along the muddy groove that gave out his enhancement upon crossing. The speed fighters spread far out to our flanks, taking a curving path which converged ahead of me. They used the extra distance to build up speed. When my group neared the bank, one with a disheveled former viking haircut came to a sudden stop and threw the heavy spear he lugged along at a murder holed ice wall near the tree line. The whole barrier shattered on contact. The other speedster crossed. A tape-like strip of energy linked him to the binder who ran alongside me, in case he needed to be yanked to safety. The thrower ran out of sight, circling around. No obstructions to my plan emerged from the river. The speed fighter landed and we jumped shortly behind at full speed. Since the crossing went according to plan, the lagging speed fighter would take over my role while my nurtured need consumed me. Independent action called. Sling bullets flew past between us and connected with the exposed Errant, chipping bits off them. Scrapes belied the true danger as dents widened while disintegration ate away at the struck. Centaur Errant responded immediately, rushing out from within the tree line to contest our beachhead, preceding the footmen. I forewent all restraint, truly loose now. Instinct carried me, flinging into the battle with abandon. I reveled in the figure I must have struck with suddenly a sword in hand at the apex of my leap, held up and forwards as if commanding a cavalry charge. The rush of air pulled me into the speed as a deca-launch shot me up into a second arc. The rest made landfall as my flight crested the parabolic peak. The others were forgotten. I never felt more alive as during the split second of float, well above the combat zone, where everything crawled to a standstill as I mentally tagged every instance of movement near the trees. The crescendo peaked. I didn¡¯t care anymore. Remnant thoughts of formations and battle plans went out the window. They were unnecessary. I just needed to feel. And oh, how I felt as the air rushed again when my descent began. I felt on edge, scrambling to mentally pick my targets, those forward centaurs which had others following close behind. I felt the rush of power, choosing which of their chained charges would fail. I felt giddy anticipation. Half a dozen blades appeared in quick succession and rained upon the victims. Rapid double launches heralded the end of their existence. And I felt visceral satisfaction at the sheer violence when they connected and pierced the hybrid horsemen through chest and equine spine in a downward shower of shards while the crashing pileup threw a low misty haze of cold chips forward. A sensation of superiority suffused my being. Then I felt free, angling a held sword at a gap in the pine palisade. Another burst of velocity propelled me through the branchy crevasse towards the vague octagram of ice mages facing each other in a clearing. Neither gravity nor fear could chain me. These were no longer enemies, merely victims in waiting.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. I barely even noticed the dry branches tearing apart when crashing through. Swift action repositioned my leading blade. A mental command shot it ahead straight at one of the mages. It burst into pieces with a gratifying explosion when the strike landed. The very sky itself had turned into my domain, begging me to launch thunder upon my foes. I felt like a gymnast, twisting in the air. The jolt of my landing failed to faze me and transitioned smoothly into a sprint. Every step along the vertical incline of a tree trunk was followed by splintering wood due to hastily fired icicles, failing to lead my advance. My movement was a lightning bolt descending. Theirs dragged as if weighed down. I felt flow upon reaching ground level and lined up two linear double-taps among their jagged circle at a run. Exhilaration swelled as four of the enemy group fell in an instant. Only three still stood and I disappeared into the woods, dashing madly. Trees flashed past while the Errant mages struggled to keep up. I felt like a predator as stray lances failed to connect during my circling, their targeting woefully inadequate. An opening presented itself. My stalking ended, their slowness enabled me to approach from behind. Capitalizing on the moment led me directly through the group once more, even allowing me to retrieve my instruments of death and destruction. Instinct carried me towards and then up another tree. I felt like an action star, kicking off and back flipping away from the trunk. They attempted to refute my judgement. My attention snapped and a launched blade intercepted the first projectile poised to hit me. Three more quickly annihilated the remaining casters. And I felt glory, surveying the frosty carnage and re-stowing the rest of my ammunition. But it wasn¡¯t enough. I wanted more, I needed more. Those at the landing site picked up on it when I emerged out of the forest at a dead sprint. The javelineers turned their attention from the closing mages on the opposite bank and the contained methodical melee on our side towards me, in vain. I felt like a dancer, weaving through their throws and blurring through the ranks. Well-aimed flashes of white erased entire rows of their erratically spaced formation until my skill and quiver only had one magic sword left. It mattered not. I barely resisted the urge to begin hacking away with it and instead flexed whatever remained of my rationality towards a focus on single targets, taking away legs and pelvises in downwards aimed close range drive-by-and-retrieve combos. The melee settled up. I approached the last javelineer at a menacing walk of shifting dodges and slips. It threw and threw its regenerating short-spears in vain, and then it died. The sounds of distant crashing accompanied by a seismic tremble attracted my awareness like a flame drawing a moth. A hand gripped my shoulder from behind, interrupting the beginnings of another battle, of another display of wanton massacre. Elias stepped up and looked me in the eye. Understanding passed between us, fostering calm and a return to rationality. We formed up properly and waited as the thunder approached. Another wave of anticipation tensed my entire being. My ammunition along with looted energy were returned to me. Soon after, a wedged charge of centaurs ran into a hail of projectiles. Among the flurry, an arc of six quad-launched swords tore through the front of the Errant squadron, causing another forward-led tumble of breaks and crashes that ripped apart the order of the Errant battle-group and replaced it with prone chaos. Our touchcaster activated his marks, detonating prepared ground. The rest of my team waded in, led by a cone shaped pulse of force, shredding everything in its path. It wasn¡¯t even a fight, this was an execution and I laughed while we butchered our foes. Far too quickly to enjoy, the group of thirty or more was reduced to nothing. We proceeded deeper into the woodlands, where we encountered several more such squads and slaughtered them repeatedly. The pseudo-mounted Errant were nearly helpless in the wooded confines, slowing with every tree they brutishly staggered through. One engagement bled into the next, all track of time lost while delivering disruptive death into their lead elements. Strips of white cloth laid in ambush along the forest floor wreaked havoc. The centaurs¡¯ momentum tore off entire hoofed feet when the magical fabrics bound them like glue to the permafrost. Then another impromptu minefield went off. Speed fighters baited them toward us. Twin lances and chunks of Errant exploded when they struck the immovable, ability empowered form of our endurance fighter. She had ditched the shield, opting for long daggers instead, to no lesser effect as effervescent hexagons covered her entirely. Our power fighters glowed, kicking off from tree to tree in streaks of decapitation and crushed heads. I initiated the onslaught by blowing holes in our opponents from behind obscuring cover. My projectiles drilled through trees, no longer needing line of sight to aim as our hidden assassins¡¯ mark outlined Errant silhouettes to all of our senses. I shouted words of wild-eyed encouragement while we waged System-enabled war. Time and time again, we ranged further and further inland, ever closer towards the mountainside. My bloodlust nearly faded in the still aftermath. Until we spotted the likely source of our troubles. In the distance a massive structure, where none had been before, became suddenly visible in its entirety, reaching far above the treetops. A veritable citadel built entirely out of ice dominated the mountainside, reminiscent of something between a sloped star-fortress and the pentagon. The patrols had ceased some time ago. Our assassin scouted ahead invisibly and I climbed a high tree for better vantage. Nearly an hour of impatience later, a heartbeat stretched into eternity. A meteoric impact rang far ahead, then another and another. Sections of the far-off countryside were swept away by repeat explosions of splintered wood and a cloud of raised dust as trees toppled. Despite the short revival of my adrenaline fueled high, I returned to ground-level and paced impatient circles around the temporary campsite when Elias walked up to me. He was unreadable as always. ¡°I fail to understand why they find me off-putting, when you are so much worse,¡± he said. I stopped to tilt my head up and sideways, looking him straight in the eyes, and then gave him my best slasher smile - tried real hard to put on a sinister tone too. ¡°It¡¯s my disarming personality, you see.¡± He closed his eyes and shook his head. ¡°So much worse.¡± His words rang true, but in a different context, a comparison to a similar experience in the daggerclaw tunnels. Then I broke apart in a giggling fit, at first out of self indulgence, but the afterglow refused to fade. It started as a joke, yet bubbling hysteria dragged on beyond all reason despite attempts to suppress it. Concern overtook humor, as some part of me slowly slipped away. The stubborn mirth only died when several hours later, our assassin still hadn¡¯t returned, undone by dull shock. It salvaged some of whatever mental fracture undermined my sanity. As quickly as it had come, so did it leave. Giving in was a mistake. Time to call it. ¡°We''re done and returning to the Farm.¡± We¡¯d killed hundreds of Errant. Yet it no longer seemed a victory as we trudged across cold mud in a dusky gloom, with one of our number presumed dead and a few more added to the heavily wounded from among team Firebase. Most of the non-combatants were fine, except for someone in logistics who lost a leg to a stray shot. Even so, the path ahead was determined clear enough to continue our journey, especially since we hadn¡¯t spotted any stray Errant among the trees. Although there was still some scouting to be done before we¡¯d bridge the crossing with our baggage train in tow. Glancing at my interface revealed my share of the killing had shot me up right to level 100, which graced me with a new box. It counted down to midnight tomorrow. The ascension games were a monthly affair. The spend-to-improve segment of my magical endurance had grown to 112. Our enemies were worth a steady 20c each, or some very sizeable ice cubes. The materials obviously didn¡¯t enter consideration. A part of the combat loot maxed out my coin at 1000 energy. Even though hostilities ended a while ago, keeping my internal supply at a 100 seemed prudent at the time, now 104 from the uneventful hours spent heading back towards base camp. The overflow was deposited safely into the government wallet. I wasn¡¯t planning on entering the games tomorrow though, even if some sick part of me thought it would be fun. The after action report wasn¡¯t anything special either, even if we¡¯d struck the mother lode with regards to cost-benefit ratios. Only one fact unsettled me, there were way too fucking many of the icy Errant. And their unusual composition, and the odd behavior, not to mention the long range strike capability of a goddamn building. For everything else, repression appealed over contemplating yet more madness. The world had gone crazy after all, it was no wonder it took me along with it. Oh well, at least I got a good night¡¯s sleep. Chapter 39: Band of wagons I tapped my foot, looking at the still woods expectantly, hoping for another regiment to show up. We spent two days scouting all the way to another river-crossing, finding precisely zero stray errant in the forest except for the occasional frozen rodent. At one point a single bigger patrol of fifty or so centaurs challenged us and met the same fate as the others before it. In truth, the aftermath left me incredibly numb, antsy and most of all, bored. Jen alleviated the tedium by calling me cart-side. ¡°Not feeling so great, are you?¡± she said. ¡°Honestly, it¡¯s fucking uncanny how you read me. But yeah, I admit giving in was a mistake, even if it worked out.¡± ¡°What¡¯s fucking uncanny is how you pretend not to realize what¡¯s going on. You rush, and then you crash. Then you rush harder, and you crash harder. It¡¯s only going to get worse, you know that right?¡± She had a point. I sighed. ¡°Well, it¡¯s hard to ignore now. I just¡­ didn¡¯t really know what else to do. There¡¯s all this shit going on and we¡¯re powerless to stop it. It pisses me off and I wanted to blow off some steam, feel in control.¡± ¡°I feel you Gabe, I really do. I¡¯m not trying to be a bitch here. We all need an outlet. I¡¯m crippled and still convince people to carry me around so I can kill. Hell, it¡¯s literally healing me. The world is fucked up now. But I like this, us. I don¡¯t want to lose you to some bullshit before we even really get started, y¡¯know? What I¡¯m saying is, do what you need to do, but make sure you come back, yeah?¡± She put her hand on mine, still too damaged to initiate a hug but I gave her one anyway. ¡°Fuck, you¡¯re sweet. You also made me feel a lot better, and you¡¯re right. Trading lack of control for a different lack of control isn¡¯t going to do anything besides make things worse. I mean, I already knew it. But I like this too, and I do want to come back and see where it goes.¡± ¡°Thanks, that¡¯s all I ask.¡± ¡°You got it.¡± ¡°Last word?¡± ¡°Screw you.¡± ¡°You wish.¡± ¡°So do you.¡± ¡°Do I now?¡± ¡°Goddamnit, you win.¡± ¡°Of course.¡± I left the cart with a smile on my face, somehow. It took about half a day to dismantle the makeshift bridge and we were well under way reassembling the last remains into a cart. I was pretty sure only Elias had fun during the wait. His job involved shooting apart the little scooting Errant scampering around us at a distance, pretending to be real animals as if the ice didn¡¯t give the game away. Scouts, probably. Heed us not, oh violent icy strangers - we are but passing through, also fuck you. Victor walked towards me. ¡°Mel say they are ready to move.¡± ¡°Alright, thanks.¡± I raised my voice, ¡°Team Search & Destroy, kill the rest of those squirrels then keep position on the land-side. Team Firebase, stay with the caravan and watch the lake. We¡¯re not camping until we¡¯ve passed the second crossing.¡± ¡°You like to give command, yes?¡± Vik said. ¡°Maybe, I dunno, not really I guess. Just gotta fake it till I make it. You miss being in charge?¡± ¡°Before, was nice. Now? Is different. More danger. But no problem for you, you are crazy, hah hah.¡± ¡°Excuse me?¡± ¡°You have the look, when you fight. I see it in prisoners. They never last long, always very violent.¡± What was this, an intervention? ¡°No shit? It¡¯s a recent development. Wasn¡¯t like this before.¡± ¡°I date therapist long ago. She say it come from bad past. First fight to survive. Later fight to feel alive.¡± ¡°Well, you¡¯re probably not wrong. Pretty much word-for-word what we¡¯ve gone through here.¡± ¡°But you are not child. Not work like that.¡± ¡°Nothing works like it used to.¡± He nodded at that. ¡°Hey Vik, one more thing. About the look¡­ Keep it to yourself if you can, yeah?¡± ¡°I will, but everyone already know. Not from me.¡± ¡°Thanks, Vik.¡± Well, the cat wasn¡¯t going back into the bag from the looks of it, kind of ironic considering my talk with Jen earlier. Work towards fixing something and boom, it hits you in the face just as you get started. The caravan was getting underway. Our original thoughts had been to get as far away from the dragon as possible. However, some quick reminders it could fly tore the illusion away. While physics had thoroughly gone out the window, it likely had an effective range too far to run from. Plenty of other monsters to flee though. The lakeside travels proceeded easily, nothing from the water messed with us and neither did the citadel spit out new war bands. This zone, if it even was a zone, spanned about a week at our current pace. The games had come and gone. Same as any game, no one had seen a real animal for months. Our remaining nerds theorized they were all dead. They had a lot of theories lately. It happened when you let scientists sit around and think too much. It was necessary to distract them with experiments if you didn¡¯t want a possible explanation for everything under the sun. Alas, the research budget currently amounted to zero, so they talked. I didn¡¯t mind, especially because Breathless was putting the finishing touches on my schematic. Not that I bothered to listen, even if I¡¯d be back for the cliff notes version. At least there weren¡¯t any delays. The axles didn¡¯t break, the burdened beasts didn¡¯t tire. Our people did though and sleeping happened on the move, in the carts. Muddy patch? Those with physical power pushed ¡®n¡¯ pulled. Trees in the way? Not if the mages had anything to say about it. The sheer nonchalance of it felt empowering in a way, or it would¡¯ve if we hadn¡¯t been fleeing with our tails between our legs. The crossing of the second river proved even more uneventful than the first. There was no need for pacification this time. We took a day off for setting up camp, getting around to things like washing and rest. The smell seeped into us, wafted around us, and drove us fucking crazy. Everyone turned into an expert in different kinds of sweat. There was the ¡®haven¡¯t showered for a week but still spent the whole day walking¡¯ type, it just lingered and spread. Then there was the ¡®Oh dear god I¡¯m almost dying¡¯, a feverish and sharp smell. There were also several variations of ¡®I¡¯ve been carving wooden animals for the last 70 hours and it¡¯s driving me insane¡¯, all of those went together with tense jawlines, faces fixed with a mild wild look. Other weirdness abounded, at least one endurance fighter spent the last 300 or so hours awake and everyone sighed in relief when he stopped talking and went to sleep, armor and all. So everyone was on edge, yet work waited for no one. Team S&D reconnoitered in force again, looking for congregations of Errant to wipe the floor with, although now we enforced a strict ¡®do not approach buildings¡¯ policy. We eventually split the group in two, and finally we sent the true slow movers back while the rest of us spread out far and wide. Upon our return the next day, we celebrated. There were no armies to meet us, nor any environmental Errant to complicate the path. We only found a bunch of widely distributed singular Errant of various kinds - zone principles were in play again - with none of them being particularly dangerous. The lake-filled bowl continued all around, it seemed. The terrain on this side remained predominantly flat, with the usual gentle rising slope towards the mountains cradling it, along with some patches of pine here and there and increasingly rocky, jagged ground the higher up we looked. Same old, same old. Then again, we were all close to or level 100 and each of us held enough crystalline fuel in reserve to fight off a large patrol. Recent efforts and aggregated experience meant we knew how to effectively use our energy too. Even team Firebase figured out how to bait the Errant in the lake and frequently went ¡®fishing¡¯ as they put it. The fireworks were good for morale so their shenanigans continued, even if they were a little wasteful. We couldn¡¯t recover the corpses, the lake edge was a sheer cliff and everything sank into the endless abyssal depths, we even shot down some flares and quickly lost sight of them.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Losing the loot annoyed the shit out of the nerds, who tried everything from harpoons mundane and magical to freezing a plateau underwater. The first gave the Errant ideas, who were somehow capable of tugging harder than we were. The last proved impractical ¨C for now. According to Breathless, the lake sported a magical endurance somewhere around the 200 mark. ¡°You alright, Breathless? Consider what you just said. Pretty sure the lake doesn¡¯t have a System.¡± He responded after looking at the lake, then at the other nerds ahead of the caravan who were still at it. ¡°No, no¡­ I think I need a nap.¡± That may have been the shortest sentence he ever uttered. ¡°Make it a long one, maybe.¡± ¡°Yes¡­ yes.¡± Or not. ¡°How long have you been awake, anyway?¡± ¡°Two days? Three, maybe? Or was it four? Oh, that¡¯s a long time¡­ the days are 30 now, right, right. I should sleep.¡± No shit, Sherlock. He dumped himself in a cart, snoring loudly after about three seconds passed. The lingering tension finally dropped and the mood brightened visibly as a result. Not mine though, even if the jitters stayed away for now, maybe because of my talk with Jen. Mel had relieved me of command, thank the System. During the trek further south along the water¡¯s edge, she appropriated my team and put Jen in charge of piecing together the reports while she sent them all over the place. She was after any and all information; types of Errant, materials, stairwells, landmarks, fortresses, and probably a bunch of other shit I couldn¡¯t think of. She¡¯d given me a mission too, right after I woke up no less, which soured my disposition. No rest for the wicked. I packed my provisions and looked at the endless tundra plain ahead. At least some extremely minor hills broke the monotony. Like being home again. My gaze shifted to the crumpled wrapper with written orders littering the pristine, barely grassy mud. Bitch gave me a note, ¡°Just in case,¡± she said. ¡®Avoid Errant and run south for two days. Then come back and report.¡¯ My endurance should last just about long enough to complete the expedition. I slowly warmed to the idea, a hike sounded nice, refreshing. Before long, my journey crossed over into a new zone, after which the Errant remained the same throughout my trip. I coined these ones a resource type, because they were literal grey bricks, the size of cars, and did nothing at all. Resilient though, it took a full minute to push one of my swords all the way in and another dozen for it to die to the sizzling of infinitesimally tiny, creeping, white circuits. The spread fascinated me, vision ever clearer thanks to increased stats. This one was a 10/10. How the hell do these things even kill each other? It dropped magic stone. I found a variant too, of course it nearly killed me. I walked right up to it and had been taken completely off-guard when smaller brick shaped sections moved out of the way of my leaning stab and proceeded to envelop me, all while violating some principle of space since the moving sections overlapped freely. The jump scare caused me to back step like a madman and keep running. The brick sprouted and chased me with a dozen brick legs, at surprising speed no less. Not that it could keep pace. Watching it run gave me a decent estimate of how quickly the mini-bricks moved. I got tired of messing around and shot the fucker, dumping a hundred energy into it - was nearly full anyway. Apparently, it had a solid extra shiny brick dead center, emitting eerie black light. Had. My duo-deca-launch reduced ¡®the core¡¯ to dust scattered among a pile of small blocks. I refused to lug around a bunch of extra-magical stone, the variant sat at 43/100. Weird, thought it would be full. No further misadventures graced me with their presence, mostly because I stuck to the mission from then on. I even went above and beyond. For one, I found out how brick battles worked. Near midnight they started glowing until they resembled molten metal. Once charged or whatever, they fired off a stretch of black beam at long range. Most were aimed at me but the darklight lasers were slow, by my standards, so I just stepped out of the way. It felt incredibly stupid. They put on a decent lightshow, all-in-all. Some of them still murdered each other, seemed like a one-shot-one-kill affair. I wasn¡¯t up for any experimentation and never checked how powerful the brick-ray was. Should ask Jen about the dude who tanked the vinesnap, maybe he¡¯ll be up for it. Then again, this looks like magic, maybe Kim? I also spotted rising smoke in the distance, across the southern, thankfully low, rocky peaks, and decided to go over and have a peek. There were no Errant in the immediate vicinity of the mountain slope. Eventually a black, vaguely baroque gate popped into existence. The doorway was damn near horizontal with how it followed the gentle slope. The circular stairwell was upside down and slightly diagonal so this was essentially either the worst or the best slide in existence, jury was still out. I wondered whether it twisted and evened out at some point, or if there was a flipped labyrinth beneath me. I stared after making it over the ridge, down a nearly vertical cliff, at the bottom of which was an honest-to-god city. A big one too, at least by post-apocalyptic standards. There were three layers to it, the first consisted of a fuck-off sized castle close, or maybe even built in, to the cliff edge - it had to be a stairwell. A clearly man-made semicircle of stone wall closed it in at some distance, although the multitude of wooden rafters all over stood out more to the eye ¨C none of it appeared magical either. By far the largest part of the city was covered by¡­ I wanted to call it a slum but the word felt far too generous. It looked like Redhead had graced them with a courtesy call as well. There was battle damage everywhere, including huge linear swaths, obviously pieces of the city burned down to the ground. A little interesting, dragon fire didn¡¯t so much spread as that it consumed whatever it touched. Did someone pull an Emperor Nero? Job done, I ran back and submitted my formal report by yelling ¡®land ahoy¡¯ as soon as the caravan entered earshot. After first Jen, then Mel, finished interrogating me, I had a well-deserved rest and deferred any descriptions under rule of ¡®you¡¯ve got to see it for yourself¡¯, much to their chagrin. It took fucking ages for the caravan to reach, especially because Mel called stops during glowbrick hour. Two antimages winked the beams out of existence at a distance, one mentioned there were other options on the table but we chose safe over sorry. Once we arrived, the chain of carts formed into a circle and started construction of camp. Of course, plenty of others ran ahead to have a look-see for themselves and the rumors started making the rounds, almost spoiling the surprise. The two of us leaned against the rocks and spent a good while peering down. Finally, Mel spoke. ¡°Goddamnit.¡± ¡°See? You wouldn¡¯t have believed me if I told you.¡± ¡°It really is a shithole.¡± ¡°I know, right? I mean look at what they¡¯re wearing, they have an entire industry dedicated to making clothes out of wrappers. And they¡¯re crap. It¡¯s just one giant plastic-cup-sheet favela with an inner gated community of rich people.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what caught your eye? Not the giant burned scars? Oh, I bet you missed the party.¡± ¡°Saw those the first time around, besides they¡¯re already being built over. What? Where?¡± ¡°It¡¯s right in the middle of the main and only square¡­¡± ¡°Holy, what the fuck is going on down there. Why are they chained, are those slaves?¡± ¡°Almost certainly. They¡¯ve probably monopolized the underway entrance there, I doubt they built the castle, and followed through by exploiting the populace. Some seem to have carved out something for themselves, I¡¯m assuming they go out and hunt in the surrounding lands. Still, the economics don¡¯t add up¡­ How deep are they really delving? There are at least a few thousand people down there.¡± ¡°So, you still want to join with these idiots?¡± ¡°No, of course not, we¡¯ll have to rethink things.¡± ¡°Can I have a try then? I¡¯m thinking the big guy on the throne.¡± ¡°It¡¯s¡­ Not a terrible idea. Can you hit?¡± ¡°Sure.¡± I had no idea, probably not. ¡°You know he¡¯s probably Ascendant, right?¡± ¡°Eh. It worked on the dragon. How much range can he have anyway? Pretty sure I win any exchanges from here, can¡¯t go all-out that way though.¡± My skill wasn¡¯t flashy but it sure was lethal ¨C Redhead notwithstanding. May your knee hurt, then explode. ¡°Didn¡¯t you miss¡­? Never mind, not yet. But probably later.¡± ¡°Neat.¡± The utter collapse of society had some benefits. No rule of law forced jail-time on me for the unlawful murder of subhuman parasites, for one. As if I¡¯d ever have considered something like that before. Offing big Bacchus over there seemed like a net good so why sweat the ethical quandary? We had a big discussion after everyone had a proper gander. The rumors had done some of the prep-work already. As such, no one felt particularly excited about scaling the cliff face to join the micro-dystopia. There was no outrunning the Greatbeast either so we could either keep going or follow Mel¡¯s idea. Since people had already gotten tired of walking and were similarly warmed up to not dealing too directly with the banana republic down there, well, the debate died quickly. No, we were not joining them. No, we were not traveling even further south. Yes, we should settle here. The details remained in the air until Mel whipped out her, no doubt long-prepared, plan. Settlement location was a no-brainer. Apparently we had various locations suitable for Farm 2.0¡¯s, an abundance of respawning high quality building materials and a stairwell right next to us. The mountains obscured us visually from the failed urban development program while the verticality wouldn¡¯t stop us from interacting with them on our own terms, and it provided leverage to boot. Springs and streams saddled the mountains, so water wasn¡¯t an issue either. If we wanted to, building shelters into the mountain was an option and this spiral staircase was well suited as a rapid access bunker. Not to mention the two other stairwells, found on the way here. The prognosis even looked manageable for any repeats of the eclipse. So far we hadn¡¯t come across any Errant which could pose a true threat even if massed and organized. Some uncharted territory still needed exploring but overall she talked about our locale like we¡¯d hit the jackpot. Too good a story to pass up, nice. Nods and affirmations showed all around and signaled the next, real item of business ¨C how do we organize? Communism was all well and good for ease of travel yet not particularly interesting as a long term prospect. Instead we settled on a hybrid model. It sounded an awful lot like an excuse for sky-high taxation to me. Regardless, I was in the inner circle nowadays and so not against it. In fact, everyone present comprised the inner circle. We¡¯d have to recruit at some point and chose to retain our military bent due to an overwhelming need for self-defense. Eventually we could produce goods and such, fleecing the folks below for some extra income and an export market. I joked about us becoming a live-in corporation, somehow everyone took it seriously and agreed. We also defined our diplomatic policy - us first. Only one voice of dissent broke the chorus of affirmation. Jerry wasn¡¯t having it, not due to any disagreements with the setup itself. He pondered during the trek and resolved to leave and wander, soul searching or some shit. We loaded him with whatever he wanted and needed, after which he left the very same night. He started by scaling down the wall no less, although even he wasn¡¯t interested in visiting the ultra-slum. I wasn¡¯t going to miss the asshole. Some others played out the mandatory bittersweet farewell part and gave him a proper send-off at least, even he deserved that much. Still, good riddance. Why do I even hate the guy? Something about him reminds me of¡­ Damn, I can¡¯t place it. Probably nothing, sorry dude but I just think you¡¯re a prick. Now it was time to get to work. Chapter 40: Foundations I dumped my back-basket full of green rocks at the warehouse and reflexively went to have a chat with Jen, except she wasn¡¯t in the clerking business anymore. In fact, she was out and away. So my path took me straight into Mel¡¯s impromptu office of a converted cart to bitch and moan at her instead. It got the nostalgia factor going again. She kept her head buried in the stack of endless paperwork. I lit up my pipe and leaned against the greenwood wall, knowing she hated the smell. ¡°How much longer are you going to have me do this?¡± ¡°As I said yesterday, you need the stats and we need the material. Win-win. Now put that out.¡± I ignored her. ¡°Some variety wouldn¡¯t hurt. I could go for a fight.¡± ¡°Then go find one on your day off.¡± ¡°Have you ever considered that since the world ended, the workdays have gotten longer and the weekends shorter? You¡¯d think it was the other way around, right? Anyway, there¡¯s nothing worth killing nearby, you have the spawns on lockdown. We haven¡¯t seen a variant in weeks. Can¡¯t you put me in one of the Solo¡¯s teams?¡± She looked up, rolled her eyes and mocked me, ¡°Oh poor you, everything is going so well, whatever will you do? And no, there are still people who need to level up.¡± I cursed under my breath. ¡°Bitch.¡± ¡°I heard that.¡± It didn¡¯t even faze her. ¡°Just venting.¡± She ceased writing. ¡°Look, I know it¡¯s boring. Tell you what, you can join Jen and go on recon once she¡¯s fully healed, how¡¯s that?¡± I perked up at the offer. ¡°Fine but that¡¯s a while off still, I need a break from this too. Mining was a lot more fun as a group activity.¡± ¡°Lucky you, the factory finished yesterday so go ahead and commission upgrades. You can take the week or two after to work on them and your little project, maybe have some free time while they put together your kit. Consider it a vacation for now.¡± Vacation? Yeah, right. ¡°That sounded fun until you mentioned the penciling. Well, it¡¯ll do for now.¡± We exchanged see ya¡¯s and once outside I stretched and took in a breath of crisp mountain air, and then fouled it with smoke, mimicking the permanent column arising across the cliff edge. My mood shot up, no more pickaxing rocks. My coining of the resource types proved surprisingly accurate. The bricks were susceptible to mining, improving my physical power in the process. It took longer to kill them like that, but also gave more magic sheet-stone and we needed oh so much. Hell, we could probably keep adding it forever. Our home looked like a series of interlinked low, square stone hedges for the most part. We used the converted caravan carts as temporary shelter supplemented by some rudimentary additions, built mostly out of regular wood from a nearby forest. True to form, the greenly marble was both malleable and durable. A deceptively thin sheet, only a few millimeters thick, produced a wall with the strength of magisteel. Masonry allowed fluid expansion, remodeling and thickening, hence our infinite hunger for magical stone. The tool was a float trowel, ridiculous as always. A rectangular piece of metal with a wooden handle unlocked the stat-link. I left Mel¡¯s office cart and strolled towards the main compound under ever-clear skies, still unsure whether we designed a corporate compound or an oversized bunker. It was supposed to withstand a dragon attack once complete, if not a sustained one. Buildings popped out of the ground like mushrooms in the rain, at least when considering the tiny labor force involved. In keeping with tradition, we built the warehouse-slash-treasury first along with an ice-block lined freezer next to it. Not that we had any spoilage problems, but this allowed us to stockpile and diversify. A source of great relief since everyone had been well and truly fed up with the porridge diet. A detour brought me to the Barry-led ¡®Arcane-o-ponics¡¯, which produced food and booze at a steady pace, along with a few choice experiments. He passed all his time there after reaching level 100, mostly ¡®working¡¯ on his ¡®potions¡¯. In my opinion he found an excellent avenue to permanent, consequence-free alcoholism and thus fulfilled his purpose in life. Two tasters were labeled ¡®wheat whiskey¡¯ so I grabbed them from the permanent stand outside, placed there because it smelled like hell¡¯s sewer indoors. A long chimney channeled the olfactory assault up and away. My final stop was the most recent addition and one of the biggest planned rooms. The roof was temporarily makeshift while the masons switched focus to the outer walls. The Factory was intended as a generalized crafting and processing area, at least for disciplines without excessive collateral sensory damage. Jeb had somehow assumed management of the place. Dude had an affinity for crafting and he was way too knowledgeable about how to make all kinds of rudimentary stuff. I once asked him if he used to be a prepper but he just laughed at me and refused to elaborate. ¡°Hey Jeb, you up for a drink? I brought whiskey.¡± ¡°Heya, always! What brings ya ¡®ere? Ya thingy ain¡¯t ready yet.¡± We downed our long-form shots, in the form of bamboo vials, and ignited our pipes after. I struggled with mine, trying to be a little too quick. My lighter threatened to run out any day now. ¡°Not here for that. Mel sent me in for some new threads. Old stuff¡¯s due for dismantling anyway, never tracked the work done on it.¡± ¡°Shame, was proud o¡¯ those. Ya had anythin¡¯ special in mind?¡± ¡°Not much. Quiver could use more capacity but same and smaller would work too. A little more armor, but not too much. Keep it light. The old set had me at capacity. Maybe some soft inner lining, the chafing is pretty bad. Other than that, well I haven¡¯t given it much thought to be honest. Need a new shield-sword too.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll hook ya up with the good stuff then. We¡¯s learned a lot from Elias¡¯ spoils. Stockpile¡¯s all right, should manage just fine.¡± ¡°Thanks Jeb, I¡¯m looking forward to it.¡± I also gave him my old cloak ¨C the weather was unnaturally stable and the cold didn¡¯t exactly bother me. On the rare rainy occasion, a run dried me up in minutes. Hypocrisy appealed and sat me down at one of the larger workbenches. I blinked my red veined former shieldsword into existence and grabbed one of the miniature pickaxes. My PS-enhanced mind wandered amidst a mechanical rhythm of tip taps. The existence of ¡®dragonsteel¡¯ had been a very happy discovery, even if it was a pain to extract. Any magic material slagged by the dragon took on more than just a reddish appearance. At a glance the object subjected to dragonfire appeared to be equally as magical as before, however the changes became apparent upon closer examination. Specifically, the majority of the material turned inert for lack of a better word. Although charcoal came to mind. The slag remained supernaturally hard yet quite brittle, relatively speaking. The red veins were the real prize, which had to be painstakingly cleared of all residual whatever-it-used-to-be. They behaved universally like a metal for arts and crafts purposes. Super-sight eased the work. Otherwise we¡¯d need magnifying glasses or loupes. And what a metal it was, harder and stronger than even the previously blue edge of the halberhammeraxe, which incidentally survived its baptism by fire without any loss of function. For some reason it was immune to the brittleness. System knows why - and won¡¯t tell us.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. The magical emanations jumped off the charts with a clear piece. Jeb already dedicated an entire production line to it. We had tons of the stuff. Not only did the dragon dog shake combined with Kristen¡¯s last stand anoint most of the random weapons around their battlefield, but she tore a few scales off the fucker too. They had a higher yield and involved even more effort. This wasn¡¯t the only new discovery. The nerds had finally figured out magical tools. For a while they tried to dismantle one but the System spawned equipment resisted any such attempts. The secret ingredient caused a few forehead slaps - an internal crystal, although the size had to be right. Everything proceeded smoothly afterwards, after a short period of emptying out and refilling them to reverse engineer the capacity. No longer were we limited to reproducing tools that didn¡¯t consume energy and I long since lost track of all the new toys entering our workshops. It didn¡¯t end there. The modern world order proved remarkably consistent in some ways. For one, there was some logic to post-processing, a fruit of Elias¡¯ ill-gotten information. It worked like stat training and we called it quality. It took one hour for the first step of improvement, two hours for the next, then three and so forth. Our magic senses weren¡¯t that precise, so Mel issued a standing order to track the time spent on all pieces of gear. She loved her accounting. There were two important break-points - ten and a hundred. Elias looted several pieces of gear close to or all-the-way there. While definitely useful, the revelation also sparked disappointment. Those who survived the games became capable of ¡®awakening¡¯ equipment, which essentially turned it into a magic item as seen in games and stories all over. Alas, aside from the initial build, one had to post-process it themselves. We hadn¡¯t even been in the new world for the necessary total of 5050 hours yet. Ten was more interesting, enabling us to channel a whopping thousand energy into the item. It quickly degraded over the course of a few hours, clearly overloaded since the object in question cracked and leaked light. Comparisons revealed it raised the quality to a hundred temporarily. I already knew since the nerds discovered this peculiarity a long time ago. Breathless elaborated on the details during one of the many mandatory info-sharing lectures. Apparently the tortured alien neglected to mention the consequences, but not the possibility, of ¡®overcharging¡¯, as the nerds called it. The victim probably hoped Elias would exactly so in a pickle. It went boom, spectacularly. Apparently the bandaged nerd in the old pub long ago nearly killed himself testing exactly that, with a piece of metal the size of a bottle cap no less. Time marched on and my days were spent drinking and chiseling for dragonsteel, until Jeb finished my new get-up. Seriously, how the fuck is he this good. It mostly had the same smooth green-black leather look. He included some extra optional utilities like a separate bandolier and other detachable sheath, vial or pocket shaped accessories. The sleeve-integrated bracers contained slots for ten coins total instead of one each and he added a fancy metal plate to the chest piece. I¡¯d opted out of headwear, was pretty good at covering my face with my arms in times of need and close to capacity anyway. He¡¯d gone a little overboard on the heart guard and stylized it with a rendition of a dragon spreading its wings. That happened to every piece of armor he made, including my shield. His habit spread like wildfire and turned into an affectation of esprit du corps. Face the fear. He¡¯d also been nice enough to use bonemetal for everything except the shield, so I didn¡¯t need to re-leatherwork¡­ reforge the metal parts separately from the rest of the armor. He consolidated as many separate parts as possible into one. The new design philosophy dictated bigger was better, to save on capacity and post-processing efficiency. I had a full upper body chest piece and proper pants along with a pair of slightly uncomfortable but functional army style boots, plus a quiver. Jeb¡¯s refit left me with five core pieces of gear in total, as opposed to many more before. My quiver gained an upgrade as well. Somehow he¡¯d done the impossible and crammed more sheaths in there, thus expanding my clip to twenty plus three from my skill. Moreover, recently discovered magical cotton helped against the chafing. Supposedly he couldn¡¯t do inner lining so I¡¯d just have to wear the padding underneath. My new shield was bigger than the last, with better ergonomics too. This one was designed less like a traditional shield held in hand and more for leaning into it with a shoulder. My skill cared not. It had a handle and a blade, which was presumably enough. Up-magicking mundane material was an alchemical pain in the ass, initially abandoned due to the cost and effort while the alchemists had other priorities anyway. Since we were well into our magical revolution, no stone had been left unturned. The list of discoveries seemed endless and grew by the day. The nerds catalogued everything meticulously; from the things we could do, both new and old methods, the surroundings and Errant typology, to a goddamn organizational chart. There would be no casualty induced brain-drain in the future once the builders finished the library, named ¡®William¡¯s Repository¡¯ after the late Glasses. The nerds felt his loss keenly, missing both his friendship and his expertise as a former mechanical engineer. We only delayed exploring the Underway underneath us. We might or might not have, depending on who asked, used the stairway as a waste chute. At least until Mel returned from her sprint to 100, called us idiots and put an end to it. We¡¯d eventually clean it out with magical fire or something, for now there were zero volunteers for delving it and our crystal supply skyrocketed anyway. We were filthy rich despite our limited manpower, although quite a few folks made big strides in recovering from their injuries, Jen included. Our wealth resulted from rabidly pushing people to the level cap, then rotating in low level folks while the hundreds expanded our workforce. Originally, some intended to forego ascendancy yet their numbers dwindled over time. Mel expressly forbade us from joining the ascension royale until she decided we were ready, smartly enforcing discipline. I¡¯m sure the hubris effect has nothing at all to do with the budding enthusiasm for the death games. Temporary, my ass. The days passed by quickly again. At first I happily chipped away at my old bulwark before going all out on my new gear. I doodled on my new shield for exactly 225 hours. Then I convinced Mel improving the rest of my armor was equally important and burned another 225 hours reforging. Leatherworking turned out to jive well with me. Supposedly it was a lot less fun in the past because of the stench from tanning. In theory all my new gear was now at quality 10. Further augmentation had to wait since my practice plate turned into a priority. Can¡¯t slack off on my part of the project. I was getting a hang for single-minded focus. The trick? Frequent breaks. The whole ordeal lasted nearly a month, which coincided nicely with Jen¡¯s full recovery. Well, mostly it lined up with her brand new job, she¡¯d been ambulatory for a while now but also very busy. Most of her time was spent carefully monitoring the excuse of a city below. The massive influx of information required organizing and summarizing. Jen¡¯s skill at clerking, along with her affinity for grand gossip, landed her the chief of intelligence position. Not that she was bad in a fight either nowadays. Mel turned the combat-prep up to eleven. Group drills, personal training, combat theory, sparring and skill exploration, everything was mandatory and frequent. Our group of survivors slowly transformed into a well-oiled fighting machine, during practice at least. It helped people regain confidence while working through their trauma too. In retrospect, it had been less about the bad things happening and more fundamentally rooted in our powerlessness during it all. Surprise, surprise. While reminiscing on recent times served as an excellent distraction, there was other business at hand. My current threads were rather finicky. It took a while to get everything just right. Satisfied, I checked the sundial outside and then rushed off for the promised night out. Jen arrived slightly after me and looped her arm in mine. ¡°You ready?¡± she asked. ¡°Yeah I¡¯m excited, although I¡¯m not sure this outfit will fly.¡± ¡°It¡¯ll be fiiine, it¡¯s common down there.¡± We essentially wore oversized rags, old clothes crudely stitched together - with proper armor underneath, just in case. To maintain our cover, most of my ammo stayed home aside from a few extra swords hidden about my person. Of course, Mel armed me with five fucking thousand crystal ¡®for emergencies¡¯ on top of my own private stash of another grand. Jen affectionately referred to it as our spending money. The penny-pincher CEO would have my liver for all three meals of the day if I wasted company cash on our little excursion. Even if Jen said she could wing it as an expense if we found interesting things to bring back. We both stepped up to the ledge, a nice secluded section with no sightlines to our destination. She gave me a worried look. ¡°You¡¯re sure this is safe?¡± We could probably jump down and be fine. ¡°Way down¡¯s the easy part - like riding an elevator. At least for you, since I¡¯ll be doing all the work. Back up is a bitch though. It¡¯s funny. I used to be scared of heights.¡± ¡°Well aren¡¯t you a gentleman, facing your fears for me?¡± She pecked me on the cheek and winked. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I won¡¯t forget your sacrifice. I¡¯ll let you get away with at least two fuck-ups for this.¡± ¡°Aren¡¯t we being generous. Well, here goes.¡± And so we climbed down the cliff face. Jen sat on a swing of floating swords and rope secured to me, my control skill carried most of her weight. Meanwhile I used two blades as improvised icepicks while she made bad jokes. It was a big step down from solo mountaineering, where I just improvised a stairway by mentally wedging them into the vertical wall of stone. But the company was well worth it and my efforts made an impression too, all in all a great start to the evening. It was time to explore the city under the guise of reconnaissance, although we just called it date-night. Chapter 41: Date night I was kissing ass while we walked towards the city, arm in arm. ¡°So I bet you¡¯ve thought up a brilliant yet subtle cover story for us, right?¡± ¡°Of course, I¡¯m a noble lady from far off lands and you¡¯re my dedicated manservant.¡± ¡°Har har, very funny. Although accurate so far. How much are you paying me anyway?¡± ¡°My graceful presence is payment enough.¡± ¡°So payment in nature then?¡± ¡°You wish, you¡¯re not that smooth.¡± ¡°Oh really, well you can have your pick from the wealth of options available. Jeb¡¯s good with his hands, Barry¡¯s a real provider. Elias has the dark and brooding thing going on for him.¡± ¡°Yeah messing around hasn¡¯t been the same since Jerry left. And Elias is taken anyway.¡± ¡°Hey screw you, that¡¯s just low and no shit, who¡¯s he with?¡± ¡°So insecure, it¡¯s not a good look with the ladies, you know. Jill snatched him up, they¡¯re trying to keep it secret and failing.¡± ¡°How does that even work? He doesn¡¯t care about others, not really - he¡¯ll tell anyone who asks the same. And you set me up for that one.¡± She mimicked a biting motion before responding. ¡°You¡¯re too easy. I don¡¯t know, it¡¯s weird. Anyway Jerry only had eyes for Kris, poor boy.¡± ¡°You just wait until the inevitable peasant revolt drags you down from your high horse¡­ Wait, really?¡± ¡°Sounds like fun, and yeah it was tragic. A love doomed to never flourish. It¡¯s why he was so gloomy all the time and even worse after she died. He confessed during the games, he never had a shot but even if he did, well, he ruined it then and there. Struggling for your life isn¡¯t exactly the height of romance. Do take note of that please.¡± ¡°And here I thought all the losses had gotten to him. Must¡¯ve been a helluva crush. Also who pines after their boss?¡± ¡°Same story as usual, another person latching on too fast so they can escape dealing with the change. Bet it made her feel real special.¡± ¡°Worked for her and Mel though. And what do you think I¡¯m doing?¡± She faked a warning glare so I quickly changed the subject. We¡¯d reach the outskirts soon enough. ¡°Seriously though, what¡¯s our backstory?¡± ¡°How he grovels, good. We¡¯re mostly going to try and blend in, but if someone presses us we¡¯ve been wandering after our village up north got destroyed during the eclipse until we found this place. We pooled what remained of our meager belongings and came looking for a new life here.¡± ¡°So pretty much what happened? I figured you¡¯d go for something a bit more creative.¡± ¡°I would¡¯ve, but I kept it simple for your sake.¡± ¡°How considerate of you. I don¡¯t mind memorizing a new story, you can have some fun.¡± She stopped and looked me in the eye. ¡°You¡¯ve been given plenty of written orders and have followed none of them to the letter. Having it chewed out for you is basically a guarantee you¡¯ll do something else.¡± ¡°Hey that¡¯s not fair, I¡¯ve just gone above and beyond. It¡¯s not like I¡¯m stupid or anything, when I disobey orders I do it willfully.¡± ¡°Keep telling yourself that, bad boy.¡± She pouted, ¡°You¡¯re aware those orders essentially came from me, right? I was trying to keep you safe, make sure you¡¯re strong and well equipped, you know?¡± ¡°I was not. Shit, well sorry.¡± She laughed. ¡°Got you again, since when am I giving orders? Dumbass.¡± Now it was my turn to fake a glare. ¡°Don¡¯t pout, how are we supposed to have fun otherwise?¡± Inappropriate comments sprang into my mind, about how her wit had grown and she really was twice the woman she used to be and I couldn¡¯t keep up by half, how I could go for some nuggets and a few more choice references to her previous condition. I had to go easy on the banter, the favela was all doom and gloom and we weren¡¯t supposed to stand out too much, also didn¡¯t want to be skinned alive. No one approached us and we circled the outer city, taking in the sights. The place was a fucking mess. We managed to extract some info out of a local after we bribed the old lady with a few burgers. I picked up on someone scooting off from the corner of my eye. So much for staying incognito. Jen assured me it was fine and expected, by shushing me like a baby while pretending to weed my reaction for red flags. I chuckled. They named it Freeport, imaginatively subdivided into the outer and inner city. It was essentially hell on earth. Burgers or bites thereof functioned as the local currency and deflation had spun out of control, with most citizens in various states of near-starvation. People didn¡¯t trade the cokes, both because they needed the calories and potable drinks were in short supply. Bilge from the inner city fouled the best springs and streams whereas wandering about cost too much energy of the nonmagical kind. However, people remained generally resourceful when providing for themselves. Some pressed wrappers together as a business, others broke and shaped regular stone into bricks or did all kinds of creative stuff with plastic cups. All of those involved insane amounts of manual labor. They even had a tailor, who bought old strips of fabric and sold the same but stitched together into new clothes. We walked the stamped mud streets, admired the ramshackle plastic-sheet architecture and delighted in the pungent aroma particular to a garbage collection strike. We also found a few actually interesting places to visit, like the old world curios shop. I picked up a few real pens, one for Jeb and one for Breathless to thank them since both complained about rune pens, and a zippo lighter to replace my empty Bic ¨C all for the price of three burgers. ¡°You want to go clothes shopping? My treat,¡± I asked, proudly flicking my new lighter over and over to her great annoyance, which made it all the better. ¡°Rags and wrappers aren¡¯t really my style, but I¡¯ll keep the offer in mind, you don¡¯t mind if I cash it in later, right?¡± ¡°No, no, of course not. Wouldn¡¯t be polite to say something like that when I know you won¡¯t take me up on it.¡± I¡¯m definitely going to regret that.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. Most of the nicer but ultimately uninteresting shops were close to the only gate leading into the inner section, our next stop. The whole wall was a mud and brick affair with no System masonry involved, so a pushover. We stopped at a corner before reaching it so I could have a smoke while Jen sneakily jotted notes on piled wrappers pinned to a small board, backlit by the gentle flare she carried over her shoulder. Supposedly the inner city had a restaurant. Hence the scribbling, getting business out of the way as enjoying a decent dinner unburdened was all properly date-like. After finishing up she wanted a smoke too and we chatted in the meantime. ¡°The guards will probably have questions at the gate for us. Any plans?¡± ¡°Just let me do all the talking and we¡¯ll be fine.¡± ¡°You expressly don¡¯t want me to speak? I cry inequality.¡± ¡°Of course not, I¡¯m the brains of this operation and you¡¯re just muscle.¡± The statement came out way too sincere. ¡°Hold on, you¡¯re not kidding are you? That bitch.¡± ¡°Took you long enough to figure it out. Recon was always going to happen but we couldn¡¯t send Elias down since he stands out way too much, also it wouldn¡¯t be fun with any of the others. So I suggested you. Had her phrase it as a vacation thing because you kept moaning about the rocks and in turn she whined at me. Remind me what you said again, ¡®that bitch¡¯, was it?¡± I exaggerated a deep hurt. ¡°Is our love even real, or is this merely another one of your evil machinations?¡± She patted me on the head. ¡°Don¡¯t worry your pretty little head about it too much, alright?¡± I raised an eyebrow. ¡°You didn¡¯t answer the question.¡± We were entering earshot. ¡°I know, now be quiet.¡± The guard hailed us, crossing the doorway with his shitty spear like it would make a difference. He was dressed in a clashing outfit of old-world wear but at least it was in perfect repair. Mending? Well it makes sense, bet they have all kinds of cantrips here. ¡°Hold. Not many new faces around here, but you¡¯re one of them.¡± You don¡¯t say? Jen easily talked us past him. He said it was a fifty to enter so Jen paid him sixty for the trouble, which set his back straight and he looked us over a little more closely. Then he immediately threw the hook for his sales pitch. ¡°If you¡¯ve got money to spend, then you¡¯re in the right place-¡± Jen interrupted him, ¡°Oh really? Is there any good shopping? A restaurant maybe? Something fun to do? I¡¯m sick and tired of walking day in day out.¡± ¡°There¡¯s plenty, it¡¯s all in districts so you shouldn¡¯t have trouble finding the shops, follow the main road and it¡¯ll take you to The Place, where you can eat. Castle¡¯s off limits though. If it¡¯s entertainment you want¡­¡± He overstressed ¡®entertainment¡¯ and glanced at both of us. ¡°¡­then we have something for all tastes.¡± Fucking hell, really? How about I entertain myself by turning you into a goddamn pincushion? ¡°What¡¯s wrong mister, you think you¡¯re tough?¡± Jen stepped on my foot and interjected with batting eyelashes even before I stopped myself from telling him to bring it. ¡°He doesn¡¯t like it when I talk to other men. Don¡¯t worry about it, thanks for your help.¡± He did his best impression of not being a thug and called out our legitimate passing through the half open wooden doors of the gate. Jen turned to me after we passed it and leaned in. ¡°He wasn¡¯t wrong you know, you looked like you were planning on starting a fight.¡± ¡°Sorry about that. He just pissed me off, I wasn¡¯t going to do anything.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t like it any more than you do and I¡¯d cheer you on while you kicked his ass but it¡¯s dangerous here. They have more Ascendants than we do.¡± ¡°Not exactly a tall order, but you¡¯re right. Ah well, dinner or shopping first?¡± ¡°Dinner!¡± The inner city had paved streets and most buildings were a mix stone and wood, reminding me of preserved antique village houses. A cartoonish castle dominated the skyline with four corner towers, connecting smooth crenellated walls and a fuck-off sized arched doorway. It gaped like an open maw with neither doors nor a portcullis. We eventually arrived at The Place. It looked nice on the outside but the interior decoration lacked any panache. The dining area was all wooden chairs and tables. Ceiling-affixed flares emitted warm light, complementing the crackling fireplace. It sufficed, even if the medieval style failed to appeal to either of our tastes. The menu was a fixed three course meal. First they gave us garnished cheddar as an appetizer, followed by noodles and veggies in broth, couldn¡¯t quite call it ramen. The final dish turned out to be cooked mystery Errant meat, which tasted like chicken, in a tomato sauce and complementary beer for drinks. Used to be they made the money off the drinks. It was probably the most they could do with alchemized burger parts and easily the best meal I had in months. We ended up overstaying and having the whole course thrice over. Had no problem overeating nowadays even after we¡¯d finished healing, there didn¡¯t seem to be any apparent benefits or downsides to it and thus nothing stood in the way of our indulgences. The establishment ran 24/7 so we ended up staying ¡®til the morning hours just having fun. The affair cost me a ridiculous 180 crystal, plus 35 in tips, and won us a personal thank you from the proprietor. There were quite a few shops around selling actual equipment and tools, both man and System made, along with various amenities at fairly exorbitant prices. We searched around but discovered little of interest, aside from the ¡®skill shop¡¯. I hadn¡¯t been paying overly much attention to the goods on display or shopping logistics aside from the hundred crystal I shelled out for the few things Jen bought ¨C she wrote everything down anyway. We stayed a lot longer at the skill store, mostly because Jen slowly browsed the full verbal catalogue. After a few minutes, I nodded my head towards the counter and rolled my eyes at the guard who¡¯d rocked his chair to lean against the ¡®No touching the merchandise¡¯ sign. He grinned so I pulled out my pipe, motioned at him and then pointed my thumb outside while tilting my head the same way. He accepted my offer and we made small talk during a shared smoke. ¡°You oughta hold on to that. Tobacco ain¡¯t cheap here.¡± ¡°Nothing seems to be, not that she¡¯ll let it stop her. Any good blends?¡± ¡°A few of the big brands, but nothing special really.¡± ¡°Got to be honest, you guys have a sweet operation going on here. Mind giving me the lay of the land, as a favor? We¡¯re new, wandered in yesterday and this looks like the place to be.¡± He explained the power structure, a mix of mob tactics and oppressive tyranny. Throne dude was ¡®The Destroyer¡¯ and I barely contained my laughter at the stupid name. Apparently locals were in the habit of taking nicknames, probably as a way to distance themselves from the past. ¡®The Destroyer¡¯ led the main gang and joining them meant a decent life, so guard duty or monster hunting if you were lucky. There was also a working class, slaves in all but name. No pay except for food and shelter, which was still an improvement over living outside the walls and also explained why all the slaves were well-fed if not well-treated. Some of the workers were free though but they were primarily business owners who mostly employed slaves but paid them a small stipend. The idea was to give the indentured hope they could buy their freedom someday and use any skills they picked up on the employers¡¯ dime to eke out a living. The whole entering slavery ordeal was entirely voluntary, anyone was free to fuck off and never return if they didn¡¯t like it unless they were in debt. Roman style indentured servitude, maybe I judged a bit hastily. Still, fuck ¡®em. We have enough enemies without turning on each other. For the rest it was the usual organized crime portfolio, so protection rackets, gross violations of old world human rights, excessive violence and debauchery. Basically, the local crime syndicate was well-organized in all the wrong ways. Arguing pulled us back inside but it turned out to be a heated haggling session. Jen pretended to get a new hobby for the sky high price of 375 crystal. She didn¡¯t even get the skill sheet, was just allowed to look it over and touch it. She spent a long time scribbling in her notebook after we found a corner secluded enough to mislead our tail. Finally, we checked out the various offers of ¡®entertainment¡¯, clustered around a red-lit central square in front of the gateless castle. It was definitely the low point of date night but unavoidable, all the bigshots partied there. We counted six Ascendants when making the rounds, and it took us leaving the inner city to shake off the lingering misanthropy. We retired to an inn with reasonable prices and proceeded to skip town immediately once after confirming our not-so-hidden follower had left. They really should¡¯ve used an assassin for that but the energy drain is probably too expensive a price for idle curiosity. I helped Jen a bunch since the climb up was rough on her. She kept joking about how she was giving me an opportunity to show off and not really struggling while I aped her comments about insecurity. We agreed it had been fun, even if there were some low low¡¯s, and we should do this again sometime soon. The next morning she¡¯d woken up early, I liked to sleep in even if I didn¡¯t need to, and left me breakfast together with 475 crystal on the dresser and a note, ¡®Cab fare. P.S. Coffee soon!¡¯. Ha ha, very funny. Nonetheless, it put a smile on my face. Also holy shit, coffee! Chapter 42: Ready… There were only a few things left to do. I milked the first for all it¡¯s worth. I¡¯d probably end up paying for it with the second. ¡°Are you really sure you¡¯re ready?¡± ¡°I know you are stalling. Stop it.¡± ¡°Okay, okay, be ready alright?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been ready for the last 5 minutes, just do it.¡± He wasn¡¯t exaggerating much. ¡°Fine, fine, here goes.¡± Launch. A spray of blood. The sword was about a quarter ways through. Kim, my victim and Korean level 100 endurance mage, clutched his leg and screamed obscenities while my control skill pulled out the sword, the expletives gained even more color when I touched him. ¡°So¡­ next one?¡± ¡°Just¡­ Argh¡­ Just a little time stop.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Ugh¡­ Give me a minute.¡± His long black hair turned even stringier from all the sweating. The mending accented his suffering, as if getting shot laterally in the thigh wasn¡¯t enough. Then we¡¯d do it again. It was going to be worse the second time. Well, his minute was up. ¡°Ready?¡± ¡°Wait, it still-¡± Eh, bored now. Launch. ¡°¡­FUCK.¡± It went clean through. Afterwards I mended this injury as well, it had long since been determined mending was in fact a great healing spell. Kim had to sit down for a bit because one of his legs was messed up but he¡¯d be fine in a couple of days. Probably. Dude missed his calling. He¡¯d have made a great mob boss or super villain. He sat there menacingly, expression screaming ¡®my turn soon¡¯. A translucent wall of white appeared next to him. ¡°It¡¯s up. Go ahead you little shit, see if it does anything.¡± Magic sword bounced off with the sharp sound of metal on metal. Physical sword went clean through. ¡°Again.¡± Magic sword wedged itself less than halfway in and the physical one almost passed through. ¡°Hurry up. Magic, 100 energy.¡± The duo-deca-launched magic sword got stuck with only the point in the barrier. He switched polarity, or whatever it was he could do to tune his defenses. ¡°Physical now.¡± Clean through. It pissed him off. ¡°Damn it. The arithmetic adds up but it also doesn¡¯t¡­ The scaling is not mentioned yet it is clearly in effect.¡± That was another piece of widespread information ¨C System descriptions were bullshit, just as I always suspected. Breathless looked up from his note taking. ¡°It¡¯s consistent with previous findings, the skills are far more complex than they appear to be. We suspect there are conversion factors from stat to stat with most abilities drawing on multiple¡­ It¡¯s a conundrum to solve it all, especially with the unknown fac-¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah, save it for the library. Let¡¯s get this over with.¡± This guy had to be a stalker and definitely practiced his creepy-face. He even spoke in a sinister tone, ¡°Gladly.¡± I flinched when he raised his hand, actually had no idea what to expect. Never saw an endurance mage use his ability offensively. They manipulated an aura of sorts, which included concentrating it into geometric shapes and a bunch of other shit. As usual, creativity and execution were the primary determinants of true capability. Then I got smacked by a panel of light. ¡°What the hell man?! Why did you go for my face? For fucks sake. Like walking into a door.¡± My nose bled but I was mostly fine. Pretty sure that was the physical one, which meant- ¡°I was saving this one for your leg.¡± ¡°Wha- CHRIST.¡± I limped to my own recovery chair because Kim punctured my thigh with a thin, white cylinder of energy. Next were the deflection tests. Magic sword actually parried magic. He sliced a freshly forged physical sword in half. A post-processed physical sword nearly dislocated my shoulder when the attack wrenched it out of my hand, but it somehow deflected Kim¡¯s tube of endurance mage bullshit. He smiled again when I yelped from mending myself. ¡°Are we done now?¡± ¡°Not having fun anymore, Gabriel?¡± ¡°Oh, I¡¯ll show you a good time.¡± Three swords floated, aimed at him. He spawned three hexagons poised to intercept. I wasn¡¯t actually going to shoot him. But if I were then I¡¯d switch out the order of the swords at the last second, or maybe bunch them up¡­ One of his brows furrowed and two more copies joined and aligned behind each existing barrier, along with three floating circles similar to the one which preceded the cylinder of stabbing. My only choice was probably to forego shooting altogether in favor of punching him in the face. Pure mages were crap at throwing hands. It was either that, or complicate the equation with two more swords. Fucking mage chess, I picked the wrong class. But Breathless was having none of it. ¡°Enough, we¡¯re here to experiment and not fight. You both agreed to this. And the experiment is over. We know all we need to. Now get dressed, both of you.¡± We kept giving each other the evil eye despite the end of exploratory hostilities. Breathless continued. ¡°Should I summarize the results for you?¡± ¡°No thanks, I have the gist of it. Mages get real swords, fighters get magic swords, Kim can¡¯t take a joke and so forth.¡± ¡°Oh, you like jokes? I have one for you. Knock, knock.¡± It was a bad idea but I played along. ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± ¡°Door.¡± Oh no. I lunged to the side while pain lanced up my leg and barely avoided another square to the head. Breathless¡¯ curiosity was his greatest vice so he asked, ¡°Door who?¡± Kim happily answered, ¡°The door with a view to an idiot on the floor.¡± Then he laughed. It wasn¡¯t even a good joke. ¡°You know I can probably knock you out before you realize what¡¯s happening, right? Better watch your back, barrier boy.¡± ¡°Hah! Not until you heal. A fighter with a leg injury is effectively crippled, whereas I can always fight.¡± Recovering wouldn¡¯t take as long as he thought, I downed a vial.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°First of all, I¡¯m a mage too. Second, yeah, that¡¯s why we¡¯re sending you to the games. Your odds of survival have been judged to be oh-so-high, right?¡± I knew it was a sore spot for him. ¡°I am quite certain the choice fell on you because of how expendable you are.¡± Yep, definitely a professional creep. ¡°Speaking of, shouldn¡¯t the daily intelligence update have ended a few minutes ago?¡± Oh shit. ¡°Ahahahaha. Oh the look on your face. Well, let me allay your worries¡­¡± What? No way she wasn¡¯t headed over. I felt his aura crap collide against my own perception field thingy. ¡°She¡¯ll be here in about 5 seconds.¡± The fucker lied too, she rounded the corner immediately. We¡¯d been outside the main building because neither of us wanted to clean blood off the floor. A certain turn of phrase came to mind, about women scorned. It wasn¡¯t entirely appropriate since technically the problem was that I hadn¡¯t scorned something. Earlier in the day, there¡¯d been a general meeting for all level 100¡¯s. Mel presented a simple question: Who wants to go into the Ascension games and try out strategies to see if we can bump up the survival rate? Alone. Sounded like a mighty stupid idea to me, except for the usual complications of being bored out of my mind and not having killed anything worthwhile for far too long. I¡¯d been riding out the high of my battles for a bit, but it couldn¡¯t last forever and the jitters returned. Leadership likely planned to volunteer one of us but my hand went up along with a few others, including Kim. Now, Jen knew. She roared, ¡°FIRST YOU JUMP OFF THE FUCKING CLIFF, NOW YOU JUST VOLUNTEER FOR THE GOD DAMN DEATH GAMES. IF YOU WANT TO DIE SO BADLY THEN GET READY BECAUSE IT¡¯S COMING.¡± Tendrils of energy snaked on her skin as she charged. They wrapped themselves around until her arm was covered fist to shoulder. I tried to feint one way and then dodge the other but, seated as I was, it hadn¡¯t gone well and her hook sent me sprawling instead. The acrid smell of burnt beard and mustache followed my plummet to earth. But at least she calmed down a little. ¡°Goddamnit that¡¯s the second time I get hit in the face within 5 minutes.¡± ¡°Good. You deserve it.¡± She actually nodded towards Kim, the obvious suspect, who bowed slightly. ¡°But sorry, I thought you¡¯d dodge it like always.¡± She was still getting used to her newly devised ability application and we sparred frequently - it kept things lively. Like so many others, she was on to something. While technically a speed mage, she fought like a power fighter. Wrapping her magic around as an exoskeleton was nothing new however, binders loved the trick, but her increased physical endurance made it viable to augment her insides as well. She wasn¡¯t the first to come up with the variation either, but progressed the most in applying it. Her success prompted me to call bullshit on System balance, evidenced by the fact she landed a hit on me even though I had ten times her physical speed. Breathless and Kim scurried away while we hashed things out like a proper couple, her standing and me in the dirt. ¡°You should have waited to consult with me. Mel wanted you to volunteer.¡± ¡°The fuck? So she does think I¡¯m expendable.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not it, you have the best odds, especially with your new toy.¡± ¡°So what¡¯s the problem then?¡± ¡°The problem is you made your decision without knowing everything. Come on, you know better than this. She didn¡¯t consider it much either, we should¡¯ve done a tournament or something, see who¡¯s best and send them.¡± ¡°Fair point, it was kind of a heat of the moment thing. I¡¯m itching and the strategy is cowardice personified, worst case I¡¯ll dump a chunk of our treasury in someone¡¯s face. That tends to work out.¡± She moved closer, after I stood up, and wrapped her arms around my neck. ¡°Tell me, can you really stay in control?¡± The heart of the matter. ¡°I think so, things are different now. I still feel the urge to let go, but not like at the river.¡± ¡°Could you?¡± A hard question. ¡°In theory? Yes, of course. In practice? No, not really. I don¡¯t want to be that person. It¡¯s a bad habit anyway, would just get me killed.¡± ¡°I believe you, but promise me you¡¯ll come back alive, yeah? I know you can¡¯t, not really, but do it anyway?¡± ¡°Of course, don¡¯t sweat it. I don¡¯t plan on losing.¡± ¡°Thanks Gabe, it means a lot to me.¡± ¡°You mean a lot to me.¡± ¡°Fucking kiss-ass.¡± We ended up going for lunch and coffee while she shared the latest and greatest. Freeport was going to send only three people, morale was low there after a chain of zero survivors. One of their Ascendants disappeared so with luck they were down to five. Jen speculated they delved into the Groups layer and learned the same lesson we had ¨C it was a death sentence. Factory gossip was so out of control that a rename to the rumor mill became ever more appropriate. It reached the small village threshold and everyone knew everything about each other. A bit of magical speed was all the rage nowadays among the craftspeople. The sub-process took over the mental focus component of modern day industry and freed up brainpower for idle chatter. The nerds were nerdin¡¯, although Jen couldn¡¯t tell me much since her department was working out protocol for compartmentalization of information and other spy shit. We didn¡¯t have anyone with a handy background in the CIA or whatever to fill us in on best practices. Still, the current project had a codename, ¡®Here there be no dragons¡¯. Nice. She had to eventually get back to work so I reluctantly did the same. Barry¡¯s brewing experiments yielded fruit and supplemented my arsenal with another new potion. After we downed our mandatory greeting drinks, he explained it to me. ¡°So, this is a good one. We had some wolfspider silk left over but the stuff was unusable ¡®cuz its way too sticky.¡± ¡°Silk? Since when did we have silk? I thought they gave leather. Did someone scrape the stuff off the floor?¡± ¡°¡¯s gathered from manual harvests. Had to refine it up. Jeb an¡¯ I¡¯d been drinkin¡¯ and yappin¡¯ about what to do with it. Magic glue or maybe duct tape, but he really wanted the thread.¡± We had another set of drinks before he continued on. ¡°Then Ryan stops eavesdroppin¡¯, leans over ¡®n¡¯ throws his arms ¡®round us while completely hammered. Slurs every second word and says ¡®Gentlemen, if that¡¯s what¡¯cha want, then dip it in alcohol. It¡¯s a universal solvent.¡¯ So we did just that.¡± ¡°Smart man.¡± ¡°Aye, I bet he didn¡¯t struggle through school. Anyhow, it worked all right.¡± ¡°So what does this have to do with new potions?¡± ¡°Hold ya horses, I¡¯m gettin¡¯ to it. Jeb had his thread and I had a wasted drink. Figurin¡¯ batch was already ruined and I was down a drinkin¡¯ buddy, so why not? I ¡®stilled it anyway and wouldn¡¯t ya know, I ended up with a gob of sticky residue. Took some time to get the mix right.¡± ¡°Very nice. Tests were good then?¡± ¡°Took a second for Jeb to tear through after he¡¯d been glazed with the stuff, even then it still bothered him. Thought this might be right up ya alley, seein¡¯ as ya don¡¯t like ¡®em movin¡¯.¡± He passed me a pair of vials filled with viscous grey liquid. ¡°No shit? Thanks B, these¡¯ll come in handy.¡± I was genuinely touched. Even with a knack for aiming, it was better when I didn¡¯t need to. He poured a drink and raised a toast. ¡°For the company.¡± ¡°For the company.¡± The first offensive potion entered my repertoire. If it worked on Jeb then it should work on anyone. The affable redneck was all-in on physical power. ¡°Also, ya can throw booze over it to dissolve the stuff. Carry ¡®em together with the liquor so if they get smashed ya won¡¯t screw ya self.¡± ¡°Damn, good one.¡± We sat there a while longer, shooting the shit. The sticky sticks brought my variety of consumables up to five and total count thereof to ten, including liquor. It was about the limit of what I was willing to deal with. Stat boosting potions were already a staple thanks to Elias¡¯ inquisitive nature, despite how gross they were. The secret ingredient was the blood of a pure class mixed with alcohol and distilled, could do the same with hybrids but the effects were lackluster. The System liked its booze, it seemed. Perhaps we were kindred spirits after all. I planned to bring three shots of physical endurance extract with me. Even if colloquial nomenclature designated them as healing potions, it was ultimately a bit of a stretch. They combined well with my mending cantrip. My other boosters were a PS and MP potion, one each. And now I had two goo bombs stashed in between three vials of grain alcohol. It was a bit risky leaving them vulnerable even if Barry gave me a Jeb-made ¡®carrier kit¡¯ for them, so a belt with loops. Unlike the metal tubes for other potions, these worked by shattering and had to stay accessible mid-fight. I also dedicated quite a bit of my free time towards enchanting. For one, I wanted more stuff to throw and was somewhat burned out on all my other stat-links for now. Even filing down metal could be fun if you were tired enough of the alternatives. I greatly looked forward to some fuckwit figuring out how to deal with a herd of angry metal cats on the fly, the little shits were vicious and obedient. They weren¡¯t hard to kill but quantity solved the problem. There were other uses too, a simple metal brick made for an excellent roadblock - especially in a hallway. This one¡¯s a little different though. My crafting ingenuity was a source of pride but Vik had me beat in the same field. He gave us a scare when he stopped showing up for drinks, we marched on his room, determined to talk him out of becoming boring but apparently he was anything but. He¡¯d gotten a little carried away with trap making, discovering hidden potential within the size differences before and after activation. He never actually finished anything because new inspirations caused him to leap from one idea to another. According to him, it was quite a pain to get the scale right along with a bunch of ridiculously tedious miniature work but he powered through nonetheless. Every ranged combatant in the firm salivated at the thought of seeding their surroundings with landmines of all kinds. Overall, the current zeitgeist embodied change. And soon it was time for me to undergo the same. Ascension certainly made it sound like I was about to move up in the world. The lofty name of the games contrasted starkly with my chewed out strategy. It had its origin in online gaming terminology and I approved wholeheartedly. It was called ¡®ratting¡¯. Chapter 42+ Stats, Skills and Spells Dear Diary, Tonight I¡¯m going into the Ascension games. I¡¯m obviously level 100 and my stats are: PP 38 (10+28), PS 239 (210+29), PE 125 (110+15), MP 351 (310+41), MS 21 (10+11), ME 244 (110+134). I should be nervous, but instead I¡¯m excited. Instead of going for long goodbye¡¯s, I¡¯m doing this shit and psyching myself up. Always thought I performed better under pressure. I feel strong, I feel ready and I want vengeance. It might sound silly, but this marks a turning point for me. It¡¯s been six months and it¡¯s about damn time circumstances bend for me, instead of the other way around. Jen expressed fear that I¡¯d lose myself in the rush, but the truth is¡­ I¡¯m not so worried. Before, I had little to lose, yet we now have a good thing going, both as a group and personally. I like our rag-tag bunch, and I like Jen. We¡¯re good together.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. Maybe I¡¯m off the deep end, who knows? After all, the abyss not only stares back, it has a user interface. Speaking of, one last refresher seems appropriate. I always feel better writing this stuff down, even if my combat style has changed dramatically. I can magically store up to 3 swords I ¡®control¡¯ at max 3 centimeters range in my [Sheath], [Control] lets me manipulate up to 3 swords with my mind at max 3 meters range with ¡®half the force I can exert¡¯ and I can [Launch] swords I ¡®control¡¯ ¡®twice as hard as I can throw them¡¯ by expending 5 energy (compoundable!), only possible while they are within 3 meters of me and in the direction the point is facing. I have two spells, cantrips to be specific. [Create Food & Drink] and [Mending]. The only information available is that they cost 10 energy, as they have no descriptions. Ten in, max five out, let¡¯s hope I¡¯m one of them, so we get to speak again. Bye dear Diary.