As the lock on the [Rune of Subjugation] Class Skill crumbled and fell away, Alan found himself in possession of all the information he needed to tame a wild beast. Not only would the Rune likely work on any type of monster, so long as the beast in question was either a willing subject, or had been sufficiently weakened beforehand. The beast would retain its life, and the majority of its individuality in the process. As Alan understood it, the process wasn't one that could be done without causing intense pain. The Rune would force the target to undergo a drastic change to its physical and Spiritual makeup. One that would allow the beast to be recalled.
That was where the information became questionable at best. Without trying it out first, it was hard to be certain, but from what Alan could tell, if he were to successfully inscribe a Rune onto a beasts Soul, he would be able to recall the beast into a Rune-like tattoo that would somehow attach itself to his body. Once in place, it would allow the beast to syphon his energy to recover from any damage it might've recieved in battle.
Realistically, while Alan was excited at the prospect of officially taming the Roc, he needed to speak to Reggie before he put his plan to action. With only one chance every seventy-two hours, and less time than that left in the Safe Zone, he was going to have to make his first attempt count.
Until getting some clarification, Alan couldn't honestly say for sure if the beasts in the Safe Zone were Dungeon monsters at all.
Sure, they were currently living inside of a dungeon, but Reggie himself had said that this area only came online when the System provided Alan with a Quest to clear the Dungeon. But what did he mean by that? If the Sandstone Palace was as bad-off as Reggie let on, how was it able to muster up the energy needed to create such a diverse array of beasts? Was it the Celestial Essence? And how about the Mystic Fruits? Alan pondered, Where did those trees grow at? Did the System send them in along with the beasts, or is plant growth somehow accelerated in here? Is this like a tiny Tutorial Realm? One that uses the Celestial Essence in that tower as a power source?
There were several possibilities, but two stood out as the most obvious. Either the Dungeon had created this place long ago, and stocked it with with beasts, or the System spawned beasts in the Safe Zone when a Dungeon Quest was given. That line of thought was intriguing, but it was steadily leading Alan off track of his current objective. Once he began to wonder who had been responsible for the construction of the tower, Alan knew he had to get his attention back on the task at hand.
Regardless of where the damned thing originated from, if taming the Roc was in any way a possibility, Alan now had the Skill to do so. Returning his attention to his Class Upgrade tab, Alan noticed that the remaining Class Skills were greyed out and inaccessible. “Gimme my Skills you stingy fuck!“ Alan demanded. Annoyance building, he began poking ineffectually at the intangible screen that was his PSA.
*WARNING!* Currently unable to unlock additional Class Skills. Continued mishandling of your PSA will result in temporary PSA lockout.
Surprisingly, Alan's furious finger jabs had an almost immediate effect. Not only had they been the source of a valuable lesson regarding the abuse of inanimate objects, but the glaring red notice also provided him with enough information to at least understand that it wasn't a failing of his own that led to his Class Skill Upgrades going offline.
Judging by what little details the notification contained, if he was going to use his remaining Class Upgrade Point right now, Alan was going to have to choose something from either the Upgrade or Pathogens sections. Lacking the necessary Skills needed to access his [Pathogenic Accumulation] made acquiring a new pathogen next to useless at present. Which cut his options considerably. It was down to selecting an Upgrade, or holding on to his Upgrade Point in hopes that Leveling his Class would restore access to the Class Skills section.
“Yeah, that's gonna be a hard pass,” Alan snorted, determined to get some immediate use out of the sacrifice of nearly half of his Non-Class Skills. Having already picked the best Skill out of the bunch, he wasn't overly concerned. The only other Skill that stood out as being immediately useful by itself was [Blighted Guardian] and that wasn't something he was ready to deal with anyways.
“Maybe if I summon Fenrir and kick the shit out of it a few times it'll get the message…” Alan mumbled, a crazed gleam in his eyes. It was a tempting idea, one that was sure to alleviate some of his frustrations towards that damnable wolf, but as he weighed the very possible risk of getting his ass kicked by one of his own Skills against getting some much-desired, yet equally unnecessary revenge, he decided to put a pin in that one for now. At least until he had a better idea of how to properly utilize the [Warden of Blight] Class.
If not for the simple fact that they were inaccessible, [Mycelial Manifestation] and [Bacterial Manifestation] were both viable options. But up until just a moment ago, Alan had wanted to purchase both of those at the same time. Alas, it now looked like that was going to be an impossibility. If Class Skills could only be unlocked at a rate of one per Skill Level, that line of thinking was going to have to be crumbled up and tossed out the window.
With little options remaining to choose from, Alan studied the listings for [Warden's Arsenal] and [Warden's Wardrobe]. Both of them had the potential to become something special, but the Class-Bound Armor seemed to be the better choice for his current needs. Just to be certain he wasn't jumping the gun, Alan called his daggers from inventory, followed immediately after by his crossbow. With no issues accessing his weapons, and eager to acquire some clothing, Alan returned his weapons to his Storage Case and decided that for now, Armor was going to be the best choice.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
Even without the daggers and crossbow, even if all he had to rely on were his claws, the +1% bonus to All Stats provided by [Wardens Wardrobe] made that particular Upgrade far more valuable than whatever weapon [Warden's Arsenal] would see fit to provide.
Nervous about Su'ong's cryptic message, and ready to get a move on, Alan focused his thoughts on the [Warden's Wardrobe] Class upgrade just long enough for a dialogue box to appear above the listed upgrade.
Caution! Consume 1 Class Upgrade Point to unlock [Wardens Wardrobe]? Yes/No?
Alan selected Yes, his flawed reasoning leading him to fully expect the System to open up one of its spatial doors, and shit out his new equipment. Contrary to his beliefs, Alan was in the midst of searching for any sign of spatial cracks in the air when a wave of jarring pain erupted from within his body.
In the span of several heartbeats, Alan was rendered immobile as the pain rapidly intensified from the uncomfortable tingle of a limb that had fallen asleep, to what felt like thousands of tiny needles were piercing his flesh from the inside out. Each tiny prick was like a burst of fire. It was as if his very bones were being ground up, the willful shards then forced wiggle their way through any impediment on the way to the surface.
Fearing he had made a serious miscalculation, and unable to turn back time to rethink things, Alan choked back a scream as a sudden eruption of inky black pathogenic roots burst forth from the crevices between each of his scales. Unable to contain it any longer, and unsure why he had bothered in the first place, Alan roared out in agony as a mind numbing jolt of pain shot through every fiber of his being. It felt as if someone were skinning him alive.
Broken free of their moorings, jagged strips of flesh with their attached scales, as well as tiny shards of bone separated from his body and began to orbit around him like grisly, misshapen satellites. Each one held in place by writhing tendrils of black slime, spinning in place, to all appearances caught in an unseen vortex.
As if he were host to a colony of ebony worms, a seething mass of web-like roots slick with a coating of fresh blood emerged from deep within his fully exposed musculature and began to repair what had just been ruined. Eyes blurred with tears from both pain, and the smell of cloying rot mixed with dead vegetation wafting out of his body only to be carried away on the breeze, Alan watched as deep red droplets of his vital fluids gathered amidst the webbing of ultra-fine hairs that extended from one root to the next.
Like mercury traveling through a thermometer, Alan's freely-flowing blood shot up the strings of ooze keeping the discarded chunks of his flesh in place, permitting them to continue their constant revolutions. The strands were used as a means for the blood to reach his unhoused portions, encapsulate them, and then stretch out in all directions to link each individual satellite together. A dark stain spread out as a sudden injection of pathogenic spores filled the spiderwebbing of interconnected meaty chunks, coursing throughout each piece, burrowing deep and rearranging the very essence of the flesh and bone.
The once-bright aquamarine, green and yellow scales underwent a swift transformation, separating from the bits of attached meat, and becoming a dark and twisted version of their former selves. Their once smooth and glossy surface took on a rough, ridged and jagged texture, as if to be used as weapons against their previous host.
One by one, they began to float towards one another, almost magnetically drawn by an unseen force, while taking on the semblance of a red sheened dome comprised of sharp black chunks suspended in an inky, gelatinous ooze. As more and more pieces were added to the whole, the goo around him likewise expanded. The curtain dropped, the dome draping itself over Alan's head as if he were little more than a tent post before condensing down and enveloping him within a pitch black cocoon.
Alan remained unable to move, his body wracked by both an adrenaline overload, and repeated pulses of pain as the cocoon helped to speed up the process of his flesh knitting back together. Now blinded on top of everything else, there was nothing Alan could do but set his jaw and wait for the transformation to come to completion.
Although he couldn't see it happening, Alan could feel the ooze around him beginning to pulsate and ripple as it was subjected to another round of sudden, and extreme alterations. Strands of black webbing wriggled and writhed, knitting disembodied pieces of skin and scale together into a solid sheet of dark armor that clung to Alan's body like a second skin.
Sight and motion returned, alongside a sudden rip of tearing fabric. As his face was revealed, Alan squinted against the sudden brightness and sucked in a ragged breath. Disoriented and panting heavily, he clawed anxiously at the still-forming layer of what felt like supple, oiled leather clinging to either side of his head.
Legs wobbling like a newborn calf, Alan slumped back on his tail before his knees could buckle, reclining next to what remained of the Plantains Su'ong had been thoughtful enough to peel in advance. It was disheartening to see that they were beginning to look a little sad. A bruise-like brown discoloration was spreading across their once pristine edges, and had he not felt so drained, Alan would've opted for gathering a fresh pile.
As though it had been listening in on his thoughts, Alan's stomach burbled noisily, demanding immediate sustenance. Disturbed that he could consider eating after such an intense, and downright disgusting process, yet eager to regain some of the energy lost in the creation of his armor, Alan summoned several handfuls of trail mix from inventory. With a bit of variety added to his meal, Alan finished off his Plantains and tried his best to drink his bottomless canteen dry.
It might've been his imagination, but the flow of water seemed to be slowing down. Just one more reason to get the fuck out of this Dungeon…
Looking down at himself, Alan took in the sight of his Class-Bound Armor for the first time.
It seemed to be some kind of hooded battle robes cinched to perfect tightness over a pair of pants and a long sleeved shirt. All of which were made of the same durable material. Crisscrossing his chest, holding his robes closed were two sturdy belts studded with bone hoops and spikes that went well with the bleak aesthetic, yet apparently served little real function.
Hanging from the base of the hood, a short cloak flowed out behind him like a sheet of liquid obsidian, billowing soundlessly on the as of yet still rank breeze. Straps of dark scaled hide that wrapped and up around his shoulders served to secure the hood in place, while simultaneously forming a set of stiff pauldrons. And while it was all dry to the touch, the armor glistened with a red sheen as if it had just been salvaged from the midst of an active battlefield.
It was every bit as form-fitting, stretchy, and sturdy as it appeared to be. Hugging Alan's body in all the right places while simultaneously affording him an excellent range of motion.
If it weren't for the fact that he looked like the barefooted hidden assassin of some diabolical death cult, he would've been without a single complaint.