Eric’s heart hammered a staccato beat as the flood of rats glared his way. Alone, without resources or access to his magic or equipment, not daring to move faster than the tiniest fraction of his normal speed… he was a dead man walking. He knew that already.
But the hell he would give up without a fight, he thought, grimacing as he tried one more time to slide a prize free of this Bronze tier restriction.
A prize covered in blood and bitter struggle. A prize perhaps more intimately tied to him than any other, one that had almost become him, or controlled him… a prize he had infused with his essence at great peril… taking the darkest of artifacts and making it his own.
So he couldn’t help feeling a fierce sense of vindication when the ancient bow he could just barely touch with his metaphoric fingers was still enough for him to slowly… carefully… pull free of jealous guardians eager to lock all his prizes away. As bone bow and a handful of wickedly hooked bone arrows hooked to the string came along for the ride.
ES Skill check: Success!
You have successfully pulled free Ancient Artifact from storage!
You now have access to Bone Bow Artifact and six bone arrows!
All prizes are soul bound to you.
All claimed prizes have been previously infused with Runes of Strength & Resilience!
Eric clamped down on the odd mixture of dread and exhilaration he felt, monstrous Finesse instantly clamping down on the tremble in his hands from sheer jubilation as something FINALLY went his way! Even if he was presently knocking back an arrow to his ear with a pinch draw, before slowly, carefully, applying ever more force via Rank 23 Flesh Sculptor demanding ever greater tension. Far more tension than he ever had as a conscript in way over his head in Junk Town, his strength almost twenty times greater and he knew he could apply only the tiniest fraction of that to his bow… even as he carefully infused the limbs with potency so it didn’t fly to pieces as he infused ever more of his Flesh Sculptor skill to demand the recurved limbs strain against his thumb and index finger with ever greater force as he sighted down the arrow shaft, picked his target, and released.
Flesh Sculptor skill check: Success!
Eric would have grinned from ear to ear with the speed his bow’s bone limbs snapped forward, many times what he had managed to achieve back in Junk Town. Which would have resulted in an arrow traveling Mach 3 at least, he was damned certain of it.
If it hadn’t exploded a split second after being released, showering the rats with bone fragments packing so much force that three collapsed, utterly perforated by shrapnel while the rest scattered.
Which was even better than he could have hoped for, perhaps.
But it had cost him an arrow, at least temporarily, and it was damned clear that bullseye shooting at supersonic speed wasn’t happening any time soon.
Smooth draw. Knock fletching to cheek. Release.
Eric grinned with the tiniest bit of pleasure when his arrow struck his target of reinforced rat hide now strengthened far beyond what it would otherwise be, with Flesh Sculptor boosted by 34 levels of necromancy and covered in a thin sheen of his blood saturated with the essence of Dominion. Which meant that, all in all, it had decent integrity, to say the least.
More than good enough to make a durable rawhide target in a frame of bone, as he drew a second arrow he had made by fusing rat bones together and shaping it like clay, albeit with his mind alone, such that it perfectly matched the necromantic arrows that had come with the bow before he had strengthened them further.
Whatever anxiety he had about inferior arrows made in desperate peril faded when yet another pair of arrows hit dead center, no matter that the target was a mere forty feet away, his ammunition firing at only a fraction of the speed of sound.
The important thing was that the arrows worked, and that Flesh Sculpting was rapidly proving to be the most vital skill he had access to at the moment, so damned useful for purposes of utilitarian crafting, having made himself both a rawhide jacket and a quiver that now held twelve arrows. He had even been able to make fletching out of rat hide.
He sighed, resigning himself to what he had to do next, never thinking he would be reduced to this, but now that he knew that the arrows worked, he would take that next step.
His life, quite literally, depended upon it.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
You have successfully Soul Bound twelve bone (L 15 Rat origin) arrows. You have infused 12 Soul Bound Arrows with The essence of Dominion. Minimal potency expended.
Eric furrowed his brow thoughtfully, wondering if there were other things he could infuse as well. He gazed intently down at the arrow and the tiny crimson rune he was struggling to place on it. It was true that the collar meant that he had limited ability to access his mana pool. But from what he could tell, outworlders had very little concept of just what was possible with unorthodox Terran arts.
Maybe slipping mana through that way...
You have failed to inscribe runes upon Bone arrows! 1 Light Wound (backlash) suffered!
“Fuck!” He glared down at the rune, more startled than hurt, his definition of pain warped considerably, at this point.
He scowled at the arrow, resisting the urge to smash his own hard work. Before chuckling softly and trying again. He had known from the start it would take some work and thinking out side the box. And maybe his fingers were stinging and his head throbbing more than a little bit after repeated failures at sliding even the tiniest ounce of mana through the gap between himself and the collar, no matter how he tried to slide it through.
Infusing Mana, even through his blood was clearly a no go.
Then it struck him, as he glared at the inert crimson sigils.
Why the hell was he worried about mana anyway?
He had blood magic. Had always had blood magic, long before even tapping into his mana pool or spiritual energy. And spiritual energy didn’t seem effected by the collar at all… not that he was stupid enough to try it in the velimobile when a single wild punch would have cost him his head.
So why not see if he could catalyze the blood itself to catalyze with Spiritual Energy to hold the power of the rune?
It was crazy to think it would work, and he was sure any classic cultivator would think his blending an abomination. But there were definite perks to taking the supposed weakest of all Master classes, and that was the ability to safely blend and synergize absolutely every power or ability that bloodline gifts, training, and personal breakthroughs might awaken. To say nothing of the myriad fortuitous events that could shape ones abilities and potential that the daring and lucky might encounter in a world freshly blossoming into the System, without any worries about incompatible arts bricking one’s build.
Or at least, that’s what he fervently hoped. Regardless, the first time he summoned spiritual energy alone to touch the runes, it did nothing but flash in a pretty explosion of color.
But the minute he thought of anchoring the power of his spiritual energy to the essence of life itself, tied tightly to the blood…
That’s when everything changed.
CONGRATULATIONS! You have successfully unlocked an unorthodox application of Runic Lore!
You have unlocked the hidden perk: BLOOD RUNES.
You understand the link between will, form, and potency better than ever before! And what’s more potent than your own life force? You may now substitute temporary Soul Reserves for Mana whenever you carve runes into any surface using your blood!
Note! This variant of Runic Lore requires knowing the Blood Rune (you do.) This variant o f Runic Lore does NOT work with shouts or chants! Only physical representations of runes.
Congratulations! Runic Lore is now Level 28!
Eric smiled, securing his now reinforced leather vest and quiver as he prepared to leave his sanctuary of white-hot blood. If nothing else, he had at least managed to rekit himself with proper bow and reinforced arrows. If he was lucky, his essence infused arrows would hold just as well as the originals, if not even better. But his ultimate goal was to hit his target at speeds far beyond the speed of sound, without them exploding into fragments or skewing way off from their targets.
It wasn’t just a power fantasy, it was a bloody necessity.
His smile, like his thoughts, turned grim. He was no archer with exotic powers linked to his bow, not beyond his unorthodox adaptation of necromancy, blood magic, and essences, which he’d happily make use of however he could. The arrows he shot were still relatively light, and he wasn’t just hunting medium sized game with mortal stats and physique. He was in a Level 60 Dungeon, with at least a few creatures who wouldn’t be effected by mundane arrows any more than a tank, saturated with Vitality, potency, and no doubt odd powers he could barely fathom.
If he wanted to survive, he needed to be shooting arrows that weren’t just near indestructible at standard speeds. Thank heavens that his first encounter were with almost normal, pitbull-sized rats. Many times more savage and fierce than the very first rats that had terrorized him but no doubt perfect scavengers for a L60 maze dungeon that was enacting some sort of mirror mockery of an actual ecosystem with the rats no doubt acting as scavengers even if they could live indefinitely on the rift’s wild arcane energies alone.
Killing those rats was one thing. But eventually he needed to be releasing arrows at the speed of an anti material round, cracking the sound barrier multiple times over, praying they would at least penetrate a few inches into the hides of the true monsters of this realm before they shattered or rebounded, no matter the tiny runes he could squeeze onto the bone shafts.
Ultimately, he needed his arrows to cut through the air far more efficiently than any mortal missile.
And for that, a hell of a lot more was required than simple practice. Or rather, practice was that which inspired and solidified his insights. But to truly master his potential, he needed to be able to tap into that which was beyond himself, to see if reality itself could be compelled to heed the call of his will with his weapon.
In short, he needed to hit Rank 20 in the bow, and if his hunch was right, if the perks he had earned from Javelin Throwing echoed at all with this weapon… the perk that would allow him to survive this death trap was just a single skill up away.