Mark smiled as the little thing caught his finger, the nurse insistently pushing the paperwork his way. “Yes, of course. I’ll take custody. Where do I sign?”
He didn't know if it was normal to hound a fresh parent like that, nor did he care. The little one was gripping him with all her strength, refusing to let go even after minutes. “You can’t stay here, sir.”
“Yes I can. The mother?”
The nurse raised her eyebrow, looking down at her chart. “Sara Helk is fine. Eager to be discharged.”
Mark shrugged at her accusing tone. “One night stand. Haven’t seen her in eight months until I got a call. I’d like her to sign away all rights as a parent. Tell her I’ll pick up the bill if she does.”
The nurse nodded tightly, moving to leave. “I don’t care what you think of me, nurse, but see how quickly she signs before judging me.”
He was left alone with the little one, wiggling his finger under her chin. “I’ll suppose you’ll need a name, won’t you?”
----------------------------------------
Mark kicked the boar as it tried to stand, his mind calming as he fought. The rock cracked its skull after two blows, raining brains and blood over the immediate area. Two weeks he’d been here. Two weeks of these things.
He turned, stepping aside in the nick of time as the second boar passed him. Dodge on full display, he let himself fall to avoid the third, rolling and jumping to his feet again.
Throw guided his hand as he let the rock fly, stunning the boar long enough he could deal with the third. It snarled as he japped at it with his spear, moving right to circle him. Mark grinned, throwing it more to distract than hurt, and pounced on the still stunned one. He scooped up the rock he’d thrown, bashing twice before he had to roll.
The third boar covered his fallen ally, buying time for the regeneration to kick in, so Mark charged. A tusk tore at his leg, letting himself fall with the stone firmly in hand. It cracked against the healing boar, spilling blood over the dirt.
The last boar moved as he threw again, the rock missing, and he twisted so he could grab at its tusks. One hand slipped, slicing deep against the tusk, but the other held firm. He tugged hard, both of them falling to the floor. He got on his feet faster, rolling with it and letting dodge guide his momentum, and he loomed over it with his knife.
For killing a Star Boar you have been granted five experience.
For killing a Star Boar you have been granted five experience.
For killing a Star Boar you have been granted five experience.
General Skills have gained twenty experience.
General Skills have gained twenty experience.
Throwing has increased to level five. Throwing has reached max level.
General Skills have gained twenty experience. No General Skills found. New options available.
Mark nodded, satisfied, and snacked on some meat. His first kills of the morning, and he hadn’t even lost any fingers. Losing those was a bitch, needing a good half hour of regeneration to grow back. “Status.”
Name: Mark Dallton Class: Gluttony Level: 6 (80/120) Classs (0):
Adaptable
Durance
Strong Stomach
Consume
Cure
General Skills (1):
Pain Tolerance: level 5 (maxed)
Dodge: level 5 (maxed)
Hunting: level 5 (maxed)
Throwing: level 5 (maxed)
Rock fighting +
Bone fighting +
Spear fighting +
Club fighting +
Foraging +
Farming +
Crafting +
Skinning +
Campfire Cooking +
Footwork +
Feature: Kill and eat, eat and survive. Buffs: Minor Regeneration (Star Boar): 0:55
Mark grunted, the list having grown again, although footwork looked at least partially useful. Not like campfire cooking or foraging, seeing as his class rather undercut the need for those. He mentally selected cure, grabbing five new pieces of meat and feeling the skill activate.
Cure. Sometimes even a hunter needs to rest and heal, starvation closing in. This skill will preserve a maximum of five cuts of meat for forty eight hours, granting you power far past their expiration date. Hunt and preserve, preserve and eat.
Level six hadn’t given him a new skill, something that rather concerned him, and his experience had plummeted at the same time. It’d taken most of the week to get to level six, letting him buy consume, and another week later he was just over halfway to seven.
‘Then again, level five had been a game changer.’ He allowed. Being able to preserve the buffs from his kills, ironically doing nothing to make the meat last longer, had not only taken the pressure off but made the first hunt of the day that much safer.
He didn't notice the benefits of consume, did nothing for the taste or texture, but he wasn’t dying of scurvy either. ‘How long did scurvy take again?’
Mark shook his head, selecting both footwork and crafting. Crafting had been his planned skill after throwing, but here he was. It always gave him a new skill when he maxed one, although they also showed up if he did something noteworthy enough.
Crafting. Tools conquered the earth for man. This skill allows you to make better, higher quality weapons and tools with available materials. Provides instinct on how to make the most simple implements even if unknown to you.
Footwork. Be it swordsmen, hunters or dancers, footwork keeps you standing. This skill helps keep you on your feet, or get back on them. Sharpens reflexes for balance, simple acrobatics and fighting manoeuvres.
Either would be useful, but the boars were tough enough no stick would do the trick. It distracted them, especially with throwing to guide his hand, but unless crafting could make him metal weapons it wouldn't be as good as better balance. He could wedge a stone between a split stick well enough on his own, anyway, though they didn’t last long with the force he fought with.
Footwork it was. Keeping on his feet, or scrambling back to them, was more important than a slightly more sturdy bed and club. ‘Better clothes would be nice, though.’
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Still, not a priority. Mark turned, a quick detour to the stream washing away most of the filth, and he got to his cave just after midday. Ducking past the low door, more a hole in his poorly made wall than a proper entrance, he put his spear against the bed and sat.
His watch, something he didn’t dare take outside with him anymore, not after nearly destroying it, told him it was thirty to one. He stretched, wiggling in his chair. Like the table and bed frame it was made from woven rope and sticks, both of which were harder to find than he’d like. Well, the table was made with a slab of stone held up by more stone, but sticks helped keep it balanced.
‘Stone. Stone, stone and stone. That and, of course, stone.’ He snorted. ‘The only thing more common than stone is frozen dirt and those damned boars.’
It gave him plentifull work material, at least, and dragging a fresh kill home ensured he could work for hours without getting tired or bruised. His wall, blocking off the cave, was one such project. The table another. He’d used what few tree’s he could find to make a raised bed, leagues more comfortable than sleeping on the floor.
He picked up his knife. His keys were his most precious resource, metal as they are, and so far he’d only ruined one beyond repair. The biggest, and most sharp, served as his working knife.
Putting an edge on it had taken a long few nights, sitting in the near dark and dragging it across a stone over and over. It allowed him to work the skin of the boars, though, and after his clothes had fallen apart it was his only source of leather. Just for his torso, admittedly, but layering a few together and binding them with rope made for surprisingly good armour.
A sad attempt at gloves was on the table now, wearable but uncomfortable as hell. The shirt he stomached, cold as it was, but the lack of dexterity when wearing them was too limiting. Mark cursed, pricking a hole in his finger, and cursed his younger self too. ‘Yea, who needs crafting? Not like we have to make everything we own ourselves.’
Next level, he promised, abandoning the table in favour of looking over his plants. He’d stolen them from the stream, putting them in the softest soil he could find near his cave. Not that he expected them to thrive, or even survive, but he’d wanted to test if he could get a skill for it. The answer had been yes, although he hadn’t taken it.
‘Maybe if those boars weren't so plentiful, or if the soil was better.’ He shook his head. ‘Stop stalling. You’ve got a fresh supply of meat, that glorious set of hide armour won’t be coming along anytime soon and levelling will take another week at this rate.’
He walked outside, stacking stone to block the entrance to his cave, and tied the pouch of cured meat to his belt. That project had been a resounding success, at least. A belt and pouch, tied closed with rope, and letting the lower part of the shirt fall to his knees.
The walk took nearly an hour, dispatching a boar along the way and riding the high of its flesh as he climbed a steep incline. Another five whole experience for his class, no level up for footwork, and he cursed his status again. ‘Doing math in my head is hard, dammit. Alright, my class seems straightforward. My current level times twenty for the next amount of experience, thank fuck I’ve been able convince it to display current and needed numbers, so that’s fine. Only it’s been capped, or the boars don’t give full xp anymore, cause it’s taking forever. My general skills aren’t, but their experience per level keeps going up. Same as my class for the first one, but the second one took maybe twice as much? The third didn’t double again, though.’
It’d been a good while since school, working at a scrapyard didn't tend to promote mathematical genius, and he lacked paper to work with. Carving stone or the cold earth was possible, and he had, but carrying that around was less than feasible. He jumped down a small boulder, his strength and healing removing what little risk that would bring, and he landed well. A little too well, actually. His knees bend smoothly and his stance didn’t waver, letting the momentum propel him forwards. ‘Footwork at work. Heh.’
General skills were subtle like that. Nothing as hamfisted as his class, with its dopamine brainwashing and focus on eating. Not that that didn’t work, of course, but skills like throwing and dodge had a flow to them they lacked.
He picked up a pebble, scooping it off the ground, and whipped it at a boulder. It went just off centre, some hundred feet away, and he rolled his shoulder. The next was dead on, leaving a small dent behind. ‘Like I’ve been practising for hundreds of hours. Christ, if it didn’t feel so natural that be spooky as all hell.’
Letting himself drop spiked his heart rate, rolling to a stand and shaking his hands as if performing a magic trick. ‘And now footwork will join the club. No more stumbling for me, no sir.’
A pair of tracks caught his eye, knowing a boar had been here looking for something. Not too recently, but no longer than a day ago, circling back and forth. ‘Ah, there’s hunting. Welcome, alien instincts and knowledge, I hope to be a good host for you this evening.’
Strength left him as his buff ran out, transitioning to his mortal self without missing a step, and he sighed. His good mood went with it, wondering how long it’d take before he could call himself a junkie.
Arriving at his destination distracted him, a softly rippling portal floating some two feet off the ground and stretching for dozens of feet. He’d found it days ago, scaring the shit out out of him, and he hadn’t been back since. Hadn’t even touched it.
‘But now I’m all out of excuses, so what the hell. Actually, I could level footwork some. Would be the smart choice, who knows what that portal will do?’
He shook his head roughly, stepping to the portal and touching it. A breath left him as his status pinged, no sudden teleportation dragging him off to god knows where.
Realm of Endurance. Without stamina there can be no victory, without victory there can be no survival. Survive for four hours and the reward will be yours.
This is classified as a beginners dungeon, and the word escape will deposit the party back outside instantaneously. All rewards will be forfeited. Experience will be rewarded upon exit, one fourth experience will be rewarded upon exit with escape.
Source: Star Boar.
Party size: One. Reward enhanced.
Enter?
‘Well, let’s hope it’ll get rid of those damned boars. Not all of them, though. They’re actually incredibly useful and the only reason I’m still alive.’
He pressed enter, blinking to find himself in a colosseum. Thousands lined the stage, his relief at seeing other people turning to low horror. They screamed and whooped, booed and heckled, but always in a loop. Repeating the same few actions over and over, human but not. Mark shuddered, turning away and resolving to get out if they started dropping onto the sands. ‘Fuck, forgot my spear. Try without?’
“Actually, I’ve a better idea. Escape.”
The world flashed, his status pinging with what he could swear was disapproval.
Realm of Endurance escaped. Reward forfeited. Zero experience rewarded.
He entered again after debating going back for his spear, picking up a fist size rock instead, and didn't look at the crowds. A gate opened opposite him, the cheering reaching new heights, and a boar walked out. Except this one walked on two legs, was gripping a mean looking club, and grinned as it charged him.
Mark froze, half the distance disappearing before his brain started working again. ‘Fuck. Eat, stay on the defensive, see if it's intelligent.’
His fingers pulled at the pouch, capturing a piece when the boarman thing was twenty feet away. He swallowed without chewing, gripping his stone tight and letting himself fall when it swung. He rolled with it, coming to a stand, and cleared his throat. “Hi, I’m Mark.”
It swung, drawing deep breaths through its snout, and Mark noted it had thumbs. “Can you kindly confirm whether I have to feel bad about caving your skull in?”
Mark leaned out of the way, misjudging the distance as it clipped his shoulder. Pain flared, taking a few quick steps to avoid losing his footing. The boarman squealed, loud enough his ears rang, and the spectators drowned them in noise.
“Fuck. Alright, fine.” He stepped into the swing, the wood crashing against his side with little effect, and bashing it over the head. The boarman staggered, not quick enough to avoid having his skull smashed a second time, and collapsed. Mark kicked the club from its hands, raised his stone high, and hesitated.
It kicked, dropping him to the ground as his knee twisted, and he raised his hands to cover his face. Wood crashed against them, splintering bone, and pain overwhelmed his senses.
Only pain tolerance gave him enough clarity of mind to mutter escape, falling to the rocky ground as he grabbed for his pouch.
Realm of Endurance escaped. Reward forfeited. Zero experience rewarded.
Warning: Minor Regeneration has already been activated, timer reset.
He spluttered, groaning as his body healed and he tried not to move. ‘Mother of all that is jesus fuck.’
Long minutes passed as he breathed, struggling to a sitting position and slowly stretching his leg. “I hate everything.”
Anger sparked, growing as he paced and muttered to himself. He made an effort of breath slowly, feeling it ebb as he finished putting himself back together. ‘Four chunks of meat left, pain’s all gone. That fucking fuck.’
His hand brushed the portal, pressing enter before he could think twice about it. Mark didn’t bother with talking, this time, and if the boarman remembered him it didn’t show it. He repeated his stunt from last time, the club’s shaft hitting him in the shoulder, but he didn’t brain it.
He lunged, his teeth digging into the boarman’s shoulder. It squealed in surprise, pushing him off and putting a hand to the wound. Mark grinned, blood dripping from his lips, and swallowed.
Boarkin consumed. Strength has been improved with Moderate Strength Boost.
Moderate Strength Boost will be active for two minutes.
He charged it, ramming his shoulder against the thing's torso and sending it crashing to the ground. He was on it in a flash, long strides closing the distance, and he kicked as it tried to stand. The club rolled to the floor, Mark picking it up and hitting it over the head.
He didn’t hesitate this time, bringing it down again and again until his status pinged and his shoulder was sore. The club dropped from his hands, winking out of existence before it reached the ground, and he panted.
Then the boarman, boarkin, sank into the floor, and he rapidly stepped back. Mark looked down, seeing his skin had been covered with a thick mat of fur, and ran his tongue over two tusks. ‘That feels weird. Should make biting easier though.’
He snapped his teeth together, the force of it surprising him, and looked to see the gate open again. “Please let me be right, please let me be right. Buffs.”
Buffs:
Minor Regeneration (Star Boar): 0:31
Moderate Strength Boost (Boarkin) 1:37
Mark laughed as the next boarkin charged, raw glee echoing over the sands, and swallowed another piece of cured meat. “Fucking called it.”