The ninth floor. That was one level below. But he had to be smart here. He’d just realized that he had a major weak point. He’d leveled up three times, so he had attribute points to burn.
Logan pulled up his dynamic stat sheet to review his changes:
Name: Logan Hart [Hidden Name: Idiot]
Rank: 2 out of 6,003,100,052
Level: 142
Class: [Epic] Fabled Creation
Grade: E4
Species: Human
Karma: 2,808/2,808
Intelligence: 468
Constitution: 46
Strength: 348
Agility: 363
Dexterity: 288
Endurance: 662
Perception: 137
Wisdom: 566
Luck: 90
(*Pure Grit Ring)
Free Attribute Points: 15
KarmaCoin: 252,600
Fuck. That wasn’t enough. Throwing the 15 free attributes into intelligence would only boost his Karma from 2,808 to 2,925, and he needed 3500 to unlock [Liche Devourer].
Logan hesitated. He could throw the fifteen points into his constitution attribute to shore up his lagging stat. That way, if he came across another person with a mental manipulation skill, he’d be better prepared, but… Logan hated to do it. He’d worked so hard to unlock [Liche Devourer]. Every level earned was precious.
Not to mention that he had no idea if he truly needed it. If push came to shove and if he were given more time, Logan suspected that he could have overcome that crushing feeling of sleepiness and killed that fucker with his own hand. But he was on a time limit, forced to jump to the whims of the System.
A System who wanted him to become a mass murderer.
[Quest Progress: 9/50 kills]
[40 minutes remaining.]
Shit. Logan needed to get going. Time was ticking, and losing this quest wasn’t an option. If he did, his physical attributes would be cut in half. There was no use shoring up his constitution if it would be irrelevant in less than an hour!
For now, Logan decided to hold off on making a decision. If the worst-case scenario happened and he came across another person with a mental attack skill, he could throw his points into his constitution all at once to fix the problem. But there was no sense wasting those attribute points if it ended up being a rare skill.
Logan willed the corpses inside of his spatial collar to clean up the evidence as well as store any potential valuables. The cat was out of the bag—they knew he was here, but at least this way, if they reached this floor and saw blood but no bodies, they might get confused.
Ernie jumped on his shoulder and bobbed his head in excitement, his colors fluctuating as if he couldn’t help himself.
“More slaughter, more!”
Logan snorted. “You’re certainly bloodthirsty. More than usual.”
All at once, Ernie’s colors faded. In their place, he became pale, transforming into his natural Liche look as he slumped in place. “I want to kill them all, Logan.” His voice was somber. “Kill them all for what they’ve done. I know your brethren is here somewhere, and we’re on a noble quest to rescue them! But if I could balloon in size, stomp on this whole building, and crush the Sky People to death, I would.”
Logan swallowed. Half the time Ernie’s craziness made him forget that inside, he had a layer of protectiveness and an intrinsic belief that he knew what was right. These Sky People had decided to kidnap Ernie’s people, boil them alive, torture them. If they’d done the same thing to Lara, Logan would want to bomb the place to the ground.
Lara. Right now, Lara could be one floor away, and the Killing Quest could be the difference between saving her and losing her.
Urgency began to eat away at Logan’s stomach, his breathing speeding up. He needed to move his ass. “Rope, to me!” he commanded, holding out his arm.
Glee glee glee. The rope is a good rope, the rope can obey.
Even though the Cursed Rope had transformed into something that might as well be alive, it could still deflate. Eventually, would it level up so much that it could turn from a dragon back into his rope? The thing had been nothing but trouble from the start, attacking Asthea and forcing him into a heartbreaking situation, but for all of that, it had begun to prove its weight in gold.
That’s if he could trust it. So far, it had stayed away from Ernie and treated him like an extension of Logan, but would it behave around Lara? His threat of throwing it on a bonfire had seemed to knock some sense into it, but he was talking about the safety of Lara and the kids here.
That did it. As soon as he found them, the rope would go back in the collar.
“Aww, look at your daughter!” crooned Ernie. “All grown up!”
Logan looked at the elevator. Shoot. She’d ruined her armour. Blood covered it like splattered paint, gore sticking to her claws.
So much for invisibility.
In her mouth was the remains of a bloody leather leash, the collar chewed up, the leash trailing to the ground like a dog trying to get their owner to take them for a walk. Had she eaten the rat?
“Mother!” she beamed, jumping up and down, her tail flicking like mad. “I’ve leveled up! I’ve leveled up!”
“Er, good job, Shoot. But drop the leash, will you? I’ll need to fix your… well. Just fix you.” Logan stepped into the elevator and then got to work collapsing the sandstone around Shoot while he pressed the button for the ninth floor. It was a simple matter of getting rid of the blood-soaked sand and replacing it with a fresh pile to reform the armour anew.
Logan activated Shoot’s mirror effect and then blew out a breath of air. He didn’t know what he’d be dealing with, but he knew that he had a hell of a lot of killing left to do.
“Are you ready?” he said to Ernie and Shoot.
Shoot jumped up and down in excitement.
Ernie’s tentacles flexed on his shoulder. “We’ll make them regret that they ever tried to kill my brethren, Logan. We’ll make them regret everything.”
***
As the elevator opened on the ninth floor, Logan held his sword, bracing himself for battle. But he was met with an empty corridor. He knew that the alarm had been turned off, but still, what the hell? He was expecting an army.
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This corridor looked the same as the last, stone walls on one side, the railing on the other. Down below, the rat army continued to jostle against each other, riled up with nowhere to go. Shit shit shit. In the back of his mind, a clock continued to tick, turning urgency into anxiousness. It was all very well and good to be ready to slaughter the hell out of everything around him, but he needed to find the enemy to do that!
Logan burst down the corridor, this time not bothering to tell Shoot to stay. He had no time to worry about the vine cat, not when Lara and the kids could be a step away.
Logan skidded to a stop as he reached what looked like the same stone doors as on the last floor. This time, the weaved, etched pattern didn’t have rats, it had…. It looked like… no. Logan averted his gaze from Ernie’s eager eyes and swallowed.
He suspected he knew what was inside this room, and it wasn’t Lara.
Ernie wouldn’t like this.
Pushing the doors open with a clatter, Logan burst into the room and then stopped, staring.
The air was humid, as if he’d just stepped into a sauna, and there was the reek of chemicals in the air. Everything was bright, as if the room were illuminated by spotlights.
On his shoulder, Ernie made a sound that started as a gasp and then turned into a wail. A wail of heartache and outrage.
A skill ring factory.
As far as the eye could see, huge glass containers like something out of a mad scientist workshop sat on top of a row of endless burners, their coils lit up red and hot. Some of the containers were dark, like colored plexiglass, while others were clear. Inside each container, liquid was either simmering or boiling violently. Narrow tubes connected to the top went all the way to the ceiling.
In front of each container was a person. They were watching the containers with meticulous attention, watching as…
Oh, holy hell.
Inside the containers were octopuses. Different species, from Giant Pacific to ones the size of miniature poodles. Some were already dead, their skin turning milky white and disintegrating like spoiled milk in water, while others were very much alive, hitting the sides of the containers with their tentacles, eyes wide and full of agony.
And it wasn’t just octopuses. Logan could see electrical eels and a worm with legs. It would be one thing to see this and feel bad about what humanity could do—Logan knew that many people boiled lobsters alive—but amongst the muffled screams, the screeches, Logan could hear other things.
They were talking. Pleading for mercy.
“Please please please, you can be nice, you can be a nice human! It hurts! It hurts!”
“Take me back to the cove! IT BURNS.”
“Kill me now! KILL ME. KILL ME!”
The people took in their cries, their pleas, as if they were watching paint dry.
Behind them was a long, long narrow table, and on top of the table was a pile of skill rings. These rings glinted with an aura that glimmered darkly, something that made his scalp prickle with uneasy awareness. There were thousands of them. Thousands.
Logan bit his lip so hard he drew blood. Lara, the kids, the quest, all of it became background noise. All he knew was the injustice he was seeing right in front of him. He knew that the people perpetrating this wrong were guilty.
Since the System Integration, Logan had felt many emotions. Amongst them, rage had been a constant friend due to the Cursed Rope’s influence. But this was the first time that he felt that emotion down to his bones. Without being aware of it, he’d started radiating his aura out in a killing intent. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his nostrils flaring, his teeth bared. The sandstone exoskeleton around his knuckles was in danger of cracking as his muscles bulged.
These people would pay.
As one, the people became aware that something was wrong and turned towards Logan. Any thought of these people being unwilling slaves or contract workers was eradicated when he took in their levels. From level 40 to level 70, they looked at Logan as if he’d interrupted a factory workday. There was no one supervising them, no one cracking a whip and forcing them to do this.
The closest one, a man with spiky brown hair and stubble, sneered at Logan. “Are you the one that caused all that noise? Go away. You’re distracting. Take a few rings if you must, but leave us to our work.”
Logan glanced from the man to the containers, to the sounds of pain, to the pleading.
Do your worst, Rope, Logan sent. Fuck them up.
In his agony, Ernie had lost his mirror effect, his face a rictus of pain. Jumping off Logan’s shoulder, he burst towards the nearest container of boiling water, his eyes crazed, his tentacles jerking in place. He had no thought for his safety or subterfuge. Ernie wanted to rescue his brethren, rescue them from their agony.
Meanwhile, the others had seen Ernie and instead of looking intimidated, a glimmer of greed shone from their eyes. “Well, you can’t be so bad if you brought us a present! Holy crap, James! That’s a level 70 octopus! We’ve hit gold, sweet!”
A man with a large black mole on his chin crept closer to Logan, his hand around a strange-looking weapon. At the other’s words, his gaze jumped to Ernie, and he stared with a gaping mouth. “It’ll make an S Grade ring! S Grade! We’ll make millions!”
So, it was true. The higher the level, the higher quality skill ring. These people didn’t want to just boil animals alive for skills, they wanted intelligent, thinking, feeling animals.
It was monstrous.
Logan narrowed his eyes. “You won’t make millions if you’re dead,” he spat.
As one, the people around him laughed. “You’re telling me that—”
Logan burst towards the nearest asshole; every ounce of his anger funneled through his fist as he punched through his chest. Logan’s talons tore a chunk of flesh and went straight through the man’s back, before he slashed down as he pulled out his fist, making a mess.
The man gasped like a fish, exhaling a spray of blood before his body grew lifeless.
Ding!
[You have defeated James Caddel! Triple experience granted for defeating a member of your own species!]
The others blinked, faces slack with shock, but Logan didn’t give them a chance to process before he punched the next, slamming his fist into the side of his head, then slashing a chunk out of his shoulder with his sword before finishing him off with a slash to his throat. Blood sprayed in a torrent, splashing Logan’s face.
Logan licked his lips as he looked at the others.
Wariness was now on their faces.
And yet, he saw no fear.
“Logan!” Ernie screamed. “I can’t get it open! Oh please, please help!”
Logan turned to him and rushed over, his heart racing. Ernie had wrapped his tentacles around one of the round containers, squeezing the glass, trying to break it. But the container must be made of more than regular glass, since inside, the octopus in the boiling solution was also doing everything it could to escape, pounding against the sides, its eyes frantic.
Shoot was pacing up and down, sounds of distress escaping her throat.
“Move, Ernie!”
Logan clenched his hand into a fist and went to town, pounding the thing like a punching bag. It took two hits before hairline cracks sizzled on the surface of the glass, and one more hit before the thing exploded into pieces. The boiling water went flying like an exploding wine bottle, sizzling against Logan’s exoskeleton and the floor.
The octopus plopped to the ground with a sick, wet plop, but unlike Ernie, something was wrong. Its tentacles twitched feebly, and it could hardly hold up its face. Its skin was covered in raw looking patches, and it wheezed for air.
“T-thank y-you, brother,” it croaked in a thready voice. “You’ve s-saved me from agony.”
With one last gasp, its eyes rolled back in its head.
“No!” Ernie tried to grasp the octopus, but then he retreated, hissing and holding a tentacle. No wonder it reeked like chemicals. Whatever solution was in those containers was caustic.
The octopus was dead.
Logan blinked, and then turned back to the others. They were retreating, and swarming towards the door, but for the first time, the Cursed Rope had done something smart. Instead of attacking like mad, it hovered in front of the door, baring its teeth, blue electricity crackling. Each time someone tried to reach the door handle, the rope snapped, going for faces and hands.
Trapped.
They were trapped.
And Logan was ready to give out a hailstorm of pain.
***
[You have defeated Henry Katz! Triple experience granted for defeating a member of your own species!]
[You have defeated--]
[You have defeated--]
[…]
[You have leveled up!]
[You have leveled up!]
[You have leveled up!]
Logan had become a god of slaughter, a punisher, for his sword was judgement and his talons were the executioner. From level 40 to level 70, it didn’t matter. No matter what they did, no matter their skill, his hesitancy was gone. He was filled with purpose, to punish the people who dared to commit such atrocities. The only mercy he gave was the quickness of his kills, a luxury they hadn’t given Ernie’s brethren.
What only enraged him more was that each person wore a skill ring. Most of the rings seemed to give them a [Regenerate] skill, but unlike Logan’s, it had limited effects, only sealing the severed limb rather than regenerating it. Other rings gave them a [Mimicry] effect, but rather than giving them the ability to generate armour, it gave them a blending skill, turning their skin translucent or camouflaging it.
It was useless though, since their clothes ruined the ability.
As Logan slashed yet another throat, he continued spending half his attention on smashing the containers and trying to save the animals. Unfortunately, the chemical solution wasn’t just boiling hot but toxic. Each animal he saved gasped for breath, wheezing, before collapsing into an oozing mess.
Ding!
[You have defeated--]
[You have defeated--]
[…]
[You have leveled up!]
[You have leveled up!]
[…]
[You have leveled up!]
[You have leveled up!]
Ten, twenty, thirty, they kept falling underneath his talons and sword. They’d stopped trying to escape, and had instead gathered into a group, trying to work together to find a weak spot. But Logan was untouchable. His rage had jacked everything up to the ninth degree, and half the time, he fought in a blur, not taking anything in but going after the next, another, the next.
Until finally, he’d thinned the herd until only two remained.
A woman with long black hair gave him a mulish look, her mouth pinched as she examined him like he was a puzzle she was trying to solve. She had no weapon, but she refused to back away.
Next to her, a man with short brown hair and an undercut flexed his arms, his mouth in a sneer, his eyes analytical.
There was something up with these fuckers.