The insects were having the time of their life, happy satisfying their purpose. Whatever meat-sack was in reach was a ready meal. Gnaw gnaw gnaw and crunch crunch crunch, tasty fluid.
What’s worse, they viewed Logan’s exoskeleton boots as delicacies like a donut with a layer of cream hidden inside. They had a fervent desire to burrow through. His armour didn’t act like normal armour—he could feel everything like a second layer of skin. As each insect crawled over top of the Logan-exoskeleton, it felt like tiny sticks or crawling spiders. It took everything he had to continue concentrating and to not shudder and jerk in his chair. No, said Logan. That doesn’t taste good. It’s revolting.
Indignation. No meat-sack?
There’re juicier prospects over here, said Logan, directing them to the edge of the room, far away from the table, as far as he could go, and then projecting the image of slabs of freshly cut beef. In the image, he pictured them piled up in a tower, so high it would let the insects feast for years. The best meal of your life.
The insects hesitated and swayed back and forth, bouncing on Logan’s boots and legs, uncertain. Not juicy? Here not juicy?
Like grass! Logan responded. Nasty.
Ugh. Grass. Nasty nasty nasty, they responded.
Turning their attention towards the edge of the room, they scurried away from Logan like an ant colony and crawled off his legs and back onto the floor. Bouncing up and down in excitement, they streamed towards the edge of the room, spreading like a swarm. One after another, the insects crawling over Asthea and Arsen did the same.
Asthea sucked in a breath of relief, her white-knuckled grip slacking around her chopsticks. “What in the world…?”
Arsen craned his neck and tried to watch as the insects retreated. This was a dicey situation. Although they suspected Logan had done something to the mold in the endurance trial, it was a suspicion only. Now, he was showing his cards and letting them know that he had a valuable skill. They would either take that fact, note it, and file it away, or consider Logan a threat. Somehow, he didn’t think Asthea would let that happen. Not with everything she’d already done for him.
With [Life Cycle Master] deployed and his senses wide open, Logan stayed in the back of the insects’ minds like a back seat driver. With the mold, he’d communicated on the surface level, but to direct an insect, he had to be committed. Their minds were foreign, and frankly, a hell of a trip, needing every ounce of concentration at his disposal.
These things had analytical minds that cared about one overreaching theme—feeding. And feeding on the choicest, juiciest morsels possible. To them, they viewed the people around the table as the same meat-sacks. Each would satisfy their cravings. He’d been lucky that they’d accepted the image of the pile of meat, but there was one problem with that.
That image had gotten them to stream away, but once they realized it was a false image, they’d come scurrying back. He had minutes.
Minutes at most.
“I can’t keep this up for long,” said Logan, flicking his chopsticks. “Take as much advantage from the break as you can.”
Arsen hissed. “You are a cheater! Trickster!” he bellowed.
Logan ground his teeth. “A trickster that’s keeping the insects away from you!”
“Arsen, listen to him,” said Asthea. She was taking his words to heart, her fingers flickering like a master as she plucked the insects out of the bowl and stuffed them down her tunnel.
Logan followed, but every ounce of his concentration was focused on the insects. Asthea and Logan were depositing more of the things at their feet, which meant more commands, more Karma.
The blood drizzling down his nose started to drip into his bowl and turn his milk a creamy pink.
Ding!
[You have earned one dexterity point!]
[Trial Update:
Logan: 7 Dexterity
Asthea: 7 Dexterity
Arsen: 6 Dexterity
Errol: Disqualified
Thorin: Disqualified]
Fuck. There was one distinct problem. The insects had reached the edge of the room, crawled over the corners like a swarm of locusts and found… nothing. Nothing but bare stone floor and walls. They were getting agitated, their craving a bottomless pit that would never be satisfied. Their need to feed was everything and they knew there were three juicy meat sacks back at the table. A guaranteed smorgasbord.
The meat is there, Logan projected, at the edge of the room. You just haven’t found it yet.
They communicated suspicion and disdain. No meat sack. Where? Where juicy meat sack?
Logan projected the image of the slabs of beef again, this time visualizing them drizzling with blood and fat. There. Very juicy. Keep looking.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Grudgingly, the insects continued scurrying, traversing every inch of the room in search of the beef.
That bought him another minute.
Arsen had finally got with the program and had started picking up his insect bulbs once again; Asthea was a blur of motion, her mouth in a grim line of concentration.
Ding!
[You have earned one dexterity point!]
[Trial Update:
Asthea: 9 Dexterity
Logan: 8 Dexterity
Arsen: 7 Dexterity
Errol: Disqualified
Thorin: Disqualified]
Damn! She’d gained on him. Logan had to devote ninety percent of his concentration on the insects and his rapid movements had slowed down in consequence. Even though they were in an uncomfortable situation, Logan still wanted to win.
“The trickster might have some use after all,” said Arsen.
Bitterness began to eat at Logan. In order to keep the insects away, he had to push them away from everyone, but he didn’t like that Arsen was taking advantage. Not after his verbal abuse. It was one thing after another with—
Shit.
No meat sack, no meat sack, complained the insects.
No, it’s there, Logan sent, dread lodging in his stomach. Just a little farther.
LIES.
Logan gasped as a shard of pain stabbed through his head, as if the insects had blasted a forcefield of anger at him. This wasn’t lack of Karma—he still had half of his pool. No, this had been a backlash. He might have just figured out the limit to [Life Cycle Master]. He could make mold spores and insects do what he wanted by encouraging them, but if his encouragement didn’t turn true, they’d rebel since it went against their natural inclinations.
The insects were moving back to the table in a line like a legion of ants getting ready for war. Juicy meat sack, meat sack, meat sack.
Logan tried projecting more images of the slabs of beef, but the insects sent him a mental scoff in return. They knew the three people at the table were real. They could smell them and sense the blood thrumming underneath everyone’s skin. There was no way he could change their minds. Their need was everything.
The first wave reached the chair legs and then started swarming up and crawling over everyone’s feet. One after another, a dozen, then a hundred.
Asthea jerked in her chair, her face pale with fear. “I concede!”
[…]
[..]
[Request denied! The user hasn’t committed sufficient effort to qualify to opt out.]
[Put your back into it, weakling.]
Asthea’s eyes were so wide the whites were showing around the irises.
Arsen let out a bellow of anger. “You!” he pointed at Logan. “This is your fault! Forcing torture onto Asthea! Torture onto a princess! You’re dead, do you hear me? Dead!”
“Fuck,” Logan mumbled underneath his breath. The System had been sadistic before, but this time, it had taken it to the extreme. Was it trying to force Logan to concede so that he’d miss out on the True Grit Ring? Logan had gotten the sense that it had been bitter when it kept glitching with error messages and was forced to change its penalizing Run Until You Drop title into a bonus title. Asthea was currently in first place and if Logan backed out, that meant she’d win by default.
The insects had started crawling over Asthea’s torso, some crawling over her arms and beginning to gnaw through her armour. She dropped her chopsticks and they fell to the table with a clatter as she let out an involuntary whimper of fear.
Logan could stomach a lot of things, but torture wasn’t one of them. His need was immense—he needed to win this trial to save Lara and the kids, to save Ernie, to save humanity, but what kind of person would he be if he tolerated this kind of shit in order to eke out a win? Logan didn’t want to live in a world where he was that man.
Letting out a long, low sigh, Logan said, “I concede.”
[…]
[..]
[Request denied! The user hasn’t committed sufficient effort to qualify to opt out.]
[Put your back into it, weakling.]
“What. The. Fuck.”
“What does it want?” Asthea cried. “For us all to die?”
Logan had thought the System was evil before, but lately, he’d been giving it allowances. After all, he’d thought, there must be a method to its madness. From [Life Cycle Master] to his olivine discoveries, Logan had thought they were part of the System’s master plan. And yet, that didn’t explain why it had given Logan the name ‘Idiot’ in the first place; why it had forced him to complete quests that resulted in missing toes and death as a penalty, or why it insulted him at every opportunity.
Logan began to wonder if there was more towards this whole ‘glitchy AI’ theory of Asthea’s than he thought. Not just a glitchy AI, a murderous AI.
Okay, okay, okay. Logan tried to push down his anger and focus. The System wouldn’t let them concede and he could no longer push the insects away. If the insects managed to chew through his armour, Logan thought he could take it. It would be hell, it would be agony; he’d never sleep without nightmares again, but he could do it.
But what about Asthea?
There was one possibility. One small possibility. It wouldn’t be pleasant, and it would make him sick to his stomach, but it was a way out for her.
“Arsen,” Logan said. “I think I can make the insects leave Asthea alone, but to do that, you’re going to have to take the brunt of their attention. It’s going to be unpleasant. Probably painful. Will you let me?”
An insect scurried over Arsen’s face, and he bashed it away with his big fist. “Trickster, you have to ask? Would I save my princess from pain and torture? Of course I would. Do what you must.”
Logan had permission to try this, but he didn’t like it. Although Arsen had been nothing but an ass to him, Logan never would have contemplated doing this unless it was necessary. And even worse, he had no idea if it would work. Not after that mental pushback from the insects. It was possible that he had burned his bridges already.
Furrowing his brow, Logan extended his senses, reaching. There were so many insect minds that it was almost overwhelming.
Each one of them had one thought: Meat sack, meat sack, get to the juicy center.
That’s not meat, Logan said, projecting the image of Asthea. It’s grass. Nasty.
LIAR.
Logan gasped, the sharp pain in his head getting worse. Blood seeped from his nose like a dripping faucet. Shit, he really had burned his bridges with these buggers. Convincing them that Asthea wasn’t meat wouldn’t work.
But maybe…
You’re right, it’s meat. But it’s not juicy. It’s off. Old meat, left to rot. Why would you want that when you have something fresh right next to it, the juiciest meal of your life.
This time, the insects hesitated. He could tell that he’d intrigued them.
Over here, he said, projecting the image of Arsen. Fresh meat, ripe for the picking.
Fresh meat?
Nirvana, Logan responded.
He felt a pulse of excitement from the insects. Meat sack, meat sack, get to the juicy center, they responded, jumping up and down in excitement. As one, they began crawling off Asthea and onto the floor before making their way in an army line towards Arsen and spreading like a swarm.