At first, Symon thought the sprawling white dunes and triple suns were beautiful in a mysterious alien way, but after hours of trudging through scalding sands, he wondered what he had ever seen in the scenery.
He was completely out of vitality, meaning his magic wouldn't heal him anymore. While he wasn't in any immediate danger, his parched throat and sunburnt skin weren't doing his mood any favours. He would have loved a rematch with a centipede, both to assuage his pride and gain some much-needed vitality, but thus far he hadn't seen a single sign of another living creature.
Out of boredom, he asked the sand to show him his attributes and abilities. He stepped forward to subtly cover the titles section of his status with his body, but the sand seemed to know he didn't want this revealed and stopped before reaching that part.
[ Status:
Name: Symon
Class: Cursed Healer
Strength: 0.67
Constitution: 0.92
Acuity: 0.72
Intelligence: 0.73
Will: 0.98 {+0.01}
Vessel (Vitality): 0/8
Abilities:
Idealise (2): Consumes Vitality to return a living target to its peak state. This ability automatically applies to the wielder and cannot be disabled.
Seize (4) {+1}: Absorbs Vitality from a target and stores it in the wielder's Vessel. This ability automatically applies to valid targets and cannot be disabled.
Essence Bond (0): Permanently bind your essence to that of a spirit's.
Passives:
Poison Resistance (0) ]
"Huh, guess you're good for something after all, spirit. Our little vitality tug-of-war must have trained my magic."
Symon gulped slightly at that wording -- what did Keelgrave know about blessings? He hoped it was just a common figure of speech here too.
He felt the spirit wrapped around his vessel slow its constant churning as it focused on the words in the sand.
"Err, I wasn't lying when I told you I didn't remember anything before waking up in the sands," he lied.
Truthfully, the memories of his past life were there exactly as one would normally expect, and he hadn't had any memory problems since waking up, although the gap between this life and the previous was... fuzzy. Two beings had talked to him and argued with one another, he thought, but he couldn't recall any specifics from that time. "Besides, I haven't even noticed any curse, unless you count being in this desert."
Symon scanned his status again, but couldn't see it. He was pretty sure he wouldn't have missed something as cool as having mana. Just in case, he asked the sand to specifically show him his mana, but nothing popped up.
"Well forgive me for being a little confu-"
"If you're just going to be a dick, I'll poke you with my magic again. How about we see if the extra level makes it hurt more?"
No fireballs or flying around like a bird was unfortunate, presuming the spirit was even telling the truth, but Symon hadn't exactly been living his life with the expectation he'd learn magic. Not even a full day ago, he was just a normal guy on Earth.
Symon shrugged. "Oh well, what I've got is pretty cool already. The next centipede I see is going to get seriously messed up."
That was... a little more concerning. He had control over his magic in the sense that he could force it to work overtime with a flex of will, like when he concentrated on draining the bearcat to death or his little battle with Keelgrave. But he couldn't actually stop the magic. It had worked without him even noticing its existence on that centipede -- and took quite some time at that -- so it wasn't like it ripped all the life out of things in an instant. Although, it had been growing in power...
He would probably be fine, as long as he was careful and wasn't somewhere crowded. Although, every level increased the range of his ability, and after the battle with the spirit it could reach almost half a metre from him if he really strained it. Previously, he'd fantasised about getting so strong that he could reach the monsters before they could even get close, but now that wasn't seeming like such a good idea. He wanted to heal others, but it sounded like this would already have some complications.
He wasn't interested in being forced to live his new life as a monster-slaying hermit, he'd only been doing it out of a need for survival. Power wasn't worth being forced to live as a hermit just to avoid killing people who came too close, not to mention he still hadn't given up on his dream of saving lives. He'd be a poor medic if he killed all his patients...
Still, he'd be grateful to have those problems because it meant he'd survived this damned desert. He'd eke out every scrap of power he could to give him the best chance of even making it out, and then he'd deal with the problems that were caused as they became relevant. There must be some way of controlling these powers. He'd just have to ask around -- from a distance.
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Keelgrave had been blissfully silent while Symon ruminated.
"Oh well, we'll just have to figure that out when we get to it." He'd simply do his best to forget about problems he couldn't do anything about. Talking reminded him of another one of his more immediate issues; the lack of water. His throat was dry, his lips cracked, and to top it all off his previously pale exposed skin was now more of a lobster red colour.
He'd survive until tomorrow at least, but he was starting to think that three-day survival without water rule didn't apply to places with triple the normal number of suns. With perfect timing, Keelgrave actually said something helpful for once.
Symon squinted at the signalled area. It was still a hundred metres away, but he could see a small mound that indicated something was buried in the sand. It was the perfect length for another one of those centipedes...
With a smile, he slowly approached the pile of sand, noticing the half buried mandibles at one end. He was confident he could take on a centipede; he'd barely survived his first fight with one, but he'd been ambushed then. Now the tables were turned, not to mention the increase in his abilities levels. Finally, the poison resistance should hopefully combat the dangerous part of the centipede, the paralytic stinger. Considering it didn't have a single level he wasn't going to rely on it, but it would be a much appreciated safety net.
He knew he could beat it; it was only a question of maximising the amount of vitality he could drain from it while minimising the amount of vitality he needed to spend healing injuries. With that in mind, he crept around to the back of the creature and hefted the metal pipe. He could see the outline of the centipede's body, but swinging into the sand would blunt the impact. Still, he wasn't about to wake it up and let it climb out of the sands just so he could have an honourable duel.
He was barely a single step from the buried creature when something unexpected happened; a steady trickle of vitality flowed towards his vessel from... his foot? Glancing down, he saw the familiar grey thread exiting from his shoe and leading into the sand. The centipede must have noticed this a moment after Symon, as it let out a hiss as it began quickly sliding out from its burrow. Reacting quickly, Symon swung the pipe down in a heavy arc, getting a glancing blow to the side of the creature as it uncovered itself.
Symon took a few steps back in response, the small amount of vitality he'd prematurely stolen instantly pulsing back out towards his red and raw skin. He'd rather save it in case he was injured, but he couldn't stop the healing from applying passively.
The centipede had fully extricated itself from the sand by now, letting out a chittering hiss at Symon as it did so. Fully revealed, it was slightly larger than the previous centipede he killed but otherwise identical. It seemed more angry than hurt after Symon's attack, letting its displeasure known by charging straight towards him.
It was quick, although this was more due to its many legs allowing it to rapidly stop, start, and turn. He was fairly confident he could outrun it in a straight line, not that he was planning on fleeing.
Symon wasn't sure if it was just wishful thinking, but he thought it might have been favouring one side after his admittedly lacklustre blow. Either way, the injury didn't stop it from coiling up like a spring a few paces away from him. He'd seen this exact move from the other centipede, meaning he wasn't surprised when it launched itself through the air, claws outstretched to try and grab him. His foreknowledge allowed him to swing his club like he was playing baseball, hitting it in the belly with a satisfying crack and sending it flying backwards.
The centipede landed on its back with a puff of sand and began writhing around painfully as it tried to right itself. Viscous green fluids dripped from its side, spurring Symon onwards as he charged it. Right as the centipede flipped itself back onto its legs the club came crashing down on its rear end, demolishing the base of its stinger and sending large cracks through its carapace.
His hand was briefly close enough for his magic to be in range every time he swung the club, a grey thread flicking out to snatch away a trickle of vitality. It wasn't much by itself but together with the swings from his pipe and the confusion of the ambush, the centipede decided to flee.
He was initially worried that it would just burrow away through the sand, but it seemed unable or unwilling as it skittered across the surface. With its injuries, Symon caught up quickly, delivering a few running blows as he chased it down. It was difficult for him to land a solid hit on such a short target while also sprinting after it, but even his awkward blows began piling up the damage.
Eventually, the centipede seemed to realise there was no getting away and turned back to continue the fight. Symon was still completely uninjured and even had a small amount of vitality stored up, so he simply continued pushing his advantage. Swing after swing, the centipede was battered away every time it lunged at him, little chunks of vitality being ripped out and stolen by Symon's magic every time.
After every hit, the centipede came back just slightly slower until Symon saw an opening; the centipede had given up on launching itself through the air to grapple Symon and had instead elected to simply try and bite him on the leg. With a quick couple of steps backwards, the targetted leg was pulled out of danger and its position in space replaced by a metal pipe being swung upwards, smashing right between the outstretched mandibles and once more flipping the creature onto its back.
It writhed similarly to the first time it was flipped, but it was immediately clear to Symon that the centipede was now out of the fight -- its creepy face was smashed inwards, seeping thick green blood. One of the mandibles was completely removed, and the other was damaged so badly that it was rendered useless.
The creature would likely die from the wounds already inflicted, but he had no intention of letting the vitality go to waste. Using the pipe to pin the creature down -- it was dying but Symon didn't want to get scratched up by its death throes -- he held a hand out, slowly moving it closer until it was close enough to the centipede for his magic to connect to it. Thankfully for Symon, his magic didn't seem to weaken as distance increased -- enemies were either in range or not.
Symon concentrated on the feeling of his magic, encouraging the ability to strain with as much power as he could. It would have been difficult for Symon to put how exactly he did this into words, like describing sight to someone who had been born blind. He simply worked his magic harder in the same way he worked his muscles harder to swing the pipe. It felt perfectly natural to him.
In fact, it felt good when the vitality flooded into him. It wasn't nearly as overwhelming as when he'd drained the bearcat, so he was able to keep a close eye on the centipede as he watched the vessel tattoo slowly fill. It was good in the way a strong coffee was, refreshing and invigorating without being intoxicating.
He did however have a hard time quantifying -- in a meaningful way -- just how much vitality he was draining. Sure, while he could see that his vessel stored a new point of vitality about every 20 seconds, he had no idea what that point actually represented. Just how much healing could that one point actually do?
If this was a video game, the nerd in him would experiment on his character -- is one point of vitality enough to heal a broken finger? A broken hand? What if he cut it off?
However, that very same nerd knew he wasn't just in a video game. He wasn't at all interested in experiencing very real pain just to test the specifics of his abilities. Besides, he was almost certain he'd end up taking plenty more injuries naturally as he attempted to make his way out of the desert, giving him ample testing material.
That being said, he was quite proud of how the fight had gone. He'd barely even used his vitality drain until the centipede was already beaten -- he'd won with just his mind and muscles, without needing to use a single point of vitality to heal himself.
As the centipede breathed its last and the final trickle of vitality entered his vessel, he had one final thought.
Maybe he wasn't so bad at this?