Mercy Phillips stood in her grandfather's personal library. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose as she stared at the wall of books. Each of them one of a kind, and utterly priceless. Yet, Mercy could remember a time when she spent hours sprawled out on the floor of this very library casually flipping through their pages. The memory sent a shiver down her spine as she recalled the blaise attitude of her younger self. Not only for the reckless manner in which she read the various tomes, but also due to the nature of the works themselves.
Each of the books in front of her was a Grimoire, spell books written by witches, wizards, warlocks and sorcerers of old. No two were exactly the same, even if similar spells could be found within. As a child she hadn't understood the contents, much less the severity that reading from the books held. Mercy had little doubt that her utter inability to cast the magic within was the only reason she had been allowed in the room as often as she had been. However, due to an incident with one of her cousins, where he tried to steal one of the books, all access had been cut off, save for a few exceptions.
Her birthday, and subsequent awakening was one of those exceptions.
Mercy had just turned 18, which was considered the norm for awakenings. There were some that happened sooner, while others were later. Ultimately though it didn't mean much. Becoming a true power house, a Hegemon as they were called, of which her grandfather was one, took time.
Said grandfather was a collector. In the centuries or so years since the Starfall he had amassed a true treasure cove of antiquities, both magical and mundane.
He had also managed to amass a collection of 5 wives. As a result, Mercy ended up with quite a few aunts, and more cousins than she cared to count. Almost none of which weren't some flavour of demon. There was the odd one every now and then that somehow came out completely untouched by the eldritch forces that stained them all, Mercy included, but they rarely lasted long.
As had become the custom, Mercy, along with another of her cousins, Phoebe, had been called to her grandfather's home to celebrate the milestones of reaching adulthood and awakening to the System. As these things tended to go, Mercy and Phoebe would receive two gifts each from her grandfather's collection. Nothing overtly dangerous, or all that valuable, at least not by her grandfather's standards.
Just a little something to get them started on the path. She recalled one of her sisters, some years back receiving an enchanted ring, and stylish antique [Lady's dagger]. Lacking access to the System at the time, she was unaware of what they did, if anything. Still her sister, Temperance had been over the moon, and overly smug for quite awhile. Naturally, Mercy assumed they had been quite good.
Now Mercy wasn't expecting to get one of the grimoires. Naivety wasn't one of her personality traits. However, nostalgia apparently seemed to be, as left to her own devices she had ended up there itching to read one. To her, it almost felt as if they were calling to her, begging to be used. It sounded a little ridiculous, but hardly outside the realm of possibilities, especially where magic was concerned.
"You always did have an unhealthy obsession with this room." Said a familiar sultry voice.
Mercy turned to face her grandmother Kivara. The woman was gorgeous, with a body most women would kill for, and barely looked out of her mid twenties despite begin far older than that. As usual she wore a gown that covered little, and most would consider to be lingerie. Mercy knew the woman often wore less if anything at all. It was just part of her nature as a Succubus.
"Though, I guess that is to be expected. I can smell the magic in your blood. It's much like Arthur's." Kivara said moving with such grace that she seemed to be gliding across the room. "Personally, I never had much of an interest in such things, I had my innate magic, and did with it what I could, more often than not preferring martial combat. Beating things to death with my fists is rather satisfying."
Kivara perched herself on the edge of the desk. From what looked like nowhere, but was probably a storage item of some sort, Kivara pulled out a small black book. She looked down at the cover for a second before casually tossing it to Mercy, who scrambled to catch it. When she did she had a real put upon look, though kept her mouth shut. Her grandmother, Kivara wasn't one for back talk.
"My own grandmother gave that to me as a young lady. Charmed it off some wizard, though I can't say I remember whom, or why. She thought it might do me some good, though it never really did. At times I thought about handing it down to one of my brood, but they like myself weren't exactly adept, and there was no way I'd hand it over to one of the others." Kivara said somewhat whistfully. "I'd honestly forgotten about the thing until recently. I suppose that in itself is an act of providence. That or your mother's sneaky passive aggressive nudging."
"It's probably the latter." Mercy said speaking for the first time. "Either way, thank you."
Kivara made a quiet speculative noise, as she examined her granddaughter. There was a quality in the young woman's eyes that made Kivara shiver. She'd known others with that quality of gaze, and they never failed to dissapoint.
"You're welcome. Don't tell Arthur, he might limit your gifts. He can be kind of stingy that way." Kivara said walking out in the kind of style that made Mercy jealous . "Now, come along I don't enjoy having Lishara acting all smug."
Mercy followed her grandmother out, making sure to tuck the book into the back of her jeans. She moved with far less grace down the halls of the medium sized mansion that her grandfather and his harem called home. As she often did, Mercy glanced at the various pictures that lined the wall. Most of them were of family, either by blood or deed. Mercy didn't pretend to know everyone that she saw, but she did recognize the more famous faces; the ones that had made something of themselves be it for good or ill. It once again reminded Mercy that her grandfather was quite the big name himself.
A fact she tended to forget more often than not. She knew him more as a grandfather rather than one of the seven powerhouses of the modern world that crush opposition to dust with a thought. It was an attitude not shared by many of her own family members, who had long since gotten a true view of the man behind the curtains.
The pictures soon ended as their destination led them down into the basement, and then into a sub basement. It was there that Mercy spotted her grandfather sitting at a plain desk, outside what appeared to be a classic looking vault. The usual occupant of said desk, an in house security demon stood to the side eying Mercy as she walked in. Mercy glanced at the fiend for a brief second, before turning her eyes onto the others down there with her, namely her cousin Phoebe, and her step grandmother, Lishara. The latter was currently sitting in her grandfather's lap. It had been awhile since she'd seen her cousin, and from what she could see, not much had changed. Phoebe still had the same bored, apathetic expression that just barely hid her sexually sadistic nature.
"Arthur darling, I found our wayward grand-spawn." Kivara said glide walking to stand behind the man.
Despite being north of a hundred, Arthur Phillips barely looked to be past his mid twenties, in that same uncanny fashion as his women. Mercy found it disconcerting, especially as she was getting closer to the his appeared age. He wasn't immortal, as far as Mercy knew, but then again she didn't know all that much. Mercy was reminded of that fact as she gazed into her grandfather's eyes, which were swirling vortexes of glowing green eldritch energy. The man smiled as he spotted Mercy.
"Was she in the library?" He asked knowingly.
"Of course she was, dear. Where else would she have wandered off too?" Kivara said jovially.
"Fair point." He said then turned his attention to his granddaughters. "Aw, look at the two of you. All grown up already. I remember the days when you were just squealing little divas, with missing front teeth, and eyes gleaming with mischief. It pains me some days to see my girls become women."
Mercy spotted both Kivara, and Lishara, rolling their eyes at the same time. No doubt he said much the same to the others that came before her.
"Still where has the time gone." He said with a shake of his head, and a faint smirk on his lips. "Now, for the fun bit. Go on you two, and pick any two trinkets each."
"Anything?" Phoebe asked.
"Of course." Arthur replied still sporting his smirk.
Mercy nodded, and then turned to the opening of the vault. From the outside she could see a vast number of shelves covered in hundreds of items. All of them in some shape or form were thrumming with power. Anyone with even a hint of magic could feel the power in the air. Yet, at the same time, all the power in the room was nothing in comparison to the man sitting in front of it all. Making it all the more daunting for Mercy, was the certainty she held, that Arthur wasn't even trying to project the power spilling out of him. Rolling her shoulders to steady her nerves, Mercy along with her cousin walked past the threshold into what felt like the world's largest toy box. Though once they did, the two young women quickly separated, each of them going their own way.
Mercy walked by slowly scanning the rows carefully and thoroughly. While this was technically a gift from her grandfather, it was also a test of sorts. It hadn't been that way in the beginning, but had somehow twisted itself into one at some point, motly by the relatives that came before her. Rather than refute it, her grandfather had leaned into it, taking his sick joy in teasing his family. Mercy wasn't a big fan of tests, especially ones where she didn't know the conditions for passing or failing.
Frustrated by the knot forming in her stomach she stopped. Adjusting the glasses on her face she peered at the set of rings on the shelf in front of her. There was a spectrum that ran from plain and cheap looking, to unbelievably gaudy. While Mercy had a secret fondness for bling, she refrained from immediately reaching out and grabbing one. She instead centered on one in particular.
Crafted from some sore of black metal that almost seemed to suck in the light, she felt it pull at something within her. In the same vein she felt a pulse from the book tucked in her jeans. More as a test than anything else she tried to walk away from the shelf. Doing so only seemed to make that knot in her gut squeeze tighter, in an almost tangible way. Stepping back to stand in front of the ring again loosened that knot.
Taking a quick breath, Mercy picked up the ring, and nearly dropped it, from the unearthly chill she felt upon grasping it. After a moment or two of holding the ring, Mercy realised that the cold wasn't real. Not in the physical sense anyhow. Knowing that she was able to keep hold and finally move on. The question of what the ring did drifted to the forefront of her mind. She attempted to [Identify] it, a skill which most people had, but all she got were question marks.
Mercy let out a sigh. With nothing else to it she moved on in search of the next item. Mercy zipped through the room, giving most of the items a singular glance if any at all. Nothing seemed to speak to her the way the ring had. It didn't help that she didn't really have a clue as to what she wanted for needed.
After spending nearly thirty minutes wandering around aimlessly, she stopped. She found herself in front of a simple wooden box about the size of a flute case, adorned simply with a carved in pentagram. She wanted to open it. Her hands were literally itching to undo the latch and see what was inside. Through concentrated effort she managed to resist if only barely. Instead she took hold of it and rushed back to where her grandfather waited. There she found Phoebe having already finished before her. Mercy watched as Arthur asssed the items Phoebe had chosen, before doing a quick bit of magic. Mercy couldn't exactly tell what it did, but she had an idea. Once Phoebe had finished and walked off rather unceremoniously she stepped up and presented her own swag.
"Let's see what you got." Arthur said a tad gleefully. He held out a hand, into which Mercy deposited the items. She watched as he took a moment to look them over just as he had with Phoebe. When his smile widened she came to the conclusion that she hadn't royally fucked things up somehow. For the time being she considered it a win. "[Ring of the Pale rider] and [The Peacemaker] what an interesting yet fitting combination."
Mercy once again watched as Arthur performed the spell. It was subtle, but being closer she could see more of what it did. She managed to confirm her suspicion upon receiving the items. Before, they had an unnatural weight to them that had now seemingly vanished. Mercy guessed that it had been some sort of ant-theft measure. Yet, she couldn't picture anyone dumb enough to try and steal from the [Hedgemon of the Abyss]. That would be a one way ticket to ever lasting torment.
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"Thanks, grandpa." Mercy said. The ring she slipped into a pocket, while the box she tucked under her arm. She didn't have a storage device at the moment, and had left her backpack at home.
"No, worries, no worries. Just make sure to use them responsibly." He said seriously, causing Mercy, Kivara and Lishara to stare at him. It lasted all of fifteen seconds before he erupted into a fit of laughter. "Wow, that is hard to say with a straight face. I'm kidding, go wild with them kid. Don't be afraid of chaos, it'll be good for you."
"Just remember, to clean up after yourself." Kivara chimed in, subtly making a shooing motion with her hands.
"I'll keep that in mind." Mercy said, as she left the room, as quickly as she could. She could feel the tangible lust in the air between her grandparents.
Despite their youthful attractive appearances, Mercy had no desire to see them get it on. From experience that was likely to happen whether she was there or not as they weren't exactly shy when it came to sex. If fact it was an attitude shared by most of her relatives; a natural consequence of having actual succubae and a horndog as progenitors.
Mercy quickly returned to the main floor, and left the main house of what people generally called the Phillip compound. It took up a rather sizable chunk of the city that she called home and was reserved for those of the Phillip clan as they had come to be called.
Nestled on the land were various estates belonging to various members of the family. Some had larger homes than others, and the ones that did were more often than not the one that had seized a great deal of personal power. Mercy's mother could be counted among that lot, as she had a sizable bit of real estate. It stood out as perhaps the third largest on the grounds.
It was a bit of a trek, but she made good time due to her excitement. She had an itch to dive into the secrets and nuances of her items. She wanted desperately to know if they were duds or balance breaking tools that would make her queen of the noobs. The latter was unlikely, but a girl could dream.
Inside she rushed past the first parlor where one of her sisters was entertaining a guest. Mercy didn't know who, not did she care to find out. Due to their nature, said guest was more than likely some new paramour to scratch the itch. Ignoring the going ons of her family, Mercy hurried up the stairs to her room. There she hopped on her bed, and plucked the void black ring from her pocket. She held it up to her face, and stared.
The first time she tried to identify it all she had gotten were question marks. She figured that had been due to some sort of counter measure on her grandfather's part. A touch more hopeful she tried it again, and pumped a fist in the air when it worked.
[Ring of the Pale Rider
Type: Ring Rank: Legendary
Description: An item that once belonged to a powerful being and once served as their mark of office. This ring holds the bound spirit of an infernal Nightmare known as Despair that once belonged to a being known as the Pale rider. The user can summon a manifestation of the bound creature to use as a mount. The wearer of this ring also gains the necrotic skill {Life Drain} as a spell like ability.
Requires attunement to reveal further effects.]
Mercy stared at the ring, her eyes wide. She was admittedly a little wary. It seemed a littled too good to be true, but having a mount sounded epic. Casting aside her doubt she slipped the ring onto her finger. There was nothing for a moment, but she felt the ring stab into her flesh. She bit her lip to keep from screaming out, and clamped the afflicted hand with the other as if it would do anything to mitigate the pain. For a moment her eyes squeezed shut and she saw the face of death. Within seconds the pain receded. Mercy opened her eyes and looked down. Immediately she noticed the ring had changed somewhat. The pure black band of metal seemed to split as a ghostly white light spilled out. Once again she peered at the ring with [Identify].
[Ring of the Pale Rider (cursed)
Type: Ring Rank: Legendary
Description: An item once belonging to a powerful being that served as their mark of office. This ring holds the bound spirit of an infernal Nightmare known as Despair that once belonged to a being known as the Pale rider. The wearer can summon a manifestation of the bound creature to use as a mount. The wearer of this ring also gains the necrotic skill Life Drain as a spell like ability.
Effect unlocked: Spacial Storage. - 1/1000 slots
Effect #2 - Locked
Effect #3 - Locked
Curse: This ring cannot be removed by anyone below level 900. While worn, the wearer can see the dead as though they were the living, and act as a gate between the material world and their destined afterlife.]
Mercy wasn't smiling as she read over the expanded description. Curses weren't a joke, nor were the spirits of the dead. She let out a deep sigh. She had a feeling her grandfather knew about the curse. That he hadn't mentioned anthing, was something of dick move. One that she couldn't really call him out on, at least not until she got substantially more powerful. To that end she glanced at the box. She was considerably more cautious about it. She almost considered ditching the thing, but that would be dumb. With another sigh she set the box down on the coffee table and sent off a quick [Identify].
[Decorative wooden box]
Mercy held back a growl, and ruffled her hair. Taking a calming breath she reached forward and opened the lid. She just about gasped at the sight. Inside, resting upon a bed of brocade fabric was a pristine revolver, and twelve bullets. Beautiful, intricate filagree marked the length of the gun from grip to the tip of the barrel. Mercy reached out to touch it, only to immediately pull back as the metal seemed to burn her.
"Ok, what the hell." Mercy said seething. Keeping her hands away she cast another [Identify] at the pistol.
[Peacemaker
Type: Revolver Rank: Artifact
Description: A mythical weapon made real through the high concentration of Primal Aether. As per the legend this weapon was forged to be wielded by the "Champion of Eden", to slay demonic forces and the undead.]
Mercy couldn't help but scowl. She felt ripped off. Upon seeing the beautiful gun she wanted nothing more than to wield it. Alas that wouldn't be happening. Apart from not having the required class, there was also the issue of it being anti demon gun. While she wasn't a demon per say, she had enough of it in her blood to cause issues.
Frustrated, she went to close the lid, but stopped at the pulse she felt along her spine. She almost ignored it, but as with the ring she felt a knot form in her stomach. Reaching behind her, Mercy pulled out the black book Kivara had given her. She glanced at it properly for the first time. Nothing about it really stood out. She flipped it open finding nothing but blank pages. Her eyebrows scrunched in confusion before something odd occurred.
Quite by happenstance, Mercy managed to slice herself via paper cut. She hissed but promptly forgot the pain as the book sucked in her blood. The pages got warm in her hands only to spontaneously burst into flames. Mercy cursed. Not from the fire, as fire really didn't bother her much, but from the loss. Things seemed to swirling down the shitter one by one. Feeling despondent Mercy slumped back, suddenly drained mentally.
[Grimoire of the Abyss ~ Luxuria archive successfully absorbed.]
Mercy blinked at the prompt. She opened her mouth unsure of what, if anything, to say. Before she could articulate anything her thoughts were interrupted by another System prompt.
[A synergistic effect between your items, equipment and race has been detected, and has prompted the System to offer you a class.]
Mercy blinked. Her mouth hung open, stunned. Classes were the backbone of a person's Path. It could mean the succuss or failure of a person's future. As far as Mercy knew there were only a few ways to get a class. They were offered by the System at level 10. The options were based off that individual's records before reaching level 10. The second way was to be offered a legacy class, passed down from one person to the next. Priests and clerics usually went that way. The third way was via a classbook. Those were rare, and most often came from dungeons. She had never heard of getting a class via the synergistic effect of items. Then again Mercy could hard claim to be an expert on everything in the world.
[The class can be denied at this time, but it cannot be guaranteed that the class will be offered again. Do you wish to see the offered class?]
With a mental prod she chose yes.
[Three classes have been offered. Please select one of the following options:
1) Soul Guide
2) Hexslinger
3) Harbinger of Death
4) None (upon choosing this option you will be locked out of class selection until level 10)]
Mercy bit her lip as she looked over the options. Not wanting to be hasty she brought up what each one did.
[Soul Guide
+5 CHA per level
You are the ferry man, the psychopomp that leads the dead to their final resting place. Your sole focus is on the safe delivery of the restless dead to their final destination. This class gains no experience for the death of enemies, with undead being the only exception. Deviation, or neglect of duty will result in penalties being accrued.
The Soul Guide class is not proficient in any armor class or weapon type.]
For Mercy that was an immediate no.
[Hexslinger
+4 Cha, +4 Dex, +1 free stat per level
Witches with guns, a hexslinger is a practitioner of eldritch magic are able to imbue great power into their firearm. They sling spells as easily as they sling guns, often combining the two as they dabble in dark rituals and in slinging curses at their foes. Hexslingers also carry on the tradition of keeping familiars in the form of steeds with bonds that runs deep. They excel in mounted combat in addition to being masters of magic and gunplay.
The Hexslinger is proficient with:
- Light and medium armor
- Most firearms, and simple bladed weapons]
Mercy read it twice. Each time getting a little more pumped. Still she made herself read the next one, just out of due diligence.
[Harbinger of Death
+50 STR, +50 Con +50 Dex, +10 INT
You are on the path of death incarnate. Every action brings you closer to reaping the world, and all life on it. Your lust for blood is second to none as you go forth to scour the universe itself of the disease known as life.]
Mercy cut the reading short as it just seemed to get darker and more horrifying by the second. While the stats were good, they were also a lie. A sweet temptation for the gullible and idiotic. Mercy had heard about similar classes from her teachers. They offered high gains per level, but aside from driving a person nuts they also had high EXP thresholds, meaning it would take a literal city's worth of people just to get to the next level.
So with that off the table entirely Mercy went back to the middle option, [Hexslinger]. Of the three it was certainly the winner. However the question before her now, was whether or not she should hold out for a better class. One that might not even be offered. She let that stew for a moment before finally just biting the bullet.
[Congratulations, your class has been updated to Hexslinger. You have received +4 Cha, +4 Dex, and +1 free stat.
You have learned the following class skills:
- Guncraft
- Under Fire
- Firearm Mastery]
Mercy had to brace herself for the head rush as knowledge of her new skills were imbedded in her mind. Blinking away the minor headache she opened her status menu.
[Name: Mercy Phillips
Race: Nephilim^ (expand for details)
Primary class: Hexslinger - Lv. 1 (0% to next level)
Secondary class: N/A
Titles: none
HP: 50/50
MP: 70/70
Stats:
STR: 3, DEX:10, CON: 5, INT: 7 CHA: 11
Free points to be alocated: 1
Class skills: 3
Guncraft
Under Fire
Firearm Mastery
Spells: 2
Summon Mount*
Life Drain*
Hexcraft: Locked
General Skills: 1
Identify]
Mercy read over the summary of herself, noting upon the changes since the first time she checked it. The one that immediatly drew the most notice was the section "Hexcraft". Mercy wasn't exactly sure what that was about, save that Hexes were unique to witches and some shamens. As that particular section seemed to be locked it hardly mattered for the moment.Yet, curiosity still burned within her.
Upon closing her status menu she looked down at Peacemaker with a particularly cruel smile on her face. She reached out for the revolver again. Rather than touch it, she activated the skill [Guncraft]. As she did a prompt appeared.
[Do you wish to break down the following item, "Peacemaker"? Please note that once broken down, the original cannot be returned. Do you wish to continue?]
For a moment, Mercy almost felt something fighting her, but she ignored that feeling and ventured forth. Mercy then observed as the fancy gun, and the accompanying bullets were broken down and turned to dust.
[Blueprint print for "Colt single action army" obtained.]
[Blueprint print for ".45 cartridge" obtained.]
[Engraved runes have failed to be catalogued.]
"Well, that last part sucks, but I doubt it would have worked even if I did know them." Mercy said, mostly to console herself, even as she grinned from one ear to the other.
The excitement of having a class and class skills were enough to over power the brief melancholy of a minor set back. The way she figured it, there was bound to be a learning curve.