Chapter 5
(sentience?)
Jarow glanced one last time at the purple monster before moving on, vaguely wondering once again why there was no blood or gore on the floor of the hallway. His last body was bitten by the Shlazak, and must have died here. That memory was still vivid in his mind, there should at least be some remnants of his death.
But without a way to learn the answer, Jarow really had no option other than to accept the situation as it was. He made a shrugging motion with his shoulders, careful not to move the door again.
He would hopefully, figure out what happened with his old body in time, if for no other reason but to see if he would be able to acquire another soul coin. This Shlazak thing was a plant though, Jarow wondered if the plant could somehow clean up and absorb the fluids and turn his old body onto mulch. To Jarow the time in between his dying and his waking up in this body had been indeterminable, but he began to speculate whether there was a gap of time which he was unaware of.
It was another thing he hoped to figure out about this place and his time here, but for now he turned away from the door and padded silently back down the hall. He had some disgusting work to do before returning here again.
With some effort, he opened the doors on the side of the hall which he had believed were locked in his previous life. He double-checked each to make sure he hadn't missed anything important in the rooms, but also gathered all of the blankets from off their floors. He didn't have much else in this place that he could use to get past the Shlazak, so was collecting everything he could.
Jarow gathered a total of six blankets, not counting the one tied around his waist. With that part finished, he went back to the room containing his corpse. He looked down with reverence at his original body. He wished he had been stronger in that life. Even though he couldn't remember it, he had the impression that it was difficult and hoped he had at least been loved.
The image of his parents flashed once again through his mind and a sense of the love they felt for him and the love he felt in return briefly passed through him. He smiled at the emotional snuggle he had just received from their remembered faces and knew without a doubt that he had been loved. The thought was comforting, but also made what he planned to do that much more difficult.
There was a dark part of his mind that thought that maybe he would have lived longer in that life if he would have been stronger. It was an easy thought from this elven body where nothing hurt and he could feel the limitless potential within. The underlying motive for the thought was even more disturbing though. He could really use the additional bone mass in his upcoming struggle, the skinny bones of his corpse might not be sufficient for the task ahead. He knew that he would need all the strength he could get if he was going to survive against the purple weed that had killed him already.
Jarow laid down a couple of the blankets beside his corpse and knelt down upon them. While they offered little padding, it was certainly preferable to the hard floor. "Sorry about this, old me," he murmured respectfully.
Without further ado, and after only a brief pause, he grasped a protruding rib bone from his corpse's chest and yanked. The process was gruesome, eliciting grunts and grimaces from Jarow as he twisted and wrenched the bone loose. More than once, dry heaves rose from his throat, but nothing came up. He apparently didn’t need nourishment here, there was no food to be found anyway, so his stomach was completely empty.
Jarow pondered his absence of hunger or thirst. While its absence was peculiar, it was also rather convenient, simplifying many aspects of his existence. He knew what pooping was, and so was glad he hadn’t needed to do that here. His absence of memories of the action were also a considerate boon. However, he couldn't help but wonder how his body managed to function without sustenance.
In reality, these thoughts were simply an attempt to distract himself from the macabre undertaking he was attempting. He continued his distracting thoughts: In his previous body, the flabby older one, had also been without hunger. He briefly worried about dehydration, but even if he was thirsty, he had no idea where he would find any water here.
With a final crunch and a sickening wet pop, the rib bone gave way. Now, with the bone removed, Jarow could proceed to the next stage of his body's desecration. He began vigorously rubbing the bone against the flat floor, smoothing and sharpening as well as he could in preparation for the next step in his plan.
This bone would be useful once sharpened, but it wasn't actually the one that he was truly seeking for his encounter with the Shlazak. After a considerable amount of effort, the rib bone finally acquired a semi-sharp edge. "This will have to do," he muttered to himself as he examined the bone, testing its sharpness and turning it over in his hands.
He couldn't quite explain how or why he possessed the knowledge of the body's skeletal structure, but he was aware that the femur was the largest bone and that it connected the leg between the hip and knee. The second stage of his plan involved using the sharpened rib bone to saw into the leg and extract the large bone.
He chose the right leg as his sacrifice as it exhibited less damage than the other. This meant the bone would most likely have a greater structural integrity. Additionally, it was the side closer to him, and he liked things simple. The task was utterly revolting though, his makeshift bone knife sliced through the tender flesh and muscles with relative ease, but when it encountered cartilage or tendon, it felt more like using a dull butter knife. The sawing and tearing required, sadly made this process anything but easy.
Another way to keep himself distracted was to keep his eyes out of focus on what he was doing and rather shifting his internal gaze to the timer in his peripheral vision. The rhythmic ticking of the numbers for some reason, brought a sense of stability and order to this grisly environment. He had been in this place for nearly forty-two hours now he saw. He was close to having been here a similar duration to his last life.
Jarow's thoughts drifted back to the countless hours he had spent in an almost coma like stupor during his previous life. He had been lying in the very spot where he now knelt, his mind almost entirely shutting down. Rationally, he understood the reason behind that catatonic state; waking up in this strange place and discovering your own lifeless body lying before you was enough to send anyone into shock.
Paradoxically though, those experiences had actually strengthened him. In a way, he had to be grateful for that ordeal, he doubted he would be capable of the actions he was currently undertaking if he hadn't had that experience. He needed the time he had spent for his mind or soul or whatever it was, to accept and adapt to this new existence.
With a juicy: Pop! The femur dislodged from the hip joint, coming out with a final arduous cut from the, now less than sharp, rib bone and a twist of the bone itself. "Now onto the knee," Jarow remarked in a tone that almost sounded cheerful, he couldn't help but sound relieved and optimistic when speaking in this body, even though his mood was far from cheerful, yet he was happy to be over half way finished.
Once again; Jarow filed the rib bone against the floor; re-honing its edge. Then; he began slicing down the front of the leg; parting the skin and muscle and using his left hand to meticulously peel back the layers of flesh as he cut deeper until finally encountering the bone.
The smell of the dead flesh as it opened up filled the room. It wasn’t the strong odor of decay which Jarow assumed it would be, rather it was coppery and almost sweet like a well marbled side of beef. Although Jarow was unsure how he knew what a side of beef would smell like; another trick of his absent memory.
To fully expose the femur, he had to flay the leg from the top of the leg to below the kneecap. He pulled the skin and flesh to either side as he opened the leg, the ripping sound of the flesh caused by the bone knife accompanied his movements as he tore pulled apart the layers of flesh.
Jarow occasionally stopped and yanked the still pink flesh away from the bone, revealing the muscles and cartilage underneath. Once the incision was complete and the muscles had been pulled away from the bone; He used the end of the femur that was already dislodged from the hip bone to pry the femur upward so that he could reach the bottom of the knee. There was a thick band of cartilage there which held the bone in place. He used his knee to hold the boneless leg down as he yanked upward and twisted the femur with all his strength; which happened to be just enough force to pull it from the muscles underneath.
He highly doubted he could have completed this gruesome task in his previous body. He absolutely knew that he couldn't have performed it in the body he was currently mutilating. Not only would his original body have lacked the musculature, but also because he genuinely doubted that in that life he would have had the mental resilience to execute such unusual and repulsive acts.
For some reason, as an elf, he was troubled by what he was doing, but not completely repulsed at the thought of mutilating a human body. Jarow felt a sense of detachment, which he could only attribute to this body being a different species. He could see the body he was mutilating not in a cannibalistic way, but rather like an animal with useful products.
This place had definitely already changed him. While he retained no memories of his first life, he knew he had been sheltered. The fact was very evident, since the body he was now pulling apart had survived to the age of mid-teen despite its obvious physical limitations. No one would be able to get that far in life on their own with such limiting disabilities.
He couldn't tell the exact cause of his previous body's disability, but the extreme lack of muscle mass undoubtedly stemmed from an inability to move well.
He glanced down at his now-elven body, the congealed blood clinging to his skin and staining the blanket he wore as a makeshift wrap. But that wasn't what held his attention.
His muscles, though lean, were defined. This body might not possess exceptional strength, but it was accustomed to movement; it could move swiftly and with great dexterity. A chuckle escaped his lips as he thought about his usage of the word "dexterity." "It seems I'm already adapting to this new existence," he mused to himself.
He called it an existence because, in his purview, a life was supposed to be finite. He had lived through at least two other lives now, but his existence continued. He hoped he could continue living in this body for a long while. He was really starting to enjoy being an elf.
With a sickening slurp, a satisfying rip, and a final pop, Jarow pulled down on the lower leg until the femur tore free from the remaining cartilage and flesh. It came loose in an eruption of bloody, thick slush. The bone itself was red and bloodstained, slippery from the still-congealing blood, but finally free.
Jarow held the bone in his hands and gave it a light test swing. The heft and length felt good to him. A wide smile spread across his face as he looked at the bone in his hand. He had done it, removed this bone from a corpse, his corpse. It was definitely not a job he relished or ever would have imagined having to do, but now he took a small bit of pride in his accomplishment. He turned his gaze downward to the corpse, the dead eyes seeming to stare up at him. "Thanks, old me. This should work great. I think it's time to go kill a Shlazak. Don't you agree?" he spoke, not expecting an answer.
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Using the remaining blankets, Jarow meticulously cleaned the femur, removing as much of the blood and grime as possible. With deft hands and a little help from the still somewhat sharp rib bone, he tore strips from the blankets and fashioned a makeshift grip at the slightly smaller end of the femur, transforming it into a crude but hopefully effective club. A wry chuckle escaped his lips as he mused, "It's a Bone-a-fide club, for sure, get it? BONE-a-fide?."
He swung the club around a few times, testing its balance and weight again now that he could get a good grip on it. However, he kept from actually hitting anything with it just yet. He knew the frailness of his previous body increased the likelihood of the bone shattering once it hit a solid object, even with the small amount of strength he had in this body.
Mentally, he rehearsed the impending battle, envisioning a best-case scenario where he could deliver two strikes before the bone broke. He would then switch to using the broken end as a makeshift spear, jabbing at the plant until it was good and dead. Just in case, he tucked the semi-sharpened rib bone into the blanket cinched around his waist, a backup weapon in case of unexpected circumstances.
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Facing the imposing purple plant had seemed relatively straightforward in his imagination. However, confronting it in reality was an entirely different matter. Jarow cautiously approached the monster's door and peered around it, like he had in his earlier reconnaissance mission. The creature's colossal bud/mouth remained motionless on the floor, a silent guardian to the cell behind it as well as the hallway going forward. The silver key still layed on the floor before it.
Jarow's gaze remained fixed on the formidable plant as he stared at it from around the door, his mind focusing on his battle plan. He would unleash his first and probably most powerful blow before it awakened. Hopefully, he would get another swing before it was able to move forward as well. After that, it was going to get tricky, and Jarow really hoped the thing would just die from the first smash hit. He mentally rehearsed the battle multiple times as he stood there and watched the Shlazak.
"Strike hard before it wakes up, retreat, then repeat if possible. If the bone breaks, start stabbing," his mental strategy echoed through his mind. He braced himself. He was afraid, afraid to die, again, but he also acknowledged that he would probably come back in a new body. "Probably," he added with a hint of uncertainty.
Fear's icy fingers gripped Jarow's heart as he stood there, readying himself to leap forward and strike. Hot, sticky sweat ran down his face and arms, all the way down to his hands, leaving his palms slick. The cloth covering the end of his makeshift club felt damp and rolled slightly in his grip.
In his mind, Jarow leapt directly into the battle without fear, but now that he was here, even breathing seemed like a challenge. In his mind, he always won, but the truth was that he could actually lose, and that is what kept him from dashing out like the hero he wanted to be.
He decided he really liked this elven body, young as it may be, and really didn't want to change or die yet. He glanced at the timer in his peripheral vision to offer him some stability and reassurance.
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He realized several hours had passed while he had been creating his makeshift weapon and was surprised to see that he was well past the time he had spent in the older human body. Forty-seven hours and twelve minutes. He had made it, he had been in this body longer than his last, but now he might die again. The morbid thought wedged itself within his thoughts.
In a way, he was glad that the fear gripped him as it did. He had wondered about an endless cycle of lives and what that might do to his psyche, but feeling the fear of an imposing death reassured him that his mortality was still very much intact.
He thought about waiting, about trying to sneak by, but quickly recognized these thoughts were only his fear trying to find excuses. He almost spoke aloud, his voice always a comfort to him, but caught himself just in time. Instead, he thought to himself, “I am not going to let fear win. I am going to defeat this stupid plant and keep this body!”
Congratulations, you have given yourself a Pep Talk. Pep Talk boosts your Strength, Dexterity, and Constitution attributes by [- 1 -] for 1 minute.
Jarow was startled by the sudden appearance of the window. He was still trying to get used to these random visual interruptions, but luckily he was able to keep from bumping the door this time. He quickly read through the text and noticed a small yellow timer appear next to his normal clock. It was counting down from one hundred.
Jarow knew that this meant it was time to do this. He silently stepped out in front of the Shlazak and raised his club high above his head. He considered jumping to get a little extra height from his swing, but before he knew it, his arms whooshed past his eyes taking the lead before his brain could tell him otherwise.
He felt the end of the bone impact the huge purple bud, and his body had somehow gotten ahead of his brain. He looked down and saw green blood-like liquid explode out from the monster. A strange gurgling sound erupted, and the creature's maw gaped open. Two rows of jaggedly sharp teeth appeared, and a bright red tongue darted out from the throat.
Jarow still held the bone in his hands. It had stayed intact through the first swing, as he had hoped. But now he froze. He had played this fight over in his head a dozen times, but now as the Shlazak rose before him and he could see the sharp teeth again, all his mental training had deserted him.
Snap! The jaws clamped together tightly millimeters from Jarow’s face. A putrid stench washed over him from the wind of the rapidly closing mouth. A bright red tongue flitted out and touched his cheek, tickling it. Tasting it.
An overwhelming sense of danger washed over Jarow and he leapt back just in time to avoid the jaws of the plant as they once again opened wide and attempted to bite down on him, this time lunging forward and further forward. The mouth snapped closed right where his head had been and Jarow finally had his answer; this monster did have some room to extend, it had been holding onto this trick as a backup for if its initial bite failed.
Jarow’s back slapped against the opposite side of the hall, he had instinctively recoiled to avoid the massive jaws, now he was left with no more room to retreat. The Shlazak’s head hovered only inches from his face, its red tongue once again flicking out to gauge where its prey had gone. It hovered in front of Jarow, so close to his skin he could feel the air moving from its fluttering movements.
The countdown on Jarow's Pep Talk timer continued to tick down, each second marking the growing urgency of his situation. He knew the time for hesitation was past; it was time to face his fear and strike again, before his buff wore off.
As if the thought ignited a spark within him, Jarow brought his arms upward in a reverse swing, the bone club pulling upward, the giant bulb of the Shlazak moving on top of the club. It took all the strength he could muster to drag the head upward in this fashion, his muscles strained against the weight, but the bone pushed upward on the Shlazak's bud, bringing it into a better striking position and creating an opening for a sideways swing.
Jarow shifted his grasp on the bone-club, his grip changing and tightening to hold the weapon more like a baseball bat. He cocked his shoulders back and then he swung the club with all his might.
The impact was met with a satisfying and resounding crack as the Shlazak’s bulb erupted with more of its sickening ooze spraying out from the side of its head. The entire bulb reeled sideways, landing limply on the floor several feet from where Jarow now stood.
The Shlazak was not the only thing injured during the attack though, the bone club Jarow wielded had shattered as well. He looked down at the weapon he held, now only half the length it had been before. Jarow caught sight of several of the remaining bone fragments embedded in the monster's outer petals, where the rest of the shards had flown and clattered off the walls and floor of the hall.
Without thinking, his instincts taking over, Jarow lunged forward and thrust what remained of the splintered bone at the large bud still recovering from the hit it had taken. The sharp protrusions that stuck from the end of the bone struck home and tore effortlessly into the Shlazak’s fleshy folds. The sharp points then broke off and remained embedded within the bud.
The Shlazak recoiled from the stabbing Jarow delivered but quickly recovered. It once again pulled itself into the air, seemingly floating on its long neck-like vine. It turned, the maw closed and the tongue flickered out once again as it focused on Jarow once again.
Jarow quickly realized he was now within the monster’s striking distance. The Shlazak seemed to realize this as well.
Jarow retreated quickly, once again backing up to place his back against the wall of the hallway in hopes the Shlazak could truly not extend quite far enough to reach him at that distance, but as his feet shuffled in their frantic reverse dash a shard of the broken bone turned underneath his bare foot causing him to lose balance.
The bone piece caused more surprise than pain, but sent Jarow tumbling backward in the opposite direction from where he was angling. He landed with a jarring thud on his backside, his back hitting the door. The impact caused it to swing open slightly wider and the hinges to screech from the rapid opening. The sound of them having to move from their current resting places pierced the air with a sharp and grating screech.
The Shlazak trembled either from the sound or in excitement at knowing where its prey was located, Jarow couldn’t tell for certain. A tremor originated from its base and rippled up its vine, causing its bulbous head to violently quiver, its tongue flailing like a hose under intense water pressure. From its wounds it showered the area with its green sap-like blood.
Jarow watched, his mind struggling to comprehend the monster’s actions. The fall had left him slightly disoriented, and was desperately willing his body to move, yet it remained unresponsive.
Then, without warning, the Shlazak's jaws gaped open, and the bud’s “face” pointed directly at him. The tongue, which was constantly flickering while out of the mouth now pointed arrow still directly at him. Jarow, prompted by an instinctive reflex, raised the bone club in front of him and locked the remaining handle of the bone-club firmly against his chest.
With a monstrous lunge, the Shlazak launched itself at Jarow.
Jarow braced himself for the inevitable impact, his eyes squeezed shut in anticipation and fear. He shuddered as he felt the Shlazak's weight crush against him. His lungs exhaled a small yelp as he felt its teeth tearing into his flesh. Points of red hot pain flared in Jarow’s body in a circle encompassing his head and shoulders.
But amidst the agony, he also felt the bone club piercing the back of the monster's throat, a resistance he had felt before, when he had stabbed at the creature. Before the poison could take effect, an outcome he knew was inevitable coming, Jarow pushed forward with what remaining strength he had in his arms. Pushing the end of the bone into the throat of the Shlazak.
You are suffering from Shlazak poison. Shlazak poison causes; stun and paralysis. Duration: 30 seconds. Really, again?
The window came into view behind Jarow’s closed eyes. A new timer in the same location as the one for his Pep Talk buff appeared, being replaced by a new timer: this one counting down in an ominous red frame. 30, 29, 28… It ticked slowly down.
Congratulations, you have defeated Shlazak level 3. Good boy. I knew you could do it. Reward: 150 XP. Do you wish to loot?
As he dismissed the window telling him of the poison, this new one emerged. Jarow remembered the Soul Coin that materialized after he looted his old body, so Jarow mentally chose yes once again, assuming he would receive something similar from the monster he had defeated.
With squinted eyes, Jarow witnessed the Shlazak's body dissolve into a miniature explosion, its form fragmenting into a myriad of iridescent particles. These particles scattered in all directions, each traveling only a few inches before dissolving into nothingness.
As they hit Jarow's skin, since the Shlazak's head had been attached to him still, the particles bounced harmlessly off, leaving behind an incredibly ticklish sensation. Unable to move, twitch, or even laugh due to the poison's effects, Jarow could only endure this tickling torture.
Luckily, the sensation subsided quickly. Jarow couldn't help but feel a sense of relief, as the notion of being tickled to death while paralyzed seemed like a truly horrific way to die again.
The looting window vanished, replaced by a new one that materialized in front of the previous one.
Congratulations, you are now Level 2! You have 5 attribute points to distribute. You have gained a skill slot. You have gained an ability slot. You now have access to new options in the User interface.
A surge of elation washed over him as the rewards from his level up materialized before his eyes. “Wow, that’s quite a haul,” he marveled inwardly. “Is this the norm for every level up?”
The instant the question formed in his mind, a deluge of information poured into his consciousness. It felt as if a previously sealed compartment within his mind had just been unlocked, granting him access to a vast repository of previously forgotten knowledge. Information that had been previously hidden from his mind before.
With this new area of his mind illuminated, he now understood the term “UI,” or User Interface, which was the name for the windows, timer, and log that had been subtly present in his vision since first waking in this place.
He also grasped the basic concepts of levels, skills, spells, attributes, and abilities, at least to a rudimentary level, and recognized their significance in his current predicament. He recalled that the essence or energy that fueled magic was called Mana, and his heart quickened in anticipation of the possibility of unlocking some magical abilities.
Similarly, he came to comprehend the usage of what he now identified as Stamina, and its potential applications as well. He suddenly understood that he would possess a finite pool of health points (HP), which would be visually represented alongside his Mana (MP) and Stamina (SP), with numerical values which were determined by his attributes and level. He also recognized that XP, or experience points, was the currency required to advance to the next level.
Yet, it wasn’t as if this knowledge was entirely foreign to him. It felt more like it had always been present within his mind, concealed behind a mental barrier that had just shattered. With his newfound clarity, he felt better equipped to grasp the fundamentals of existing within this game that had become his reality.
"This game," he thought to himself. The words had turned into a trigger. Somehow he knew this was still his real life, but it was also something more, and something he could actually quantify and somewhat remember. ‘A video game.’ He instinctively knew he had played games like this before, but couldn't remember doing so. It was different from the compulsions or emotions which seemed somewhat alien to him though, this felt closer, like a remnant of his own previous life.
It was all too much to take in for him right now, his body still frozen from the bite of the Shlazak. With a shake of his head to clear out the lingering implications of what his new level and the additional knowledge held for his future, Jarow returned to his predicament. The Shlazak was gone, but he could feel the puncture wounds from the plant's teeth, the puncture wounds throbbed painfully, and he knew he would be wincing if he could move. The poison the monster used was no joke.
Despite the paralysis, his eyesight remained intact, so he looked in the direction the plant had grown from. He saw an empty room other than the crack in the stone where the plant had been rooted. He hoped to see his old body there as well, but to his astonishment, the room was totally clean, devoid of even the slightest fragment of his old body.
Then, a sudden movement caught his eye, prompting him to shift his gaze from the empty room to a spot closer to where he sat, his back still propped against the door.
The silver key Jarow had acquired in his previous life, still lay on the hallway floor, but was now somehow magically vacuuming up the juices that had spilled from the fight with the Shlazak. The key created a miniature whirlpool, effortlessly drawing in the thick green blood, leaving no trace of its presence behind.
He watched as the green sap-like blood seeped into the key as it drew near enough and was instantly absorbed. He couldn't understand what was going on, let alone the underlying mechanism, the way the blood seamlessly melded into the key's surface was mesmerizing and more than a little creepy.
The paralysis timer finally struck zero and Jarow let out a breathy half-chuckling scream filled with frustration, pain, and victory! He still hurt, badly. His face, shoulders, and chest; all still throbbed and bled crimson from the puncture wounds inflicted by the Shlazak's teeth.
He had survived though. He had defeated a monster three times his level and made it through. He rolled onto his side. He was exhausted. He considered just laying down and taking a nap. But before he could close his eyes, he saw his own blood racing towards the key.
'Wait, what?' He said aloud and sat back up quickly, watching several drops of his own blood swirl around then be absorbed by the key. “What the…?” he said in astonishment and a little disgust. He had wanted the key back before, but now watching it somehow suck up his blood, he wasn't as sure anymore.
If this key, “what did his log call it? Zippo? No. Simpo? No. Sin, zin, Xinpo. That was it. If Xinpo was alive and ate blood, was it something he really wanted to have?” Jarow thought to himself.
His curiosity was piqued though, so he took his finger and smeared it in his blood from a still oozing puncture wound and wiped the blood on the floor to see what the key would do to it again.
The blood instantly moved over the floor of its own accord towards the key. It looked as if the semi coagulated substance somehow floated a millimeter above the gray substance of the floor as it sped in a semi circle towards the key. Then, as soon as it touched the key's metal, it vanished in what Jarow could only describe and shrinking into the metal's pores. Jarow was confused and a little concerned.
"Hey key,” he said. “Xinpo, I guess your name is, right? Can you… uh, talk?”
The key obviously didn't respond. Jarow hadn't really expected it to respond, but he had hoped. “This place is totally weird and magical,” he said aloud, happy to be able to hear his voice again, “so why shouldn't a vampiric key be able to talk?”
Slowly, Jarow stretched out his hand and poked the key lightly with one finger. It didn't move.
He placed his finger on it once more, but this time, he slowly started sliding it towards himself. He was still unsure as to whether he wanted to keep it, but particularly now that he had gained the knowledge of his existence within a game-like world, its relevance felt even more important.
As he slid the key along the floor towards him, he suddenly noticed that all the blood that remained splattered across his body, both his, the Shlazaks, and the gore from his dismantling of his corpse, was inexplicably being drawn towards his hand where he touched the key.
He quickly pulled his finger back, removing it from the key’s surface, and the crimson and green stains stopped moving. The blood remained in place, sticky and mostly coagulated on his skin, stopping at the point where it had moved to.
He looked down at one of the more visible puncture wounds, one along the bicep of his right arm. To his surprise, he saw pink, newly healed skin. The scar tissue had already begun to form over the injured skin. The blood had moved away from the wound, but no more of his life's blood had been drawn out.
Jarow began looking at the other puncture wounds strewn across the front of his body in a semicircle. In each instance, he found the same thing: the wound itself had already begun healing, and the blood which had been being pulled in by the key was only at the surface. No new harm had come from the movement, and in fact the injuries seemed to already be healing on their own.
Tentatively, Jarow touched the key again. He held his finger on the key for a prolonged period this time, and watched as the blood stains began to move once more. He ensured that only the existing bloodstains, not fresh blood, were drawn towards the key.
Within seconds all the blood and gore he had been covered in had been cleaned from his body, even the stains on the blanket he wore around his waist was absorbed by the silver key.
Still hesitant, not confident that holding onto this key was really a great idea, even though it had basically cleaned him up, Jarow picked up the key and examined it again. He wondered if his enhanced elven eyesight would reveal details his human eyes had overlooked.
“Hello again.” A voice, distinctly different from his own, spoke into Jarow's mind. “I am Xinpo.”
Jarow froze, his body rigid with fear, his muscles instantly tensing, ready for a fight or flight response depending on where this new voice had come from. He could sense no other presences there with him though and his gaze slowly moved to the key he tightly gripped in front of his face. His eyes went out of focus as he tried to process what had just happened. He hesitated before speaking. "Did you just talk to my brain?"
“In fact, I did,” came the reply from the new voice in his head. It was an unusual voice, low with an unusual timbre. It had an accent, but Jarow couldn't place it. Then again, he wasn't sure he would be able to recognize any accent if he heard it, all he knew was that this new voice talked differently from the way he heard himself in his own mind.
“So, you really are alive?” Jarow cautiously asked aloud. His eyes slowly returning to focus on the key.
“That I am, young suzerain.” the new voice rang in through his mind.
“What did you just call me? My name is Jarow, not Susan-rain or whatever.” Jarow asked, his voice rising with curiosity and losing some of the apprehension he had felt.
Jarow perceived more than heard a somewhat deep brain shaking chuckle coming from the key inside Jarow's head. “Suzerain,' or perhaps you're more familiar with 'sovereign.' It's a term of respect, denoting loyalty.” Xinpo explained.
“Sovereign? Why in the hell would you call me that? And fealty? What makes you want to show me fealty?” Jarow asked the key.
“You are my savior, my liberator. I owe my very existence to you. I will forever be in your debt, and I pledge to aid you in any way I can.” the key’s voice responded in a tone which seemed more full than his normal voice, as though there was something more to it than before.
You have been sworn at… Oops, I mean: Sworn to! Xinpo has offered you a sworn oath to render aid whenever it is needed. He offers this oath as a gesture of gratitude for liberating him from the monotony of his existence beneath a blanket. Will you accept Xinpo as your companion and sworn liege?
The window that popped up didn’t startle Jarow as the ones had done in the past. He was gradually acclimating to these sudden visual intrusions. He read through the text and smiled. He wasn’t sure why the system could be so direct at times, only to inject odd and somewhat humorous text in other instances.
There was a lot to this new existence he still needed to figure out, and as jarow contemplated his decision he realized just how useful someone to help him figure things out as he went along would be. A good companion would be a big help. He wasn’t sure he liked the way the oath was worded, he disliked the notion of viewing someone as a liege, but a feeling from deep inside of him told him that he should accept this being’s proposal, so he mentally whispered, “yes” and the window disappeared.
“Excellent choice suzerain. I am honored to be by your side.” Xinpo’s voice once again intruded upon Jarow’s brain.
It was going to take Jarow some time to get used to having another person around. His entire memory he had been alone. “Yeah, I only have about four days worth of memories, but still…” he thought to himself.
“Are you going to keep calling me Susan?”
“Suzerain, and it is the title I choose to bestow upon you, unless you have a title you would prefer? "Perhaps Lord or Liege? Would Master, Emperor, or King be more to your liking?"
He felt as though Xinpo was going to continue getting more grandiose with his titles, so Jarow cut him off. “Ok, ok… Suzy is fine.”
“Suzerain, and yes. I will continue using the term.”
Jarow shook his head and smiled: a little in defeat, and a little in acquiescence. But mostly because it was good to hear someone else’s voice, even if it were only in his head.