Alexander smelled blood, stepped in it, and just behind a desk, he saw a hand missing its ring and index finger. To the left, there were a few other corpses missing much more than a couple of fingers. The same was said for his right. He didn’t hear any enemies, so he banged his [Hobgoblin Steel] on a metal cabinet. “I’m human,” he said to no one. And no one came.
He sighed. Enjoy the afterlife. Alexander shut the door, took out a red marker and wrote an X.
In the Party Chat…
> Alexander:
>
> floor 13 went as well as expected
>
> Damien:
>
> Survivors in 37, 38, 39
>
> Multiple Pseudos here
>
> Leona:
>
> A single survivor in 11
>
> Mai is convincing her to come
There were forty-four floors in System Articles. It wasn’t surprising that there were more Pseudos present; in an office building that could house thousands, there were enough people to fend off the monsters without resorting to emerging—or the monsters were weak enough to be killed by the average joe.
In Kirk’s team, the four Pseudos were himself, Leona, Mai—another worker in System Articles—and Mattis. The rest were up top convincing everyone to flee, waiting for the signal to be given.
Any survivors that Kirk’s team found were congregated on floor fifteen, cleared earlier, because the people there blocked the door and were relatively smart. Alexander attempted to use his masterful persuasion to convince them, failed, and had Leona do it. They opened up immediately because of course they did. Regardless, Damien’s team will pick them up on the way down.
Alexander went down a story to floor twelve where Mattis was, who came out empty and looked like it. Alexander peeked inside and saw more red than floor. Without a word, Mattis closed the door and wrote a red X.
They regrouped with Leona on floor eleven. Mai was inside, speaking with the lone survivor there. “Mai said she hid in a closet,” Leona told them, and no one said anything more.
Kirk, standing between ten and eleven, waved them down. “Shen, Ahn. Trouble on ten.”
Alexander nodded, and Leona took point. They left Mattis with Kirk, placed themselves beside the steel door, and looked at one another, taking a moment to affirm that the other was ready. With bated breaths and eyes that said “I trust you.”, they went inside.
It took no more than a few minutes to dispatch the foes. Leading them was a hobgoblin like the one in floor twenty-five, who had a grisly, muddy hound as long as the average teenager. Both were high-E, thank goodness for that. The cur snarled after Leona and was swiftly cut down, and the hobgoblin earned a pen in the eye before a sword broke its skull open. The rest of the goblins were killed, and no one came out after the fight.
“Look at this,” said Alexander, picking up the fallen hobgoblin’s weapon: [Hobgoblin Handax]. “Think this is better than the sword?”
“It stinks worse,” Leona said.
“Funny.”
“It’s strange, Alex,” Leona moved on, digging through cabinets for more medical supplies. “We have low-ranked enemies but not the higher ones. Where could they be?“
“Better places than a trading company. There are more important targets to destroy, more important people to kill. I’m afraid we’re generally unimportant,” answered Alexander. He walked by a deceased woman with a dagger in her head, slumped over her desk. Left of her computer was a picture of her husband, her son, and her daughter. Alexander stared at that picture.
“I wish I could laugh.” Leona sighed, packing a roll of gauze in her bag. “Let’s go—Alex?”
Alexander kept staring at the picture.
Leona raised her voice, “Alex.”
“Huh?” he snapped out. “Yeah—no, let’s go. Yeah…”
Leona had a sad frown and didn’t comment. They left and marked the door appropriately.
Floor nine, eight, and seven had survivors in each. There were a couple of Pseudos too; with adequate enough explanation, off they went to floor fifteen including the Pseudos. The lone survivor that Mai had, she was sent too, shaken but stable. Relatively.
Six had enemies like ten. Nothing Alexander and Leona couldn't handle; however, one goblin miraculously lived and ran out the door, screaming. Kirk threw it off the railing but the damage was done. Several of its friends came through the lower doors, from the lobby even, and shambled up, tasting meat from a better game.
They were slain. The screaming goblin gave them an indirect benefit: no other enemies came out. Quickly, the team searched the remaining floors for survivors and found not a single one.
In floor three in particular, Alexander and Leona found a dying man laying in a pool of his own blood, his stomach torn open by a rough knife. “Is… Is my son okay?” bled the man. “He goes to… He goes to Red Clover Middle…”
“Your son is fine. The Slayers established a relief zone near there,” lied Alexander. He hoped it was true.
“Ah… That’s good…” The man believed Alexander until he couldn’t anymore.
Alexander kneeled near the man, searching for a light in his tar-black eyes. An explosion flashed light through the windows, and not once did the pupils react.
Leona put a hand on Alexander’s shoulder. He stood, and they left shortly after.
Damien updated them on the last of their floors. The top two were completely untouched. The CEO and other important company officials were present; although they were unhappy with revealing company secrets, the majority—the CEO adamantly refused—allowed Kirk to carry on. (As if he needed their consent, he commented.)
They reached the bottom of the stairwell. Kirk found the door that led into the secure tunnels; by God, was it a thick door. Made of reinforced steel and such that it’d be easier to break the wall around it. Kirk took out his keycard and swiped the reader next to it. It didn’t work. He tried again. It didn’t work.
“Uh…” muttered Mattis. “Is this a problem?”
“Nope, I half-suspected this.” Kirk cracked his knuckles. He pulled out a keyring, searched for the right one, and unlocked the outer shell, exposing the complicated wiring underneath. “It’ll take some time for me to force it open. Keep a lookout.”
Alexander and Leona both looked out into the lobby. It was the same sight as the other floors; no need to describe what had transpired here. Monsters roamed the streets beyond, searching for the unfortunate soul wandering outside. Mattis and Mai found an exit. They made sure it was shut and they were quiet.
It was a matter of waiting now.
Mattis couldn’t stand a minute of silence. “I could go for a burger right now. Caramelized onions, bacon, double-smashed patties, melted cheese, pickles, and a nice brioche bun. Crispy, seasoned fries too, and a cold beer.”
Kirk groaned. “Don’t make me hungry. Add some barbeque chips and a flatscreen with football on, and you got yourself the perfect Sunday night as God intended.”
“You two have a strange appetite,” Mai said, flicking off a strand of tendon from her shoulder. “I wanna sleep with my giant stuffed Totoro doll.”
“Totoro?” Alexander tilted his head.
“From the movie. It’s a classic—“
“I know Miyazaki. Me and my sister have movie nights”—he glanced at Leona—”we have movie nights. I—“ Alexander sighed. “Never mind. I was planning to get hot pot after this, but we’ve been thrown in one.”
“I could go for some hot pot too,” said Mattis, thinking with his stomach still. Couldn’t blame him. Food security would plummet soon—after all, nothing was coming in. “Or Korean barbeque. God, I want anything that’s meat. Fried, glazed, smoked, steamed, give me anything and I’ll devour it.”
“Again,” Mai said as blood dripped from the platforms above, “you have a strange appetite, Mattis.”
“It’s not my fault that I didn’t eat lunch today!” Mattis exclaimed. Kirk shushed, reminding him to keep quiet. In a lower voice, Mattis continued, “When I came in, I suddenly got fifty emails to deal with! By the time I was done, it was way past my lunch break. All I had was coffee and crackers, hardly a nutritious lunch.
“Whatever.” He sighed, shaking his head. “I’ll eat when we reach a shelter or something. Or beg someone for a candy bar. What about you two?” he asked Alexander and Leona. “Did you skip lunch?”
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“No,” said Leona, eyes tilted, remembering her lunch with Alexander, “Thea—Alex’s sister—made bento boxes for us. She wanted to try her hand at cooking since her big brother does everything for her.”
Alexander rolled his eyes. He checked for any enemies in the lobby. None. “It wasn’t bad. The chicken wasn’t crispy though. Six out of ten. Six-point-five.”
“Alexander.” Leona pouted, disapproving. She always had a soft spot for Althea, but in his opinion that girl shouldn’t be spoiled further.
“I’m honest, okay? Look Leo, whose bento do you like more? Thea’s or mine?”
“Well…” Seeing as she didn’t immediately pick Althea’s, her answer was more than clear. “I like that she puts notes in our boxes.”
“Uh huh. If my boxes are the standard—” (“Alex.”) “—if my boxes are the standard, then she needs to meet them. She’s not there yet, but with enough practice, and with enough guidance, she’ll be close. Not ten out of ten, Michelin Star perfect, but close.”
“Not Alexander Shen perfect?”
“Exactly. Not Alexander Shen perfect,” he said, smiling.
“Hmph.” Always the sweet one, wasn’t she?
Mai giggled, stifling it too so it wouldn’t be loud. Her eyes measured Alexander, carefully, and he suddenly felt strangely uncomfortable. “You must be pretty popular in OU, Alex. Leona’s lucky. My friends would kill to have a man who can cook and fight.”
“Heh.” A soft scarlet stretched from Leona’s cheeks to her ears. She twirled the ends of a few brown locks, knotting them between her fingers, eyeing her lucky man. “I am lucky, aren’t I?”
“Stop looking so creepy,” he joked. It was easier to play along with the assumption. “Regardless, I’m the lucky one. You think I can fight? Leo’s stronger than I am. She’s the warrior here, not me.”
“I’m not the warrior, Alex—”
“Mhm.” He looked at Mattis and Mai, the words dangling on his tongue. He snapped his fingers lightly to jog his memory, and he remembered. “Your Growth Potential, what’s yours? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Mattis pointed to himself. “Me? High-D, I think. I don’t really care; I was never planning on being a Slayer until now.”
“High-C,” answered Mai. “What about you, Kirk?”
“Somewhere around A.” Kirk continued to fiddle with the wires, but he cursed to himself. “Sorry, this is taking longer than expected. Anyway, I don’t think I’m the highest one here. It’s the kids behind me.”
“It’s Leo,” Alexander told them.
Leona clicked her tongue, showing her obvious disapproval. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say, Alex, but you need to give yourself more credit—”
“Your Growth Potential puts you at high-S, Leo—”
“Alexander!” she exclaimed a bit too loudly. She checked outside, saw nothing there, and shrunk. “Alexander.”
“High-S? Good God,” Mattis said in disbelief. “You could get every major guild in the world to fight over you. That sort of talent will pay you billions. Billions! Why aren’t you a Slayer?”
Leona frowned hearing the word “talent”. “Because I chose not to become one. My parents were S-Ranks in Angels, apart of Cherub One. When I was twelve, thirteen, they passed during an expedition. Seraph personally gave me their last wishes: live a normal, peaceful life. So I moved to Seoul to live with my aunt. I graduated high school there and enrolled into Ordo University. So here I am.” She looked at Alexander, and he saw resentment in her eyes. “Here I am.”
Guilt stabbed Alexander’s heart, and he turned away, not knowing how to respond. Today was a wonderful day of fuck-ups, wasn’t it? Mai and Mattis both gave their condolences, but neither moved the conversation along. Perhaps they noticed the tension. If he had known any better, maybe they were judging him for pushing Leona like that.
Alexander rubbed his mouth, tasting blood on his teeth. He swallowed the metallic taste, and it left iron on his tongue. “D6,” he said, “my Growth Potential is D6. I’m below the median by a full rank. I thought I had good genetics honestly, but we all can’t be winners.”
Mai seemed skeptical. “That can’t be right. We all saw you fighting the goblins off, like an actual Slayer. And isn’t the Growth Potential correlated with IQ or something? I don’t know, but that doesn’t seem right to me. Me and Mattis might be Pseudos too, but the only combat training I had was karate classes when I was nine.”
“Taekwondo,” added Mattis. “I tried it for one year and broke my leg. Never again.”
“Ha, well, according to the System, it’s true. I’m below average, except for you know…” Alexander shrugged. “Well, Hangzhou.” And High Home but I’m not going to mention that.
Kirk chimed, “You oughta give yourself more credit, kid. It takes a special kind of man to survive Hangzhou. Especially when protecting your little sister.”
“Yeah.” Alexander nodded, bothered, but he might as well tell his story. “I was actually born in Hangzhou. We moved to Massachusetts when I was three I think; Althea’s as American as one can be. For my seventeenth birthday, Mom got a little homesick and used my birthday as an excuse to visit. And uhm…” He wrung his hands. “...The outbreak happened. We lost Mom and Dad, and it was just me and Thea. For the next three weeks, we were alone in a city we didn’t know, surrounded by monsters we thought we’d never meet, fighting like we never did before.
“Thank God that the Slayer System ‘turns on’ when you’re sixteen because otherwise, we wouldn’t be here right now. There’s no better coming of age experience than, I don’t know, getting chased by monsters and men alike.
“But we survived. It was a headache and a half, but we got shipped to Los Angeles, took several flights, ended up in Richmond, then our Uncle Ali picked us up and High Home was our new, well, home. What happened there is an entirely different story. Got into a lot of fights, pissed off the wrong people, almost got expelled, but I’ve gotten better since then. A lot better. Enough to attend this backwater college.”
“Why didn’t you stay in High Home?” Mattis asked. “You could’ve attended Haven.”
Alexander bit his lip. “I wanted to get out of High Home. But Uncle Ali was worried so he forced me to take a gap year. It worked out at the end though: got accepted into OU, Althea wanted to come along, and he gave us his blessing. Now, I’m living in a small apartment with my annoying little sister, and at the beginning of my sophomore year, I got that one”—he pointed to Leona, mixed with sympathy and regret—”as my partner for a project, and the rest was bento boxes and hot pot.
“If I had one good thing to say about everything…” Alexander laughed at the thought. “I take my exercising seriously now. But you know, I try to stay low and be ordinary.”
Reminsciencing about his life like this, there was nothing more he wanted. After Hangzhou, after making himself a menace in High Home, he preferred a quiet life. Preferably something that didn’t involve a fear of going to the hospital, or breaking his knuckles, or worse, his death. Even he had to admit it: his life so far was absurd, and this was icing on the cake. Maybe he pissed off God somehow. Never was there a quiet year for Alexander Shen.
For a little while, he was lost in thought until he felt something staring at him—Leona. Her pretty amber eyes sparkled, and below that was a white smile, and a little fluster turned his heart over.
“Why are you staring at me?” Alexander asked.
“After all the stories you and Althea have told me, I’m having trouble seeing you as ordinary,” she teased, turning her smile into a smirk.
Alexander crossed his arms, avoidantly turning his head. “I’m not going to argue with you.”
“Heh.”
He groaned. “How’s the door coming along, Kirk?”
“Almost done. Within a few seconds now, and we’ll be safe.” He tinkered with the wires further. Alexander had zero knowledge in electrical engineering, but Kirk put something together and there was a click. Kirk exhaled in relief.
Everyone stood on guard, prepared for the worst.
“Alright, don’t send the message to Fayer yet, Shen.” Kirk grabbed the steel handle. “It pays to be safe—” he opened the door, “—than sor—”
Kirk stopped and backed away.
Leona raised her steel, but upon seeing what lay on the other side, her hands quivered. Alexander saw the thing, in all its glory. How it stood seven foot tall, perhaps taller, and had dark wolven hair, frayed and split at ends, clumped down, at great length, down its dirty emerald back. It wore tattered rags as though attempting to simulate common civility, yet the stains and the cuts showed its barbarism. In the dark, it imposed on two great legs and greater arms, digits and toes lengthened and protruding like thorns, fangs as teeth, and predator eyes bathed in its kills.
It held a body, or what remained. A disfigured man, it was; missing half of his body, and a hand clutching his head. The monster bit down, canines cracking bone, and devoured, the man’s brain spilling over its lips. Satisfied, it dropped him, licking the remains around its mouth.
Alexander used [Basic Information].
[Enemy]
Wolva
A5 Mob
Skills:
???
Passives:
???
Power: ???
Constitution: ???
Agility: ???
Magick: ???
Discreetly, he opened the [Bestiary] about this Wolva.
[Wolva]: A goblinoid race hailing from P13-V139. Said to be a strange cross between goblins and lycanthropes. The wolva abandoned their hunt for nothing.
That’s fantastic.
The only option was to retreat. Alexander notified Damien immediately:
> Alexander:
>
> an a5 is down here
>
> Damien
>
> A5?
>
> Get out of there now
>
> Alexander:
>
> no shit
Kirk silently motioned everyone to the stairs. At a snail’s pace, they took tiny, almost negligible steps towards their escape. Slowly, slowly stepping. They paid attention to every single detail, to every possible cause of a single decibel. Through their precision, they scaled one platform, half the level. A few more and they would be free.
—Their phones buzzed in their pockets.
Alexander curbed his natural impulse to take it out.
However, Mattis did.
“What are you doing?!” exclaimed Kirk in whispers, and his voice made the man jump.
“Ah!” Mattis realized what he did; quickly, to recover from his blunder, he scrambled to put his phone back, but his hands were too slippery and he was too startled and he was afraid. It was only natural that he lost his grip.
As if time stepped as fast as they did, the phone descended, the screen illuminated, showing the current time of eighteen-o-five, and the invisible second hand ticked, and the dripping blood dropped.
Crash. There was a crack.
There was a growl.