“Aww, come on, you guys,” Zachary whined, jingling the set of crude metal cuffs that had been clamped around both wrists. “Seriously? What’s the point of all this? What happened to, ‘you’re the most pure human we’ve ever seen?’ Scratch that, what happened to being civilised humans? Imprisoning someone isn’t very civilised, is it?”
After his little tantrum, the leader had seen fit to bestow onto Zachary a great reward for pointing out the obvious double standards the Cult of Humanity lived by – a pair of handcuffs that he was to keep on at all times. “This is for your own good, child.” John said solemnly as the locks clicked into place. “These will stay on until you have proven yourself to us; until we know that you can be trusted.”
Zachary had to turn his head to hide his eyes rolling into the back of his head.
Like hell that’d happen.
“Shut up, beast lover. You should be infinitely grateful that the leader was kind enough to spare you. If I were in charge, I’d have already ended your worthless life.”
Oh, and with his shiny new bindings, he’d been assigned a caretaker – one that wasn’t shy about voicing their great displeasure with this turn of events every single opportunity that came about. John’s reasoning had been that Zachary might eventually come up with some method to rid himself of those cuffs. Better to keep an eye on him; just to be sure.
Now Zachary was stuck, the use of his hands sealed away, forced to trail behind one of the Cult’s worker drones. He’d contemplated making a break for an exit, but ultimately decided against it. How was he going to make it past the guard right behind that door? Or for that matter, how was he going to overpower a couple hundred fanatics standing between him and that door - if they most likely all had higher levels than he did?
Actually, what was his caretaker’s Level, anyways?
“Inspect,” Zachary muttered, careful to keep out of earshot of the lab coat garbed worker who was shuffling through sheets of papers on the table he was seated at.
Name:
Olkus Hartan
Race:
Beastkin (Weasel)
Level:
38
Overall Animalisation:
43%
HP:
972/972
MP:
134/134
Attributes:
LVL
STR:
94
DEF:
73
INT:
67
SPD:
153
LUK:
58
Skills:
LVL
Close Combat Mastery (Low)
3
Inspect
2
Beast Form
-
His eyes ran down the collection of words and numbers quickly, parsing the information. The Beastkin, unfortunately, outleveled him by a massive margin.
Even by the standards of my fake Status Page he’s stronger, Zachary groaned inwardly. Which was probably also the metric by which they picked this dude; someone who’s capable of taking me down, should I try anything funny. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so careless with my falsified Status. Could have gotten someone weaker as my jailer.
“Olkus…?” Zachary absentmindedly read out the name on the Status Page.
That hadn’t been the name John called this Beastkin, was it? It was another one of those generic Earth names, like Smith or Roger.
I guess in this world you can’t just write over your original name all willy-nilly, then. That’s a dumb feature. What if you were given some rubbish name by your mother?
He was still thinking this over when all of a sudden, he received a stinging slap across his cheek. The Status Page blipped away, the Skill having been interrupted by the user being assaulted.
You have sustained 35 damage.
“Ow! What the hell?!” Zachary exclaimed, rubbing the quickly reddening mark on his face.
“You shouldn’t have been looking at my Status, cur. Although it is typical of you animals to not ask before snooping around.” The caretaker said airily, already turning back to his work of arranging papers on his desk. “My name has, and always will be, Paul.”
A fifth of his real HP had been shaved away with a single slap; and the perpetrator hadn’t even been trying! Stats, as in any other world Zachary had experienced, were absolute values. Difficult barriers to overcome without cheats like his Masks.
He’d been playing about with his Status for so long that he’d almost forgotten this simple fact – until he’d been rudely alerted to it by way of a strike to his cheek.
There wasn’t any strategic reason to reveal to his enemy the great blow that had been dealt to his health points if he were to complain about this roughhousing, though. So Zachary instead hid his shock with a bitter chuckle.
“That’s rich of you; coming from someone who’s been told everything on my Status Page. What, I can’t learn a little more about my warden? We’re going to be stuck with each other for the foreseeable future; no reason it has to be with someone I hardly know a thing about.”
“Then ask,” The shaved weasel replied, indifferently. “I would never Inspect someone without their permission. And no, I haven’t been let in on anything about your Status; simply that it’s lower than mine. See, we humans know a thing or two about civility… something that you brainwashed barbarians don’t understand.”
He hasn’t seen my Status Page yet, Zachary thought to himself. Good to know.
“What have you been working on all this time, anyways?” Zachary jumped off the desk he’d been lounging on to peer over the cultist’s shoulder. This earned him yet another disapproving snarl from his warden; but no accompanying slap.
What Zachary had done hadn’t stepped over any lines, after all.
In fact, the weasel thought, if this wayward soul were to learn more about the great work we humans are carrying out, he may yet be swayed to the righteousness of the Church.
The stuff that was inscribed onto every paper on the desk were the same gibberish he’d seen before in that other book, only in orderly lines. Olkus – Paul – was simply sorting them into two piles. One that was steadily growing larger, and another that was only a couple of pages thick.
Zachary plucked a page from the latter pile to examine more closely, ignoring the grunt of irritation that followed. He didn’t understand any of it, sure, but he could probably guess the general gist from what was there.
YTSER POWUIL X
YTSER POWSIL X
YTSER POWKIL X
There was obviously some sort of pattern here. Why else would this page be in this pile instead of the other? He studied the page, peering down the repeated lines of butchered English until he finally found what he was looking for.
YTSER POWNIL √
A checkmark - so this phrase was correct in some way.
“Trial and error,” Zachary mumbled as he put two and two together. “You guys are going through a bunch of random strings of words to try and- I don’t know, crack something? Guess something? Some sort of code? What is it?”
“Bah,” Paul scowled, snatching the page Zachary was holding out from his shackled hands and returning it to the pile. “Why would you care? To you, it’s just something us stupid humans are doing.”
“Oh, c’mon Paul,” Zachary cajoled. “Don’t be like that. Maybe the reason why I’m so resistant to the teachings of the Church is because I don’t know anything about it. If I know more, maybe I’ll change my heretical ways.”
“Besides,” he added, casually rifling through the sheets of papers within his reach. “From what I can see here, you guys aren’t exactly getting much closer to whatever it is you’re doing. A measly 6 successes out of- what is this, thousands of attempts? Millions; if you guys have been doing this daily. You could benefit from a fresh perspective.”
For a moment, Paul began to seriously consider this proposal, the weasel frowning as he glared at his charge, who was trying his best to appear entirely without ulterior motive.
The upstart had a point; this brute force method could take years, if not decades, to produce miniscule successes like the ones they’d managed to eke out. Why not introduce some new eyes to the problem? The insight that could be provided would be invaluable. The leader might even see Paul more favourably, if this yielded tangible results. A promotion to the higher echelons could be on the table.
This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
And yet… there was still the issue of trustworthiness. Could this outsider be trusted with the great secret of the Church?
Just a little more, Zachary guessed, as he watched his caretaker mull his offer over. Need to tip it over the edge.
If I do a little bit of editing…
“How about this, then? Inspect me. Obviously you have your doubts about letting someone like me know about what you guys have been working towards. If you check my Status for yourself, you’ll know for a fact that I won’t be any threat to… whatever it is.”
Paul looked at the otherworlder in mild surprise. To volunteer such information unasked… could this not be taken as a sign of true sincerity? Inspection was like baring someone’s soul, after all. To reveal every secret they were hiding without exception.
The Beastkin bit his lip, but eventually accepted the offer.
“Inspect.”
And splendidly fell for the trap that had been set for him.
Name:
Bonnie Brolk
Race:
Beastkin (Rabbit)
Level:
22
Overall Animalisation:
8%
HP:
510/545
MP:
101/101
Attributes:
LVL
STR:
54
DEF:
64
INT:
67
SPD:
90
LUK:
45
Skills:
LVL
Inspect
2
Beast Form
-
“Side effect of having such low Animalisation, I was told. The low Attribute values, that is.” Zachary helpfully supplied as the weasel looked through the Status Page dumbfounded.
“See; nothing to worry about! If anything goes wrong, just, yknow,” He mimed a knife sliding over his throat.
Paul closed the Status screen with a wave of his hand.
Then he grabbed Zachary by both shoulders.
“You’re only allowed to look. Nothing more than that; understood? Then you tell me anything you’ve figured out.” The cultist stressed urgently to his charge.
Zachary merely nodded obediently, his face the picture of seriousness.
But inwardly, he was grinning from ear to ear. He'd expected a short, curt explanation about the busywork being done. Maybe some embellishment which would make it a little more difficult to deduce what the true nature of their secret was. And although it would take time and a good bit of elbow grease, he'd uncover the secret - and promptly usurp it for his own goals.
But looking? Actually seeing it - whatever it was - in person?
Jackpot.
~
The room Zachary was now being ushered to could easily be referred to as the innards of the facility. After all, they’d descended down a hidden trapdoor in the records room, climbing down a ladder to a cramped tunnel that could hardly accommodate the two of them. All around them, black cables lined the walls, heading down the passageway. Whatever lay at the end seemed to be connected to how the Cult generated their electricity, because Zachary swore that with every bend in the tunnel yet another couple black strands of cabling had joined the bunch that were already present, till the walls of the tunnel had been smothered by nothing but the rubber tubes which carried power throughout the facility.
After a couple more twists and turns, the narrow shaft eventually opened up to a simple room, which couldn’t have been more than twelve feet wide either way.
In its centre was a lone Beastkin cultist clutching on to a sheet of paper, diligently reciting the words written on its surface to the object in front of him, then marking down the results. Surrounding him were numerous stacks of papers, exactly like those that were being sorted through in the Room of Learning, presumably already having been marked in a similar way. And strangely enough, a couple of oddities which one wouldn’t expect to be present. A rectangular block of solid steel. A round, palm-sized beach ball. A roll of bandages.
At first, Zachary didn’t understand what he was looking at.
The spherical object with which the occupant of this room had been engrossed in talking to was being encircled with the same cabling that they’d carefully waded through as they made their way to this chamber, leading to it being completely blotted out by black rubber. There was almost no inch of this item that had not been wrapped up by the matrix of wires; save for an inch-sized square that had been untouched, within which Zachary spied a ruby red glass surface. This square was also, coincidentally, what the Beastkin had been speaking into all this time.
Then it dawned on him.
The Cult hadn’t solved anything they’d boasted about in their self-congratulatory, grandiose speeches – electricity, smithing; none of it!
Whatever they were able to create thus far had been the result of the red orb enshrined in this room. That’s why the cables had to be hooked up to it; the sphere was constantly releasing huge amounts of energy that could be harnessed to power all the appliances in the facility!
And if one were to think along those very same lines, then nothing in this place had been invented or painstakingly crafted, either; they’d all been generated by that orb by way of someone telling it what to create and what to do. The sole purpose of the Room of Learning then, was to decipher the combination of words that would allow it to create something that could be of use to the Cult. Something like, say, a powerful weapon that would obliterate their enemies.
In other words, Zachary had found what he was looking for.
The late Holy Mother’s so-called cheat item.
“Has it been six hours already, comrade Paul?” The Beastkin who’d been speaking to the item yawned as he looked down at his watch. “No; there’s still another three hours to go in my shift. Why the sudden visit?”
“Ignore me, George. This isn’t anything too important. Carry on with your work.”
George nodded once, barely even acknowledging Zachary’s presence before returning to his task, robotically reading out what had been scribbled onto his papers.
“Well, Bob? Have you thought of anything that would work?” Paul whispered loudly to Zachary. “I’m taking a huge risk here – nobody is supposed to enter this room besides the person on duty. You better produce something viable that I can present to the leader.”
“Uh, yeah, just give me a sec,” Zachary replied without much thought. He had more pressing matters on his mind. Namely, how to get closer to his prize without arousing suspicion from the two Beastkin in the room. They were almost definitely stronger than him. Faster too, probably. But his win condition was quite achievable, in his mind. Very doable.
He only needed to get one finger on the orb.
One finger was enough.
Just one.
He inched closer to the centre of the room.
One step after another, that’s it. No sudden movements. If Paul or this George catches on and grabs hold of me, it’s game over. I’m hardly going to be able to break free from their grasp with my Level 7 strength. And if they manage to kill me, I'm never getting back in here again. So I only have this one chance.
“What are you doing, Bob?” The confused words came from Paul, who had abandoned his pointless whispering. He’d finally noticed that his ward was no longer standing by his side and was instead now about two feet closer to the orb.
“Is something wrong, Paul?” George had stopped talking into the orb after his comrade had spoken up, and spun around to see what was going on.
With this, both Beastkin were now focused on the sole human in the room.
Zachary froze in his tracks, silently gauging the distance left between him and the orb by sight alone.
It was about four feet.
Am I close enough now? I need direct contact with the item; and the surface available is barely a fingertip wide. My arms are shackled, so it limits my range of motion. I could pull the wires off; increase the surface area available. But I don’t know how tightly the wires are secured to the orb, could waste precious time that could be spent getting a good grip on it.
It would have to be enough. Because all that was holding his two aggressors back currently was a fleeting sense of mild confusion.
It was now or never.
Screw it!
Lowering his bound hands, Zachary broke out into a sprint towards the orb. Paul was momentarily stunned at this turn of events, but reacted immediately after, lunging towards him.
I’m too far away, the weasel quickly realised.
But George is closer!
“GEORGE! GRAB HIM!”
Bewildered at the sudden shift in Paul’s demeanour but nevertheless going along with his comrade’s desperate cry, George stood up to wrap his arms around Zachary, who had futilely tried to jump over him, but only managed to get his arms over his shoulder before being stopped mid-leap. George squeezed his prey in a tight embrace. The shaved panda smiled dumbly at Paul.
Mission accomplished.
“NO! GET HIM AWAY FROM THE ORB! THE ORB!”
“Eh?” George swivelled his head around to look at what Paul was frantically gesturing at.
But Zachary had already won.
He’d grabbed the wire covered ball with both hands, turning it such that the exposed glass was facing right side up. With his index finger pressed firmly against the orb, he spoke three simple sentences that would be incomprehensible to the denizens of this world.
“Bind object to Zachary Altair. Soul tether off. Set detonation period as thirty seconds.”
George had immediately thrown Zachary across the room towards Paul, who in turn slammed him against the wall in anger.
You have sustained 42 damage.
You have sustained 36 damage.
“WHAT DID YOU DO, BOB?! I DEMAND YOU TELL ME!” Paul shrieked, enraged.
Zachary grinned at the cultist, blood trickling from his mouth. There were now sharp pangs shooting throughout his body from where he’d received heavy blows from. His vision was blurry from pain, and even without the damage notifications he could feel his life force ebbing away.
Zachary could have set the soul detonation period to any length of time; even an instant activation was possible. That would have spared him from the agony that he was now going through. There wasn’t any real need to prolong it at this time, and he was rather averse to experiencing unnecessary suffering.
But these fools deserved to know why they were going to perish.
“You know," Zachary spluttered, droplets of blood spraying from his mouth. "I’m actually something of an otherworlder myself – a human; just like your Holy Mother! Perhaps you could even call this some sort of a revenge for her senseless death.”
“But to tell the truth, I’m not so noble as to avenge the murder of some random woman I don’t even know.”
His grin widened, baring blood-stained teeth.
“I just wanted to get back at you guys for the way you treated me.”
“RRRAGH!” Paul flung a powerful fist into Zachary’s face.
You have sustained 51 damage.
You have died.
Re-allocation of resources will commence shortly.
Paul let the limp body in his hands fall to the ground, looking down at the corpse in a mixture of fear and adrenaline.
It seemed like Bob had done something at the end there, but surely killing him would have stopped it?
Paul nervously looked over at the orb. Sure enough, it was still in place, wires covering its surface.
Paul shared a look with a confused George.
“Are you going to explain what’s going-”
Then Zachary’s body violently discharged its payload, obliterating the contents of the room.