Kael' movements, honed by countless battles, were faster than ever. The System's pronouncements scrolled through his mind. The numbers didn't matter. The upgrades he'd allocated to agility, coordination. They were tangible now, pulsing through him, an extension of his will. The Shard’s energy hummed a counterpoint to his own ragged breath as he ducked under a sweeping claw, the razor-sharp edge whistling past, a gust of wind ruffling his hair. He could feel the warmth of her energy too, a wave of power, not from the Shard, but an echo of it, a connection he was still trying to decipher, a reminder that he wasn't alone. He stumbled, the ground beneath him uneven. But he caught himself. That damned toughness, another level he’d allocated with her suggestion. He swung his weapon.
The world tilted. A wave of dizziness swept through him. But he pushed it down, focused. Her voice, a whisper at the edge of his consciousness, a lifeline. “Another leg, Kael, to your right! Cripple it.”
And he saw it then. The creature, trying to compensate.
It's rear right leg, already weakened, stretched vulnerably as the beast struggled to maintain its balance.
"Got it."
Kael lunged, bringing his club-hammer down with all his might.
The chitin splintered. It wasn’t a clean break. But the creature roared in pain, a high-pitched shriek.
“Now!” he roared, not a plea for help but a command, a recognition that they were a unit, a single weapon aimed at a common enemy. She’d done it again, her intuition, her skills— a perfect reading of his needs, the right tactic at the right moment.
His chest constricted, not with fear but a fierce surge of pride that resonated deep within.
And he attacked again, the air humming with the intensity of their combined efforts, the echoes of the void pulsing around them. This was his world, he knew that.
He swung his weapon again, feeling the force of it reverberate through him. He hit a second leg, shattering the creature’s stance. He was relentless now, his muscles, strengthened by the realms, powered by the shard, the system pronouncements. The monster swayed precariously, another screech. He felt a wet spray on his face. This scent, this blood, the ichor of this beast - different from the Blightmaw’s putrid poison. He liked it.
He saw it now. The opening. His heart was a drumbeat, echoing a shared rhythm. Yareeth's voice, sharp.
“Underbelly! Now, Kael! NOW!”
Kael moved, the force of his charge unstoppable. He was a blur, and even the system pronouncements were slow, the numbers.
The creature flailed wildly as it struggled to maintain balance, its rage fueled by pain. The sound of claws scraping, the metallic screech, but he saw it—the creature's underbelly, a soft, pulsating expanse of vulnerable flesh. He wasn't a child now. In this fight. Against this thing. Against this system. He’d survived Mudtown.
This. It was easy.
He lunged forward, the world spinning as he dodged a claw, the metal of his club-hammer, chipped, splintering, digging into the creature's soft underbelly, the sound a sickening, visceral squelch.
He ripped his weapon free and swung again, the world dissolving into a kaleidoscope of movement and sound, pain and adrenaline. But he was no longer running from death. He embraced it, the creature’s form collapsing as if in slow motion, its legs twitching feebly, a final, desperate shriek that died in its throat as its eyes glazed over, the light fading from them like embers dying in the wind.
Insectoid Field Commander Killed
Grip Strength +1 Agility +1 Focus +1
Blunt Weapons +1 Opportunistic Fighter +1 Survival Instincts +1
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The world swayed precariously around Kael, a nauseating tilt that mirrored the churning in his gut. His head ached, the ringing in his ears, a phantom echo of the battle he’d barely survived, amplifying the ache. He swayed, his legs a jelly, threatening to give out, and his gaze shifted, searching for something solid, something… stable.
There, in the clearing, amid the shattered remains of the battlefield, their reflections shimmered in a puddle. His, twisted and elongated by the uneven ground, blood smeared, clothes tattered. His hair, tangled and damp, a mess of knots. It was a familiar sight, one he’d seen a thousand times in the dark corners of Mudtown. A Mudtown Rat. And yet… something was different. He squinted, trying to see through the hazy fog of exhaustion, but the metallic tang of his own blood filled his nostrils. He tasted it on his lips. And behind that taste… a subtle, almost intoxicating, flavour. It took him a moment to identify.
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Victory.
He could almost taste those stat points he’d gained, feel the newfound strength, his muscles burning, bones aching, a symphony of resilience. He looked down, hands dripping a mixture of dark blood and thick, green ichor, and something inside him, a hunger deeper, darker, than anything he’d ever known, began to stir, a beast emerging from its cage. It made him want to roar, to tear something, anything apart.
But that urge, it was swiftly replaced by a new sensation as he felt the warm pressure of her hand against his. The warmth of it. Her hand a cool, scaled haven in his world’s chaos.
Kael stumbled back, his body craving a respite it couldn’t yet afford. The system was chattering, notifications a bright, blue annoyance. He dismissed it, focusing on the task at hand.
But even as he pushed through the exhaustion, he saw it— her concern for him mirroring his own desperate protectiveness of her.
He wanted to say something, some witty remark, a joke to ease the tension that clung to him. He tried to offer a reassuring smile. He knew she was studying him, the way she'd examined those strange plants, a detached scientific curiosity that mirrored his own approach to those numbers, the data the System offered.
But the words died in his throat, and what emerged instead was a low groan. His vision swam, the ground tilting, and for a moment he thought he’d black out again, the familiar nausea clawing at his throat.
“Easy. You’re still weak.” Her words were soothing, her hand a steady, grounding presence as she gripped his arm. She was stronger now, faster, her intuition as keen as a weapon, the Void’s touch an echo of her past and his present, the strange synergy already taking root. She helped him over to a large boulder, its surface smooth and cold against his back. His new armor felt heavier now. The backpack digging into his shoulders, a familiar kind of ache, a reminder of the new choices, the resources they'd gathered, their shared progress.
She stood close, a vigilant shadow as he slid to the ground, his gaze locked on the fallen creature, its monstrous form a grim reminder of their victory. He should be elated. It would put him closer to Level 5.
“Are you… alright? I saw you, your eyes—they looked—like them.” Her voice was barely a whisper, heavy with unspoken fear.
A flicker of the terror she’d faced, the loss that lingered, but also an acknowledgment, a bridge. She’d seen it, that darkness that shadowed the rush of the Shard's power, that hungry joy that seemed to surge through him at each kill, at every vanquished enemy. He wanted to dismiss her concern. She didn’t understand, didn't know the depths of what was stirring within him. The void within.
He wasn’t the boy he had been before those realms. He’d seen too much. Had done… too much. And he couldn't hide it from her, not anymore. She had seen his reflection in the Blightmaw’s dying rage, in the frenzy of his own desperate attacks.
He was becoming something else, something he couldn’t name. But would she see a savior or a monster in what he was becoming? He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. The scent of dust, blood, metal, and something else – a cloying sweetness – pressed in on him, triggering another wave of nausea. “Just… Just give me a moment.”
He took a deep breath, trying to center himself, to find a space of calm amidst the swirling chaos of his thoughts. The Shard’s energy pulsed beneath his skin, but it wasn't a surge of power, not now. It was a thrumming, vibrating ache that mirrored his exhaustion. He understood its hunger. It craved more. More power. More realms. More kills. But right now, he was depleted. It felt wrong, this weakness, her concern.
He couldn't explain. Not fully. Not yet. He wasn’t sure if he would ever find the words. “You did good, Yareeth,” he rasped, his voice weak. Her contribution, the timing of it. A skilled huntress, she would have recognized those weak spots, he realized. It wasn't his instinct.
He looked up, and it was her smile, the genuine warmth in those reptilian eyes, a ray of light in the midst of the desolate realms that reminded him of what he was fighting for. Not just for her survival, her safety, he realized with a pang that went beyond gratitude. She’d stepped in for him. It was her bartering skills, her sharp tongue. It had saved him. Twice now, at the market, with the vendors, those coins were the reason he’d lived, had been able to access the antidote.
Yareeth’s scales gleamed a muted emerald as she bent down, retrieving her dagger. He watched as she worked, expertly slicing through flesh and bone.
“Look, there are some crystals. Three, perhaps? The boss, it’s… full of them.” Her gaze, as she spoke, focused, sharp. She was a warrior now. A hunter, too. It was a change he had wrought, but a change that had led her back to her essence. And that realization, a strange, unsettling warmth, spread through him.
“Whoa, they have these crystals inside.” It was as if the beast itself were a treasure chest, offering up its most valuable components. He wanted those crystals, felt a greedy urge to devour them, to absorb their energy, the thrill of leveling up a potent drug in this realm of endless battles, endless tests. But as he saw her gaze, her quiet disapproval, he caught himself.
"What if… you keep these? It would help you… you know. With healing.”
She hesitated for a moment, her claws a counterpoint to his bruised knuckles as she reached into the creature’s remains. They glowed in the dimming light, pulsing with a familiar energy, a resonance that mirrored the Shard's hum beneath his skin. He wanted them for himself. He needed to level up, to get stronger.
But there was a new kind of strength he was learning, a strength that came not from power, but from sacrifice, and from the slow, hesitant flowering of trust between them.
Yareeth's fingers, nimble and quick despite their scaled surface, sifted through the scattered shards of the creature's carapace, and carefully placed them into her pouch, her expression thoughtful.
“I don't know. I think…” she said, “Maybe this world has its own kind of… magic.” It was a whisper, barely audible above the wind's sigh. He wondered what she meant, if she saw parallels, ghosts, within these fragments, but it wasn’t his world, his past.