Kael' skin tingled, a sensation that was both exhilarating and unsettling, as if he were being touched by a thousand unseen fingers, a thousand whispers of power. His heart raced, trying to keep pace with the rapid pulsations of light and energy that surrounded him. He felt the Void Shard's presence flare, the warmth intensifying, the energy spilling outwards, engulfing him. He wasn’t just being changed. He was being reshaped, reborn.
The air thickened further, becoming almost impossible to breathe, but he no longer cared. The usual scent of damp earth and mold was replaced by a metallic, almost electric tang, overlaid with something else, something ancient and powerful that made his head spin. He was drowning, but instead of water, it was pure, unfiltered energy that filled his lungs, his body, his very being.
Then, as abruptly as it had begun, the chaotic whirl subsided. The blinding light faded, the colors bleeding away to reveal the familiar darkness of the basement, the world snapping back into focus, leaving him trembling, disoriented, gasping for breath as if he had truly been drowning. He lay sprawled on the stone floor, his heart pounding, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his limbs trembling with exhaustion.
He could still feel the Shard’s presence, though—the energy pulsing in his chest, but it was different. It was deeper, stronger, more profound, a presence that echoed the rhythm of his heartbeat, that seemed to hum in unison with the ancient stones, the very foundations of the building above.
He pushed himself to his feet, his movements stiff, awkward. The air, thick with the scent of burnt ozone and something else, something sharp and bitter that made his eyes water, clung to him like a shroud.
He summoned the System screen again. His hand was steady now, the tremors gone. It was as if the chaotic energy of the Ritual had burned away some of the fear, some of the uncertainty that had been clinging to him. He needed information, needed to understand what had just happened, what had been done to him.
The screens flickered into existence, the blue light familiar, comforting in its sterile predictability. But as he scanned the data, a new line of text at the bottom of the Void Shard’s screen made his breath hitch.
Extraplanar Entity Realization Slots: 0/1
Extraplanar Entity?
He’d never seen those words before. His mind, still struggling to grasp the ramifications of the Ritual, recoiled from the sheer incomprehensibility of it. What did it mean? Was it connected to the Void Shard’s evolution? Or was it something else, something separate, something… even more dangerous?
He stared at the screen, his brow furrowed, a wave of frustration washing over him. He didn't have time for this. Not now, not with the Mud Rats still out there, with the other realms calling, with his life a precarious balance between the mundane struggles of survival in the slums and the ever-present threat of the unknown, the unexplored territories of his own being. This wasn't a game. It wasn’t a puzzle to be solved. It was his life. He dismissed the screens, the ghostly blue light fading back into the basement’s darkness. He took a deep breath, the scent of ozone and that other, deeper scent still lingering, a constant reminder of what he’d just experienced, of the power that had coursed through him, that had reshaped him, that was still unfolding within him.
He felt… different. The aching weariness in his limbs seemed less pronounced. He flexed his fingers, marveling at the absence of the tremor that had plagued him for days. There was an underlying strength, a newfound resilience, in his very core, in the way his muscles responded, in the clarity of his thoughts, a change that went beyond the simple numerical increments of his stats and skills. He had to trust the process. He had to believe that whatever the Shard was doing to him, whatever strange, dissonant symphony it was orchestrating, it had a purpose. A purpose that was somehow… connected to his survival, his destiny.
He shook his head, a small, self-deprecating smile curving his lips. “Destiny. Such a strange word for a Mudtown rat.” He chuckled softly, the sound echoing strangely in the silent basement.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
His gaze shifted to the pile of spoils from his latest realm excursions—a collection of rough hides, sharp teeth, a shimmering crystal shard that pulsed faintly with an otherworldly glow. Treasures? Resources? Ingredients? They were meaningless for now, their value unquantifiable, their purpose unclear. Just more pieces to the puzzle, more unknowns in a life that seemed to be unraveling and remaking itself with every breath.
Kael forced himself to focus, dragging his gaze away from the swirling questions and cryptic messages that haunted the edges of the System screens. He needed to be practical, methodical. The realms, the fights, the constant struggle for survival - they demanded a cold, hard clarity. He had four stat points, a meagre bounty for his trials, and he had to use them wisely.
He scrolled through the Status screen, each sub-skill a potential solution, a tiny incremental advantage in the brutal game he was forced to play. His mind, honed by necessity and shaped by the Shard's influence, was a weapon now, calculating, assessing, strategizing.
His finger hovered over Strength. "One points into Muscle Power," he decided, his voice barely a whisper in the basement's quiet. He could still feel the ache in his arms, the way his muscles had screamed in protest as he fought the Bloodtusk Boar, the awkward weight of the club-hammer in his hands. He needed more power, more brute force, to stand a chance against the larger creatures, the heavier blows. One point in Agility, one in Reflexes. Speed and agility had always been his assets. They were what had allowed him to survive this far. He was getting better, faster, but it wasn't enough. He’d glimpsed the horrifying grace of the creatures he'd faced in the realms, their speed defying his expectations.
And finally, one point to Toughness. He couldn't afford to break. His body was a collection of barely healed wounds. One well-placed hit, and it could all be over. Toughness. Endurance. Those were the walls he was building, brick by brick, blood and sweat the mortar that held them together.
The numbers on the screen shifted, and with each tiny increment, a warm, tingling sensation flowed through his body. His muscles tightened, his vision seemed to sharpen, and his breath came easier. Four points allocated, a small but tangible step towards resilience. The basement felt a little less cold now, a little less dark, and he allowed himself a moment to savor the feeling, a brief flicker of satisfaction.
He turned his attention to the remaining skill points. It was always tempting to focus on combat prowess - after all, brute strength had been his only weapon for most of his life. But there was a difference now, a subtle awareness that there was more to this than just hitting things hard. He scrolled through the list.
Blunt Weapons. One point, without hesitation, a reward for his dedication, for the way he’d wielded his clumsy club-hammer with relentless determination. Each level-up brought a satisfying improvement, a noticeable increase in power, in accuracy. The weapon, still cracked and dented, felt more familiar in his grasp, its weight a part of his own body.
He hovered over Stealth for a moment, picturing the shadowy alleys of Mudtown. A flicker of fear, of the need to hide, to blend in, lingered within him. It was a useful skill, a way to navigate the dangers, but it felt… passive. He wasn’t meant to hide, to run. He needed to be seen, to be feared. He moved on, his gaze drawn to the next skill on the list.
Regeneration, a two points. This was his lifeline, the thread that could pull him back from the brink of death. It wouldn't be enough, not on its own. He still needed healing salves, needed to be smart, to avoid taking unnecessary damage.
As the points were allocated, a faint wave of warmth washed over him. The energy resonated with the Shard’s presence within him, integrating into his being. It was a strange, almost magical sensation. His fingers traced the raised scars across his chest, the remnants of the creatures’ attacks. They throbbed faintly, but there was something different now. It wasn't just the salve he'd used. He could feel it, deep beneath his skin, the subtle pull of the Regeneration skill, accelerating the healing process, rebuilding damaged tissues, strengthening him from within. His gaze shifted to the Void Shard, that faint, violet glow emanating from his chest. He was drawn to it, fascinated by its mystery, its raw, untamed power, the feeling both unsettling and exhilarating.
He tried to recall the details of the Resonance Ritual, the swirling vortex of colors, the sensation of being pulled apart and put back together, the sheer, overwhelming power that had flowed through him.
But the memory was fragmented, hazy. The words “Extraplanar Entity Realization” echoed in his mind, taunting him with their cryptic meaning. He tried to rationalize them, tried to apply his Mudtown street smarts to decipher their hidden implications. “Extraplanar. From beyond this world? A creature? A place? And realization… What am I supposed to realize? What knowledge am I seeking?”
He couldn’t figure it out, and that bothered him, a gnawing frustration, a new kind of hunger—a thirst for knowledge, for understanding, that gnawed at him almost as relentlessly as the physical need for food.
He stood then, his muscles protesting with a symphony of aches and pops, a reminder of his recent battles, but the pain was less intense now, a dull background noise instead of a screaming symphony. His movements felt smoother, more fluid.
He was getting stronger. The thought wasn’t a victory, not a celebration, just a simple acknowledgment of his own progress.
He walked slowly, dragging his stiff limbs. “Rest, for now," he whispered. “The realms will wait. Tomorrow is another day." He would face it. He always did. Because he was alive, wasn’t he? He had survived. That, for a boy who'd spent most of his life clawing his way out of the gutters, was enough, for now.