A moment of silence passed between them. Monsoon scrunched his eyebrows, his mind visibly getting more confused by the second.
“Hmm, I may have gotten over-excited.” He said after a moment.
“You don’t have any relevant skill or information I could use, I care little for surface items and you yourself aren’t that useful to me…The one thing I’m interested in is to see and document your development process… hmmm, what to do, what to do?”
With a clack of his claws, he suddenly snapped.
“I know, let's give you a small push to your progress and help relieve me of some annoyance you caused. I will need you to bring me at least 4 to 5 well-grown Szlamy (Ooze slimes) core fluids. They are useful for making monster repellent with their god-awful smell. After that you will go to the Second level of the Sewers and get me some carapace crystals of Evening Light Snails, 50 kg should suffice to restore the lights you broke. Any strong flesh materials or bones you find along the way will also help, I enjoy some flesh crafting in my spare time and there are never enough materials I tell you, never enough of them.”
“… right now ?” He asked, visibly unhappy.
“Of course not, you still need to rest, and get a grip on your new abilities, what good would all that talk do if I sent you to die right after? There is no fun in that. I’ll give you at max a month of the surface time to rest and come back to me ready for a little adventure.”
“Thanks, I guess, so what now?”
“Now you will feed and rest up some more while I prepare some things for you. I hope my algae risotto was to your liking?”
“Surprisingly, yes, it was.” He answered truthfully.
“The secret is in the mushrooms I grow on the ceiling right there, they pack all the flavor.” He pointed to the ceiling with his head, a smug grin on his face showing his pride in his cooking.
With a wince and face barely passable as polite he smiled nodding his head.
Their talk went on while the creature scuttled around the hall collecting some books and crystals.
After a few hours of learning a bit more and getting the Crab Man up to date on the modern world, as he sat in his sewers alone for the last 60 years with barely any visitors. It was baffling to Luke how he could keep his mind even somewhat sane, but it was explained that his kind, by nature, prefers solitude, he can get into a trance for months at a time doing something and for them, with their long lifespans, it seems like only hours passed. As it turned out, biologically he was over 400 years old and migrated here after the war to take residence in this nest.
The night was uneventful and dreamless. Luke’s mind so burdened with shock and new knowledge simply turned off the minute his head hit the pillow.
The next day, he was woken up, within 30 minutes changed into some old yet fitting clothes, and was given the amulets needed to traverse the Veil and hide his new look before he learned how to do it on his own and got sent away on a journey of thousand stairs to the surface.
The moment he reached the top, puking his lungs out and wheezing like a dying pig, he crossed the gates covered in rainbow pearly mist and felt, and saw reality twist. It was the feeling of taking off a foam diving suit, but ethereal, or a condom off your whole being.
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He was still behind the Veil, but now in the normal timeline, on the surface. He was actually still within the city center. Next to the river, and the water treatment plant, what now seemed obvious.
He let the new sights enter his eyes, now much less painfully, though his left eye still throbbed being bombarded with such an influx of data. Absentmindedly he started walking forward towards his house, taking in the sights and abstract differences.
He knew what to look out for, the leather straps of the huge backpack filled to the brim were digging into his shoulders. Pulling them up he did what he was told before, assumed a sprinter position, and taking a deep breath he exploded forward.
The wind slammed into his face, the feeling of weightlessness disorienting him for a moment. Looking down he saw his legs were good 2 meters above the ground and he was speeding as if on a bike.
Barely managing to correct himself, he landed sideways, lifting a bit of his feet, having to do sporadic steps to lose momentum, and finally slid to a complete stop.
Dumbfounded he looked back, with one jump he crossed the length of easily three trucks. He was told that his body underwent major changes but this simple exercise proved he was now inhuman.
Noticing an indent in the bricks he started off with a manic grin on his face. With a quick turn towards where he lived, he started a brisk walk.
With every step, the distance traveled lengthened, as if carried by the wind. His body started swaying, arms matching his marching rhythm.
In less than 30 steps he shot forward like a cannonball, making hollow thumps every time his legs smashed against the pavement.
The buildings of the city passed by him so quickly that he barely registered them, during the rapid turns he simply bounced off the walls or street lamps.
The degree of freedom he experienced was beyond anything he ever felt. A joy-filled yell escaped his mouth.
“WOOOOOOHOOOO!!!”
Within minutes, after crossing the road that previously took almost an hour, he reached where he lived.
Fumbling in the old timely pants, he found his keys. It’s a miracle he didn’t lose most of his stuff. Skinny jeans for the win during magical kidnappings. With a twist the lock opened. He was told there are spells for such inconveniences such as mortal locks but that was still beyond him.
Walking up the stairs of the old tenement house number 13, he reached his doors, flat number 7. Even now, after all the madness that happened, he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself about the house they chose.
13/7.
Szczęście w nieszczęściu ( loosely translated to good luck in bad luck referencing the lucky and unlucky number)
Now he wondered if that was a product of his powers influencing his subconsciousness or just fate fucking with him.
He activated the talisman after making sure no one could see him on the stairwell. Reality rippled around him, peeling off his being with a squelch and a pop. For a second it felt like when one jumps into a pool with his eyes open and the water blinds you and rushes up your nose and lungs.
Taking a moment to refocus himself, he shook off any discomfort and silently opened the door to the flat. It was somewhere around 3 AM, he didn’t want to risk waking up his friend.
With quiet steps he entered his room, leaving his wrecked shoes in the hall placed the leather backpack the size of his body near the wardrobe, and just plopped on the bed. The wooden frame wailed under his weight in the dead silence of the night.
With a casual toss, what was left of his phone and wallet landed on the dresser where his computer was.
He just sat there, absent-mindedly staring at the gray walls.
He was home, he was actually home. All that madness was real, but he managed to survive.
Looking at his hands he saw past the low-level illusion the artifact on his neck granted. The Void Marks were still there, still silently pushing against his sanity. Threatening to drown him in nothingness.
His palms started to tremble, and his breath rapidly quickened. Tunnel vision started closing in on him, the walls got darker and closer.
His mind started panicking, being finally in a place of safety all that fear, terror, and other emotions that influenced him started flooding his mind. Drowning him in panic.
Falling on his knees he pushed himself against a corner between the dresser and the bed. That was the corner specifically for existential dread. Already prepared for similar, if smaller in scale, moments like this one. There was a bottle of whisky waiting there with two glasses next to it and his backup stash of nose sugar hidden under the carpet.
With trembling hands he ripped the glass top of the bottle, without even thinking of the shards shredding his intestines, he started madly drinking, wishing for a moment of reprieve from the terror overwhelming him.
Spilling all over himself, he emptied almost half a liter before the alcohol threatened to come back up.
Twisting with disgust he haphazardly spilled the contents of the plastic baggie, crashing it with his fist and leaving a crack in the wooden dresser, like a hog, he snorted the contents as quickly as he could.
Anything to distract him from the terror.
The pain in his nostrils centered him for a moment. He emptied a bit more of the bottle, laid his back against the cold wall, and started rhythmically hitting the back of his head against the wall. Trying to clear his mind he focused on guiding his energies.
He failed, drank, snorted, and tried again, for the next 3 hours repeating this cycle until finally, when the sun started shining through the blinds, he drifted off with 3 empty bottles lying on the floor next to him.
The sunlight fell on his face, twisted in pain and fear.