So many choices and so little time.
Jacob had already spent five minutes scrolling through the hundreds of Classes listed in the index. Most were greyed out, listing “Insufficient Ranks” or “Combination Only.” That still left several dozen Classes to choose from. Jacob had already ruled out the ‘Support’ Classes, such as ‘Sawbones’ or ‘Engineer.’ Jacob also ruled out the niche Classes such as ‘Sniper’ and ‘Summoner.’ That left the ‘Standard’ and ‘All-Around’ Classes such as ‘Fighter’ and ‘Pathfinder.’ The Forsaken had divided the selections into Explorer, Enforcer, and Survivalist. Explorer was a ranger-slash-rogue class. Enforcer specialized in a variety of fighting styles, similar to RPG fighters, and Survivalist was about being tough and well-rounded. Any of them were good but unlikely to be good enough to face off against an entire pack of werewolves. What to pick? Jacob wondered. Which one gives me the best chance for survival?
With little in the way of time or experience, Jacob did the time-honored method of closing his eyes and pressing a random tab.
Choose [Survivalist] Class? [Y/N]
With a nervous feeling in his half-dead stomach, Jacob clicked ‘yes.’
Processing…
- Interface Automaton Upgraded.
- Offensive/Defensive Skills Added.
- Basic Training Knowledge Implemented
- Class Rank Increased (+1)
Jacob spasmed as what felt like five solid year’s worth of information was poured into his brain. A trickle of black blood dripped out of the Forsaken’s nose as the blast of knowledge became too much to handle for a few moments before subsiding. He was left shaking and covered in cold sweat as his poor, semi-undead brain struggled to decipher what all this information meant. The blue box flickered for a few moments before going solid again. The list of upgrades and implements disappeared before a few more lines of text popped up.
Enter Unit Name [NAME]
I can give it a name? Jacob wondered. Good to know. Thinking for a few seconds, Jacob typed in Bentley. Jacob was guessing that the Automaton was a digital butler of sorts, so a more refined name seemed appropriate. Pressing [CONFORM], Jacob watched as a floating, glowing blue sphere morphed in front of him, slowly turning and pulsing with a tiny amount of power. A small box popped up in front of Jacob, text scrolling across it.
You seriously named me Bentley?
The Forsaken shrugged. “It… seemed appropriate,” he protested. “I… you’re basically my… secretary. I… I thought I’d do something refined.” There was a pause before the text in the box disappeared, and new words took their place.
You still could have picked something less goofy. Especially something less goofy for this world.
Jacob sighed. “Well, it’s too late now. Let’s get the hell out of here and hopefully avoid some werewolves.” The box disappeared, and the Forsaken turned to the radio announcer. “Hopefully we can meet again someday,” he said. The Automaton chuckled. “It’s possible. You can always tune in if you find a radio. There are thousands of them out there anyway. Just dial into 150.8, and you’ll be golden.” Jacob nodded. “Bentley, make a note of the station number,” he said, testing out the new assistant. A second later, the ‘Notes’ section of my Interface opened (which Jacob never used before), and a small blue box appeared.
Tune in to Station 150.8 to listen to allied Radio Automaton.
“Thanks,” he said.
What can I say except: you’re welcome. ;-)
Jacob groaned at the move reference. “Let’s go,” he muttered, turning to the door.
Carefully opening the heavy steel door, the Forsaken peered outside, seeing the night was now well underway. Stepping out, Jacob closed the door as quietly as he could, the locks engaging behind him. Staring down at the semi-abandoned town, Jacob hefted the crowbar, noticing several moving dots near the bend in the mountain range. Werewolves. He gulped. It was hard to see at this range, but the Forsaken counted at least eight. There’s no way I can fight that many, he thought. But how do I escape still? There had to be some way out of this mess, but that wasn’t coming to the half-undead. Surrendering would just get him back at square one or killed. Fighting head-on? Same as the second outcome but faster. Could he try to climb the mountains? Not without climbing equipment, and he would easily be spotted. This was going to take brains, but Jacobs Logic was a solid, average ten. He was no idiot but far from a genius. Maybe… maybe he could distract the werewolves? But with what? Looking down at the town, Jacob recalled the kitchen in the house he’d broken into and the kitchen. Especially the stove. And the clothing.
Could he start a fire? It was unlikely to spread, considering most of the buildings were made primarily of concrete. Still, the werewolves were unlikely to wand a building to burn down, and there always was the chance it did spread. Strangely, the thought of causing mayhem and destruction seemed almost… fun. Like meaningless destruction was an interesting pastime for him. Jacob didn’t like that feeling, another reminder he wasn’t inhuman in body but also in psyche. Trying to put that out of his mind, Jacob set off down the trail for the fifth time in two days. This time, Jacob went slow, hoping not to let anyone know his location. It took him two precious hours to get down to the bottom of the trail and the edge of town. Sneaking through the streets, Jacob could feel the new knowledge he’d gained aiding him to avoid making noise. Slow, smooth steps. Avoid stepping on loose gravel, which unfortunately seemed to be everywhere. As the building came into sight, Jacob’s half-undead heart dropped as he saw a familiar anthropomorphic shape guarding the building.
Sophie.
The Forsaken ducked back behind the building and tried to figure out how to get out now. He didn’t want to fight Sophie, and he doubted that he could take the werewolf on. Would another distraction work? Maybe if he threw a rock… Sneaking a glance at Sophie, she seemed to be fiddling with the shotgun that seemed to be her only weapon. Still, it was a good weapon and would likely shred Jacob to bits if she managed to land most of her shots, which the half-undead guessed she could. Maybe… “Bentley, is there a Skill I have that is a ranged attack?” he whispered as a blue box popped open.
Mana Bolt
Types: Basic, Magic, Offensive, Ranged
Rank: I
Cost: 10 MP/Bolt
Damage: 10
Description: User focuses some of their stored Mana to release a magic bolt of force. Various Essence types produced by the User produce various secondary effects upon damaging the target. Note that some secondary effects may have a weakened effect or be useless against certain enemies.
Well, that’s good news, Jacob thought, Once more, acting on experience I’d never used before, the Forsaken pointed his hand like a finger gun, A thin aura of purple energy warbled around his index and middle finger like something from an old fantasy movie. It looked wrong, something off about the swirling energy, flat, fuzzy, and glowing unrealistically like it was cheesy 80’s special effects and not modern-age CGI. This is so strange, he thought, as the half-undead could instinctually feel where the bolt would end up like I had a mental video game crosshair. The only problem was that he didn’t know where to shoot the damn thing. Jacob had no clue what the purple energies secondary effect was, though he was guessing it was Death Essene. For all he knew, it would annihilate anything it touched as much as raise anything it killed from the dead.
Sighing, Jacob scooted so that he would be out of view of Sophie when the bolt fired. Pointing at a lone rain barrel sitting next to a distant building. Closing an eye, he pointed at the barrel before unleashing the spell.
There was a reason it was called a mana bolt.
There was a shriek like a firework; a bright line of purple energy that still looked early SFX-like streaked toward the barrel before impacting with a sharp crack. The barrel itself splintered inward, a surprisingly large amount of water spilling out.
Well… shit, Jacob thought as he heard shouts from a distance and the growl of Sophie as she pounded towards the barrel. Carefully, the Forsaken slipped past the opposite side of the boarded-up house and towards the gate. Jacob was forced to take a roundabout way towards the ‘exit,’ wasting precious minutes till the werewolves figured out this was a distraction. The half-undeads heart was beating like a drum, sweat beading down his brow. Peeking around a final building revealed only one werewolf left. He could still likely wipe the floor with me, though. And if I use another Mana Bolt, I’ll just draw them back in. Now what? Already, a howl broke the night as the other werewolf shifted, holding what looked like a short-barreled, single-shot rifle in its hands. Shit, shit, shit, Jacob thought, panicking. Raising the crowbar, he charged at the werewolf, a shrill, inhuman scream coming from his lips. The werewolf looked up, taking a hipshot at the Forsaken, a rifle round thumping into the flesh next to Jacob’s stomach. A bolt of pain arched from that area, causing the half-undead to stumble and almost fall flat when a box popped up.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
Use [Adrenaline Rush]
What? Jacob thought when part of me activated the Skill. Immediately, the Forsaken felt a surge of energy in his body, along with devolution of his mind into simpler, more violent thoughts.
Fight. Flee. Escape.
The werewolf was already trying to reload when Jacob slammed into him, knocking the gun out of the lycanthrope’s hand. The crowbar swung instinctually, slamming into the wolf-man’s skull with a nasty crack.
Critical Hit! Target is [Unconscious] for 4:59 minutes.
The werewolf went down hard, though it was still breathing. It was carrying a bandolier of large, primitive-looking rifle rounds and a large serrated knife that Jacob realized was a bayonet. Quickly grabbing that and the sheath, the Forsaken slung the slightly too-large bandolier around my torso, grabbed the rifle, and took off, using Adrenaline Rush to its fullest extent. Still, he could hear the werewolves behind as he turned around the corner to reveal… a forest?
Based on the dry ground and rocky mountains, Jacob had been expecting a desert, maybe a post-apocalyptic wasteland. But a forest? It was thick too, with dense foliage and a narrow, poorly maintained road leading outwards, some trees fallen across it. RUN! Jacobs’s mind screamed as he scrambled under the fallen trunks, the howls of the werewolves getting ever closer. Handling the rifle in one hand, Jacob quickly figured out how to open the breech of the gun and shakily inserted one of the poor-quality bullets. Snapping the gun shut, the Forsaken wormed his fingers into the trigger guard. Now, he had a ranged weapon.
Unfortunately, he’d had to slow down to do all this, so yet another bullet lodged into his back.
HP 45
“Fuck…” Jacob groaned, stumbling as Adrenaline Rush petered out. Jacob stumbled as a heavy weight slammed onto his back. Growling sounded in Jacobs’s ear as the Forsaken wheezed, too exhausted to move. “I should have killed you when I first found you undead,” a dreadfully familiar voice rasped. Sophie… Jacob thought. Shit…
“Well…” Sophie stated. “I’m not failing this time. I’m going to bring your corpse back, and I’m finally going to be accepted by the Night Howlers.” And with that, she ripped off Jacob’s left arm. Black blood sprayed through the air as the Forsaken let out an inhuman scream, feeling his weak regeneration powers struggling to even stop the blood flow. A box popped up in Jacob’s face.
Status Condition [Heavy Bleeding]
Duration: Until Staunched
Effects: Lose 1 HP/5 seconds until the bleeding is stopped or death. [Note] This will ‘merely’ transform you into your True Undead form.
Permanent Injury [Missing Arm] Gained.
[Half-Dead Physiology] has reduced [Permeant Injury] -> [Major Injury]
Effects: You are missing an arm. The rest is obvious.
Not… The… Time… Bentley… Jacob thought, the rest getting drowned out in pain as Sophie started ripping into his back. As more and more of his blood and Life Essence were lost, Jacob could feel cold seeping through him, transforming the Forsaken into his True Undead form. Meanwhile, the ripped-off arm was slowly dissolving into sludge, though the additionally ripped-off coat sleeve was seemingly unharmed.
Small mercies.
Jacob struggled but was left with nothing to give, his mind slowly filling with rage and violence. Violence that he wanted to vent on anything that moved, which right now included the thing tearing into his back. Eventually, he was flipped over, the werewolf's face in a surprisingly readable look of disgust. “To think that I spared you…” it seethed. “Forgiving you for giving away our Packs location. Then, you stole a supply crate, blew up a water barrel, and then nearly killed a guard. Everything you did made me look weak. Weakness is something you can’t be as a werewolf. Too bad you’re not a werewolf.” Sophie sneered.
“You’re just a weak, pathetic undead.”
A purple haze washed over Jacob’s eyes as a fury he’d never felt before in either of his lives washed over his mind. “I AM NOT WEAK!” he screamed, headbutting Sophie in the snout. The werewolf’s grip loosened, and Jacob broke free, remaining hand scrabbling for the rifle. In return, Sophie punched Jacob in the jaw, cracking it and breaking a few fangs loose. Retaliating, Jacob spit a mixture of spit and a little bit of his remaining blood, the mixture landing in Sophie’s eyes. She reeled back as Jacob pushed her back with his remaining claw. As the lycanthrope yelped, trying to pull a flask out of her pocket. Jacob slowly picked up the gun, struggling to fit his larger, True Undead claws into the trigger with only one arm.
Finally managing to work it, Jacob slowly stalked towards the werewolf, a twisted grin stretching across his face. “You know, I thought I’d never have to do this, Sophie,” he said almost nonchalantly. “I thought of you as a friend as well. I wasn’t planning to blow up the rain barrel or hurt your friend that bad. I just wanted to escape. The only reason I stole this gun was out of fear and desperation. I just wanted to run and never look back.” The grin changed to a scowl. “But then, you called me weak. You insulted me on a way I’m going to have to pay back tenfold.”
Jacob registered on some level he was monologuing. That he was killing someone in semi-cold blood. But the instincts and hatred he was feeling were stronger. So, he continued.
“Sophie, I’m going to kill you. Then, I’m going to see if I can reanimate you. You’ll only be a zombie or a Specter, but I’m sure that I’ll get some very nice XP out of it. Maybe even a Racial Evolution.” He pointed the rifle straight at Sophie’s heart. “Any last words?” the Forsaken asked. Sophie was about to give a last resort when a dart hit Jacob in the neck. An expression of confusion crossed his battered face before the Forsaken dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, rifle clattering the ground beside him.
====--------====
Sophie looked over at the figure holding what looked like a small dart crossbow. They were obviously Elven, but all other facial features were blanked out, and their clothing was similarly nondescript. Sophie was about to get to her feet when, in a second and a half, the crossbow was rearmed, reloaded, and pointed at her. “Do stay down,” the figure said, its voice melodious yet impossible to place. “W-who are you?” Sophie asked confusedly and with a bit of frustration in her voice. The figure cocked its head. “That is not important,” it said. “What is important is…” it motioned over towards Jacob’s unconscious form. “The important question is simple. Why are you trying to kill this half-undead?”
“I need to kill him, so I…” her voice cracked as the werewolf reverted to her Elven form. “…So I can finally fit in.” The figure cocked its head. “Will you ever through? So many years as a ‘part’ of the pack, yet you still are at the bottom. What is the point of being a family if the family treats you like a piece of refuse?” Those words cut Sophie to the core. “But… where am I going to get a new pack?” she motioned to Jacob’s unconscious form. “I’m certainly not roaming around with that thing.”
The figure chuckled. “Friends and allies can come in strange forms. And his transformation is partially your fault. Yes, he tried to kill you, but you were the one trying to rip him to pieces and triggered his transformation. All Jacob wanted was to escape.” The werewolf looked suspiciously at the figure. “How do you know his name?” she demanded. They chucked in response. “I know many things, Sophie. Many of which I cannot share. Just let it be known that I’ll be watching you and your friend.”
Sophie growled. “He’s not my friend,” she protested. “He’s a damn undead and a danger to everything around him.”
The figure snorted. “Some would say the exact same thing about werewolves. However, I’m sure you two will grow on each other. He looked over at Jacob. “I’d suggest you get him something to eat, though. Not just to regrow his arm but also to return the Forsaken to his normal state.” Sophie glared harder at the figure. “I’m not having anything to do with this… this thing,” she growled. “The only thing I’m having to do with it is dragging it back to the Pack and watching it get fucking ripped apart!” The figure sighed at that. “I’m surprised you still run with the Night Howlers, considering the way they treat you. Do you really not care about their bullying? Or in truth do you resent them deep down? Wish you could rise above and become something more?”
Sophie paused at that. “What do you mean?” she asked, anger turning to confusion. “I’m already a werewolf. What else can I become?” She paused. “Wait… you think I can become an Alpha?”
The figure paused. “No, I want you to become the Alpha. I see great things for the two of you Sophie. The First Heretic has let me know this possible future. Still, it will take great courage, skill, and effort. Your path will be long and convoluted. Yet if you walk it, you have the chance for true greatness. That, I promise.”
Sophie opened her mouth to retort when the figure looked over her shoulder. “What the hell is that?” he muttered, seemingly concerned. Sophie looked over her shoulder to see… nothing? Turning back around, the figure was gone. A quick sniff of the air led to not even a trace of scent on the wind other than the revolting smell of Death Essence coming off the Forsaken. Already, the things arm was beginning to grow back, bone and flesh pushing out of the stump.
Sophie was torn. On one hand, she could bring the undead back. That was the sensible thing. She possibly would get some recognition and maybe even some better treatment. She might even be elevated a little in the Pack standing. Still… something made Sophie pause. Since the day she’d accepted the Gift, she’d been beaten, insulted, and berated by her packmates. She’d been mocked for her caution and tendency to overthink before acting.
Do I wish to become something more?
The other option was dangerous. Set off with the Forsaken, with no clue where they were going and no mission other than the figure’s cryptic advice.
What to choose?
Going against her better judgment, Sophie picked up the monster, stuffed ‘its’ weapons in the backpack it was wearing, and grabbed the ripped jacket sleeve, shuddering as black slime poured off of it, the disgusting remains of the monster’s arm. Putting that in the backpack as well, Sophie slung the monster over her shoulder before setting off down the trail to a destination neither of them knew.