Loval's Perspective

Loval was ecstatic. He was soon to be 5, which meant that he was ever so close to getting his class, and almost exactly three more years until he reached the age of his last death.

This time he wasn’t born in an orphanage, this time he was born on a homestead, surrounded by other homesteads, surrounded by farmland. Green as far the eye can see, until the towering light brown valley walls in the distance overtook the view.

The homes in Sunlit Homestead were, in Loval’s lovely and humble opinion, kind of ass. Old, dilapidated, in need of some repair. His father worked in politics, but this was what they could only afford? Though, the grounds had soldiers overseeing it. For what reason? Loval had asked his mother why there were soldiers stationed around and all she had said was that the elves were closing in.

It should have made him afraid. It didn’t.

He was destined for great things, and his mother told him as well. She didn’t have to, Loval already knew, but it was nice to know his mother saw it in him as well. In fact, his mother, in particular, was insistent that he chose for himself what he wanted to be. At bedtime, besides the candlelight and with the soft sound of wind that rushed past the windows, his mother would lay her pale hand on his head, and tell stories of adventures she wished she could have gone on.

He didn’t understand it. Why would his mother look at him with those sad eyes as she regaled him with thoughts of adventure? The question came to his mind, but then swiftly left. He didn’t care that much.

His father left a lot to be desired. While he was an official who worked for the capital, and would frequently leave weeks at a time for work, he was an alcoholic. Which unfortunately meant that when he was back home, it meant Loval, his mother, and his numerous younger siblings would be subject to shrill screams from a mouth that rained alcoholic spittle, and only him, the occasional punch to the stomach.

Loval was going to kill father. Maybe his mother too for having kids with him, but she didn’t have a choice. He briefly thought about killing his entire family. However, siblings were siblings. While he was a murderer, he wouldn't kill them. At least, not until they gave him a reason to. They had plenty of time to grow, after all, and so did he.

His eyes focused on the wooden table. Cracks and fissures decorated the timber, and he thought of Ione.

After his subsequent reincarnation, he had found it had been nearly two years after his death by the hands of that little white-haired bitch. He had to hold in his snarl. His mother was nearby, and he wouldn't deviate from any of his normal behaviors.

The anger that festered over his last death had developed into a long simmer. Anger was easy to hold onto, it was easy to center himself and his goals when fueled with the emotion that brought him thus far. His anger had briefly turned to elation when he realized he would get another chance to kill Ione, but then he went back to fury at the thought that he would have to start over. Ione had a near 15 year head start. Her power would only grow in the interim and he had to plan for that. Everything must be accounted for.

Even the nightmares.

Oh, the nightmares that sundered his pleasant dreams would have left anyone a shell of their former selves. Well, except Loval. He used them as motivation. Ione’s monstrous elven visage, the ridged cheekbones and wide, feral, inhuman eyes greeted him more often than not on dark and quiet nights. His mind often replayed the eve of his death and it brought him great shame to admit that she was the stronger predator, perhaps not in mind, but in body.

His fists clenched at the admission and he quietly let out a breath. A vein pounded in his forehead. Loval scratched at his arm and examined a hangnail.

She certainly wasn't smarter than him and he will prove that. His mind was his greatest weapon, and it would serve him well to never underestimate her again. Ione was dumb, with her lofty ideals and her willingness to give chances when none should be afforded. Her pesky morals will be her undoing, and he knew exactly how to use that weakness against her.

His life, up to that point, was to think of ways to ensure her demise. Five years was a long time, longer than he had planned the death of any of his victims, but with that time came understanding and acceptance.

Loval understood that he couldn’t fail this time, and accepted that it might take even longer to ensure his victory. He will be patient, he was used to waiting.

His father was due to be home soon, and he watched as his mother, with a baby strapped to her back and rounded belly once again, busied herself around the kitchen. She cleaned, she cooked, she cleaned some more, she fed the children, cleaned again, and then she finally sat down. His mother stretched her weary legs and then laid her head down on her arms as she waited. Loval didn’t help with the chores unless he was asked. He didn’t want to. His mother seemed quite capable to do it all herself.

The whinny of horses could be heard through the thin walls, and he watched as his mother stiffened. She inhaled deeply, then sat up and plastered a big fake smile on her tired face.

The sound of crunched gravel steadily grew closer until it transitioned to measured steps on old, creaky wood.

The knob turned, the door opened and Loval quickly glanced towards the dark clad figure that stood against the setting sun. His top hat, ostentatious, his long leather jacket, ugly.

“Osmen, I’m home!”

Ione’s Perspective

“Why is this dungeon just a hole in the ground?” Ione asked.

They had finally arrived after a short, but silent run, Spewn had trouble keeping up, which Ione figured was due to a stat difference. Spewn was less than happy, but surprisingly there were no quips from the green guy.

“Ask Yijeera,” Spewn replied.

At Ione’s raised brow, Spewn added, “The Dungeon God.”

Ione’s mouth thinned. Of course there was a dungeon god. Although that one didn’t nearly matter to her as much as Nemoa and Mauvah.

“You did not know?” Spewn tilted its head.

Ione shook her head, “No, you know my education sucked.” She shrugged, “but it’s okay, I’ll make those responsible wish they didn’t fuck with my life.”

Spewn shifted. “I hope you do!” It said with gusto. Ione laughed and then looked back at the dungeon entrance.

“So, am I just supposed to jump down?”

“Yup!”

“Will I have to crawl back up once I exit?”

“Nope!”

“How do you know that?” Ione questioned.

“Master had brought me to this dungeon a while ago, of course I didn’t finish it, it was a lesson, but the dungeon brought me back to the top of the earth. No crawling!”

Ione did a double take. “Wait! What do you mean by that? You didn’t finish the dungeon?”

Spewn gave her a look that indicated she was dumb. “It was too high level for me! Would you have preferred I died?!”

Ione sputtered, “No you dramatic bundle of anger! I’m just wondering how you got out! Jeez!”

“Oh, I just knocked on the door.”

A deathly silence filled the area.

Ione smiled sweetly. “Is that a way to exit a dungeon when you can’t fight the boss?”

Spewn nodded.

Ione felt incredibly stupid. On one hand, it made sense to knock on the door. On the other hand, the dungeon never told her that she could even exit.

She imagined it. Ione knocked on the dungeon door, “hello? Dungeon? Give me one exit, please?”

The dungeon responded, “You shall get one exit.” and the doors opened. They give her a pat on the back on the way out, a consolation prize for not killing the boss.

She knew it wouldn’t be like that, but the thought was funny.

Ione never thought to ask, and neither was she told, but in her defense she did tell Spewn that she knew next to nothing about dungeons.

“Remember when we talked about the fact that I didn’t know anything about dungeons because human society sucks as it currently stands?”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Spewn responded with a bright, “yes! I do remember!”

“Uh huh, yea. Why didn’t you tell me that if I knocked I would be let out?” Spewn’s demeanor shifted to contrite look, its body language indicated shame, but Ione’s tirade was yet to end. Oh no, she had just started. “The dungeon doesn't tell me that that could be done. In fact, very deliberately, it doesn't mention that. In fact, it tells me that I have to fight the boss in order to exit the dungeon. You know what? I’m frustrated by knowing so much, and at the same time, nothing at all! Nothing to do with you, personally.” Her voice increasingly rose and she started walking back and forth. “But I’m sick and fucking tired of being told the absolute bare minimum of everything because people have their own goals that use me in them! What the fuck is that? I’ve got my own goals too! It would be so nice to have known just that tiny piece of crucial information because what if I genuinely feared for my life?!” Her hands waved around frantically. “Half-assed information here,” she said with a gesture and hop, “half-assed information here,” she added with another gesture and a hop. “And I can't seem to get the full-ass information at all!”

She huffed, and then turned to where Spewn stood.

Spewn was gone. In her unceasing diatribe, Spewn’s departure went unnoticed.

“Yea I hope you’re so ashamed that you left!” She shouted. Then rubbed the sides of her face and said, “actually I don't mean that. Sorry. I’m just frustrated. You’re good, Spewn. I should have tried to do something instead of expecting people to hand me everything. Not your fault.” She articulated loudly.

Spewn didn’t show itself and Ione didn’t see anything with [Spatial Awareness].

Guess it doesn't want to come out, she thought with a mental shrug.

It was strange to Ione that the dungeon wouldn’t simply tell her that she could leave whenever. It almost felt akin to her class, how it very deliberately avoided the fact that she would grow a mouth on her stomach.

Don’t get Ione wrong, Harold grew on her, quite literally, but also figuratively, she liked the rude little hanger on that loudly burped when it was adequately fed, but it would have been nice to know that before she had accepted the class. Though, It was the only strange one available, and hadn’t had anything to do with what she had done before.

That was, unless it counted her previous reincarnations into the decision. She had eaten a lot of different things in many of her different lives. The act of consumption is a main factor of life, all living beings eat, and in many different ways, and Ione had experienced different types of hunger in all of her lives. She had died from eating, once, which didn't seem to register as a skill. Granted, it was because she was starving and wasn't rationally thinking when she had finally come across a carcass of some random animal. Refeeding syndrome is no joke.

But that can’t be it? Can it? Mauvah was the System God. The class system must be a subset that takes into account what skills and attributes an individual has, the life of the individual and what they've done, and combines those two to give a class. Which wasn’t exactly what she was told, but she was tired of complaining about her lack of education. The other class options had deliberately included her actions in the description, but [Fleshweaver] was vague. Was that a quirk of the strange class itself? Ione could only guess for now.

What she wanted to focus on was if the class system was deliberate, or some sort of AI. If Mauvah personally gave the classes, or if there was an intelligence put in place to parse through information. Her musing came to a stop when she realized that it would be no use wandering in circles when there was no chance to receive the answers she wanted anytime soon. Ascending would be her best bet, and even if she didn’t know now, she knew she would find the information.

In fact, Ione was going to ask the Treller some questions. She had to ask the Treller many questions, and she was sure it would answer her. At least, she hoped it would.

Her musings were interrupted when she realized that Harold had growled in hunger. She tried to think of a new object she could feed him and that was when she remembered the plates she had stored in her backpack. She fished through the blanket, crystals, forks and knives until she reached the plates. One was broken and she gently grabbed the shards and laid them out on the grass.

Her brows were furrowed, could she just use Harold as a garbage chute? The thought brought her amusement.

At least I’m not littering. She laughed and thumbed the shard. It easily split the skin and her smile grew.

This is ceramic, she thought with a grin. She never paid attention because she was focused on other things, but ceramic was extremely dangerous. Normally, on earth, the material was used for toilets and sinks because of its durability and resistance to chemicals. It could be used as a knife, but the only material that could sharpen it was diamond. Ione had heard stories of people that accidentally broke the seat and sliced themselves to ribbons due to the insanely sharp edges, and her feral smile grew wider.

She didn’t need to sharpen ceramic with diamonds. She could grow an extremely sharp piece herself. With a giddy laugh, she popped the ceramic into Harold and waited. Harold burped, and Ione held her breath, then grew a long ceramic spear. She wacked it against a tree as hard as she could, and it shattered. The resulting splinters that broke turned to mushy flesh.

Fragile with blunt force, but extremely sharp. Durable for a long period of time, as long as it has no exceeding stresses. Ceramic was lovely as an art form, and as a weapon, though, not a big one completely made of the material.

Probably best to use as a dagger, a shortsword, or the sharp end of a spear, she wagered. Ione thought about it for a bit, then grew her double-sided bone polearm, and coated the sharp ends with ceramic. The color difference was negligible, and something that would surprise adversaries. She gave herself a confident nod.

With that in mind, she gave Harold the rest of the plates, eager to drop the extra weight.

She thought about jumping into the hole, then stopped herself. She was going to go into a level 300 dungeon, with a less than reliable long distance weapon.

No. It’s time I actually work at it properly before I go into the last one. Spewn clearly wasn’t going to tell her what was inside, seeing as the little creature vacated the area, so she had to make sure that she had reliable ways to fight offensively from a distance, just in case.

She remembered when she fought that gigantic Minthor and blew up her arm, which wasn’t supposed to happen, but Ione knew it was due to her shoddy gun knowledge and her hurry to make the weapon that enabled her mistakes.

Ione sat down on the lush viridescent grass, and experimented with her ‘fire-arm.’ It took quite some time for her to realize what was going on.

Day turned to night and Ione would have been forced to work in darkness had she not swiped a light crystal from the orphanage before she left, so that provided her the needed illumination to actually see what she was looking at.

Her forearm was flayed open before her. Her health bar was about 200 short, but that was fine as long as she gained the knowledge she needed. It was best to actually see, with her own two eyes, instead of her mind’s eye, the mistakes that she had made before.

Mistake number one: not thinning the muscles. She had mistakenly thought that she could strongarm the chamber inside of her arm with no repercussions, that the muscle would be enough to house the components, but she had since learned.

The swelling that occurred due, in part, to the metal taking up space, along with the pressure she built behind the chamber by condensing air she had sucked in through her shoulder, had resulted in the bulbous appearance her arm was in. She didn’t allocate enough room for the proper parts and she cursed herself for her stupidity.

Room was needed for the barrel, pressure chamber, and she needed to reinforce her shoulder for the inevitable recoil.

Mistake number two: Not adhering the chamber to her bones and surrounding flesh. This issue should have been obvious, but Ione was too focused on not getting her head chopped off by the Minthor.

The chamber itself had been in free-float in her arm, which did not help with the recoil either. Luckily she could reinforce her interior bones with metal to make sure it was attached securely. There was the issue of elbow mobility, but Ione made sure to end the bullet chamber at a little over halfway her forearm bone. It would look a little clunky inside her arm, but with the severe lack of muscle she could make the exterior flesh look normal. Though, when she fires, she will have to make sure her elbow is reinforced so that her forearm doesn't shoot back towards her body.

She had originally envisioned the opening to be under the palm of her hand, on the bottom part of the wrist, but that would affect the mobility of her wrist. Ione thought about it for a bit, but then came to the conclusion that it was a small price to pay for a class that enabled her to build a glock inside of her body.

She played around with some more and realized that her fingers were useless when the gun was in her arm. An intrusive thought whispered, ‘what if I just get rid of them?’ Ione shook her head in consternation. What the fuck? No I will not. She didn't need or want to draw that much attention to her arm when she used the gun, the more innocuous it looked, the better.

The more fear it creates, the better, her mind added in a hushed whisper.

Mistake number three: her inefficient method of gathering air. Ione wished she could convert her flesh to air, but alas she couldn't. She supposed it was because it wasn’t something one technically ate, so when she fought the Minthor, she was pretty much forced to shoddily build what amounted to miniature lungs in her arm, set with a small diaphragm that would help suck in air. Though, what she could do was manufacture a small fan in her bicep, like what a vacuum would use, and would suck air into the metal pressure chamber through a small fleshy tube that connected to a metal sphincter. Another metal sphincter would connect the pressure chamber with the cylindrical tube and once she got enough air into the chamber, she would reinforce the opening that sucked in the air. At that point, she would begin compressing the air by pushing against it using the reinforced side of the chamber, until she simply couldn’t. Then she would make the bullet appear, open the non-reinforced sphincter and boom! The bullet would shoot. In theory.

Night turned to day, then back to night, then back to day again. The process was lengthy and arduous, but worthwhile.

What Ione had was a long, cylindrical metal tube anchored to her forearm and wrist with the barrel pointed just out beneath her wrist. The pressure chamber was connected to the cylindrical metal tube by a metal opening, and further connected to a fleshy tube that allowed the collection of air using a fan in her bicep. The tube was flesh instead of metal because she still wanted to bend her arm just in case.

The process of firing was quite simple. Once enough air was in the chamber, the fan would turn off, the opening connected to the flesh tube would be reinforced and that would be used to compress the air. Once it has been compressed enough, Ione will form a bullet in the chamber, eliminate any connections, aim, reinforce her shoulder and every bone on the right side of her body and then immediately open the pressure chamber on the barrel side. The bullet would fire and she would suffer no damages at all.

The only thing left for Ione to do was test it out. She was originally doing it in parts to make sure each was functional, so now she had to try it all out in one go.

She methodically built each piece in her arm, thinned the muscles to make room and levied the limb at a tree about 30 meters away. Air was sucked in, she formed the bullet, the pressure chamber started to compress the air and she reinforced her shoulder. The pressure was primed, although she had to continuously reinforce the chamber, the bullet was ready to go, and she opened the metal sphincter on the barrel side. The bullet exited her body at about a rate of 1,000 feet per/second and she watched as bits of flesh dug about 4 inches into the wood. Her shoulder gave a slight jerk, but other than that, she had no other side effects from the fire-arm.

She gave a whoop of joy and then did it three more times to get the class skill. It was relatively easy to continuously shoot once she had the entire mechanism built into her arm, but the lead-up would take some time. Despite the drawback, she was happy with her efforts.

Congratulations! You have been awarded the Class Aptitude Skill: Bullet of Flesh.

Fuck yes!