Kenshiro had a simple choice to make. Acidproof or Devour. One that gave him HP and SP back or a small buff. While he didn’t know what else was in this place, he figured recovery was better than prevention, and he was already hurt, might as well try and get back on his feet.
Kenshiro accepted the Devour skill with his ability and felt the knowledge and power in his being. It was a strange rush as he felt invigorated as well as more…complete? It was odd. A good odd.
That was until that good was replaced with a strange emptiness. His skin felt like it cracked and broke.
Flameproof has been converted into EXP.
+100 EXP
-10 EXP (Conduit of Souls)
To his chagrin, the notification appeared in his vision.
“Well, That sucks. At least I can heal a bit…”
The odd part was that he knew how the ability worked, naturally, just as well as if he had always been able to absorb random objects and break them down into minerals and proteins that could replenish his Vitality. Then again, thirty minutes ago, he had no idea what Attributes even were. A day ago he was arriving on a twelve hour flight from LAX.
Standing, he walked over to the flakey fragments of the ooze and extended his hand, touching it.
“Devour,” he commanded.
The materials broke apart at his touch, like baking soda and vinegar in the palm of his hand, dissolving. As the corpse slowly dissolved in his hand, he felt himself grow stronger. The cuts on his arm started to sting less and the cut on his lip stopped bleeding. The taste of pennies no longer dripped into his mouth. As he was greeted with small numbers popping up into the corner of his vision.
+1 HP
+1 SP
+1 HP
+1 SP
HP: 18/20
MP: 17/17SP 17:17
EXP: 748/1000
Kenshiro felt an unbroken smile spread across his face. He felt much better. Though his skin itched from the change, he pulled up his tattered hoodie sleeve and saw the little claw marks from the imps were healed. He touched his face, the spot where the dagger had caught his lip had closed.
“It worked,” Kenshiro said aloud. “Now, to find Tara.”
Kenshiro turned back to the door.
He didn’t want to open the door. “I can’t just stay here. I have to keep moving.”
Kenshiro thought of all the random stuff in the room upstairs and how he could maybe heal up his burned side or at least top off his HP.
“One thing at a time. Go upstairs, get something to recover my health.” Kenshiro cracked his neck, and opened the door with the key.
~~~
Tara’s eyes fluttered open and a small handful of Life Energy dropped into her small pool. She smiled, tiredly. Ken had gotten something.
She had closed her eyes for just a short moment. What happened? She drew into herself and checked on Ken. He was tired, but okay.
No, he was a bit better. What happened? Tara peered into his soul and saw the new ability in his make-up. “Devour huh? An ability that converts matter into Constitution? Smart Kenny…”
She never really called him that, but she was so tired…
She checked her slowly draining pool. “A couple more hours yet. Not long. Maybe half a day?” She tried not to do the math. Yet, the chunk of life energy she recieved had been a considerable amount. A life or two had joined her pool.
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Ken bought her another hour or two at least. She smiled. A weak pained smile.
“What is this? Another Skill?” It seemed that she had the knowledge of another skill as well, Acid Resistance. Seemed like it could have its uses. It seemed that whatever Ken didn’t choose, she gained the knowledge of, “hmmm… That’s funny.”
She felt oddly light headed. She felt like she was lightly spinning, ever so slightly through the eternal blackness.
“Oh Kenny…”
She never really called him that…
~~~
Kenshiro walked back into the room, coming up from the stairs had strained his ears the whole time, worried he would come up and find another Dru’ven. Luckily, he didn”t find anything of the sort. Just the corpses from before.
Kenshiro started by going back to the Dru’ven and checked the robe for anything else. Though the creature still gave him the heebie-jeebies, he was without a weapon and needed something to defend himself.
While checking over the body, the notification bubble hovered above..
Ing’tur Kendra (M)
Race: Dru’Ven
Rank: 1
Class: Cultist
Use Skill Eater?Y/N
Kenshiro winced at the idea of using Skill Eater. “Why am I whinging at something like this? I don’t even know if this thing is… was… intelligent. I’m just psyching myself out for no reason.” He slammed the ‘Y’ with his mind.
The Dru’ven’s skin went pale, like the fat on its bones had suddenly dried up.
Which Skill would you like to acquire?
Skill: Summon Shadow Wolf
Attribute: INT
Type: Conjuration - Summon
Requirements: Rank 1 - 15MP
Description: Summon a shadow wolf to obey your commands. The Creature’s level is equal to the summoner's level.
Skill: Share Memory
Attribute: INT
Type: Skill
Requirements: 10 MP
Description: Touch another willing target and share a memory of up to one hour over the course of 20 seconds.
Kenshiro looked over the two abilities and knew exactly what he was choosing the moment he saw his options. He selected his choice, accepting his new Skill as the silver light moved from the gray-skinned Dru’ven into Kenshiro’s mind. It flew into his ears and heart, it saturated his skin and mind. He knew it like he knew Spanish, like he knew how to ride a bike or hold his breath.
Standing, he closed the creature’s eyes with his fingers. He needed skills and he wasn’t going to waste anything, but he did feel bad for killing this creature. It was like killing a monkey or a dolphin. A smart creature. Nothing more.
“Now.” He started, standing up again. “I need to top off my HP.”
Kenshiro took his time to absorb a couple of bones he found in the corner before finding a small piece of wood that made a fairly good club in his hands. It didn’t feel as comfortable as the fire poker, but it was better than nothing.
At least, he hoped it would be, “This time I’m not just going to throw my weapon away and try to tackle the knife wielding monster in cult robes.” He said to the club.
Taking a few practice swings with the club, he wound it up like a baseball bat and did his best home run impression, trying to convince himself to go through the next door. So far, every time he opened a door he’d either been met with something trying to kill him or a toilet.
Taking another swing he muttered to himself, his thoughts returning to his old man. His dad had loved sports. Soccer, baseball, boxing, or American football, you name it he was into it. He had put Kenshiro into pretty much every sport until Kenshiro flat out refused. Boxing had been the main thing.
Kenshiro’s abuelito had been a golden gloves recipient, Kenshiro on the other hand had spent most of his life trying to avoid the boxing gym. Failing until he had escaped to college and eventually to another state when he and Tara had gotten married. It wasn’t until he passed away that Kenshiro had gone back to the boxing gym at thirty years old.
Kenshiro slung the make-shift club over his shoulder. “I must be more tired than I thought. Thinking about this isn’t going to do anything. I need to move,” he thought.
Kenshiro approached the door and opened it hesitantly, ready to face a monster rather than get down on himself any more than he already had.
Unlike the previous rooms that Kenshiro had entered up to this point, everything had been dark, cluttered, crowded, and full of living things that wanted to kill him. This room only shared one of those things with the rest and it wasn’t the color of the walls or the clutter.
The room appeared to be a grand hall. With vaulted ceilings at least three stories high. The walls were a lighter gray, similar to marble or granite. In fact, it reminded him of the cathedral in Salt Lake City he had visited on a ski trip with Tara the year before the accident.
Along the long, expansive walls were mosaics of dark blue and black stones that contrasted against the silvery finish of the walls. The hall was wide, maybe the size of half a football field, with pews, candelabras, and two large wooden doors, the kind you might see on a classic Medieval castle.
The most stark element of the room however was not the mosaics, or the vaulted ceiling with glowing lights, it was the pile of twisted and contorted bodies strewn about the room—broken, bloodied, and bent.
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