As more time passes, I find that the line that I draw between Corny and ‘Me’, grows ever thin. I think it’s something to do with me having his dead memories, in my living(?), head.

Or maybe it has something to do with the way all the stuff that made him ‘him’, fills in parts of me that are missing.

There’s a quite a few ‘those’ by the way. As far as my human self goes, I’m mostly holes at this point.

Other stuff grew in, but those parts weren’t very human, or very nice to deal with, so I won’t even bother talking about. In fact let’s put them out of mind. I’ve already forgotten about most of it.

What I haven’t forgotten is that ‘that place’  was as costly as it was unpleasant, and there are things that were taken from me, things that I had leave behind and things that I had to trade away to assure my survival.  

Corny’s mind, the essence and experiences of Cornelius Dacre Douglas,..it fills in all those holes quite nicely. Childhood memories, likes and dislikes, favorite colors, favorite foods.

First loves, first enemies and all those not-so-inconsequential conversations you tend to have with people you’ll never meet again. All those little things you pick up across your life slowly building them, shaping them with the ink of nostalgia, as they shape you.

He had them and I didn’t and thus I was made to change. I didn’t expect everything he gave me, (thank goodness), but I was made to react to. Recoil or accept, to agree or disagree. Thus I became deformed, but in a good way, or at least I hope that it’s a good way.

Cornelius might not have been a very good person, but at least he ‘was’ a person, thanks to him I was a person too, again.

*****

“….*Sigh*....”

Here’s my only complaint, suddenly being human again takes getting used to. Suddenly being human again, with a whole  world’s worth of bad memories takes longer.

I stood in the shower, letting cold (it was originally hot) water, cascade over my shoulders. Letting it wash over me and hide my tears.

I hate these episodes. I don’t understand why they happen, I don’t understand what sets them off, but I ‘do’ know where they come from. If this were my old world, my real world, the one I was born in, I’d probably be thinking about going to see  a shrink.

Unfortunately, ‘here’ in Novem, requiring psychiatric attention is enough to get you either picked up and put in a facility for the metaphysically unstable or put on a watch list. You know, just in case you’re about to turn severed? Or turn into a monster?

So yeah, I guess I’ll have to ride this out. It’s not so bad, I’ve noticed that as time goes on, I’ve been crying less. And the only times that it happens is when I’m alone, so its manageable. All under control. (Or so I’d like to believe.)

*****

I had my cry, the day went on, the world kept on spinning and eventually I found myself at one of the Hunter Guild's Administration Offices.

Waiting in line to hand in evidence of all the work I’d done so I could hopefully get some money to put into my account. And maybe be able to kick in for this month’s utilities, like a good hubby, roommate, whatever it was I was now.

Hunter Admin Offices came in three different flavors, there were the raucous kind, the were more like bars, there were quiet kind, that were all gloomy and somber like morgues, then there was the one I was in. Filled with dull chatter, the clack of keys, and chirrups of machines. A proper office similar to what one would see at the bank or the dmv.

The line was long, but I didn’t mind, waiting was never a pet peeve for me, in general and I think having lived as long as I’ve lived, its even less so.  

*****

“Welcome the Hunter Offices, how may I help you today?” said the lady at the counter.

They were pretty much all ladies actually, unless they were men, but Hunter Office clerks were generally female, with women taking up eighty to seventy five percent of the roles.

Thus for this office, as far as I could see there were only women present behind the counters. As to why that was, it had something do with them all being witches, innate casters. A very special portion of the population that was predominately female.

Occasionally there were male casters, Warlocks but they were fairly uncommon, with most of ‘those’ going into the military.

As to why I, or rather why old Corny, knew that, well, as you can imagine, the man was as much of horn dog growing up as he was as an adult and he’d learned the statistics when he was a randy teen, thinking about ways to pick up women.

By the way mages, sorcerers, and wizards, were what one called one innate casters. People who had to do a lot and a lot of rituals, and possibly make a faustian bargain or two, to get their magic to work.

It’s more glamorous then it sounds, the way magic has developed in this world, they were generally just a mixture of physicist and chemist with a dash of esotericism tossed. People who could do real hocus pocus were far and few between. But I digress…

*****

The lady at the counter repeated herself.

“May I help you, sir?” said clerk.

“Huh?...Uh...Yeah.”  said I.

I’d gotten stunned. You know that feeling where you suddenly realize that you might be attracted to person behind the counter, Like really attracted, but you lack the social skill to start up a conversation and the courage to even think asking them out. So you just have to focus on not seeming creepy, or making a fool out yourself.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Sir?...” she said. Helpfully moving things along, because I’d temporarily forgotten this land’s language.

“Oh...y-..yeah. Er, I’d like to file a report for a successful hunt and hand in some essence stones, please.”

“Yes, sir. Could I please see your identification and the proof your kills?” said the clerk.

“The essence stones also count as proof right?” I said. Asking just to be sure.

“Yes, sir. They do indeed.”

“Great.” I said.

I handed over my actual id,  hunter membership card, and a thumb drive with all the quarry pics loaded on it. Then I handed over the essence stones and had a five minute wait.

“Would like that in cash, would prefer it to go to an account, sir?” said the clerk.

I blanked on that for a few seconds before I realized that I’d already put all the pertinent information in when I’d been signing up to join. The Hunter Admins have you fill in W-2s like any other employer.

“Uh...Account?” I said.

She gave me back my things, minus the essences, typed some things into the console that sat in front of her and then handed me a receipt.

“Will that be all, sir?” said the clerk.

I almost said yes, but then I remember the big guy and the big rat. I’d kept their stones separate because the things were comparatively huge. If the small rats and zombies had grape and marble sized essence stones, theirs had been grapefruit and orange sized.

“Uh..actually I’d like to see about these too.”

I handed them over and her expression jumped, the calm professionalism, replaced with subdued shock.

“An Ogre and a Ratking, sir?” she said.

“Uh...I guess.”

I hadn’t even considered that big guy might have been an ogre. In hindsight I guess the green skin and tusks should've tipped me off, but that ‘ogre’ was so tame compared to what I was used to that it hadn’t even registered, that that was what I’d run into.

It was like someone mentioning a ship and then pointing to a row boat. Or talking about tigers and then pointing to a housecat.

 It messed with my sense of proportion and made me wonder if I really ‘was’ that lucky and had ended falling into an unexpectedly safe post-apocalyptic world.

And are you handling this yourself, or would you like us to contact the rest of the party.

“Party.”

“Ogres and Ratkings are considered mid-level threats, sir. I assumed you slew them as part of a team effort.”

That startled me, because the things didn’t seem like they’d be worth hunting as part of a team, still I gave a vague answer to the affirmative because I didn’t think it’d be the best to stand out. Tall trees and wind and all that.

“....I’m good handling this myself?” I said. Answering cautiously.

She nodded and the keys of her console clacked as she typed some things in.

“Now would you like to sell these stones to the guild or would you prefer us to refine them for you sir?”

“Refine?”

She frowned at me, it was small thing, more curious than exasperated. I realized that this was something that a child would know. In fact I did know it, or at least Corny did.

This world really was one of ‘those’ worlds.

You know, the sort that shows up in novels and comics, where for no reason at all suddenly game elements worked in real life.

Every kid who’d ever watched tv or read comics in this world, grew up wanting to be a hero. One those rare individuals who’d made it to a higher level. There was even a popular mouse-based crusader whose catchphrase was “Moar Power!”

*****

In Novem leveling had to do with one’s magical essence. It served the same function as exp in a game.

Of course in this game besides your level, which could only checked at either medical, government, or professional facilities, (unless you have a witch on your payroll), there were no convenient stats to check.

Essence was the thing that decided if one could use magic, so I guess you could it served the same purpose as mana or magic points. It was also the thing that decided how many times you could die and come back. The more magic or ‘essence’ you had the more risky it was you’d come severed, but then again without essence you couldn’t come back at all.

Essence also served as the deciding ‘stat’ that affected, Health, Strength, and pretty much basic biological function. In short the more you had, the more you were better off and pretty much better at anything.

So naturally when the nice lady asked if I wanted her to help me refine the essence in the stones. I of course said,

“Hell Yes!”