I-I, uh… phew. Shit. That was… horrific. They… t-they ate me alive. There… d-didn’t seem to be too many, at least. I’m sure I can… get out of h-here, I just… need to be careful. Thank god for deathless, at least. Spending… ten hours in, wherever that was… wasn’t great, but… it beats dying, right? (long exhale) I-I just need to keep my head, and, it’ll work out, and I’ll get out of h-here. Then I’ll be able to g-go do regular fantasy things, like… k-killing slimes, and uh, completing quests… a-and I can come back here one day w-when I’m so absurdly over leveled, t-that I can one shot those zombies l-like it’s nothing. They’re only level t-three, or so, right? T-that’s manageable… I can handle this. I… (twig snaps) … (rapid footsteps) I need to leave! Right now! End recor
Transcript of Will, Conqueror of Death’s third memo.
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{ Will, Conqueror of Death (L4) }
{ 73 / 100 XP to Level 5. }
{ Titles }
N/A
{ Attributes }
AGI: 113
CON: 105
DEX: 106
FIN: 104
PER: 100
SPR: 100
STR: 128
VIT: 105
{ Skills }
( Brawler (R4): 73 / 100 SXP to Rank 5. )
+20 to STR, +8 to AGI, +skill with fisticuffs.
( Spring-Jointed (R2): 7 / 25 SXP to Rank 3. )
+4 to DEX, +reflexes.
( Desperation (R1): 0 / 10 SXP to Rank 2. )
Active: Double all attributes for 60s. Only usable when critically wounded.
{ Traits }
( Deathless (R1): 715 / 100000 SXP to Rank 2. )
When killed, you return to perfect health after 10 hours at the location of your demise.
1 unspent Trait Point
Fifty-six more zombies he had killed. One-hundred and thirty-seven experience for it. And seven more deaths.
While still a horrific experience, he found some level of relief in resurrection, in returning to the fray. While he fought for his life, he didn’t need to think. It was just blood, adrenaline, and mindless violence. From one barely held-together monster to another. It was uncomplicated. By that sole virtue, it soothed some small part of him.
But in those ten hours of waiting, he had nothing but his own mind to keep him company. And for the first time — or at least, he thought — he believed he had found the answer to what exactly had taken his memory from him. It was his own trait, Deathless. The description made no mention of cost or repercussion, but of course — death took its toll.
Every time his flesh was stripped away. Every limb that was pulled free. Every ounce of blood that spilled. Every time the light left his eyes and plunged him into that cold oblivion. He felt it. Death could not kill him, but it always wounded him, seeming to strike at his very soul. Like a dagger plunged through his heart that was suddenly wrenched — there was always a little more blood to spill. A little piece of himself that slipped through his fingers.
It had taken four deaths for him to notice, so slow and subtle was the change. After four deaths, he felt as if the weight of his revelation had somehow lessened, and he wondered why. Then, when he looked back, he saw the memories much hazier than they had been. Exact phrasing had been lost, emotion muted. Then he thought a little harder, and it all came rushing back in full force.
His life. His name. All that had been taken from him, Will, Conqueror of Death. Because that was who he was — the facade of a strange man whose story he never knew. Even this, something that had struck him so deeply, tried to escape him with every drop of blood that fell. He had been so convinced that he would never be able to forget something this important. But he almost did.
He nearly fell into the trap again.
The promise of freedom lent him determination, but it was his terror of losing everything once again — as little as he had — that gave him fervor. He was no longer another zombie in the rotting forest, clawing and biting in mindless madness. He was alive, and as living things were inclined, he was afraid. Not the mere superficial fear of pain and death that anything could feel, but the fear that ran deeper than the hormones that caused it. The fear that lingered in the dark place where things went when they died. The fear that could only be felt by someone with something to lose.
{ 01:13:27 }
I don’t want to die.
Nobody wanted to die, but for him it had become as natural as life, as breathing. So he had accepted death. His heart had forgotten what a fearsome thing death was, and stopped beating for it. But he had something to lose again. And so he was terrified. The Conqueror of Death was terrified of it, as a tyrant was the people he ruled. And so, with zealous paranoia befitting a tyrant, he did everything he could to protect himself from death.
He fought not just with his fists, but with tooth and nail now. His screams were no longer a stoic expression of his pain, but an animalistic cry of terror and desperation. Even when he was surrounded, even when he was dragged to the ground, even while his flesh was sheared away, he screamed and thrashed and fought.
And it was more than just while he was alive that he fought. In the utter silence of the void, he played back that first recording, the memo from his former self, over, and over, and over. He burned it into his ears and his brain so he could never forget and lose that part of himself. He dredged up the {Options} menu from the forgotten corners of his memory, and even put the {Notes} tab to use for the first time. Nothing had been written there, so he wrote.
He wrote about the things he discovered about himself, the things he learned about his enemy, and the things he didn’t want to lose. He wrote about anything and everything that Will, Conqueror of Death stood for — even with as little as he knew of the man. Just as he tried to determine who he was through the recordings, he used writing to be sure he wouldn’t forget who he is.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
There’s… not much to write about, huh.
But still. He wrote.
Even though there was no pen, no paper, no keyboard, just a window and his thoughts in the middle of Nowhere.
Even when he could only mindlessly stare at the screen before him, bereft of things worth writing of, it was a good way to pass the time. He still hadn’t the courage to look deeper into his {Memos}.
{ 00:36:51 }
Sometimes I wish I could talk in here…
The only sound that ever pierced the emptiness was the sound of a voice, replayed by the System. He knew there would be no-one to listen, but it still would have been nice to speak. Being able to break the silence that held him, if only through small things like sighing and talking to himself, would have done wonders for the atmosphere. As it stood, the utter lack of anything beyond himself and the System was both tranquil and maddening.
Maybe it would be alright if I knew better how to busy myself.
But he didn’t. He just stayed there in the dark, looking over his {Notes}, replaying the words of the recording in his head. Making sure he wouldn’t lose himself. And that was enough to persuade time to pass, albeit slowly.
{ 00:04:01 }
It was almost that time again. A weird mix of excitement and anxiety churned in his nonexistent gut. Excitement because time would flow normally again, because he would take another step towards freedom. Anxious because there was always a chance he would die and forget again. That this darkness would become his home. Will, Conqueror of Death, was afraid to die — so he promised himself something.
… I’m not allowed to die again until I’m out of this forest.
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It was easier said than done, of course.
He danced around the horde, feet slicked with blood and decaying leaves. This time, he wasn’t focused on simply killing as many as he could, so he had to take care to never become surrounded. He could pick off the occasional Shambler like this, but it would only be a matter of time before the Sprinters found him.
His heart beat frantically, reminding him he was alive. A Shambler drew too close, strayed too far from the crowd — and he locked it in a deadly grapple. There was no attempt to bash in the skull this time. Instead, he fought the zombie to the ground, keeping its claws well away from himself. And when it was finally down — SNAP. He leveraged all his strength to twist the neck past its breaking point. There was not a scratch on him.
And then he was up again, retreating from the waiting arms of death.
And death was snarling, spitting, gnashing its teeth at him. It looked at him with a malicious hunger in its eyes as it tried to cage him in and drag him down. He gave it a wide berth, eyeing it warily, but straining his ears for another sound entirely.
Then he heard it.
He whirled around — barely in time to get out of the way of a Sprinter, which stumbled and fell from its missed tackle. He kneeled down on top of it, trying to hold it still, but it thrashed and clawed at anything it could reach. This one didn’t have the same debilitating lethargy of the Shamblers; it fought, tooth and nail, with the desperation of a thing still alive.
Sweat dripped from his brow as he wrestled with the thing’s arms. He had to fully restrain it before he could snap its neck, or it would claw him half to death. Even while pinned to the ground, it was a threat to him.
I won’t be able to kill it fast enough at this rate. More will be here soon.
He spared a glance at his surroundings; indeed, the horde loomed ever closer.
… Fuck. This is going to taste terrible.
Will, Conqueror of Death, struggled to conquer his gag reflex as his teeth clamped over the Sprinter’s exposed neck. The flesh was difficult to work through, but still uncomfortably squishy. A foul, rancid taste invaded his mouth as spoiled blood began to drip into his throat. The smell was nearly worse. He forced his jaws further shut, reaching for the vertebral column in hopes of severing it.
Crunch.
{ Will, Conqueror of Death (L4) has defeated Hungering Sprinter (L3)! 3 XP awarded. }
{ XP: 87 / 100 to Level 5. }
{ 3 SXP awarded to Brawler (R4)! 87 / 100 SXP to Rank 5. }
It was a wet noise, muffled by layers of rotten flesh. It was also the only excuse he needed to hastily remove himself from the corpse, spitting out bits of flesh and fluid that lingered on his tongue. It was the first time he’d managed to put down a Sprinter, but he wasn’t in the mood to celebrate the occasion.
I… have a feeling I’ll need to do that again before long.
Stifling his rising bile, he surveyed the crowd of Shamblers encircling him. They moved slowly, but every moment he spent idle tightened their formation and made escape that much harder. Presently, it looked like he’d have to charge down a couple of them to break free; there wasn’t enough free space for him to safely slip through.
He took a deep breath, trying to purge the acrid stench from his nose. He was met with limited success. Lowering his stance, he stared down the unfortunate Shambler he was about to ram into. It stared back in mindless hunger.
Just hold still for a moment, ‘kay? ‘Kay.
He launched himself forward, putting his entire focus on building up more momentum. He began to lean dangerously low to the ground; if he tripped, it would go very poorly very fast. He raised his arms in front of his face in anticipation of the collision. Head wounds bled deceptively fast — better safe than sorry.
Thump.
His raised arms connected with the zombie’s gut and knocked it off its feet. It tried to swipe at him, but couldn’t land a clean hit. Unfortunately, he couldn’t control his momentum after that; he tripped over the sprawled-out Shambler and tumbled into the knees of another. One managed to score a shallow scratch across his calf.
Fuck…!
He scrambled to get out of reach, and got clawed again as the zombie he knocked over tried to grab him by the ankle. The leaves slipped and shifted under him, and a sharp twig poked into one of his palms, but he just managed to get far enough away from the ravenous bodies to pull himself up. As soon as he was on his feet, he ran away as fast as his newly maimed right leg would allow. He limped a little as he fled, but the copious amount of adrenaline he was producing was dulling the pain.
Alright, new plan. Staying too close to the horde is too dangerous. I’ll need to risk it farther out.
He left the Shamblers behind, knowing that he was exposing himself to even more dangerous threats the farther he ventured. Besides, now that he was wounded, he was on a time limit. Even a non-lethal wound would sap his strength; adrenaline would only carry him so far. That meant, if he wanted to keep his promise, he’d just have to focus on legging it out of the forest as fast as possible. He’d have to deal with harassment from the Sprinters and ambushes from the Lurkers, but now that he had an actual chance at defeating them — at least one-on-one — it was his best shot.
Here’s hoping…
Somewhere far above, red light trickled through the canopy, casting dramatic shadows across the ground. A knot of dread settled in his stomach, weighing him down with a burning question.
‘If it’s that easy, how did you die seven hundred times without gaining a single point of experience?’
… Well, chances were, he would find out soon enough.