Emerson woke up with a start. He was lying on green grass in a world with a blue sky and a rising sun. Pieces of his grey armor lay around him broken and bent around him. He instinctively reached for [Armor of the Faithless]. The steel encased him once again soon after, at a heavy cost to his limited mana. It felt good though. It made him whole, and it was not draining. The skill’s permanence had been of great comfort to him, despite it being twisted by the Plate.

He didn’t feel like himself without his armor on. He looked around. Was this… home? Or what had become of it? His memories were a hazy mess. Each death had chipped away at what had been inside his brain as if making him suffer a price for the immortality imposed on him. There were only bits and pieces left now, but without the hold of the Deathless Plate, it was easier to connect some dots.

However, what remained in a shattered picture that was nowhere close to what stood before him. The grass around was overgrown and wild, rising high above his knee. It was dark and marred with the remains of rotting creatures. Some fresh, some old. He saw human remains too, but they were rare.

Massive parts of his surroundings were burned to a crisp, while pools of water covered others. Mud and rock intertwined into jagged sculptures as if someone had used a skill to make temporary shelters or walls. A lot… was downright melted.

Emerson frowned. This was not right. It felt good to be here, but there was nothing familiar. Especially the thing he saw in the distance.

High walls made by… remains of a civilization. Fence of steel, concrete blocks, and even rusted vehicles that looked as if they had remained underground for centuries or millennia. It was a barricade meant to keep everything away. He didn’t see an opening to the massive and strange wall, but he saw the rising blocks behind it.

Behind his back was a forest. Overgrown, dark, unwelcome. The trees were taller than he remembered trees being and continued on infinitely. How long had he been away? Years? His sense of time and its passage was as twisted as the rest of him.

The faint murmur of a strange energy drew his attention and he saw a golden arc with few pillars standing in the distance. It tugged at his heart and for some reason, he grew angry fast. Very angry.

[Apostate] activated giving him an edge, swelling his muscles with unholy strength. The title seemed to have a mind of its own as it decided when and how to boost his attributes and his desire for destruction. Even so far from the arc, it gave him more than what he had experienced from the void monsters in the fractal.

Emerson struggled with himself but ultimately decided not to pursue his anger. He was aware that the eternity of dying and rebirth had made him… different. Dangerous to both himself and those around him. There were moments in which he felt like himself. He felt clarity and feelings of compassion and warmth – sure they were mere echoes of something long taken from him, but they were there. One source of them was Alan. Emerson held onto the name as if it was the only thing that could bring him sanity. A friend that had come for him. A friend. He didn’t remember having friends, but it felt nice.

With a heavy sigh, he once again turned toward the strange structure that beckoned him with its unfamiliarity. He was surprised to see figures walking toward him. A woman led the group. She was tall and imposing, with dark skin that was marred by the signs of stress. She was still beautiful, but Emerson found it hard to appreciate that. He wondered what he looked like now. Had the many deaths left their mark?

He didn’t move and waited as she stopped a short way from him. The ones flanking her screamed danger, but to him, it was only a mere warning. Something inside of him made sure that he knew he was no longer immortal. It was dangerous to fight under the presumption that the Deathless Plate would just bring him back.

“Emerson?” she asked hesitantly. Did he know her? Was she another friend? No, Emerson didn’t get the sense she was a friend. He might’ve seen her somewhere, but a friend she was not.

“That… is probably my name, yes,” he replied hesitantly.

The group frowned and looked at each other.

“Emerson, do you know who I am?”

He shook his head. The woman sighed and turned to bark an order in a tone that left no room for questions. “Someone bring Walter out here.”

Walter? Now that was a name that made some of the pieces of Emerson’s mind move.

***

The unceasing hunt. Endless slaughter and survival. The trees had grown as if on steroids in mere days, turning what had once been a deep forest into a jungle that threatened to swallow the world. The beasts had changed too. Ashlyn couldn’t remember how many she had killed and eaten. She didn’t know what had caused the change. Was there a time limit ticking down on them, forcing the world to grow and remain challenging? Or was it nature’s way of fighting the unnatural development of her own children?

Everything seemed subject to the System now. From the smallest ant that had turned into a monster capable of slaughtering a village, to the largest of beasts. She had seen few of the latter. Monstrous beings that overshadowed the Echidna and the Wailers living on the other side of the Sanctuary.

Stolen novel; please report.

Her [Danger Sense] had almost made her faint from the responses she had gotten, as if she stood before something that could swat her like a fly. It both excited and terrified her. The implications were grand and worrying. How far could she go? The longer this life continued, the more addicting it became. Growing stronger, without limits. Each struggle and each fight brought along rewards unlike any other.

It was a freeing thing, being a predator herself. She had abandoned the Sanctuary and the fools inside of it. She couldn’t stand them nor did she want to lead the sorry bunch. Rebuilding society had never interested her. The mask that she had to put on for the sake of others throughout her life was broken now, and no one could judge her or penalize her for her choices. She missed some of her friends and family, and some part of her still hoped to meet them again. However, she also realized they would all be too changed by the time that happened. If it did.

Alan had been her closest friend post the apocalypse, but he was gone somewhere now. At least for the time being. Her instincts led her to believe he would be back, and she trusted her new instincts. They were not a trick of the mind or something in her DNA that had long grown unnecessary. They were sharp and led her to victory and growth.

She had contemplated clearing the forcefully created System dungeon, but it seemed like it would be a suicide for any one person before becoming much stronger. No one had decided to go in the first few days, as the fight against Wuros, the Herald of Emerson’s Goddess, had killed many and left even more afraid. There was plenty of time left. Alan had disappeared less than two months ago and she had left shortly after, which meant that they had about ten months to clear it.

Ashlyn didn’t know if she cared enough to go back.

Her hunting spree had led her deeper and deeper into the forests, but she knew she could find her way if the need arose. She already had a few times. She was close now as she had reached a decision that could spell either doom or greatness.

All of her skills had changed, and a large part of her had changed too. [Hunter] seemed like just a word now, as the class had morphed into something unrecognizable under the lead of [Imitate Predator] and the werewolf blood she continuously used.

However, it was an external and finite resource. It had changed her a lot, and it had brought her much closer to true strength. But she was down to her last vial. Alan had told her a bit about the promise he had made back in the dungeon, and she saw no reason not to help him out a bit, and perhaps learn more about what the werewolf was. Its blood made her feel good. Strong. Savage and free.

She wanted more. She wanted to tackle those great beasts in the depths of the forest and win over them.

With a smile, she stepped into the dungeon.

You have entered the Lower Buried Blood Fields

***

Rosalyn stood to the side as Walter spoke to Emerson. The man had grown even further in his absence, pushing at the limits of what was humanly possible. His grey armor was an imposing sight that alluded to the power hidden beneath. It almost seemed as if it was part of the man.

She had asked him questions and he hadn’t lied. He was confused and lost, but she also sensed something very dark and broken in him.

Their Sanctuary didn’t need another upset when things were as broken as they currently were. The new factions that had risen under her leadership were annoying her more and more each day. And she had to navigate it all without a single lie due to her accursed class. It was a good thing that the [Enchanter] Mr. Muge had decided to lend his expertise and that of the strange blacksmith he employed. His two guards were amazingly strong too.

They never spoke to her and never answered a single question though, which was a problem in itself. Everyone simply kept silent now, having learned that veiling the truth didn’t work against her steadily growing abilities.

At least her combat skills were growing too. She loathed the idea of having to rely only on those who chose to follow her for protection.

The war had made fighters of them all. The first month the rotting bastards swarming from the forest had almost overwhelmed them. They had come soon after the whole Wuros saga. Endless rotting things wearing the skins of beasts and humans, most only a smashed-up mess of decayed flesh.

The Echidna were the worst of it. They had laid claim to countless lives and Rosalyn was sure the fight would’ve been lost eventually. They managed to last a whole month, driven by the resources of the World Temple, and their own fast growth. Some were even pushing the mid-nineties, and she wondered if something lay beyond level 100.

There had to be. She felt it and so did the others. There were no two classes similar to one another anymore as even the simplest [Fighters] had grown so far apart in skills and development that it was hard to see the similarity. It was a strange thing, and understanding how classes functioned deeply interested her as a part-time hobby. Unfortunately, as the leader, she didn’t have even a spare minute. Most non-combat classes had changed toward being able to fight too. A sad loss, but a necessary one.

Thankfully, they were working on acquiring a new ally now. Someone beyond the forest. The [Scout] their Sanctuary had given birth had seen a single human lay waste to a similarly sized army like theirs. A man of fire, like those from comic books.

Rosalyn wanted to make contact. Another Sanctuary, one that hadn’t lost its protections due to the foolish actions of the few, would be a saving grace. The last few weeks had been calm, but now…

She returned to the present and stared at Emerson. She wondered if killing him would be better for everyone. But if he had returned… Alan would probably return too. And when that happened she would need all of her social skills to prevent the Sanctuary from imploding.

Cole was useful, and so was the [Witch] that seemed to whisper in his ear. They had become a main fighting force and were one of the three largest groups.

The second was the one led by the strange guy with the Rabbit Mask who refused to say a word in her presence. He was hailed as a hero, and many supported him.

The third was her own. A mess made of those who wanted to make things work and level without needless slaughter and show of strength.

Rosalyn sighed. She was growing very tired of it all.

***

Endless emptiness. There was no time or space, nor struggle in the void. It suffocated all mana but the one sharing its property, and it took all life but the one adapted to existing in it.

A place of infinite danger, and a place of infinite serenity.

There floated a coffin made of wiggling shadows. Something inside of it dreamed.