Zed watched a gaping chasm of pink flesh and no teeth open up at him, spread out on five sides like a star fish. Despite his growing urge to gag alongside the draining fear of death, he could admit it wasn’t as disgusting a sight as it should be. In fact, he had a feeling being eaten alive by a Moscovian sloth wasn’t going to be a bad experience.

Besides the slow digestion and possible liquidation, he thought, his mind struggling as his world closed to darkness.

Still, he refused to accept death. He wasn’t one to accept it. His struggle remained futile as his mind fought against his own body; a body that did not move.

The monster leaned over him and a small explosion erupted behind it. It turned its head to look behind it and another explosion erupted, staggering it. It fell forward but caught its fall with a short leg. So close to a demise by violation, Zed had never felt more in support of a monster’s perseverance to not fall forward than he did now as he stared at its gaping genital.

When a third explosion erupted, it was in the monster’s side, and it was thrown sideways. The Moscovian sloth hit the dirt with a loud thud capable of waking the dead with a burnt hole in its side. In his pain, Zed watched Jason step in front of him. Jason peered down at the monster casually, as if checking on a sleeping child. He nodded once, then turned his attention to Zed.

“What in the hell was that?” Jason asked.

I was stalling, Zed thought in response. He’d intended to speak the words and have a good awkward laugh about the situation but his body was still battered, though still healing. Something assured him that even the smile he was trying for came out as nothing but a low hanging jaw, broken and drooping to the side.

----------------------------------------

* You have been dealt a fatal blow.

* You are critically wounded.

* Attribute [Regenerate] is in effect.

----------------------------------------

Zed stared at the notification, worry digging deeper into his mind as he felt his mana drain from his core to heal him. He feared what would happen the day he was this badly injured with an empty mana core.

Jason gave Zed a more thorough look and a touch of worry slipped into his face. He looked really bothered now.

Now that he was certain he was going to live, Zed had more than one quip up his sleeve. The immediate danger was gone and he’d gotten to keep his life and his dignity. Yet, in the heart of his returning joviality, something told him the aftermath of his experience was going to haunt him. That this was merely the rush of surviving.

Jason leaned over him gently and slipped an arm under his head.

“Sorry, but this is going to hurt,” he said, apologetic.

It did.

He slipped an arm under Zed’s head and another beneath his knees and lifted him like a bride. Zed’s muscles cursed in protest and his bones begged for vengeance. Since they had no voice of their own, they sent their outrage through Zed’s nerves and he managed a groan where his mind screamed in unadulterated pain. He was beginning to understand the true warning behind his hypersensitivity’s advice not to hurt himself.

He heard better, saw better, smelled better. How horrible the meal he’d cooked tasted was proof that he tasted better too. And while he already knew this, apparently, he felt things better as well. And pain was a sensation that was designed to be felt.

His mind complained about the dignity of a grown man being carried like a princess and the possibility of enduring the pain of being thrown over Jason’s shoulder instead, as he finally fainted.

……………………………………………….

“What exactly was the aim of that?”

Zed heard Ash’s voice as he slipped back into consciousness for the third time. His body still ached but he found it ached less than he remembered. He allowed himself bask in the darkness of closed eyes, not ready to face the others with his failure, and listened.

“You matched him with a Moscovian sloth!” Ash continued, her voice a loud whisper. “It might just be a Beta monster but it’s difficult enough for most Betas, and he’s a category one.”

“I needed him to learn,” Jason said. His voice was low and Zed thought he heard a note of chastisement in it. “It was within his rank.”

“To learn what? That he can’t beat all the monsters?” Ash asked sarcastically. “News flash, Jason! He already knows! Or didn’t you see his fight in the building. His fights are bloody, and his blood is usually half of it.”

“That’s different,” Jason said. “He fights that way because he knows he’ll win.”

“No. He fights that way because he doesn’t know how to fight. He fights that way because the alternative is to run.”

“Sometimes running is good.”

“Sometimes?” Ash asked balefully. “You want to teach Zed that sometimes running is good by pitting him against a monster that rapes its food?!”

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

There was a moment of pregnant silence. A moment where no one said anything.

“Well, if that was your plan,” Ash continued, “then you’ve done a really good job. Now he’ll miss the next hunter test and be bed ridden long enough to learn it.”

“He has a regenerative attribute,” Jason muttered defensively. “It’ll take a while, but he’ll be fine in no time.”

Ash scoffed in disbelief and Zed heard footsteps grow, then recede as someone stomped off. There was another silence as he wondered if he should’ve opened his eyes from the get go, because he certainly couldn’t do it now. Definitely not on the back of such a conversation because he’d have to open his eyes to an awkward situation where Jason or whoever was still here would wonder how much he’d heard.

He fought the urge to sigh at his lack of decisiveness when another voice joined the silence.

“Jason,” Oliver said.

“You have your own opinion to share?” Jason asked, tired.

“What happened out there?”

“Something stupid,” Jason sighed. “I just wanted to teach him how much he needed magic. I just didn’t want him to get used to fighting without it. When Heimdall researched attribute based mages after the one we fought, he found that most of them tend to have superhuman bodies.”

“We all have superhuman bodies, Jason,” Oliver said.

“I know. What I mean is, their bodies have the strength of a rank above them. You’ve seen the way Zed heals. It’s literally regeneration. He healed a claw from the monster in that building like it was a paper cut. You saw him at the shed, too, he was riddled with blood, and Ash said he ripped a bone out of his thigh. Yet he’s got no scar on him, not one. And I still have a mark from the time my brother… I still have the scar from when I was a category one Rukh.”

“You said it, already,” Oliver said. “He’s got regeneration.”

“Yes, but it’s not supposed to be like that,” Jason protested. “He’s not the first recorded attribute mage with regeneration. The information Heimdal got says they heal fast, but not like Zed does. It takes time. It’s faster than what we can do, yes. But not what he’s been doing.”

“So, what? You think he’ll start relying on his attributes so much that he won’t learn magic?”

“You should’ve seen him, Oliver. Do you know what he did after he realized it was impossible to win?”

“What?”

There was a sound of shuffling and a rustling of leaves before Jason answered, and Zed assumed he was adjusting his position, probably changing it.

“You remember he said he has an attribute that helps him keep his balance,” Jason said.

“Yea,” Oliver answered. “The one that kept him on his feet even after Ash blasted him into the roof.”

“Yes. So what I think he decided,” Jason said, “was that he was going to leverage that with his regeneration, because any other reason would be stupid. Then he just charges the monster and baits it into attacking him, then he tries to defend himself against the blow. Not dodge it, but block it.”

“With the hatchet?”

“With his freaking arm, like its some kind of a boxing match.” Jason said. “It makes no sense. I already showed him that whatever attribute keeps his feet on the ground isn’t as strong as he thinks. And what kind of fool thinks he can take a Moscovian sloth of the same rank head on?”

Hey! That’s a bit harsh, Zed thought. You should be applauding my bravery, if anything. Do you think it was easy facing that thing? Then again, that last part was stupid. Like I have no idea why I would think I’m The Berserker… But then…

His thoughts trailed off as he slipped into genuine worry at the fact that he had actually believed he was The Berserker. He could’ve understood if he’d done it for only a moment, it had happened before, after all. But he’d submerged himself in a fight, had his life at risk, and had believed he was The Berserker long enough to concoct a plan that depended solely on him being The Berserker and the runes the man possessed.

He’d done a stupid thing that had almost killed him. What happens if it happens again and no one’s there? What happens the next time he forgets he’s a mage without magic?

Fear filled Zed’s mind and he knew he would’ve shuddered if he had the necessary faculties to shudder.

Finally, Oliver spoke again and Zed listened along.

“What if there’s another attribute he isn’t telling us about?” Oliver asked.

“Like what?” Jason returned. “Super strength?”

“I don’t know. Zed’s childish sometimes, but he’s never struck me as foolish.”

“It wasn’t foolishness that led to his decision, Oliver. It was arrogance. I just hope whoever his instructor is when he heals up, he’s willing to forgive it.”

“We can just ask and set him up for another one.”

“And how long do you think Heimdall is going to allow him prancing around without being tested?”

“Dunno. But I’m sure you can talk him into it.” Oliver paused. “Or better yet, why don’t you convince Heimdall to let you test him.”

“Won’t work,” Jason said. “Conflict of interest and all that. And while I may have played a part in putting him in his current state, I don’t feel guilty enough to spend an entire day grading his abilities as a hunter.”

“Then let Heimdall do it,” Oliver said. “And before you argue, just hear me out. Tell him about Jason’s proclivities and bad characters and ask him to judge based on team spirit and actual abilities. I’m sure he’ll be fine then.”

“You have quite the faith in him, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“But why?” Jason asked, perplexed.

“In a world this chaotic since the second awakening, he still always carries a smile on his face,” Oliver said with a touch of admiration. “You should’ve seen him playing with the kids. It was like he had no worries in the world. Like all that mattered was their joy and smiles.”

“A lot of people in the village have that,” Jason said.

“But they don’t face the monsters we face. They don’t see the evil that lurks out here because we keep it from them. But Zed? He sees it. He faces all the blood and gore and still manages to smile and laugh and get on everyone’s nerve with his reckless jokes. And he has it worse because some of his memories are missing. He remembers enough to know he has a daughter out there waiting for him but not enough to know how to find her, but he doesn’t let it get him down.”

“I get why someone else would be impressed,” Jason said thoughtfully. “But I don’t get why you’re impressed. You basically just described yourself but without amnesia and a daughter.”

“Yea,” Oliver said in a subdued voice so low it was a murmur. “But there’s a difference.”

“And what’s that?”

“Mine is a mask I put on, a lie I work on so Ash stays too busy putting up with me. That way she doesn’t have time to think about the fact that our parents might not have made it through the second awakening. I don’t think she’s ready to consider the fact that they may be dead.”

The conversation lulled into a solemn silence after Oliver’s words. If it was awkward, Zed didn’t know. Sometimes an awkward silence was in what a person could see.

Well that went south real quick, Zed thought. He took another moment to listen and silence remained. It was only after a moment longer that another thought came to mind.

Where’s Chris?