Chapter 4 - Rush

The duo failed to walk far. Dominic’s already weak legs, coupled with the sudden weight of having to support Kurian as well, made the elder buckle more than once – and no matter how hard he wanted to assist the young Imp, he wouldn’t be able to do it with broken bones and a torn ligament.

That – and the fact both of them were no longer on the plain terrain Dominic had found beside the road, where none of the black trees grew. No, with the road curving more and more to the east, both Dominic and Kurian had to take another route to the boy’s village.

And that meant going north, through a patch of hilly woods completely covered in either the thick roots from the monolithic trees or the thorns growing from the flower bushes. Too dangerous for the both of them, who were already weak and tired.

“Slow down, Kurian! You’ll only hurt yourself like this.”

Dominic tried to hold the boy in place, but the Imp was too anxious to even understand his words. Kurian attempted to take a few more steps, but the elder managed to lock his cane among a knot of roots and held strongly.

The boy fell, dragged backward by the hand he held, and with no arm or wing to assist his balance on the left side. And now that he was no longer moving, it came to him in a wave.

Panic. So great it made his heart shrivel. Dominic could see clearly in the bleeding face – a stray branch must have cut his forehead on his blindside – and knew what was to come.

Unsure if he would manage to get up if he kneeled, the elderly man moved to try and block the boy’s sight with his body – the Imp’s eyes already so wide Dominic feared they would pop out of their sockets. Kurian inhaled and inhaled without giving his body time to expel air.

Dominic knew not how to properly assist someone like this. He knew about grounding oneself – but panic attacks were never something he really searched into.

Not knowing what to do, he hugged the boy – awkwardly – shoving Kurian’s face into his chest and feeling his white tusks piercing his jacket. Dominic only released him when he felt him suffocating on the cloth.

The lack of air made his body breathe automatically, coughing as air entered his abused lungs. His eyes, hazy as they were, focused on nothing to be seen. And Dominic felt it might have been enough.

He stared deeply into Kurian’s eyes, voice firm as he guided the boy’s head to look at him in return.

“C’mon, Kurian! Breathe. With me, boy! In and out. In. And Out.”

Dominic kept on loudly breathing, slowly dragging air inside and expelling it back. He prayed it would work, but it took minutes of holding the boy steady and purposefully setting a rhythm to his breath before Kurian stabilized enough. He hugged him again after that – not cutting the Imp’s airflow this time – and ignored the way the clawed hand held onto his back.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s alright. Just breathe with me, c’mon. Don’t stop breathing.”

How sad it was to see such a scene. How beautiful it was to witness the lengths kindness could go to. But also, how loud were Kurian’s gasps and Dominic’s attempts at comforting him Or even, how enticing the blood staining the Imp’s tunic and the [Death Doctor]’s pants was.

And this was no domain of the scuttling shadows, where nothing lived but that which could not be seen. This was a frontier where alien life existed, and they hunted.

The attack came from behind Dominic, who even after being pushed away by Kurian’s reaction to the monster, still felt the claws slashing his side.

***

Being swatted like a fly was a novel experience to Dominic, who had at best been part of a car accident three decades prior. He had his seatbelt on – of course – and the feeling of the force radiating through his body as the car collided against the wall was something he always thought was the most intensive blow he would ever suffer.

And he had been correct. Nothing on Earth had even gotten close in all his years before and, of course, after the accident.

So when his old body ended up thrown far from Kurian – rolling across the scarlet grass and feeling the blunt roots digging into his ribs – Dominic, for a quick moment, thought he had died. Again.

He had not. Though the pain on his side ensured him he had gotten close to death once more. Only Kurian’s one-armed push had saved him from further damage.

The creature was panther-like – all long, black and wet sinew mostly covered by an armor of bone. From its tail to its long snout, the creature rippled with every movement, showing the forked tongue it had as the red eyes scanned the area – utterly ignoring the small Imp silently scuttling away.

Dominic saw the snout rise to the air once more, the head – a tiny thing compared to its large shoulders and overgrown front paws – turned to the right to no avail, before looking left and seeing the bleeding elder. And Dominic would swear to all that asked – in the name of the Lord Almighty even – that the monster grinned.

The [Death Doctor] saw his demise in the red eyes of the Bone Panther and prayed that his new Class’s abilities would help him out. Because from the way the creature slowly prowled towards him – muscles rippling and moving the bone plaques of its armor like tectonic plates – things were not looking great.

As such, in the spare second Dominic took to remember all the new things he had, a decision was made.

“[False Life].”

The words were no more than a pained whisper, but not even that much was truly necessary. Dominic felt the spell blossoming, though it stopped suddenly. It needed something to continue, a resource that he would have to manage and that he instinctively understood, desperation boosting his comprehension to new heights as the flowing energy now within him became more perceptible.

Magic.

So the [Death Doctor] gave the spell half of it and watched as his skin received a gray shine – energy blossoming in his limbs and the coziness of soft earth over his body like the hug of a grave.

Dominic was about to call on one of his Skills then – refusing to freak out over how awful it was to feel so attuned to this… Death energy permeating his skin – when the Bone Panther advanced once more.

Its lunge was quick and ferocious, propelled by the strength only an animal of its biology could produce. Yet, gravity was gravity and the distance the monster crossed was large enough to give the elder time to roll to the side.

So much muscle and bone close to his face made Dominic swallow in fear, but as the creature turned to him once again, he used the time to conjure some more. And this time, silently, for the name was long.

[Tool: Spectral Scalpel].

The short blade appeared in his left hand, no different than the one a surgeon might use, were it not for its color. Blue, like sapphires or the deep sea.

The thing was weightless in Dominic’s hand – and though it was short and thin – it did give him… well, an edge. It just wasn’t enough.

The Bone Panther didn’t jump towards him, its malicious eyes seeing the blade appearing, but it turned. And fast. The tail, that strong limb encased in bone, struck like a whip against Dominic’s chest.

It hurt. A lot. But it did nothing more than diminish the gray glow around his body, dimming it as if someone had tried to dig him out of a tomb.

[False Life] protected Dominic’s body with all the phantasmagorical vigor of undeath. Just as it had advertised.

Seeing that, the elder jumped to his feet, adrenaline rushing through his blood vessels and making him feel as if running a fever. And yet, the Panther only narrowed its eyes.

With a snarl, the beast tried again, gleaming white teeth advancing suddenly as the animal jumped and Dominic tried to dodge to the side as if a man half his age. Lucky enough, he did so, but that mattered not.

Hitting him at the first bite was not the Bone Panther’s intention.

It landed a couple of steps from where Dominic had previously been, and while the elder recuperated from his sudden dodge, the monster stretched. All that sinew, slick and wet under the white carapace, exerted itself until the animal was long enough to only close its teeth around the [Death Doctor]’s thin calves.

The bite was brutal and the old man’s only luck was that all the Bone Panther managed to hit was skin and muscle, for if it had bitten bone – it would snap. The protection derived by [False Life] amounted to little as the animal lodged its teeth on Dominic’s leg.

In his haze of pain, the elder found enough strength to slam the [Spectral Scalpel] in the creature’s left eye, half blinding it and making the monster retreat in pain… though it took the blade with it.

Disarmed and now immobile, Dominic saw the creature return to its original size and arch its back high and high, the bloody smile stretching to the point of being cartoony as it prepared to finish the only prey in sight.

But those that were unseen were still able to strike, and Kurian came for the Bone Panther with the weight of a hundred lives lost.

“[Griever’s Burden].”

***

Kurian had never thanked his father more than right now. Nifestu, prodigious [Wand Maker] of Kiringar, had had the opportunity to teach his son enough about the Voice – not all that he had wanted – but enough. And one of Nifestu’s lessons was Emergency Activation.

Sometimes, in his line of work, the coarse handling of a material could very well mean its loss – and few were the times the mind could rationalize all of its mistakes. So, like many an artisan before him, Nifestu used Emergency Activation.

Which meant, that the moment his eyes settled on a problem before he could take the time to remember the respective Skill or Spell’s name – the System activated it. All that was necessary was the perception of something wrong.

Kurian couldn’t tell what most of his new Skills did. Their description was short and as confusing as the ones he previously had before losing his [Artisan’s Apprentice] Class. And yet, some names needed no explanation.

So it took but a moment – after the sudden loss of his father’s last gift and the dawning of the realization he would have to break the news to the village – for him to configure [Unseen Presence] as a Skill to be activated in emergencies.

As such, when the White Stalker came for him and the… riuman, Kurian was able to use the Skill quickly enough to disappear in front of the beast’s face. The fact it hid his smell as well was a bonus the Imp wouldn’t complain about.

The boy scampered away from the monster quickly enough, crawling with the only arm he had to hide behind one of the great Nightshadow Trees. He gripped a stray stick during the process, more to settle himself than anything, and got ready to wait for the creature to leave.

Until he remembered there was someone he left behind. Someone that had healed him and saved his life and treated him with kindness. The riuman was an odd creature – chatty and able to do good head pats – but he had seen its frailty.

He walked with support. Like one of the elders from his village. His hair was white and untamed – which was odd enough – but the wrinkles on his face were nothing new to the Imp.

Kurian’s father had them too. Though none so extensive. Only small indentations around his eyes that appeared when he smiled, or some on his forehead when he gave his son a lecture.

… It was enough of a memory for him to move, and the Imp managed to see the riuman scream in pain as the White Stalker bit his leg. He had managed to stick something to the creature’s eye at least, but that seemed not to deter the beast enough.

So when the new Spell left Kurian’s lips, it was with a hiss and a need to repay the kindness he was shown.

“[Griever’s Burden].”

And while carrying his stick like a sword, the Imp saw the animal freeze… and then fold as sudden pressure struck it from above. A well of gravity as heavy as what the boy had lost. As heavy as his cowardice and sins.

Nothing more.

The animal’s stretchy body made it spread around the pressure, and a whine came out of its fanged mouth. Its attempts to garner pity were despicable.

Still, Kurian approached, feeling his mana drain away in a hurry as it fed the spell. As quickly as he could, the Imp reached close enough to the White Stalker’s head – and what he said was a Skill.

“[Heavy Blow].”

The Skill was pushed forwards, fueling his only arm with impossible strength as he slammed the piece of wood on top of the beast’s skull.

The white bone cracked, but it was no killing blow. So the Imp tried again.

“[Heavy Blow]!”

And this time, the crack extended… and the plate at the top of its head splintered and fell to the ground – giving easy access to the more fragile muscles surrounding its brain.

It wasn’t enough. Not before his mana hit rock bottom and the animal felt the pressure on its spine disappear. Not before it coiled like a spring and jumped at him.

Death had fangs – and though it was the second time Kurian saw the maw of his demise closing on his neck – this time… this time there was a riuman on top of it.

And on his hand was another blade.

***

It hurt. Lord Almighty in Heaven and His Pearly Gates, how it hurt.

The Bone Panther had – thankfully – failed to rip away a chunk of Dominic’s leg, the sudden stabbing to the eye making it involuntarily open its mouth in the hasty retreat – but being stabbed multiple times in the leg by the fangs of such an animal was still not a good experience.

And yet, Dominic had to move. Because a child was slamming a stick on top of what was clearly a predator of this place to protect him. And that could not happen.

So the [Death Doctor] forgot all care, and called for the relief of [False Life] again. And it worked.

The small burst of soothing energy was a balm on his soul, alleviating the pain on Dominic’s side and leg while giving him just a little more energy to move. A little more energy to use something more, for his fight was not yet over.

[Undying Heart] activated with a surge of strength – pain fading completely as the Ghost’s heartbeat and spasmed inside his chest, allowing the elder to move with superhuman flexibility. It was fleeting. It was powerful.

And this time, it was enough.

As the Bone Panther moved with the end of Kurian’s Spell – pouncing on the one-armed Imp and meeting only taciturn defiance in the face of its prey – Dominic jumped.

Like a frog perhaps. Or something superhuman. Definitely not like a man in his sixties should be able to do. And his landing was far from perfect.

The elder hugged the back of the Bone Panther like a seastar, limbs sprawled as he climbed on top of what was far more dangerous than any wild horse. But Dominic didn’t need much – just to stretch his arm and an edge.

A silent call to the System later, the [Death Doctor]’s trusted tool appeared on his hand – vanishing from its place on the Bone Panther’s eye socket – and was promptly used to stab the top of the animal’s skull.

For a moment, Dominic wondered if it had not worked, but soon enough he understood more of the Skill’s description – because his entire spectral hand was deep into the animal’s head. Holding a very sharp instrument

What its constant thrashing did to the inside of its brain is best left undiscussed.

In the end, the Bone Panther gave in to the sudden brain hemorrhage and perished with nothing but a blind eye and a small entrance cut on top of its head as evidence – well, as evidence made by Dominic at least. He would leave the credit for breaking the creature’s armor to Kurian.

And with its death, soon came the end of his [Undying Heart] Skill. And oblivion, once more, as his body paid the cost of it.

***

He lived.

He still lived.

Kurian wanted to laugh, really. Twice had he been saved by the odd light brown creature. Twice he had been denied an easy way out of his suffering.

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Maybe it was a long type of torture. Maybe it was true kindness and bravery.

The little Imp knew not what reason would hurt his heart more.

As the riuman fell from the dead White Stalker’s back – already unconscious – Kiuran got up, using his right arm as support. Silently, the Imp went towards the dead beast and kicked it. Twice.

For good measure.

Done with the sudden violent checking on the monster’s life, Kiuran proceeded to stare at the elderly riuman. He was sprawled, chest moving up and down very slowly while he snored as if he hadn’t just defeated a known predator of the Fear-Full Woods.

…Maybe it was the exhaustion. Perhaps, it was that he could no longer resist the up and down of emotions he had felt today. But Kurian snorted, then laughed at the sight of his savior now cuddling a White Stalker.

He had to actually wipe a tear of mirth from his face before using his single hand to slowly drag the riuman from underneath the beast. And what he met was blood.

It didn’t affect him as much as it should. Was it supposed to be this fast? His transformation from a boy into a cold thinker? Was it just his tired soul unwilling to despair again at the sight of the riuman’s leg wound?

Maybe it was all of that. He couldn’t tell. And he couldn’t say that it mattered.

So, as he took off the man’s outer clothes – already ripped by both his and the White Stalker’s claws – and promptly turned into improvised bandages, Kiuran thought of nothing. Not a word. Not a single reflection of what his Spell might truly mean.

Just… mechanical movements. Slash here, cover the wound there, tie a knot, and repeat it all. Until all of the riuman’s calf was swathed.

When his work was done, Kiuran distracted himself with the Voice – and the announcements it had for him.

Your Class [Broken Survivor] has leveled up!

Your Class [Broken Survivor] has leveled up!

Congratulations! Your Class [Broken Survivor] is now Level 3!

Two more levels and he would receive something new. Maybe a Skill or a Spell. Definitely a Path.

For now, Kurian was thankful that he got nothing. Whatever punishment his Class would give him next, he prayed to the Sun it would at least let him sleep before that.

Then, hugging his legs with his right arm, the young Imp sat beside his odd savior and stared at nothing. Just at time and how it could not return.

***

Dominic was tired of falling unconscious. It was – what? The third time in the past twenty-four hours? No, that couldn’t possibly be healthy.

Yes, the first time he had died, but he had woken up later. If in a different world. As a Ghost. All things considered, it was more like a sudden nap with no heartbeat than dying, dying.

Do Ghosts even suffer from head injuries? What would fainting so much even cause? A concussion? No – those were when you hit your head. Maybe a stroke? That would be bad.

Though again… would it even happen? Dominic somehow bled like a human, which was freaky enough, especially because Ghosts were supposed to be intangible – which he could be, sometimes, accidentally – but did that mean he could still suffer from any kind of blood disease? Like… anemia? Or iron deficiency?

Those were the real questions. And now, he might have to worry not only about human diseases – but also Ghost diseases.

Like Spectral Leprosy or… Haunting Dysentery – now that would be horrifying. Still, these thoughts kept him company as he awoke, once more, from his place on the ground, so sore and filled with pain that he wondered how many muscles one could pull at the same time.

And this time without his jacket.

Turning his head to the left – and grimacing as his neck flared in pain – he saw the remnants of his expensive and handmade jacket torn to shreds at his side. Or, as he looked down at his still aching leg, turned into bandages. Dominic almost cried at the scene, were it not for the sudden blinking prompts at the side of his vision.

He might have to find a way to make the notifications less of a nuisance. Sound would never work – and the sight was already proving itself bothersome. Couldn’t it be just a small alert at the top? Like a… small exclamation point. Red – because that was the color of emergencies.

And lo and behold – the System answered. Without Dominic’s permission, which was a pretty invasive thing to do and he wasn’t sure he liked that much, the blue box usually in the corner of his sight vanished. And there, in the corner of his eye, was a red exclamation point.

Ah, if everything could just be so easy.

The man was about to see what the fuss was about with the blue boxes, when the silent Imp beside him noticed he was awake.

“Hey.”

“Hm? Oh, hi, Kurian. Are you well? Wounded, perhaps? There should be enough cloth to make more bandages.”

The boy looked agog at his face – and the questions made his indignation burst.

“Really? That’s what you are going to ask? Why do you even care? Shouldn’t you freak out because we almost died?”

To that, Dominic simply raised his torso – feeling all the muscles he had pulled and the skin that had torn – and looked at Kurian’s eyes. He ignored the last part.

“Should I not care?”

“Yes! You don’t even know me! And you’ve saved my life twice already!”

“Well, you just saved my life as well, Kurian. I don’t see why that matters though. Should I have left you to die?”

“Yes!”

Dominic tilted his head at that. Because the idea of leaving someone to die without first trying to help them was so… sad that the old man couldn’t help but ask.

“Why would I not help you then? I could do it, there was no loss for me, and you would – most likely – not kill me after I saved you. Then why not help you?”

“I don’t… I don’t know, alright! It’s just not something you should do.”

And to that, the old man raised an eyebrow.

“Now that’s just silly. Are you silly, Kurian? Because I think you are a pretty smart boy. And brave too. No one would face a monster such as this one with only a wood stick. I certainly would not.”

“Liar. You say that but you climbed on top of the White Stalker. Like some Incubi rider. That’s just… madness.”

“Well, if I’m a little mad then what are you? Mister ‘let me boink the clearly dangerous monster’s head with a stick’?”

The boy stared at his face for a second, silently, and then laughed. It was short-lived, more of an amused scoff than anything else, but it mattered. Oh, how it mattered.

Dominic joined as well and his was longer and freer. His body was wounded and it hurt to do so, but he laughed at the sudden jests at each other and the waning adrenaline.

He was alive. Partially. But that’s irrelevant, because he lived. He did it. Dominic bought himself and Kurian more time.

“Boink?”

Kurian asked – utterly incredulous at the foreign word and how silly it sounded – and that made Dominic grin, childish and free.

“Boink, boink.”

And silence descended, though it was the more comfortable kind where two people smiled at silly things. Things that did not matter in face of their true hurdles, but that made them forget the burden on their shoulders for a moment.

“You know – I’m not a kid. Really. I’m fourteen.”

“How does that not make you a kid?”

The boy gave him once again that stare as if Dominic had just said something dumb.

“Because I have a Class, obviously. Which makes me an adult.”

“That seems… like an awful way of determining who’s an adult.”

“Oh yeah? Then how do riumans do it?”

“You have to be eighteen. At least. It varies from place to place. Some claim the beginning of adulthood is at the twenty years old mark – others at twenty-one years old… No one would say a fourteen-year-old is an adult though.”

“Even if they had Classes?”

Dominic sighed.

“Let’s just say Classes are new to humans.”

Kurian gave him a confused frown, but the elder didn’t explain further.

“What is your name then? I… keep calling you riuman.”

“Hm? Oh, Dominic. Pleased to meet you, Kurian.”

The elder extended a hand forward – his left one to make it easier for the boy – and held it out until Kurian understood he was supposed to grasp it as he had done before.

When the Imp’s four fingers locked on his own, Dominic shook them. Up and down, slowly, almost as if teaching Kurian the gesture.

“Good, good. It’s always nice to meet brave young people. Few would do what you did. Especially to an old man like me.”

“It… It was nothing.”

Oh, he was so cute trying to deny his bravery. Dominic couldn’t help but pat between his horns once more, noticing how the boy’s large eyes shone under the comforting gesture.

So it hurt the elder even more to ask what he had to, even if it was necessary.

“Still, you’re going to have to be brave once again, won’t you? Can you do it? We could take a few minutes for you to think if you want.”

The elder looked at the corpse of the… White Stalker, as Kurian had called – though the name he gave was definitely better – and thought that it might prove useful in keeping whatever other creatures lived here far enough. Maybe the smell of it would keep them safe enough to risk it.

Kurian, however, denied it after only a few moments of consideration.

“No – I have to do it. The others still need to know that we… we lost.”

To see the boy chew on his inner cheek while mumbling was difficult because Dominic – for all that he tried – could not truly know the weight of such a task. And yet… he could still help by doing what he did best.

Seeing more.

“You don’t have to be the one to do it though. You’ve… already done enough, Kurian. Being alive after what I saw already makes you brave. And the others will learn, eventually – even without your warning – of what happened at the battle. Or do you think no one would try and see what happened after some time?”

“But… but I was there. I was the one that ran! I – I need to do it. I’m the [Survivor].”

“Hey, your Class doesn't get to impose a burden on you. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. And don’t you ever blame yourself for running away. That… monster would kill you if you didn’t – it almost did anyway. And I doubt your people would want you dead, right?”

The boy nodded, sheepishly. Just a fraction of a movement – but enough to tell Domini that he understood.

“...But I want to. I want to tell them that I’m alive. That we tried to stop him. It’s… they just deserve to know from me. That we tried.”

Dominic took a deep breath and smiled, because that was true resolution on the boy’s face. And he dared not stop someone from walking the path they chose.

“So be it then. Let’s just… I don’t know. Do you think if we marked ourselves with the Stalker’s blood…”

Kurian understood immediately. It wasn’t an unknown hunting tactic, if somewhat extreme.

“It should work. The smell will keep other predator’s away.”

“Good… good. Let me cut it then and we can continue. By the way, have you seen my cane?”

“It should be… well, just bleed the Stalker. I’ll grab it for you.”

“Okay. Thanks by the way.”

The Imp gave a short hiss with his forked tongue and proceeded to get up, wobbling a little, but with a lot more confidence than his previous attempts. As he watched Kurian limp away, Dominic knelt before the Bone Panther.

Now, in his mind, there were two ways he could do this. His [Spectral Scalpel] would be a must, of course, but Dominic didn’t know where to cut.

If he compared the creature to a human’s anatomy, the neck would be a safe bet. Or, perhaps, one of the hind legs – though which one was another bet. Maybe both? And… would he have to put the body upside down to bleed it? Like a pig?

This was… getting annoying. Every move he made came with a hundred questions he had never considered. Who would ever hone their survival instincts to such a point if not through necessity? And he was a tourist, for God’s sake, not some explorer.

Alright. Dominic took a deep breath and proceeded to call for the blade – seeing as the [Spectral Scalpel] appeared in his hand, the blue metal of its body shining slightly with the red sun’s light up above. Nevertheless, he took a few deep breaths to settle himself – and began.

The elder went for the neck. It was the safest option and they didn’t have a second body to bleed, so safe was the name of the game. Still, the sight of the sharp [Scalpel] entering the sinew between the White Stalker’s plates so smoothly disturbed him greatly.

There was no impediment. Muscle tore with the passage of the blade and were it not for its length, Dominic feared he’d decapitate the beast. Still, the cut was quick – if not straight – and soon enough blood flowed from the open gash.

Dark. Not the red he had seen in his and Kurian’s bodies. This was the wrong shade of blood. More like a thick oil than something that should be within a body.

It actually reminded him – of all things – of petroleum. Though less viscous.

So unnatural it was, that Dominic couldn’t help but stare as it slowly flowed out of the wound – forming a puddle underneath the White Stalker’s head. The liquid kept to its course, increasing the puddle with some help from Dominic as he inclined the head.

The elder’s daze only broke when he felt a cane’s bottom hitting his arm. Kurian had returned with the wooden object and was handing it to him. And in the Imp’s face was a distinct kind of worry.

“You alright?”

Taking the cane and putting it onto his lap, Dominic nodded – hiding his thoughts over the butchery within his heart. He had to be strong.

“Yes. It’s all fine. Do you need some help doing it?”

“No. Just… just give me a minute. I can do it.”

Waving a hand for the boy to do as he wished, the [Death Doctor] opened some space for the Imp to approach the puddle and watched in grim fascination as he used the dark blood like paint. Splotches of it went to his bald head, his shoulders, his legs – Lord Almighty, not even his face escaped the fate of being covered in blood.

Every movement was awkward and slow as if the Imp was testing something every time his hand touched skin. He almost coated his stump as well, but decided against it. Too tender still.

When Kurian finished, the boy walked away as if nothing had happened, only arching a single brow at Dominic’s still form. The elder tried to move, then took two deep breaths to calm his heart, and proceeded to fold his shirt’s sleeves.

The feeling of the cold blood on his hands made Dominic want to stop there almost immediately. It was…a downright horrible texture. Not sticky enough to glue his fingers together and neither liquid enough to flow from his palms – it had this thickness to it that made it only fall to the ground when thick, weighty droplets gathered at the edges of his palm.

Dominic did the job as fast as he could. Trying not to think about the way the blood covered his skinny forearms and neck and face.

It’s just like makeup. Or face paint. You’ve used it before. This is perfectly fine. No, don’t think about the cold.

His pep talk must have worked, because even Kurian looked impressed at the velocity Dominic spread the blood over him. Some of it, unfortunately, got on his shirt even with his care to only spread the blood far from his clothes – but it was for naught.

His shirt now had a black collar.

Withholding his scream of frustration with pained effort, Dominic looked at the Imp, speaking between calming breaths.

“All ready?”

“Yes – Wait… did you also level from the fight?”

“Did I… Oh. Oh.”

The red exclamation point. It sat there, unmoving, a quiet and small alert that the System had news for Dominic – and as he asked for them, they came in a torrent.

Your Class [Death Doctor] has leveled up!

Your Class [Death Doctor] has leveled up!

Congratulations! Your Class [Death Doctor] is now Level 3!

Well, that’s nice… I guess.

The elder stared at the four prompts and wondered how much things had really changed. So… what now?

Taking a deep breath, Dominic called for his Status.

Welcome to The Universal System.

Dominic Jones, Son of Theodor Jones.

May you develop successfully.

Status

Name

Dominic Emilio Jones

Titles

Tutorial Participant

Race

Ghost

Type

Undead

Primary Class

[Death Doctor] - Level 3

Secondary Class

LOCKED

Tertiary Class

LOCKED

Skills

[Tool: Spectral Scalpel], [Undying Heart], [A Final Conversation]

Grimoire

[Spare the Dying], [False Life]

Paths

Path of The Elder (0/3)

Path of The Manager (0/5)

Path of The Novice (2/3)

Path of The Ghost (3/4)

Path of The Tutorial (0/4)

There it was. Almost no change at all except for silly little numbers besides [Death Doctor] and his Paths.

Level 3.

It was oddly rewarding to have such a clear marker that he was improving – and it felt extremely intrusive to know this blue box could calculate that. Because, what was it that made his actions worth leveling? Was that even how it worked?

He had done nothing that a normal [Doctor] would do, so what was it that granted him this boost…

Or push them beyond it. Dominic remembered the words of his Class’s description and felt it dawn on him – he had grown by killing the Bone Panther.

Like a predator, bloated with venison. Like a vulture, scavenging the magical remnants of the monster that attacked them. Was that how it worked? Would it only take him to do things aligned with his Class to grow?

Questions. More importantly, questions for later. Dominic already had an awful lot of things to do and there was precious little time to spend on his curiosity now. Survival first.

He dismissed the screen and itched like a child with a packed gift on Christmas's morning. Dominic wanted to open it. Wanted to explore every nook and cranny of the blue boxes and understand how they worked.

There was… an urge almost. Because it made him feel as alive as helping other people, every time the elder figured something out.

Already his Skills had proven more than useful. [Spectral Scalpel] had served as an efficient, if unusual, weapon in his hands. [False Life] had been a life savior against what could very well mean his death. And [Undying Heart] turned him into some kind of superhuman for a short duration.

Just imagining what else the System would make possible sent shivers down his spine. At least until the repercussions really crushed on him.

Dominic was an old man. 63 to be exact. And the System had already made him surpass far more than the usual human capabilities.

So what about those younger than him? Currently engaging in a Tutorial, probably connected to some of the Planes of Existence where he had been denied?

If he was already so much tougher, imagine what a man half his age would gain with this. Or a teenager.

Or a criminal.

And it dawned on Dominic, because for as much as he could do good with the System – like help in saving an Imp's life, or defeat a creature of nightmares – there were still people who would do bad things when faced with so much power.

And no one could really stop them.

So Dominic paled as he looked at the Status screen. Because he feared… he feared for his world and those that lived in it.

And there was nothing he could do to help.