P.O.V: The Primordial Rogue

Eric had made mistakes in the past. First, when he was five, he stole a candy bar. That was where it all went downhill; that thrill was too intoxicating.

Forty years later, Eric had been doing time for ‘borrowing’ a car when the universe exploded, imploded, whatever the terminology was.

Then Eric had found himself back in that same original candy shop, alone, wondering if this was the afterlife.

He’d spent some time reflecting until, much to his surprise, he awoke on a strange planet.

That was over a year ago now. Eric had decided to turn over a new leaf, no longer the petty thief of the past.

Because he’d become something much more remarkable, given the vocation of “Primordial Rogue,” -there had been a lot of fancy-sounding words involved- but the gist of it was that he was the first to be recognized in a new universe to have a more… sticky handed approach to handling things. Without things to steal, though, rather than delving into the potential of being the universe’s first thief, he instead operated like an assassin, murdering monsters before they ever knew he was there.

Given a suggestion from the World Spirit, who also happened to be the planet itself -however, that worked- Eric had undertaken the challenge of the waves. Rather than defending his base camp like something out of an old war movie, he instead used it as one big trap, luring monsters in before popping out of the shadows and hidden trap doors, slicing throats with the power of a shadow-blessed dagger.

Eventually, he’d even managed to clear ten waves straight in a row, though before he could get too much of a big head about the accomplishment, he had been informed that he wasn’t the first. That honor went to someone called the Architect, a lame-sounding vocation in Eric’s mind.

Cocky, the ten consecutive waves hadn’t been that challenging, the monsters peeking out in the fourth tier; Eric had gone on to make what would be the biggest mistake of his life.

He’d pushed to the next level without considering the dangers.

Which is why he now found himself gnawing at his nails, bloodied and battered, desperately holding his breath until he was sure the monster wasn’t searching for him

You fucked up, Eric. You fucked up big time.

There, coiled in the remains of his now ruined camp, was an oversized snake that had slithered out from the muddy swamps of the Florida-like terrain of his surroundings. The difference between this monster snake and the snakes of Florida was that they didn’t have a bony sail protruding from their back like they were the smaller cousins of a sea monster or one of those dinosaurs with the back fins he’d seen in movies.

Oh, or the ability to launch its scales like exploding shrapnel.

Eric had tried his best, but it wasn’t enough. The monstrosity was a tier 5 creature, level fifty-four.

It would take him years before he reached tier six, where he felt he could comfortably handle such a monster. His skills were focused on stealth and assassination, not straight-up monster slaying. The snake was even resistant to the poison effect he’d made substantial use of up to this point.

Shit.

Discretely pulling up his interface, Eric took in the fate of his camp.

Settlement captured

Time until Settlement to Den conversion completion: 20:23:56:25

“Shit,” Eric muttered under his breath as he did the math. Three weeks sounded like a long time until you reminded yourself it was level fifty-fucking-four just shy of being a mid-tier five. Eric had only barely crossed tier five himself. The difference in how their levels and tiers worked meant that monsters of the same tier generally became more dangerous than their equal-tier human. It hadn’t been an issue when Eric had been able to kill them in a single strike with a well-placed shadow blade coated in a potent poison of his own, but his knife couldn’t pierce the monster snake, to begin with.

Glancing down at his trusty knife, Eric could only grimace.

God damn it, do I miss Earth.

You didn’t think about it much when living comfortably in a human society or even in a jail cell, but life was rough when you couldn’t just go to a store and buy whatever you needed. Eric had spent so much of his life stealing what he wanted that he’d never picked up a helpful skill for an outdoor fantasy life, like how to start a fire. On this alien planet, he’d either had to rely on the shoddiest stone knives you’d ever seen or whatever he’d managed to get as a reward from Eon.

And now even his reliable method of farming new equipment from the waves had been lost, now that his stupid camp had been yoinked out from under his nose.

I’m the one who is supposed to do the yoinking!

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

It wasn’t as if Eric was about to make it an issue with the snake. He’d only survived because after the initial attempt at assassinating the snake failed, it seemed content to let him flee as its scales ripped through his clothes and flesh like the angriest hornets alive. For whatever reason, stealing his camp was its biggest priority, opting to forego pursuing Eric. Eric had been used to being the most agile, swiftest thing in these swamps, but the snake had humiliated him. When it appeared, it was like a flowing image rather than a physical creature, his brain struggling to comprehend its movements. Had it wanted to, it could have caught him when he initially fled.

God damn it.

Eric was pissed, but he wasn’t pissed enough to risk his life fighting the snake to the death. As a tier five himself, technically, he could potentially pull off a win through some miracle, but Eric wasn’t the type of person to put everything on the line.

He’d started over before; he could do it again.

Sighing silently, Eric waited until he was sure the snake was unconcerned with things happening outside his former camp. Then, waiting just a little longer, Eric slipped down from his perch, leaving with his tail tucked between his legs, setting out on a pilgrimage to find a new home.

At the very least, my old crew isn’t here to see this.

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Elsewhere - P. O. V: The First Monk

When people heard the title ‘The First Monk,’ Tom figured they probably thought of some former martial artist master like Jackie Chan.

They likely didn’t expect a scrawny sixteen-year-old kid freezing high on a mountain.

“I-i-i-I th-th-th-o-ught m-m-m-mountains had g-g-g-ood l-l-l-oot.” Tom shivered violently, wrapping his worn leather and fur coat tighter around himself.

Now, Tom found himself in a predicament. He’s been climbing the mountain for weeks, yet he still felt as if he was no closer to the top.

To say it was tall was an understatement. Tom hadn’t considered recognizing something as ‘tall’ would be so difficult for a kid who’d spent most of his time playing video games in his room. Tall was tall, that was it. Or so he had thought. This mountain was something else entirely.

Taller than Everest? Certainly. Taller than Olympus Mons? Well, Tom was beginning to feel that was likely. He’d trekked up miles, and the more he looked up, the more he realized he’d barely crested the foot of the mountain.

A hundred miles? Two hundred? It was impossible to say.

As for what had led him to attempt to climb the hellishly tall mountain foolishly?

Arrogance and video games. Ever since he’d appeared on Aelia, he’d found himself role-playing a character from one of his games, channeling energy through his body and augmenting himself. It was what had gained him the title of ‘First Monk’; the style of fighting he’d developed had apparently met the criteria of a monk. Faster and stronger than even the fastest and strongest humans of history by several times, the extremely tall mountain had been a challenge to face.

Not to mention, it was often the tall snowy mountains in video games that were home to the end-game areas, super rare loot, or monsters to tackle. With that in mind, Tom had figured it was the perfect opportunity to pull ahead of the curve.

And now here he was, freezing his ass off, barely over the foot of the mountain, even after weeks of climbing. It wasn’t as if it hadn’t been productive; he’d been partially correct. There were plenty of snowy-themed monsters on the mountain, and he had found some interesting things, but it was becoming clear to Tom that reaching the top was out of the question. It was even worse than that; the whipping winds and slashing snow were progressively strengthening, even without climbing any higher, as if the mountain was bearing down on him, looking to chase him away.

It was a shit show, to be straight to the point.

“M-m-m-e-s-s-e-d-d-d-d up.” Tom chattered. The cold that seeped in grew stronger with each passing second.

Not good.

It was as if he had crossed some threshold of no return; the already cold mountain now felt as if it had finally decided it had enough of his intrusion, and Tom could only desperately search for anything. Stumbling around, he poured more Pneuma into his body to keep himself going. One hour turned to two, and feeling as if he could go on no longer, Tom fell. Careening off the side of the mountain pass, it should have been the end, his life flashing before his eyes.

So it was, to his surprise, when he awoke, having passed out at some point, the sound of the raging storm was all but gone.

“W-where am I?” He asked himself, groggily looking around. It was apparent he was still on the mountain, but where was a mystery. Slowly pushing himself up, Tom realized he had fallen into a snowbank, with bushes filled with red berries nearby.

“Food.” Tom scurried over. His ascended body made the need for food far less critical, but expending so much of his strength withstanding the climate of the mountain had required a nourishment that could only come from real food. Snapping up the berries, he began stuffing them into his mouth. Minutes passed, and Tom finally finished, wiping at his mouth as he took in his surroundings.

“Whoa.”

He was in a valley, or perhaps a gorge, with steep cliff faces on either side of him. It was like a winter wonderland within the valley, with pristine snowbanks and arctic-looking pines, assuming pine trees usually had floating purple crystals swirling around them.

For Tommy, who had grown up in a small town in Alabama, playing video games or reading about space all day, it was perhaps the most magical place he’d seen. Sure, lots of the planet had strange-looking plants, but he had appeared in a craggy area with little foliage to begin with, so it hadn’t seemed that different than the scenery of Earth.

This was something else entirely: a winter wonderland with floating purple crystals, crystal ice spires, and who knew what other secrets were hidden away.

Walking in an amazed daze, Tommy tripped, stumbling as something just beneath him sent him sprawling. Dusting the snow from his body, he turned around and investigated the cause of his fall.

“What is that?” Tommy questioned, crouching down to dust off what looked to be a flat white stone, similar in appearance to a marble tabletop, propped out from the ground, blending in with the snow around it.

Analyzing it out of curiosity, his jaw dropped.

Metamorphic flagstone of Frozen Pneuma

Rarity: Extreme

Much like a stone may be metamorphized into a new form with heat, time, and pressure, so too may Pneuma itself. Over time, as concentrated Pneuma was exposed to brutal colds, it slowly froze, while constant exposure to the elements further broke down and refined it. Exposure to the natural treasure may grant an affinity for snow, ice, and even stillness over time and a resistance to cold.

“Holy crap, that’s awesome!” Tommy cheered before sheepishly looking around. He sometimes had to remind himself he was all alone now; no one could make fun of his outbursts. What didn’t change was the fact that the flat-topped stone, ice -he was foggy and which it was considered- was the most significant discovery of his time on the new planet. Looking around once more, Tommy shrugged. Sure, he had abandoned his ‘settlement,’ but this was far better than a tiny little shack in the middle of some ugly grey expanse of nasty-looking rocks.

Smiling, Tom gave himself a mental pat on the back; the journey up the mountain had been worth it.

And this is still barely past the kneecaps of the mountain.

Beaming, he looked upward at the goals that lay above.

“I can work with this.”