The more you eat, the more you shit.
— Profound musings of Sysadmin007.
***
Zayn felt his mind shatter, splitting into countless fragments. Thoughts splintering, mind rejoining, and then shredded apart, again and again, in no sensible order. He was trapped in a nightmare, aware that he was dreaming yet unable to control what he saw.
And he saw…many things.
Unrelated, harrowing things.
Blood and bones, dust and stones, a room where a man sat above a throne of corpses. Blood spilling and burning an entire forest. Then he saw the forest turn into monstrosities, hunting him down, their vine-like limbs ensnaring his body.
Millions of eyes and mouths and grotesque forms gazed into him, whispering the unspeakable, staining his soul. Their eyes merged into one another, swelling into one colossal eye full of wrath.
He felt his being scattered by the heat contained in that gaze.
“No!” Zayn found himself lying on all fours on the sand. Staring at a titanic crimson moon that felt just a touch away. Heaving, he took a few breaths. His lips stretched mockingly.
They were back, huh?
They were back.
“Well, so am I!” He raised a fist to the moon. "Back to the real world, baby!"
Back out from his nightmares.
Even that massive moon was more digestible than the incomprehensible nonsense he’d seen. Took him a while until his vitals stabilized. Fighting his worn-out muscles, he pulled himself into a sitting position.
With each sour breath that plunged into his lungs, his muddled brain cleared up.
One thing after another floated up to his mind.
He’d fallen unconscious for the third time in two days. And two of those three times, he woke up on the sand. This was becoming an annoying trend.
He knew what happened, more or less.
Faeria ended up saving him. The fact that he’d jumped at the ape had been dumb of him. Very dumb. Was [Undying cockroach] making him dumber? He rubbed his head. No way—
Ouch.
He rubbed the back of his head to alleviate the splitting headache, finding a small lump there.
Why did she have to hit him so hard?
Then again, he probably would’ve turned unconscious even without that hit.
He’d not expected turning unconscious to become his newest quirk. Not surprising, though, given he'd bled like it was an inexhaustible currency.
His skin had turned deathly pale—paler than a vampire.
Worse, the mind-numbing hunger gutted his insides, muting all his other senses. The hunger crept within him, and he swore he could devour just about anything right now. Even the moon above looked like a gigantic tortilla, all sauced up.
Scouring through his storage ring, he began bringing the supplies out. Then, he tore through the food. They were mostly dry rations, but right now, he was a hungry ghost. And hungry ghosts had no discrimination. Soon, his supplies shrank.
It was weird, though.
No matter how much he ate, the hunger was never fully sated. In fact, it only made it worse. Even the broken scrap metal in his ring started to look delectable.
He confusedly stared at his stomach—then at his dwindling rations. That amount of food would have been enough to sustain him for weeks; a month if he was frugal with it. Now, he had devoured it in one setting.
Was this the effect of increased stats? Did his body now require more food to sustain?
Biologically, that would make sense.
Money-wise, he'd go bankrupt in two weeks.
He gave up trying to make sense of it and shoved the whole incident into the growing pile of weird shit he’d ignore for now. A worry for later.
Tremors passed through his limbs as he rose to his feet. He almost fell right back. A dizzying wave of disorientation nearly smacked him back into the shadow realms, reminding him of how much blood he lost.
Now that the hunger subsided a bit, he got a breather to think of the series of events that transpired before he fell unconscious.
The house and statues. The sphere of mana. The stone ape. All that in…one day. One after another.
His bones still stung as he thought about it. Crimson rays of the moon fell upon his thin ribs. More than ever before, he was thinner, making him look half the man he was earlier that day. Even when he roamed around homeless, he had not been this thin.
Out of curiosity, he checked his stats.
Status
Strength: 16! (20)
Vitality: 5! (13)
Constitution: 6! (12)
Dexterity: 15! (17)
Intelligence: 8
Fortitude: 16
All of your physical stats are currently weakened.
He snorted derisively. Every physical stat, barring intelligence and fortitude, was under a debuff.
That explained the disorientation he felt right now.
Bloodflare? Really, that had been him flaring his own body. And all for what? Let alone finding a solution, he’d found himself with more trouble than ever before. Everywhere he looked, he found dunes with gnarly trees striking out of them. The desert looked different today, too neat, with little to no signs of fighting.
Or was he just that far away from the action?
At least, that would explain why Faeria left him in the middle of friggin' nowhere.
So...what is he supposed to do now?
After loitering numbly for a while, he noticed a tiny light burning in the corner of his eyes. Not a system notification, but an actual fire. He twisted his neck to look towards the source, and his pupils thinned.
A bonfire?! He rubbed his eyes and did a double-take. In this distance, above a small dune, a fire raged brightly. He was still confused. Someone set a bonfire up in that dune?
He quickly rose up the dune with disarrayed steps.
A thin tune wove through the air; delicate, unhurried, yet certain at the same time.
The soft cadence guided his feet forward.
He drowned in the melody as he rose to the source of the fire.
Bursts of quick wind smashed against the fire, as though the air was trying to strangle hope out of it every second. Yet, the more the wind attempted to extinguish the fire, the bigger the fire bloomed.
Against all odds, it burned bright, even in the face of death.
Four silhouettes sat around the bonfire. All whom he knew: Old grey, The Battlewraith, the stalker coffin, and the one he’d desperately wished to see the entire day.
His silly and oddly philosophical motorcycle—Raka.
The swirling vortex of thoughts in his mind relaxed. Gazing at Raka’s mechanical silhouette, he exhaled a long, pent-up breath. As though a stone was lifted off his chest. He sat far enough not disturb them but close enough to feel the warmth of the fire.
Cling
Old Grey relaxedly ran his hands over the strings. Contradictory feelings echoed inside Zayn’s chest as the song played. It was a familiar tune, a lullaby he had once heard, one that he only heard in his dreams now.
The light cadence rose and fell, lingering long enough to stir some forgotten memories buried beneath his skin. Memories of things that were lost. Of things that could have been. Of things yet to lose, unbroken.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
To his body, the sand felt like the softest mattress. Air veiled him like a quilt, urging him to go to sleep again, telling him that everything would be alright.
You have listened to [The Lullaby of the Seven Dreams]
Vitality increased by 50% for 20 seconds! All vital stats are 100% effective for the next hour.
He quickly got to checking his stat again.
Strength: 16! (20)
Vitality: 13 + 1
Constitution: 10! (12)
Dexterity: 15! (17)
Intelligence: 8
Fortitude: 16
Huh?
He clicked on the Vitality to see if he could get an explanation for the +1 beside it.
Vitality: 13 + 1: Song 'The lullaby of the Seven Dreams' active, Feat [Graveborn Vitality] active!
What surprised him was that the buff from [Graveborn Vitality] was active, even above the usual 100%. Which meant his vitality could go up to 130%, meaning... his body could work overtime to heal him. Huh!
And it was neat that fixing the vitality automatically fixed his other stat, too. Were the stats naturally reliant on each other, or was Vitality just that special? If Vitality represented something like life force, it could explain why stats like Strength and Dexterity had been reduced by its reduction. Even Constitution was fairly nerfed by his dwindling vitality.
Interesting.
Whenever he looked at Old Grey, he felt a hint of awe. Too bad the old madman was too eccentric and refused to cooperate, or he’d be the perfect party member for dungeon raids.
“Your song speaks straight to my soul!” Raka exclaimed, its mechanical voice full of flattery. “It’s weird. We met for just a few hours, but I feel like you really understand me for some reason, Sir Gravekeeper!”
Gravekeeper? He ran his eyes over the old man’s tattered grey robes and attire, and somehow found that name to be quite suitable. It did look like he pulled himself out of a grave.
Old Grave nodded, removing his fingers from the Y-shaped andolin, “Perhaps, the most primal desire in the heart of men is to be heard, to be understood. For that purpose, we created language as a bridge. Yet, few truly see beyond the veils of fog and gauge the currents that roar underneath.”
“Agreed, sir! People lie, hide, and say things they don’t mean. I know someone who reads books just so they can lie better!”
Hmm? Who was Raka talking about? Zayn tilted his head and stared at the shameless motorbike. That wouldn’t happen to be him, right? He never lied.
“Songs never have that problem. They need not any falseness or deception of any kind.” Old Grave put the andolin back within his robes. Then he started combing the battlewratih’s hair, “Her songs spoke directly to my soul. In a way, she understood me better than I had ever understood myself.”
This wasn’t what Zayn wanted to hear in a conversation between a demented old man and a motorcycle that gained sentience just a day ago.
Soon...their blabbering grew too boring and abstract for him. He felt like he'd go unconscious again if he kept listening. So instead of wasting time listening to a couple of prehistoric madmen talk, he went to his system interface.
And the first notification stung, immediately.
Feat unlocked!
Deviant (Iron): You have been marked for drawing upon the powers of a forbidden source to override the cooldown. The righteous factions of the Spirit realms look upon you with disfavour. The demonic factions of Abyss watch you with interest.
It is inadvisable that you use its power any further.
Effect: 1+ VIT, Righteous Doctrines and Gods will be less likely to provide you with their [Blessing] and [Boon].
His face darkened. Forbidden source…meant the sphere of mana? All he did was just take a few strands, just a tiny bit. To save his life. That surely shouldn’t have been enough to warrant a divine punishment?
The implications bothered him even more. In the events where he continued using this power, he’d get even worse feats.
It was possible he'd get banned from everything long before leaving this dungeon.
Screw that.
He annoyedly checked out at the next line of words.
Class quest II—Understand the first law of the Red Rager—completed!
Passive skill unlocked from the blood siphoned!
Verdant Skin [Apprentice - low]: Fae were blessed by mother nature to be resilient against its hazards. As treants, they’ve evolved a step further. Now it is up to you to re-ignite their ancient physiology.
Resistances unlocked—Minor Flame resistance!
Zayn rubbed his skin, wondering if it had gained some weird characteristics. Thankfully, his skin looked normal and felt normal. A little paler than usual, sure, but that probably had more to do with blood loss.
Closing his eyes, he felt the effect.
No wonder everything felt so different compared to yesterday. Before today, even standing on the sand had felt like he was on the grillers, but today, everything felt normal.
A tremendously welcome change.
All the negative feelings from [Deviant] vanished. It was real. He really could access other races’ racial skills, including their passive skills. If things went like this, he might need no blessing from the gods. And this was far from the end of good things.
He had other, exciting quests to take on.
Skill upgrade quest!
Under the pressure, he’d forgotten about it altogether. He quickly clicked the options open.
[Reinforced fist] evolution paths open!
Reinforced Strike: Reinforce your attacks and become capable of denting steel with any part of your body.
Requirements: Use [Reinforced fist] (27/25).
Reinforced Slash: When equipped with a sharp-edged weapon, reinforce your attack into energy slashes capable of cutting through steel.
Requirements: Use Reinforced Fist with sharp edged weapon (13/10)
Zayn went over the skill choices with great interest. Reinforced strike was a direct upgrade of Reinforced fist, more or less. He’d be capable of using it with any part of the body, which was…great.
Reinforced Slash was nice, too. However, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to restrict himself to just sharp weapons. He liked the feeling of using his fists, too. Having options and whatnot. And Crimson Claws kind of covered energy slashes, anyway.
Super- Reinforced Hook: Charge your energy to lash out a blinding hook that deals an extra burst of damage to the enemy.
Super- Reinforced Finger: Concentrate waves of energy to a single point…
Yeah…No thanks.
What in the lazy naming was this? Even if he liked the effect, he would not choose this just because of the names. Surely, this was sysadmin007 messing with him again.
Well...Super-Reinforced finger did sound powerful...
"No, you're not choosing that." He told himself.
Titan-crushing fist: Merge your physical strength and mana to deal a series of three punches, leaving even Titans staggering under its might.
Finally, some good freaking name! So Cool!
Requirement: Use [Reinforced fist] to defeat an enemy of titanic proportions. (0/1)
But the requirement made his face go dark. By titanic proportions, surely it meant the Stone Ape. If stone turtles counted, the requirement would have already been fulfilled…
Fuck you, Sysadmin007!
If he could beat the Stone Ape, why would he even need this skill?!
Skill evolution paths were interesting, though. It appeared dependent on how the skills were used. He probably wouldn’t have gotten Titan-crushing fist had he not rushed at that stone ape earlier. Neither would he have gotten Reinforced Strike or any of the other skills if he didn't use them in that specific manner.
Perhaps he should ask Northwalker. Even though he had a hard time gauging the dude, they did share the same intention—both of them wanted to see Zayn live.
Though he was unsure how this relationship benefited Northwalker.
He got mana stones and free advice from time to time. What did he get in return? Just free amusement? Sure, people in the greater universe might be this bored. But he doubted this was merely about the free entertainment.
You’ve got an unread text from your Benefector [Northwalker]
Hmm? Was he a mind reader?
He clicked it open.
Choose Reinforced Strike…
Click [Read more] to read the full message…
— Northwalker, 97 minutes ago….
Zayn clicked on [Read more] an infinite number of times before he realized that the headline of the text was the entirety of the message.
Huh?
That sounded like an order.
He deleted the message. Not sure whether benefactors were supposed to order him around, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to listen.
Well, he might choose Reinforced Strike. But not because he was told to do so! He wanted to pick it himself!
The fact that they could see the potential skills he could unlock got under his skin. That felt worse than being televised and stripped live.
He didn’t like that. Not one bit.
But the money was...important.
He needed that. For now.
He drew an Arax crystal and began absorbing mana to recover.
***
Nearly an hour later, the conversation around the bonfire was still going on. Old Grey gently combed through the battlewraith’s sharp, wiry hair, with an odd gentleness on his face.
“That day she died, I promised her. ” Old gravekeeper spoke with a great love in his voice. “When we meet again, we will be sixteen once more.”
Yeah. You sure look sixteen, old man. Sixteen feet away from death!
Zayn pursed his lips and then sent Raka a questioning stare.
Did it not find this obsessive behaviour with his dead wife a bit off-putting, or at least boring?
“True love is all about persistence!” Raka declared, its mechanical voice almost fanatical. “Look at the new generations! I’d almost lost hope after I saw how the dating culture had become. But watching you two love each other so persistently, even in death, my faith in love is restored!”
Zayn felt the veins in his head bulge.
This dude was fanning the fire!
Clearly, there was no one sane in this dungeon. No one except for him!
***
While he recovered using the mana stones, he took out the stoneworks he’d retrieved from the house, stared at them, and admired their intricacy before putting them back one after the other.
By the end of it, he was back staring at the moon again.
He had gone mad! Mad! Why the hell had he brought these useless things out?
Nobody in their right mind would buy them.
At least the manaless weapons could be sold as scrap metal...
His eyes darted towards the pile of weapons in the corner of the storage ring. He wasn't in his senses when he broke Hollowfang, but he couldn't help but think about it.
Taking Hollowfang out, he touched the crack in the middle. Too unnatural to be caused by blunt impact or tensile failure. Almost as if an insect had devoured it from the inside.
How could he crack it like that? It made no sense. Whatever Hollowfang was made of, it was still stronger than even the likes of chromoly steel. Metal does not corrode and turn hollow like that, not by tensile failure.
Forged by fae, this 'moonstone' metal was far stronger than even maraging steel used in rocket casings. So, for it to have corroded and broken like this, there must be a solid reason.
It was weird...his blood was still stuck to the places where it broke—
Wait. Blood?
He stared at the corroded edges. At the blood stuck on it like old paint. Then he took it off, and stared at it. His blood seemed to have fused with the metal.
No way.
That just made no sense.
He sliced open his palm and forced out a drop of blood with great difficulty. Then he waited.
Sizzle
A red mist wafted out soon after.
No.
He laughed at himself. That didn’t just happen. His blood wasn’t corrosive.
No.
He dropped another few drops, and sure enough, the metal corroded right away, wherever it was touched.
"How?" He chuckled in grim disbelief.
Hell, Blood shouldn’t react to metals. And yet, as it did, he felt his lingering hunger subside.
By a tiny bit.
Well, what the hell?
He was caught by a weird, uncontrollable impulse. Bringing a spear out, he bit on its blade.
Crunch crunch crunch
Strangely, he didn’t find the taste of metal unappealing. Certainly not worse than the dry rations he had devoured earlier. In fact, he preferred the taste of metal to the dry rations.
As soon as he took another bite, he felt a bunch of stares focus on him.
The old man smiled, while the battlewraith just sent a blank gaze, probably wondering what the hell he was even doing. While Raka and the coffin quickly began backing away as if they'd spotted their natural predator.
Zayn gaped with metal still in his mouth, unable to explain himself.
“Err..this is not what it looks like…”
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