The air had been alive with alien ululating cries, desperate curses, panic, and blood.
Whiffs of air sharp with the scents of a slaughterhouse and a confectionery stand had caressed the Hunter’s nostrils as he did a final check of his triple-shot crossbow and waited for the perfect moment to strike, assuming he was even needed at all.
Clearly, his master had overestimated their prey. But considering his proximity to their ultimate prize… best they nip any competition in the bud before such could grow into a real threat later.
Sealgair’s lips curved in a satisfied smile as he readied his archaic prize.
Warmed by the memory of laughter, both mocking and good-natured, of various Bounty Hunters eager to compare the merits of their Mark III Plasma Blasters versus his artifact.
Of course, none of them were laughing now.
Those that hadn’t learned to respect and fear his chosen weapon were already dead.
“Repudio!”
Sealgair lurched back with a curse, head spiking with sudden pain from backlash as blood spurted out of his nose.
“Report!”
The man stiffened as the chamber thrummed with the powerful baritone of his master, mind whirling as he took in what had just happened, and what it implied.
“It seems that our secondary target has cast an abjuration. One powerful enough to actually effect my mark.”
“Do you have a lock on the target?”
Sealgair slowly nodded. “Yes, my lord. Only the mark’s secondary functions have been neutralized. I am blind to him and can no longer cast curses through my mark to hinder him, but the link between our souls still remains.”
“Good. Then earn your prize and honor your oath.”
Sealgair dutifully dipped his head.
Of course the situation wasn’t optimal.
The prey had actually managed to spot a Bane that Sealgair’s class and specializations should have made invisible to all who didn’t walk his elite path, or another quite similar. Worse, his target had managed to dispel the curses he had imbued it with, and his prey was no longer visible within the mortal realm.
Yet the essence infused within the mark still held.
If barely.
Sealgair could still use the link between their souls to port through.
But there were risks.
The Hunter clenched his jaw with frustration. As he no longer had any sort of visual lock on his prey, he couldn’t spy the environment and pick the perfect location to strike. Still, he had had time enough to sense that his prey was capable of rapid movement if given a chance to accelerate. Yet the speed of his movements when wielding his massive bar of crimson flame revealed Quickness equivalent only to that of a highly trained White-Tier specialist. Or at most, a warrior only recently broken through to Bronze.
But no more than that.
And as he had seen firsthand, when the boy had dared use that strategic spell on the ground, there were openings that a true master of speed could take advantage of.
If anything, Sealgair was surprised that his target wasn’t already dead.
Of course, he had seen the injury. The blood spurting from his target’s neck before the mixed-blood screamed an abjuration that alone gave Sealgair pause.
Clearly, his target had potential. Had access to at least one essence ability.
Yet however well the prey heard the doomed whispers, it was nothing compared to Sealgair’s own mastery and skills.
So perhaps he would be going in blind. For a heartbeat. So long as his Shadow Hunters could occupy his prey for even a heartbeat… he would make his kill.
As he had so many times before.
And this one was a Contender.
Like his master.
Like himself.
Sealgair smiled coldly as he checked over his tools one final time, grateful anew for that fateful day he had broken bread with the man who could have so easily killed him, but instead took him on as a disciple. He would help hound and harry his master’s prey so that his better could savor the choicest kills imaginable, growing in power beyond all ken. And in return for Sealgair’s unstinting aid?
The comfort of lairing within the very belly of the beast. For all the oaths that bound them.
For the bonds of brotherhood they now shared.
And in return for his service? In addition to shelter and incredible wealth as mortals measured gold and credits, he also earned the right to savor lesser prizes.
Like all the potential locked within his chosen prey and the delicious potency that would soon be infusing Sealgair beyond any class ascension or level-up.
Two Percent. A full 2% of all the attributes his prey had gleaned over all his fortuitous encounters would soon be Sealgair’s own. If his white tier target had earned a thousand attribute points, then he would earn twenty. If his prey had actually managed to claim 2,000, which he dared to think wasn’t entirely unreasonable, Sealgair would claim 40 sweet points to infuse his body, his soul, and in some undefinable way, hone and purify himself. Such that more than one seemingly hard and fast bottleneck had been completely obliterated, as if the System itself was slowly acknowledging his worth as he managed not only to ascend to Bronze but to achieve a cored Level 40.
A bottleneck that he had been chipping steadily away at for years. Grateful that his master still considered him fit for service. If anything, when Sealgair had admitted that this wasn’t his first roadblock, that he had managed a glorious breakthrough with his previous kills… far from thinking him weak, unworthy, his master had smiled with genuine-seeming pleasure, a full moon ago.
“This is good, Sealgair. You have dared to challenge reality itself with your potential, and it rewards you! Now prepare yourself, for I have found our prey’s layer. Ready your marks and polish your weapons. For we shall embrace a hunt like no other!”
And prepare himself he had. Even now double checking the Gladius of Pristine Sharpness at his hip that could slice through mithril like butter. Mithril very much like the mail shirt he wore underneath his warding cloak, his wide-brimmed hat providing better defenses than all but the most elite of armored tanks.
He checked the straps and bindings of his armor and weaponry, finding it satisfactory before eyeing his twin packets of wax-tip covered crossbow bolts infused with the most caustic Bronze-Tier poison he could get his hands on, normally reserved for abominations considered a Class I threat on their home world. And it had been as easy as pie to persuade more than one easily bribed local Administrator to agree to let him take a handful of excess vials off their hands.
He then turned his focus to his greatest prize of all, and dared to crack a smile.
It was a treasure he had infused with a bit of his very soul.
A Cursed Crossbow that never missed, even if the cost was a tiny portion of himself if he wanted to absolutely assure a shot that never missed his prey’s heart.
Never.
At the cost of only a single Soul Point, when he had invested hundreds. When he walked a path that, should he remain true to it, would eventually see him to Silver!
With his Physical attributes all in perfect balance, save for Quickness which he had pushed to wondrous heights per his mentor’s orders, he felt balanced and ready. And with 400 in both Soul Reserves and Arcane Potential, he hadn’t neglected any of the attributes that made him so damned deadly along his chosen path.
“Master, I embrace the hunt,” he declared within the empty halls of the ritual chamber, knowing his master could hear every word.
“Hunt well,” his master said in turn, as he had a hundred times before.
Heart beginning to race as it always did, Sealgair crossed the gate between worlds, so thin a passage that he alone could make the journey, at least for now.
Blinding light flashed across his vision, then crushing darkness, Sealgair bracing himself as always, grateful that his experience and tolerance meant that he only needed a heartbeat to get his bearings, whereas even the most observant prey took seconds if not minutes to register his appearance, if they ever noted him at all.
Of course, this time was different. He hadn’t had a visual lock, so he couldn’t choose precisely where he’d end up in relation to the target, only knowing that he’d be close.
For a watery eyeblink, all was as it should be.
His foe was distracted just trying to survive the Shadow Reavers which he had feared, this time, would steal all the potency Sealgair had come to expect from elite prey. He had debated using them at all… but knew he was far better off safe than sorry against an unknown threat tier, since in this ruthless life, the first mistake was often the last.
Though he did blink in consternation when he heard glass shatter under his feet. Broken sharp shards that had no hope of piercing the insides of his padded boots… yet the lining was sensitive enough that he could still feel his environment with exquisite precision. Such as the slimy cold feeling slithering up his boot, his eyes widening as he caught sight of what seemed to be mountains of ruined cakes, melted ice cream sundaes, eclairs by the score, chocolate pecan pastries, baked fruit pies, and so much more. A massive mound of ruined high-end confectionery, and all of it stomped, mangled, and utterly ruined in the pitched melee of frenzied battle.
A bemused Sealgair stumbled for a split second, realizing he was actually sinking in a pile of it, and had somehow managed to land foot first in a massive glass bowl of ice cream, fruit chunks, and ganache.
It was, indeed, beyond all expectation and even caught him off guard for a precious split second.
The only thing more surprising was how quickly his target spun around.
Sealgair’s instincts screamed sudden terrible warning as all mirth and bemusement at the confectionery folly he found himself landing instantly left. A colorful mask torn free to reveal the predatory monster suddenly before him.
“YOU CRUSHED MY SUNDAE!”
Eyes that froze and burned. Like twin suns that would freeze his soul before obliterating him in hellfire met Sealgair’s own.
“YOU MOTHERFUCKING FUCK! YOU CRUSHED MY LAST FUCKING SUNDAE!”
His prey’s snarl made the ground tremble. Sylvan features so striking in their beauty began to twist like the darkest of nightmares as his prey’s mouth began to open wide… then kept opening. Opening as the lie of pearly white teeth revealed a shark’s maw of jagged death.
A mw that somehow kept growing! Never mind those perfect crimson rosebud lips were the exact same shape they had been a heartbeat ago... the mouth twisted and warped in strange directions and those teeth, those awful, awful teeth, revealing no tongue, just the darkness of the void filled with the screams of the damned.
Never mind that Sealgair had effectively gotten a bead on this kid from behind, that a single shot of his armor piercing bolt-poisoned crossbow would see this DONE! He didn’t dare hesitate. His Danger Sense was now downright SCREAMING with warning.
You have FAILED to save versus Dragon Fear!
One? No. Panicked twitching fingers squeezed as he gasped with a sudden sharp spike of pain as he infused ALL THREE of his shots with fragments of his precious soul.
Three Soul Points forever lost as they went streaking through the air.
For the very HEART of his target, which was a very good thing, since it was moving. The boy was MOVING so fast and so—HOW? He was twisting through the air! Where were his feet finding purchase?
“FRAGOR!”
The air rang with sound that cracked against Sealgair’s psyche, choking back a scream as his right eye BURST right out of his head.
His ears were filled with an awful sharp screeching ring that went on and on, even though only a tiny portion of a second had passed and his hat should have WARDED him!
His thoughts were a jumbled wreck as he stumbled back, numb hands reaching for his gladius when the air cracked once more in hyper-speak.
“REPUDIO!”
The sword he reached for exploded, sending fragments of formerly enchanted steel tearing into his hip and hand.
“But none of that mattered!” Sealgair thought with a triumphant snarl.
For his bolts had struck true! Even moving slower than this MONSTER racing for him so fast even with Sealgair’s own time dilation in full effect, his three heart shots HAD STRUCK TRUE!
He could see it on the damned monster’s face. Impossibly wide maw filled with so many hideous teeth became the sudden bloody wheeze of DYING PREY!
Sealgair’s terror became triumph, TASTING the boon that would soon be his.
Before his remaining eye blinked in surprised dismay.
His prey was still moving forward, even as Sealgair leaped back toward salvation. The portal just a couple steps back.
But his feet found no purchase.
He was slipping, slipping on a mound of broken glass, melted ice cream, and far too many fucking sponge cakes under his feet. And how the hell had that even happened?!?
A tiny part of him screamed that it wasn’t fair, that it made no sense, that his prey should be DEAD! And that his master would never forgive him, might even refuse to break bread again, but Sealgair had no choice but to stumble back, scrabbling on crushed crème-filled pastries as he desperately scurried for the exit because, his foe WASN’T STOPPING! He was SHOT in the HEART, filled with POISON! And he was not….
He dared flash a tense smile when FINALLY the goddamned abomination stumbled.
A single step. The poison FINALLY taking out his—
“PHOENIX STRIKE!”
Selagair blinked in disbelief.
What kind of idiot could get so far, wield such power, and still call out his attacks like a—
Sealgair blinked as he gazed at the whirling blade of freezing flame that had just struck his hands holding his soul bound crossbow that he hadn’t even had time to pull back, let alone pull away—how fast had he moved?!?
And his limbs were filled with FIRE that burned even as horrific cold froze both arms solid. Yet somehow Sealgair could still FEEL that cut of hideous HEAT that had cleaved through his limbs… but no... wait.
There was more.
He hadn’t just lost his arms.
The white-hot line blazing through his body and soul had cut deeper.
He had been cleaved in twain.
He could hear his master’s sudden cry of panicked alarm in the frozen echoes of his mind as the awful cold froze him into a statue of ice, even as he was cleaved by something transcendent.
Something otherworldly.
A bemused, dying Sealgair savored his final hyper-time instant of life appreciating that he hadn’t just been cleaved in half… the very paper-like fabric of reality where he had stood had just been set ablaze.
And the sudden shockwave of transcendent cold meeting impossible heat resulted in a catastrophic explosion of ice fragments roaring forth in all directions save one as Sealgair was utterly obliterated, even through the still open portal that he couldn’t jump back through in time, no matter the roaring Silver-tier monster even now racing inside the chamber. Only to be pummeled by bitter sharp fragments that actually crossed the barrier between worlds and pierced Silver-Tier flesh.
For a heartbeat, the hot-eyed Silver Titan radiating such fearsome killing intent roared and charged, as if he would rush through a far too dim portal in his desperate fury… but the gate had already snapped shut to the furious howls of a Hunter denied his prey.
***
You have been struck by a Heart-Seeker Bolt!
Cuirass of the Underlord FAILS to protect!
Mithril armor FAILS to counter!
You have been dosed with Bronze-Tier Poison!
You have been struck by an additional Heart-Seeker Bolt!
Cuirass of the Underlord FAILS to protect!
Mithril armor FAILS to counter!
You have been dosed with Bronze-Tier Poison!
You have been struck by an additional Heart-Seeker Bolt!
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Cuirass of the Underlord FAILS to protect!
Mithril armor FAILS to counter!
You have been dosed with Bronze-Tier Poison!
Eric’s howling fury knew no bounds as the Interface screamed with his imminent death even as the final Shadow Reaver fell, and Eric’s final perfect ice cream sundae was CRUSHED by the feet of some fuckhead assassin who of course had been in perfect position to line up a shot with a weapon that had Erics danger senses screaming.
He didn’t hesitate, not giving a fuck it the fight wouldn’t meet cultivation ascension requirements or not. He roared the singular word that might give him a fighting chance.
“FRAGOR!”
Feeling the whipcrack of a Psionic Roar filled with the essence of Wrath part his lips to tear into his foe.
The clever witch-hunter style hat the fuckhead wore radiating such potent energies was blown off the asshole’s head as he lurched back. The hunter’s right eye, Eric’s actual target, ruptured before the Psionic Blast.
And that’s when he felt it. The awful cold jolt of blazing agony piercing his heart.
Not once but THRICE! Even as he wheezed the word that he prayed would dispel whatever fucking BULLSHIT magic had allowed it to pierce all his defenses that now meant nothing.
And yes, he DID get a fierce jolt of satisfaction at seeing the asshole’s cloak unravel, his gloves fray, his crossbow give an odd keening sound, even if not breaking, and the bolts beginning to hiss and smoke in their pouch, making it clear that enchantments had been involved with that HORRIFIC poison now burning him from within.
And he was dying. He could feel himself dying.
And that fuckhead was smirking, having set him up like a punk hitman, because he didn’t dare take Eric on directly and Eric could feel it. FEEL that his was a Contender. An alien Contender hopping onto Earth just long enough to steel his soul and there was NO WAY! NO FUCKING WAY Eric was letting that shit go down.
He didn’t care how badly his chest hurt, how it screamed. He refused to lose himself to the growing darkness at the corners of his vision. He would step FORWARD! Because inertia, gravity, momentum, they all worked for him!
Blood obeyed HIS WILL! Not any fucking Bronze-tier bleedout poison BULLSHIT! The HELL with that!
He screamed for his legs to continue pumping, and for his hand to SWING a heartbeat before this FUCKING ASSHOLE of an opponent could just blow a kiss and step right back through his assassin’s perch and ping Eric again and again and again because this galaxy was so filled with cheap-shot assholes who would do anything and everything in their power to bring down anyone and everyone who wasn’t part of their bullshit clique!
FUCK THAT!
“PHOENIX STRIKE!” He screamed in his mind so loud that even the blanching asshole seemed to hear him.
Even as the asshole hunter smirked goodbye after losing a precious moment slipping on Eric’s priceless confectioneries, yet was even now being accepted by the portal.
Before Eric’s blade flashed right through portal, limbs, and crossbow in the blink of an eye.
A white-hot line of transcendent Fire trapped in the diameter of Eric’s blade as every last iota of heat within three feet was torn free of body and cells. Slipping into negative temperatures beyond mortal physics, and that wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough as Eric’s windmilling strike cleaved his foe in two. Blazing not just through essence-infused armor and a dozen protective wards obliterated like gossamer strands, but slicing through reality itself.
His blade SCREAMED as it tore through the very gate, all 14 ranks of his transcendent attack making it clear that space was HIS now, and his foe was still here! Transformed into a pristinely bisected statue of pristine ice as Eric wheezed for breath that just wouldn’t come and collapsed as his shocked-looking foe exploded in all directions, save for Eric himself.
For Ice knew its master.
Slaughtering hundreds if not thousands of abominations in addition to striking the Silver-tier asshole Hunter thinking himself hidden in the shadows on the other side of that vile portal, glaring at Eric so furiously through the gloom before the rift snapped shut.
And then it was Eric lying on the ground.
Dying on the ground.
Eric gasped for air that just wouldn’t come as he desperately summoned all of his phalanxes to guard his person while his Unified Restoration kicked into frantic overdrive and Eric’s mind was suddenly inundated with messages that would decide whether or not he lived or died as his throat clamped shut.
You have successfully slain 1 Dozen Shadow Scythes in singular combat.
You have slain an unknown opponent in melee combat.
You have earned 1 additional level as a Cultivator!
Doom Strike is now Rank 8.
Doom Strike is now Rank 9!
WARNING!!
You have been struck THRICE in the Heart with Bronze Tier Poison!
Transcendent Abjuration only partially neutralizes poison!
Rank 35 Blood Mastery FAILS to completely mitigated Bronze-Tier Anticoagulant.
Bronze-Tier anticoagulant FAILS to completely mitigate your mastery over blood!
You are suffering SIGNIFICANT internal bleeding!
Eric found himself swirling into growing blackness as foul poisons began infecting his mind.
No matter how desperately he infused his cells with the compulsion to expel toxins, stabilize their electrolytes and repair themselves…
It wasn’t enough.
He had gone from feeling on top of the world to dangling from his aching fingertips upon the lip of a basalt ridge whipping him with the chilly winds of his own demise, howling for his fall.
Then he saw it.
The faint speck of light that was the sparkling cord of a powerful soul.
A climbing rope—right between his fingers!—And all he had to do was grab it! And hold on tight.
No matter how much that cord writhed and screamed in his grip as he squeezed hands now dripping with blood.
Blood he greedily lapped up between dying lips as he struggled with desperate gasping wheezes back over the granite lip that could so easily spell his doom.
You have dared to take on a Bronze-Tier Contender!
A HUNTER with a mark upon you soul!
Willpower Check successful!
You embrace Quarternary Harmony even in your death throws!
Rank 14 combined essences TRUMPS Rank 22 Hunter’s Luck!
The desperate key to survival that your foe was hoping for FAILS to manifest… buried in two solid feet of sugary confectioneries!
You have successfully slain your target!
A BRONZE TIER Contender who himself has fed upon many choice kills!
NOTE! Silver-Tier enemy hunter is now attempting to Soul Bind you!
Transcendent Blade SEVERES all cords!
“No! You may not have him! Die, you foul abomination! Let the fates take your soul instead of his own!”
Eric suddenly found himself in a bog as a roaring monster yanked free the cord Eric had been hanging so tightly to, forcing Eric to struggle against unseen currents trying to drown him in darkness even as the System’s oddly desperate messages washed over him, like the faintest of tunes played by a radio upon a boat rowing ever further from the sucker they had just dumped overboard.
Yet he clung to that final message like a carelessly tossed life jacket he did all he could to grasp with exhausted hands even as his heart spasmed and shuddered, the Bronze-Tier acids and poisons sizzling and frying his heart far too quickly and thoroughly for even his desperately struggling Unified Restoration to handle.
“Sorry, fucker. It doesn’t work that way. He’s MY kill, and I’m claiming him. ALL of him. Forever.”
It was all Eric could do to hang on just long enough to struggle into shallow waters, claim the sweet juicy prize from the serpent snapping at the beating heart he held still in his hand, and sob with desperate relief when his frame shuddered with the surge of sweet, sweet power and potency now roaring into him as over three million revenants stood sentinel over his dying form.
Sealgair Hunter. Level 40 Bronze Soul Hunter
Key attributes: Strength 700 / Vitality 700 / Finesse 700 / Quickness 1000 / Perception 700 / Appearance (Insignificant) / Scholarship (Insignificant) / Willpower (Insignificant) / Charisma (Insignificant) / Arcane Potential 400 / Soul Reserves 397
Eric squealed with delight and hunger as he tightly squeezed the prize in his hand as the serpent before him screamed with wide, terrified eyes.
The eyes of a desperate father, before fading away.
The momentary jolt of dismay Eric felt was replaced by wonder. For he held not a beating bloody heart but a peach. A perfect pristine peach dripping with succulent juices! Held so tightly in his trembling grip.
He took great big juicy bites, no matter how much his peach writhed in his hands.
“Knock it off, asshole. You already crushed my sundae. The least you can do is make up for it now.”
Crimson Contender perk is now in play!
You may now consume your fellow Contenders as if they were territories! You enjoy +6 to Find Weakness skill checks against any Contender, and upon consuming them, you may consume them UTTERLY! Claiming key Contender attributes as your OWN Crimson Bounty that you tear free of your prey! (Effective baseline consumption is 7.5% of key attributes that will then be further modified by any and all attribute enhancement boons!)
You successfully claim 52 points of Strength from your prey!
You successfully claim 53 points of Vitality from your prey!
You successfully claim 52 points of Finesse from your prey!
You successfully claim 75 points of Quickness from your prey!
You successfully claim 53 points of Perception from your prey!
You successfully claim 30 Arcane Potential from your prey!
You successfully claim 29 Soul Reserves from your prey!
Eric glared at the peach pit in his hands, warping into the shape of a man desperately pleading, though for what, Eric could only guess. For he had consumed him utterly, as utterly as any ravager upon the Path of Consumption, and all that was left was the seed of his soul.
Yet before Eric could be moved to pity, he sensed the gentle tugging upon that string.
Hardly a twitch.
Easily disguised as gossamer strands upon a puff of air.
But Eric wasn’t stupid.
He could sense the brooding, powerful hunter at the other end of that cord.
The serpent desperate for his heart.
The mother who had sent the cub ahunting.
A cub that had come so close to killing Eric, even now so close to death that he hovered upon its doorstep.
His doom was rapidly approaching.
So fast and furious that fate and fortune seemed to be screaming warning even as a far off dragon rejoiced and his Danger Sense screamed as Doom inevitably closed in.
So Eric opened his massive maw as wide as his mother ever had, ignoring the soul’s pitiable scream as he chomped down on that pit, devouring it utterly and for all time as he snipped the cord a certain Silver-tier hunter was desperately climbing like one would scale a perilous ledge between worlds before it abruptly snapped.
The shrieking hunter now plummeted in directions alien to all mortal points, hurtling wildly between dimensions as an ancient Silver howled his fury, the very memory of his fallen son’s demise wiped clean from his and everyone else’s mind.
Skill Check: Critical Success! You consumed your latest living territory so utterly that his name has been torn utterly free of all mortal minds.
Not even his Silver-Tier sire remembers who he has lost, all dreams of vengeance turned to melancholic despair as he hurtles between the stars.
Well done!
Path of Endless Bounty is now Rank 18!
Eric forced a smile filled with triumphant glee even as blood continued to pour from his nose, ears, eyes… every orifice as he struggled to keep from exsanguinating completely, once more lost in the throws of a desperate struggle that had never abated, and his delay, holding so tightly to the prize his foes had been so desperate to tear away, nearly costing him everything.
Blood Mastery is now Rank 36!
Unified Restoration is now Rank 16!
You are UNABLE to counter Bronze Tier poison!
It had been a calculated risk. Perhaps he could have held on a few minutes longer as his foe tore free his son’s soul… no doubt to consume it himself.
WARNING! YOU ARE SUFFERING CATASTROPHIC BLOOD LOSS.
DEATH IMMINENT!
But he knew he would have only brought himself a few minutes at best. Because of course the Bronze-Tier poison had been an anticoagulant. For even now, he could sense it’s terrible Synergism with a Hunter’s Bleed perk.
If he were to have any hope of doing anything but staving his slow wheezing exsanguination for more than a double handful of minutes, what he feared would be well short of the hour he would ultimately need as Blood Mastery was pushed to such desperate extremes, Eric overwhelmed by the billion strands his gift had to split itself into, tending to every cell that he could…
He needed an infusion of power that would blast through the lingering dooms and curses and poison for the broken heartbeats needed to infuse clean wholesome blood through his entire System.
He would need a shocking infusion of potency, or, what the System now grimly informed him was a 100 point jolt to his Vitality.
And he had no points in reserve at all.
Except those of the glowing peach or bloody beating heart he digested even now.
So Eric took the greatest of all risks and FORCED all his focus onto the devoured heart of his enemy.
Claiming the shocking boon he had earned not over a good night’s sleep… but within seconds.
Seconds as his body screamed for the shockingly potent infusion.
Seconds as his careful digestion became a desperate surge that forced great big plaque deposits within his foundation.
And yet it was the only path forward. For as Eve herself would say, survival at all costs was the path they walked.
Even as his cells screamed under the burden of potency so sharp it would have destroyed anyone lesser.
You have successfully saved versus Exsanguination!
You have successfully saved versus Potency Rupture!
WARNING! Your foundation now has 3.21% Occlusion!
53 Vitality ENHANCED by 175% bonus modifiers!
Your Vitality has SURGED by 145.75 Points!
52 Strength ENHANCED by 175% bonus modifiers!
Your Strength has SURGED by 143 Points!
Congratulations!
You are the first Terran Contender Northeast Quadrant to exceed 1300 in Vitality!
You are the first Terran Contender in the Northeast Quadrant to exceed 1300 in Strength!
You now enjoy an additional 10% Bonus (On top of all your other sweet boons!) to Strength and Vitality!
Eric saw nothing but blinding white light as every cell in his body screamed under the sudden burden of not dozens but hundreds of attribute points infusing his physique, thanks to all the boons that his stats as Terra’s champion, status as top Contender in the leader boards in all his major stats, and Bronze-Tier titles he had earned as a Crimson Contender tore free a base 7.5% of his foe’s massive pool that was then modified over two and a half fold for almost every attribute he had claimed.
It was agony and ecstasy like no other, every cell of his body blazing like the sun.
A single desperate plea was sent to his troops as he lost himself in that fiery sea of agony and transformation blazing through his soul. Only it wasn’t the agony of death, but the exquisite burn of a good workout, every muscle aching, lungs heaving as he collapsed to the grass after the track and field meet with the laughter of the Rising Sun varsity team behind him.
“So, who’s the cute boy?”
Eric’s tired smile as he lay upon the grass stiffened at the voice of a woman savoring youth’s first blush, haunting him with its husky warmth.
“Oh don’t mind him, he’s like that every time he pushes himself too hard,” said another voice that sent a spear of anxious hope in his chest as he forced himself to role over…
Gazing, slack-jawed, at Bunbun’s cheeky grin.
Only it wasn’t Bunbun, not entirely, but Lillian Hendrix wearing track and field sweats for Lincoln High, any sign of her crippling injury gone from features now so youthful that his chest hurt.
She flashed a bemused smile as he gazed at her in wide-eyed disbelief.
“Duude.” She said, one ear flopping down in exasperation just the way he remembered.
“Bunz! I mean Lilly! You’re alive! You made it!” Eric stumbled to his feet, wrapping his friend in a sobbing hug. Holding her so carefully, even as she chuckled, patting his back with her hand and his hair with her ear.
“Dude, you are so lucky everyone knows we’re besties, or the looks the coach is sending our way…”
Eric laughed, ignoring everyone save the vision of snarky beauty before him. “You’re okay, right? I mean this isn’t just a dream I stumbled into in exhaustion or…” His words froze on his lips. Struck by an ache of such poignancy when he saw the girl giving him a curious look a few feet behind them.
His heart twisted in his chest to see her as she must have looked, so long ago.
With a cute dimpled smile, filling out her Rising Sun school track uniform with the first blush of youth… flushing even now when Eric looked at her so boldly.
“Hi, um… my name is Elly?”
Eric swallowed, ignoring the pounding of his heart even as he slowly stepped back from Lilly with a gentle squeeze of his hand. “Hi, Elly. My name is Eric.” He flashed an awkward smile. “I don’t suppose you remember me?”
Elly flushed, rubbing her pointed ear tips awkwardly as her friend Svena, looking like an exotic Scandinavian teen supermodel, whispered in her friend’s ear with a wicked grin, earning blushing cheeks from the smaller girl. Bennet laughed, bumming a cigarette from Lone, while Myl and Naje leaned back in the grass and enjoyed the show.
“Um… sorry. It’s just, you look sort of like someone I’ve been looking for and—” Her eyes widened when Eric mimed taking off a wig, revealing the red hair and cheeky smile that she knew so well.
Her cheeks flushed. “Ernest! Then who was…”
Eric winked. “I’m a master of disguises,” he said.
“He likes to get in trouble,” Lilly quipped. “This lets him get past the hallway monitors and thought-police at school.”
Elly bit her lip, gazing at Eric so intently. “So, me and my friends are going to hit the Silver Spoon diner later, and, well, if you’d like to come…”
“I’d love to!” Eric said, heart pounding with desperate hope he kept firmly at bay. “But um…” He swallowed, forcing himself to say it. “I’m not sure how to get there… or how to meet up with you when I do.”
Elly flashed a pain-filled smile, the innocent eyes of a teen replaced by the pain of someone who had been through hell and back. “That’s because I’m dreaming, Ernest. As much as a lost soul can dream.”
Eric froze, losing himself in the emerald green eyes of the girl that he slowly approached as the springing grass gave under feet now free of track shoes. Eric reached out and slowly clasped her unresisting hand, heart pounding as he gazed into eyes that were windows to nightmare.
Seeing so clearly the now fading half dozen souls hanging on so desperately to pillars of bedrock in a maze of shadows and darkness. Struggling to hold on while Cerberus howled for their souls, yet could never quite seem to reach them.
Eric stiffened, suddenly understanding as he gazed into the haunted smiles of Svena, Lone, Captain Bennett, and all of the mercenary crew he dared to call friends who had fought and died upon hellish sands.
Souls he had feared lost, pulled from his clutches with the death of Eric’s nemesis.
“The triple stability perk. Granite that no force on earth can destroy. It really…” He swallowed. “I wasn’t just being a paranoid deluded idiot. It really is holding the hounds of hell and my… my enemy back.”
Elly shivered, blinking back tears, her smile becoming strained. “We’d really like to meet up with you, Ernest. But even with bedrock so hard, so solid and real that even tired souls can cling to its pillars… it’s hard to hold on to hope. It’s hard to hold on at all.”
She trembled, Eric now holding her soft hands so tightly, struck with the weird certainty that she could just float away.
“Alright, here’s what we’re going to do,” he said, gazing out a the vast fields beside the school that he had actually attended for a single semester, quickly spotting the rustling trees of the forest nearby.
“We’re going to take a walk, together, because there are better things to anchor ourselves onto than cold stone mazes that leave us wandering like a poor lost soul in Hades.”
Haunted eyes met his own. “Are you sure you want to, Ernest?”
Eric winked. “Damn right I do.” He turned to the rest of the opposing track team gazing with an odd sort of hesitancy. He shared a wink with Lilly who grinned and gave him a thumb’s up.
“Time for a woodland picnic, Fearless Leader!”
Eric chuckled, gesturing to them all. “Well, come on, guys. What are you waiting for? Everyone’s invited!”
Bennet blinked and swallowed before forcing a smile. “Sure. Diner or a hike, beats going home to my old man.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” Eric said with a rueful chuckle, earning a concerned look from Lilly and Elly both.
“Eric?”
“Ernest?”
Eric sighed, dropping his mask. He gazed intently at the green-eyed girl beside him. “This is who I really am, Elly.”
Bennet snorted. “The prince with a massive bounty on his head.”
“Pretty much.”
The youth shrugged. “Cool enough, man. So, let’s go? Because the track meet’s over, and there’s no reason to stick around.”
Eric grinned even as the air behind him filled with howls and screams.
“Bet the principal is pissed!” Lilly snorted.
“Well fuck him. We’re out of here,” Eric declared, walking toward the inviting canopy of massive trees promising a cool walk under bowers heavy with blossoms.
Elly’s grin warmed his heart as they walked side by side, her hand fitting so perfectly with his own.
“Eric, this forest is perfect! It almost reminds me of…”
“Yes?”
“Home.”