by Noam Oswin
Title(s): [Reincarnated] [User] [Gorger] [Larvae Slayer] [Jonah] [Parasite] [David] [Agkistrodon Slayer] [Genocidal] [Retaliator] [Phoenix]
Of the titles I possessed, I knew what [Reincarnated], [User], [Gorger], [Larvae Slayer], [Jonah], [Parasite], [David] and [Genocidal] did. However, I was still unaware of what [Agkistrodon Slayer] [Retaliator] and [Phoenix] entailed, except for granting me that quest.
Title: [Agkistrodon Slayer]
Details: A special title. You slayed Agkistrodon. Grants [Special Title] benefits.
It seemed the only benefits I gained from slaying that serpent was the quest. Or was there something else that I would find out from it later? I pondered the thought before moving on to my next title.
Title: [Retaliator]
Details: An uncommon title. Fighting against enemies that have wronged you grants +20% Damage Dealt and +20% Damage Reduction. +1% is added for every day that goes by without gaining retribution. There is no upper limit to the percentage possible.
Revenge is best served cold. Indeed there was no title that did not have specific benefits, and each one seemed to have a central theme. I questioned the origin of the taxonomy of some of the titles. “Jonah” and “David” as titles were names that contained stories commonly associated with Abrahamic religions and stories from my world. Where and why were they the titles I was assigned?
The titles also seemed to have ranks. Some were [Uncommon], others were [Rare], some were [Special] and then the most useful of them seemed to be [Epic]. Were these all the title classifications available, or were these just the ones I was fortunate enough to unlock?
There was only one left.
Title: [Phoenix]
Details: A mythical title. Grants a 0.9% chance to revive from death with complete immunity to what killed you. Every brush with death you survive or near death experience you have adds an additional +3% odds to the chance. The odds are reset upon each successful resurrection.
Current Chance of Resurrection: 0.9%
Immunities Gained: 0
Mythical. A rank that seemed to finally be above epic. It was indeed worthy of the name, mythical. Again, it seemed there was a connection that the title possessed with myths that I knew of. The phoenix was a creature that rose from the ashes of its demise, repetitively trapped in an eternal state of life, death and rebirth.
With this title, I needed to survive an approximate thirty brushes with death just to be capable of being guaranteed that I could resurrect after my death. If I did indeed survive thirty different brushes with death, it would be something noteworthy.
I organized what I knew of titles so far. It seemed to rank from [Uncommon], to [Rare], to [Epic] and now to [Mythical]. There was also [Special] which was the outlier, and my [Unique] titles, [Reincarnated] and [User]. Where they above [Mythical], or was it that they did not fall into that classification?
“Ah? A guest! A guest! I have a guest! Oh – a guest!”
It was the second time I heard a voice and could not determine the origin. This voice did not arrive with the unexpected slap of gravity and pressure, but was soft, perky, and feminine.
I swiveled and pivoted as much as I could in order to locate the source. For a second I contemplated if I imagined it, then I dismissed the contemplation. I did not believe myself to have reached that level of insanity yet. More so, I would not have imagined a woman’s voice, nor would I have imagined her speaking in an accent that was unrecognizable.
“Hello there little masakh! You – you can understand me can’t you? You can can’t you?”
Who are you? I asked, feeling apprehension. Oblivion? No, the voice of Oblivion was indeterminable, it boomed and commanded authority, and it was neither male nor female. This voice however, was clearly feminine. Was this part of the quest?
“Oblivion? No, no, not Oblivion. My name... name...” there was a pause in the voice. “I think I was Janje. Janje. It has been years, oh, years, so many years since anyone called my name. Yes – yes, yes, Janje is Janje.”
You think? I responded. You don’t remember?
“Oh, it’s just been several thousand years!” The voice laughed. “Stupid Janje. It’s been so long! Oh so long! So, so, little clever masakh, what’s your name?”
My name?
It felt like years since anyone asked me that question. Most of the time, people knew who I was on sight, and any introductions I made were redundant.
My name is –
I stopped.
My name is –
How was it possible?
My... my name –
“You don’t remember? Don’t worry, Janje understands. It has been long since anyone called Janje by name too! Or – or is it, you don’t have a name?”
No, I have a name! I just –
How could I not remember my own name? How was it possible? I still remembered that I had three brothers, and I remembered their names were –
Their names – My eldest brother, his name – it – it started with a –
How... how is this possible? Why can’t I remember?
“Oh, poor little Masakh. Masakh without a name! Masakh without a name!” Janje sang. “People aren’t born into with names! Silly masakh, you should know that! No one chooses their name!”
But I had a name. I had –
“I can give you a name! I can! Do you want one strong? I know plenty strong names?”
I pushed away the unease at not remembering my own name and focused on changing the topic. The voice of the woman was excitable, almost childlike. What is a masakh?
She laughed again. “Funny masakh. Masakh doesn’t know it’s a masakh. That’s funny! I like you masakh!”
I was not joking.
“Masakh is funny! Masakh is funny! But Masakh should not repeat jokes. Repeating jokes bad. Boring. Not funny. Masakh are masakh. Masakh will eliminate all suffering from world! Masakh are masakh!”
Eliminate all suffering? How?
“What? How? How what?”
It was rare for me to have my patience tested so. How do masakh eliminate suffering?
“Oh silly masakh! Masakh eliminating all suffering, by eliminating all who suffer! Simple! Easy! You can do it! Go masakh!”
She wasn’t wrong, in that, in a cutting off a head to cure a headache kind-of-way. I assumed the masakh were the monsters of fantasy that people slew around here. But why use the word masakh, when she could have just used the word monster? No, how was it that I could even understand her? How was it that I understood that ominous presence?
How are you speaking English?
“Infish? What’s infish? Janje does not know infish. Janje would like fish though! Hey! Hey! Masakh, can you get me some fish? I like fish! Fish are cute! Big fish with sharp teeth make Janje happy!”
This was like talking directly to a hyperactive child. I calmed myself and tried another approach. Janje, what... language are we speaking now?
“Oh! Oh! Janje is speaking Ancient Dryadi! I like it! It’s my favorite language! Masakh speaks it as well! Masakh speaks it very well! But you’re too old school masakh. You sound like an old man! An old man! A really old man! Hey! Are you really an old man masakh?”
Ancient Dryadi? I’d never even heard of that language before today. I was wary about taking the words of a being that did not seem to be... all there. Actually, Janje was... nowhere. I could hear her voice, but I could not see her or point out any clues as to where she was positioned exactly.
Janje, where are you?
“Janje is here! Janje is here with masakh!”
I turned, but, as I expected, there was no one in the cave. Where exactly?
“Janje is here! Stupid masakh! Stop pretending like you can’t see Janje! Janje is here! Janje is here!”
I searched again. Her disembodied voice filled the cave, but there was no one to be seen.
“Stop that masakh! It’s not funny! Janje is here! I’m here! Here! Here! I’m here! I’m here! I’m here! JANJE – JANJE IS HE
RE! STOP PRETENDING! STOP! STOP! JANJE IS HERE! JANJE IS –”
I was not prepared for the screaming, or the rapidly increasing sensation of being suffocated.
“MASAKH IS MEAN! JANJE IS HERE! JANJE IS HERE! JANJE IS HERE! I’M HERE! MASAKH LYING! STOP! STOP LYING! I’M – I’M HERE! YOU CAN SEE ME! I – I’M HERE!”
[You have attained the skill: {Spirit Damage Resistance} from enduring phenomenal spiritual pressure.]
I felt my breath cease as the cave itself turned inexplicably dark. Blackness trailed from the shadows like inky tentacles and began to coil around reality itself. The world tinted red as the dimness morphed and coiled and extended, and I witnessed with utter horror as something began to approach from within. A long withered arm and thousands of fingers, each one possessing several smaller clawed hands, and each one possessing even more in a never ending loop –
Something from within the darkness with seven rows of teeth and nine eyes smiled at me.
YOU’RE REAL! I CAN SEE YOU! I CAN SEE YOU! I practically screamed. JANJE! I CAN SEE YOU!
The suffocating feeling vanished. The darkness vanished along with it, but the haunting smile did not. It hovered in the air above me, for several seconds, before erasing like a glitch in reality.
[You have attained the skill: {Fear Resistance} from encountering an Anathema.]
[You have attained the skill: [Insanity Resistance] from encountering an Anathema.]
The pressure left, and despite my lack of a physical body, I could still feel the tremors and shakes rushing through my form.
“Really? You – masakh, masakh can see me?”
Yes, I lied. I can see you.
“What does Janje look like?”
Pretty. I say without thinking. Very pretty. Like a princess I would marry.
“Masakh is funny!” Janje laughs. “Janje would never marry masakh! Masakh too ugly. Masakh too weak.”
I did not trust myself to say anything else.
“But – Janje like Masakh. Masakh nice. Masakh funny. Masakh clever. Janje go get something for masakh! Masakh wait here! Janje be right back! Promise not to leave? Promise! Promise! Promise!”
I promise.
“Yay! Janje’ll be right back!”
Janje was silent. Her voice vanished from the cave. The sound of dripping water and screeching bats reverberated left me to my silence. I kept waiting for the nine-eyed being to return. For the darkness to come back, and that horrific looking arm to extend forward and grab me. I wanted to throw up, but lacked the means and body to do so, and thus was left with a permanent sense of nausea.
Anathema – it was called. I could think of no better name. The further I thought about it, the less I desired to remember the feeling and sensation. I wanted to pretend as though I did not see it. As though it were a pure figment of my imagination.
I could not.
I was someone without faith who met something that could genuinely be compared to Satan. I knew truly nothing of the world I was in. A world with spirits, ghosts, and cosmic horrors.
Surviving was going to be significantly harder than I thought.
Chapter 12
Terror
I thought over everything that happened with an odd sense of discomfort. I was not one to believe in ghosts or malevolent spirits, but considering I was technically a spirit myself, I could not count out the possibility that Janje was something similar. Her voice was childlike, but it was not that of a child, and it brought me more questions than I could answer. My best theory was holding that she was a spirit bound to this place somehow, and that creature, that... thing, was either her protector or her jailer. I did not know which would be better for me.
In order to make myself stop thinking about it, I turned my attention to something else. To thinking about my past. To thinking about the fact that I could not remember any names, and wondering if Janje had anything to do with it.
My eldest brother, even though his name escaped me, the details of his life did not. Born first, he was the first one of us to gain experience in handling employees and making tough decisions. After about six years, he realized he did not want to work under our father. My father fought angrily against him for this decision, and in the end, my brother proved himself. He left home, acquired a scholarship to go to Medical School, graduated, did his residency, and became a top name Neurosurgeon.
My father finally acquiesced to let him live his life only after seeing his face on the cover of certain journals and newspapers. He would not have accepted anything less from his first son. At the same time, he would never accept anything less from his remaining three. We not only had to live up to our father’s standards, we had to surpass that of our brother.
My second eldest brother wanted to impress our father the most. He went the arts route, entering Law School and eventually becoming a Prosecutor with his own reputable law firm. Of course, the fact that several of the people he sued and cases he had just happened to be against corporate rivals of my father was coincidence. Pure coincidence.
Then there was my third brother. Arguably daddy’s favorite. Studied Business, runs the company, once compared me to a human tampon. Numerous corporate takeovers were instigated by him, he bought and funded certain start-ups that seemed to have no potential, only for them to end up bringing in revenue in the hundreds of millions. Shrewd as he was charismatic, three times he ran for political offices and three times he nearly won. Winning was never actually his goal, and that was the only reason he didn’t. He was the sparkle in my father’s eye. The prick.
Finally was me. The fourth son. The one who could neither become a doctor nor a lawyer, and lacked the Midas Touch. Even as I brought up memories of my life, my past life, I still could not remember my name. I could not remember my brothers’ names or my father’s name or even the name of my father’s company where I worked the position of “Chief Human Resources Officer.” A position my brother created and handed to me and called the C.H.O, indicating that it was the only title I would ever have that began with a C and ended with an O.
When I was nine, my goal was to become a videogame creator. I was great at drawing and starting learning to code and program. I still remember my brothers laughing when I told them during dinner. I remember my father failing to see the humor and forcing me to break all my consoles and cartridges with his golf club. I remember he let me keep the club afterwards, muttering to my brothers about ‘spoiling J too much.’ I remembered how the amount of private tutors I had doubled after that. Foreign languages, western philosophy, physics, chemistry, biology, anatomy, law, business –
Drowning me in lessons was his idea of telling me: what you love isn’t prestigious enough. His way of hoping he did not make a mistake in having a fourth son.
The memory brought me to a pause. My name – it – it started with the letter J–
... It was coincidence. Surely? Pure, random coincidence that my name also started with that letter. Coincidence.
The cave rumbled and drew me from my reverie. I was almost ready to flee if that... thing came back, but it hadn’t. Janje did not seem to have returned either. I did not have time to sit down and reminisce about the past, or flinch in fear about whatever Janje was. If this world possessed cosmic horrors, I needed to start becoming as strong as possible, as quickly as possible. If not to slay them, then to survive them. I hoped the creature that gave me my quest was not of the same one as the type guarding Janje. Regardless, killing enemies and gaining levels and powers that would help me in taking down the Kadulja was the path to follow.
There was only one problem:
You have the Negative Effect: [Extreme Weakness to Light]
Direct exposure to Sunlight will consume [100] HP per Second.
Exposure to Magical Light will consume [50] HP per Second.
Exposure to Artificial Light will consume [25] HP per Second.
As a [Shade], this effect cannot be mitigated.
Calculating from six am when the sun began to shin
e, to six pm, when it began to set, there were twelve full hours in which I was incapable of leaving this cave or moving out and about, as though I were a vampire. This meant that I would have to do all of my hunting and attacking at night, and left me without much I could do in the day time.
Speaking of vampires... I turned my attention to the gathered mass of bats hanging upside at the stalagmites on the roof of the cave. I could sense their warmth, and they were excellent targets. The only problem was my lack of physical skills I could use to kill them. [Excruciating Toxic Bite] and [Greater Venom Secretion] were physical skills requiring a physical body. There was only one skill I knew that was not entirely physical, and it was the only one I could think to use at this moment.
Skill: [Earth Control] Lv. 9
Details: This skill enables the user to be capable of swimming, bathing, and burrowing unobstructed through earth, rock and stone. For a cost of [0.5MP/sec] the user may mold dirt, mud and clay into whatever shape they desire. For a cost of [2.5MP/sec] the user may mold rocks, stones and granite. For a cost of [5MP/sec] the user may change the composition of the earth and rocks. For a cost of [10MP/sec] the user may create and mold earth, stones and rocks where there is none. The clearer and more precise the knowledge and details, the sturdier and better the earth created.
With 3000MP I could abuse this skill to my satisfaction. 10MP per second for creation and molding, going into three thousand, meant three hundred seconds, and this meant five non-stop minutes of me breaking fundamental forces of the universe. My MP Regen rate was 265 per hour, or roughly about, 4MP per minute, so it was not enough to make me be capable of spamming the skill, but this was where my [Genocidal] title came to play.
I focused on a target, one of the sleeping bats. I poured my energy into the idea of creation, and imagined a lump of earth in front of me – imagine –
I felt the accompanying sense of slight mental fatigue as a clump of sand appeared in the air and promptly fell back unto the ground. Creating earth from nothing was significantly more difficult than molding pebbles into spears.