Level: 11 (EXP: 120/28,000)
Class: None
Fate: Demonborn
Constitution: 8 (6)
Agility: 32 (25)
Mysticism: 5 (4)
Flow: 5 (4)
Resistance: 0 (0)
Luck: 0 (0)
Seven off from Agility thanks to these burns. Double ouch. And below the usual, a new curtailed section was dangling from fiery chains. It expanded downward.
Demon Rank: Fledgling
+25% pain reduction at all thresholds.
+33% effective Constitution and Resistance against heat physical and magical damage.
-33% effective Constitution and Resistance against cold physical and magical damage.
+50% effective Resistance against dark magical damage.
-50% effective Resistance against light magical damage.
Path Selection: Choose One
Seared Mana: Imbues your mana pool with the fiery magics of Hell. You shall gain a natural but limited command over hellfire and fire, able to ignite and snuff it out at will. +10% maximum Mysticism. -20% maximum Constitution. -10% maximum Agility.
Unholy Might: Augments your stamina reserves with unholy power. +10% maximum Agility. -20% maximum Constitution. -10% maximum Resistance. Also grants the Shroud of Darkness skill: your melee physical attacks inflicts dark magic damage.
Cursed Flesh: Curses your body, granting you immortality at a great price. Upon death, your corpse will detonate for dark magic damage, and you will resurrect shortly after at the same location. +10% maximum Constitution. +10% maximum Resistance. -20% maximum Agility. -15% maximum Mysticism. -10% maximum Luck.
How did I miss this? I could’ve boiled a pot of water for Gab with hellfire.
But was Seared Mana the optimal choice?
Rowan’s fingertips were tingling unhelpfully while he paced over these crossroads. For sure, he wasn’t going with Cursed Flesh—no, thank you. He wasn’t a fan of playing as a party tank. Healer—maybe. Tank? In this painful game? Obviously, no. But for the other two, logic urged him to pick Unholy Might, but his pounding heart, his soul, wrangled his will and dragged him by the balls toward Hellfire Magic. With that he could truly set everything on fire, and he was going to set it all on fire.
Those Trolls were going to burn. Those Orcs were going to burn. This whole damned world was going to burn if anyone were to stand in the way of their Mytube success, which was the end goal here; he reminded himself of this tidbit. Either that or making it big in the real-money market.
He cast his decision into the wild.
“Hellfire is mine,” he whispered.
A brief wave of euphoria bounced from limb to limb, head to toes, bloomed in his heart and unveiled a splendid new sixth sense in all directions, weaker than smell or taste, blurrier than a blind man’s vision. Magic. Like a mix of heat filled with emotions, inches in each direction, he could feel magic as though wading through thick fluid brimming with energetic life. Magic was life in this world. Everything was magical down to the singular blades of trodden grass and the tiniest specks of dirt.
The forest’s magic was ever watching. Ancient and wise. The immensity of nature’s sleeping power was humbling indeed.
Then sizzling pain stamped the side of face, down his neck, onto both arms, and finally his palms. One by one, invisible irons brands printed maroon runic symbols. The rune for hellfire, he somehow knew, was engraved in thicker lines at the center of his palms. Dark magic, unnatural and destructive and grotesque in feeling, surged outward from his heart like an explosion going off in the fabric of reality, the air rippling. Birds flew away in the outpour.
The transformation was complete, the path chosen, and out of instinct, Rowan ignited two flames on his palms. The blackish-red fires of Draesear’s Hell, scented with hickory and trace sulfur, greeted him kindly with loving warmth. A phantom voice in a far corner of the world was screaming in horrid pain as though someone sensed the coming chaos, for chaos at last has come to this world. He grinned at Gabrielle, and she grinned in turn.
“Wait.” He blinked. “Someone is screaming in pain!”
“Ya just noticed? Hehehe.”
20
Not three seconds burned away before the blue liquid in Rowan’s mana bar fell through a notched eighty percent mark. These twin flames were sucking an exorbitant amount of magic directly from his heart. He balled fists, cut off the flow, before he was robbed of his newfound powers. This was exactly how he had imagined magic, but this was better. Much, much better. He would trade all the technology in the world for this in real life.
The system clock ticked a forth second. The fire was out.
Rowan gave Gabrielle a parting excited glance, then sprinted uphill toward the moans and screams. Possibly Liluth’s. It could be that of a newcomer… or a leftover Troll. Please be just a Troll.
But as Rowan’s bare feet stepped onto a familiar mossy boulder, the roars of a very unhappy bear made it clear it was the worst of the three.
A spectacular debacle was unfolding: a bear, a magnificent beast of a bear, was going at it against Faenin and Liluth. It hugged and pawed, it tackled and bit, as though something otherworldly had possessed its furry hide. And those eyes, those beady eyes, were glowing red—crimson red, the same bloody color as Rowan’s. Pupils narrowed vertically as they focused on Rowan, striking a rush of primordial fear into his gut.
Arctic Grizzly Bear (Level 12, Enraged)
Health: 82%
Time slowed. Adrenaline pumped.
Faenin, bleeding from three deep gouges on his shoulder, called from the ground, “Lord LeMort, move!”
Move? What did such a word mean when this magnificent beast was charging head-on? Powerful stocky legs were flexing under rippling fur—beautiful chestnut fur great for a lovely winter coat, a few winter coats. And Rowan did fancy himself a good winter coat.
Strong jaws parted. Fearsome teeth and the accompany stench drove stakes of disgust into Rowan’s stomach.
White knuckles tightened around Moonfyre. In an instant, the iron was flaming hellfire, glowing red-hot at a over thousand degrees, on the verge of melting. But Rowan felt no discomfort, his magic protecting his hand.
The bear lunged. Its claws were sharp and bloody, ready for another victim.
Rowan hopped leftward and whacked that front paw aside. Moonfyre met momentary resistance before slicing through to the bone. The reaction was unlike he had imagined; superheated blood exploded with pinkish steam before its flesh was cauterized and burned off, but the burns were unlike anything he’d seen. Hellfire rendered skin and fat to dusty black char, which then dissolved into nothingness. No burnt scent. Nothing. Total destruction.
The bear was reeling, howled in agony. Putrid spittle flew from its maw. It back-stepped twice and shielded its cooked paw, and its eyes were nothing but fear and hate combined into one abominable emotion. Just what had had happened to this poor guy? It couldn’t be good. It dared to go in again for a second swipe with its uninjured paw, but it was moving in slow motion. It had a death wish, that was all.
Rowan gladly obliged. With the remaining twenty percent of his mana reserves, he sent another burst of hellfire magic into his right palm. He drove Moonfyre, like a thrusting blade, straight into the bear’s neck. Those points in Agility were more than enough to outmaneuver that sluggish paw.
Steaming blood exploded far more violently, scalding Rowan’s arm. He hissed, “Ah, shit.”
The bear slumped, and wisps of darkness fled from its corpse. Those crimson eyes desaturated to a normal amber-yellow. Its health bar was non-existent. Dead.
Abrupt intense pain flamed up his fingers as his mana drained to zero. An immediate reflex dropped Moonfyre onto the soil. His palm was blistering.
He didn’t know how long he stared at his kill, taking in the fine details of that gruesome neck wound, but he understood one thing: he was no longer weak and helpless in this world. He was a force to be reckoned with, a rising darkness to
be feared. After all, it was his Fate. He now wielded the power of Hell itself.
And by the looks Faenin and Liluth had, they understood just as well. She was pale, if her fair skin tinged with a huge of olive could be any paler. And Faenin? He was either impressed or reluctant to show it.
Rowan spoke nonchalantly: “So what happened this guy? You saw its eyes, I assume.”
Faenin tried to stand but winced in pain and slumped against a pine tree, Liluth supporting him. She said, “There was a dense wave of dark magic as Zaine came to our—”
“Zaine?” Rowan’s eyes swept left and right. His slave thread was leading off a hundreds uphill.
“He chased off the other bear.” She pointed around the cliff face.
Of course, there was more than one. Good work, I guess. Rowan drawled, “The detail window said it was enraged enhanced. What does that mean?”
Liluth blinked quite cutely. “You do not know? Wild animal do not react well to dark magic. Bears are especially susceptible and may enrage, taking in the darkness with their bodies.”
“Oh. Then I guess it was my fault.” Rowan shrugged. “I was testing out my new hellfire. My bad.” More or less. They didn’t need to know the intricacies of being a Demon. “Get him patched up. Do you know how to clean a wound?”
“I do.” She nodded, helping Faenin to his feet as he whined in pain. It looked like internal injuries, perhaps a few cracked ribs. His legs were fine, but his shoulder and left arm were going to be scarred without magical aid.
A twinge of guilt settled into Rowan’s stomach. He offered a gentler face. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I apologize.”
Faenin jerked a nod as as she guided toward the stream. Pine leaves prodded his wounds, but he was a strong Elf and didn’t show discomfort.
Sighing, Rowan tossed Gabrielle a message.
Rowan LeMort (To Gabby LeMort): Are you alright down there?
Gabby LeMort: Yup. ^_^ I’ll let ya know if I need ya!
It was good to be sure. Leaving her alone went against the grain.
Another message dinged into the bottom.
Gabby LeMort: I’m coming up with Skylar and Viola btw. They wanna butcher the bear.
Right, they are Farmers.
Rowan LeMort: Already?
Gabby LeMort: Yup, best while it’s fresh, they say.
The mentioned trio were here, Viola carrying Gabrielle, before he could type another message asking about her Demon path choice. Their faces were far more gleeful than the situation called for, crazed even. Maybe the cousins hated bears or just liked to butcher animals. Sadism?
Rowan wasn’t going to prod when they were so far cooperating. He stepped back and simply watched them work.
“I’m so excited,” Gabrielle chirped as Viola set her against a tree trunk.
“Same,” Rowan mumbled. “You recording?”
“Yup. Of course I am, silly.”
“Just checking.”
They dragged the bear by its hind legs onto a wooden board without a single word said. In strangely rehearsed unison, they held out their palms and muttered a single mystic word in stereo sound. Brownish-beige mana brushed down their arms and took grasp of the bear like a thousand ribbons wrapping a gift, except the ribbons were razor sharp.
In a flurry of silent cuts and scrapes, piece by piece, the ribbons reduced the bear down to its useful components. Magically-sucked blood drained into the soil. Bones, meat, useful organs, and most importantly that beautiful fur skin, rose in neat stacks and piles on the board. After the final steak was cut, the ribbons collapsed in on useless guts and other leftovers, consuming the organic matter and spitting out a brownish-green mulch-like substance. Fertilizer. The deed was done ten minutes flat.
Gabrielle asked, “Is there any way to speed that up? Apart from more workers, ya know.”
Skylar answered, “We get Advanced Butchering at level twenty-one Farming. It’s three times as fast and can do five corpses at a time.”
Viola nodded. “A Slaughterhouse room also helps.”
Rowan’s eyes jolted rightward to an unmoving figure.
But it was nothing dangerous; Zaine had come sometime during the process and watched. He said, “There’s another one bleeding out over there. I stabbed it through the heart.” The iron sword, sheathed, from the Troll’s storeroom was slung over his back.
“On it,” Viola chirped
“One moment.” Skylar placed everything into a crate, wrapped the meat with the skin, then followed with a boyish run.
Rowan cleared his throat. He beckoned at Zaine, who was staring off into the distance. “Sword. Hand it over.”
He grumbled, then spat words: “Why? I am the strongest fighter here. They would be dead if I did not intervene.”
“We can make a deal. Tell me how you got to level twenty-four without a class and you can keep it. I might even get you a better one down the line… if you agree to cooperate.”
A black bird radiating sully magic flew overhead while Zaine had a moment of inner turmoil. He scowl wiped away. “What’s there to tell? Kill stuff and get experience. One day you’re level eleven. Another day you’re twelve. Another you’re thirteen, and so on.”
“Monsters and wildlife start getting magical in the mid teens. They’ll have a few skills at minimum by the mid-twenties. I assume you know this. You were a top student, as you said.”
“They aren’t very smart. Just look at these bears.”
“They were only level twelve enraged, and look at yourself. That’s a deep cut on your cheek.”
“It’ll heal.”
Gabrielle, who hadn’t said anything in a while, yawned. “Ya should clean it before you get an infection. Ya dun’ wanna end up sick and mangled like me, and I’d rather not lose a good Elf. You’re a cutie, too.”
Zaine exhaled loudly, looking at her. “So what. I am a slave. Not much more than dead.”
“You’re talking freely right now,” Rowan said softly, “and you even managed to take the sword. You’re more free than you think.”
Zaine’s eyes snapped to him. “You loosened my bindings?”
“They were looser than you thought they were. During the day, the only thing you can’t do is attack Gabrielle or I, or run off past a distance. I may have compelled you to carry those crates, however.”
“Oh. That is…”
“More or less free.” Rowan smirked. “I told you I am a fair ruler.”
“Ya could’ve fooled me. Hehehe,” Gabrielle giggled.
He shot her a clownish face. “I am the fairest ruler.”
Zaine mumbled, “I’d rather not carry that heavy stack of—”
“No one else here can. We really do need those shingles and cut stone blocks. Winter nears by the day, and this is the arctic. You do know what that means.”
After a long moment lip-biting and cheek-sucking, Zaine reluctantly nodded. He took a calming breath. “Yes. It will be mostly night-time, freezing beyond imagination… and you’re a Demon.”
“Oh, you know?” Rowan’s brow arched.
“You’re weak to the cold—and holy damage. You don’t heal well either.”
“Holy? My character window says light damage.”
“Same thing.”
Oh. Fair enough. “So are you going to tell me how you—”
“I told you. They are not very smart, at least not until the thirties. You can easily set up traps, but there is a large experience penalty.”
Finally some sense. “I see. And why don’t you have a class?”
“Why don’t I?” he said with much bitterness. “You ask as though it were my choice not to. The Swordsman ascension quest is dangerous. I have to slay an elite boss monster. I’m not immortal like you.”
Rowan frowned. “Why not just get some friends to help?”
“It’s in a solo dungeon.”
“Why not just get a tome?”
“A tome?!” Zaine scoffed. “Those are rare artifacts from high-level dung
eons. The cheapest was a hundred gold. Swordsman was over three hundred.”
“I see,” was all Rowan could say. He hummed a long note.
Gabrielle asked, “Did ya make the traps? Can ya make some for us?”
A head shake. “My mother made them for me. She was a high-level Metalworker.” The tone he put on was weaker for once.
“She was? As in—”
“Killed by a Troll in a raid. She’s on ice now in the capital.”
“Awwww. I’m sorry I asked.”
Damn dirty Trolls again. And something new, Rowan noted. “On ice? What do you mean by that?”
“What else? She’s frozen in storage. Maybe one day I’ll find a Soul Crystal.”
“What’s that?” Gabrielle blurted.
An annoyed expression flashed. “I read adventurers were more knowledgeable. The old texts said you have divine means of communication.” He sighed. “It is an extremely rare item found only in the more difficult dungeons and raids. It can be used on a recent corpse to bring it back to life.”
“Recent corpse,” Gabrielle said. “Like one that isn’t mangled badly and hasn’t decayed?”
Zaine nodded. “There is a limit. The more the body, especially the head, rots, the more likely the person will have permanent scars and mental deformities.”
“Hmmm. So if one of ya died we could—”
“Yes, but even then, the freezing could cause some damage.”
“Kay… gotcha.”
Most interesting. Rowan asked, “How much would one of those go for?”
Zaine laughed for once. The sound was uniquely musical. “How much? It’s priceless. One hasn’t been seen in decades. Kings have waged wars for just one. If you don’t know, the original conflict between the Trolls and Elves was over a handful found in a meteorite. But in the back and forth fighting the cache was lost, and hundreds of thousands died. They started it. It was ours to claim, on our land, our shores.”
Decent lore, decent back story, seven out of ten, Rowan awarded. It kept his attention if nothing else. “What does it look like?”
“Oh, you will know. You wouldn’t miss it. They’re the size of ripe watermelons. They give off their own light and twinkle like stars. Their blue color is like nothing else.”
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