Aura Farming (Apocalypse LitRPG) [BOOK ONE COMPLETE]

An exhausted silence progressively fell over them after left the ruin of the Sainsbury's, the kind that came after the adrenaline had been wrung from your system like water from a sponge, leaving only a hollow shell in its wake.

John walked at the rear of their loose formation, his shadow-cloak dissolved, his weapons dismissed to his Inventory. His new trainers scuffed against the cracked pavement. it had taken him an embarrassingly long time to remember he had half a wardrobe's worth of spare clothes stuffed into the Outfits part of the Inventory, though his new getup of a white shirt, blue jeans, and white sneakers were considerably less badass than his previous attire. Even his new sunglasses felt less impressive; a pair of brown-ish aviators he didn't remember grabbing and had a horrible feeling didn't hide his eyes as well. He'd have to figure out a new ensemble at some point.

The world around them was unnervingly quiet. The burning sky cast its perpetual light over the skeletal remains of Watford's suburbs, but the constant background murmur of battle, the distant roars and screams and explosions, had faded to nothing. It was as if the town itself had taken a breath and held it, waiting.

The group moved in their typical diamond formation, though it felt more ragged now, less coordinated. Doug was at the point, his bare feet making their usual unsettling lack of sound. Lily and Jade flanked him a few paces behind, with Chester half a step behind John's current position. But there was no chatter, no banter, none of the nervous energy that had carried them through the portal fight. They were all locked in their own heads, processing what they'd just survived in their own private ways.

John's gaze kept drifting to Jade. She walked with a heavy, deliberate gait, her armoured shoulders hunched forward like she was bracing against a strong wind that only she could feel. Her helmet obscured most of her face, but her eyes, when he caught glimpses of them, were fixed on nothing. Not on the road ahead, not on the buildings they passed, not on her companions. Just... nothing. A thousand-yard stare aimed at some invisible horizon that existed only in the landscape of her own trauma.

He knew that look. He'd seen it in the mirror, once or twice, back when things had been particularly bad. It was the look of someone replaying a scene over and over in their mind, a scene they couldn't escape no matter how hard they tried. A scene that had carved itself into the soft tissue of their psyche with all the subtlety of a chisel on stone.

Admittedly, the scenes that had replayed in John's mind in those moments were considerably lighter than what Jade was facing, even if it maybe hadn't felt that way to him at the time.

She'd killed a man. Grabbed him with that ghostly red projection and held on while his flesh boiled and his screams had echoed through the ruined streets. And then, when the screaming had become too much, she'd brought her machete down in a golden arc that had ended things with brutal finality.

John hadn't seen it with his own eyes, but he'd heard the grim story, and he could… Well, no. He couldn't imagine how that must have felt. His own accidental kill hadn't been anywhere near so severe. To the point it had taken him an embarrassingly long time to even realise he'd done it.

He swallowed, blinking hard as he glanced up at the burning sky. For a brief moment, he wondered what the Earth looked like from the outside. Were the guys on the ISS still up there, staring down in horror at what had become of their world? Or had they been dragged into all this nonsense, too?

It had been necessary. For both of them. The enemy group had attacked them first, had tried to kill them. It was self-defence, survival, all the justifications that should have made it okay. But John knew that Jade wasn't thinking about justifications right now. She was thinking about the screaming. About the smell of burning flesh. About the way the man's body had convulsed in her spectral grip.

About the fact that she'd made someone suffer horribly, and her system had rewarded her for it.

A wave of something uncomfortable washed through John's chest. It wasn't quite empathy—he'd never been good at that—but it was adjacent to it. A recognition, perhaps. A shared understanding of what it felt like to be forced into a role you despised by a system that cared nothing for your comfort or your morality.

Again, he had to recognise that hers was objectively worse, in the grand scheme of things. He was pretty sure he'd trade in a heartbeat, but he was also pretty sure that if he polled a million people on which of their systems was more traumatic to deal with, the overwhelming majority would pick Jade's. Hell, maybe even the full million would agree to that sentiment. And they'd be all like, "what the fuck is wrong with you?" for even asking.

I should talk to her, he thought. Offer some kind of... what? Comfort? Reassurance? What the fuck would he even say? He was the last person qualified to provide emotional support. He couldn't even handle a conversation with a fast-food worker without tripping over his own tongue.

But the thought wouldn't leave him alone. It gnawed at him, a persistent itch in the back of his mind that he couldn't quite scratch away. She was suffering. He could see it. And he was just walking behind her, doing nothing, because doing nothing was safer and easier and didn't risk making things worse.

You're a coward, a voice whispered in his skull. It sounded suspiciously like Luke Farnell, his old school bully. Woody the Woodpecker, too scared to even try. What's the worst that could happen? She tells you to fuck off? That's nothing compared to what she's going through right now.

He grimaced, his jaw tightening. The voice had a point, much as he hated to admit it. And besides, Lily had accepted him. Just a couple of hours ago, she'd looked at him and seen through the performance and decided he was worth keeping around anyway. If she could do that, maybe Jade could too.

Before he could talk himself out of it, John quickened his pace, moving up from the rear of the formation. He passed Lily, who glanced at him with a questioning look but said nothing. And then he was beside Jade, matching her heavy, trudging steps.

For a long moment, he said nothing. He just walked beside her, close enough that she had to be aware of his presence but not so close that he was invading her space. Hopefully, at least. He was hardly an expert on appropriate standing distance. The silence stretched between them, thick and awkward, and John felt the familiar panic begin to claw at his chest.

Say something, you idiot. Don't just stand there like a fucking weirdo.

"Are you okay?" he asked. The words came out flat, awkward, too abrupt. He winced internally.

Jade didn't respond immediately. She just kept walking, her gaze still fixed on that invisible horizon. For a moment, John thought she was going to ignore him, and he felt a flush of embarrassment begin to creep up his neck, which, to his shame, mingled with a little tinge of relief as the tantalising prospect of retreating to his previous place in the formation and pretending this never happened beckoned to him.

But then, after what felt like an eternity, she spoke. "No." Her voice was hoarse, raw, like she'd been screaming for hours. Maybe she had been, on the inside. "No, I'm not, John."

The honesty of it hit him like a punch to the gut. Abruptly aware that he should have planned out the potential dialogue tree of this interaction more, he found himself fumbling for words.

"The guy back there," he said. "Doug told me about it. The one you…"

"I made him suffer," Jade interrupted, her voice barely a whisper but somehow sounding like a shout. She still wasn't looking at him. "I didn't just kill him. I held on while his skin bubbled and his nerves fried, and I listened to him scream."

John's stomach twisted. He didn't know what to say to that. What could he say? Surely even the most socially adept extrovert wouldn't have a clue.

"Not because I enjoyed it," Jade continued, her words tumbling out now like a dam had broken. "I didn't. It was... it was fucking horrific. But the System was pouring points into me with every second I held on, and there was this voice in the back of my head saying 'this is a good thing.' And I hated that voice. I hate that it exists at all."

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She finally turned to look at him, and the anguish in her eyes was a naked, terrible thing. "I bisected a man, John. Cut him clean in half. And then I stood there and watched the blood spray and I got a fucking reward for it."

John felt his chest tighten. He recognized that tone. He'd felt it himself, every time he'd opened his mouth to deliver some arrogant quip he didn't mean, every time he'd strutted and posed and performed for the invisible audience in his head.

"I know," he said, and was surprised to find his voice was steady. "Not exactly what you're going through, but... I know. The System makes us do things. Makes us be things. And it rewards us for becoming those things."

Jade let out a bitter laugh. "What does yours make you do? Act like a mysterious badass? Wear sunglasses indoors? That's hardly comparable to—"

John lifted his arms and threw up high a wall of Shadow Stream that curved around the both of them like a coccoon.

"It makes me perform," John said, cutting her off. The words came out edged with a frustration he usually kept buried deep. "Every second of every day, I'm performing. I'm saying shit I don't mean, doing shit I don't want to do, acting like I'm this cool, confident guy who doesn't give a fuck about anything. And I hate it. I hate every second of it."

He took a breath, forcing himself to continue. "I'm not cool, Jade. I'm a fucking disaster. I can't talk to people without my brain short-circuiting. I spent most of my life hiding in my room because the thought of social interaction made me want to crawl out of my own skin. And now the System has me out here, acting like I'm the protagonist of some shitty anime, and every time I slip up, every time I let the mask crack, I lose points. So I keep performing. I keep playing the role. And every day I do it, I feel a little bit less like myself and a little bit more like... like whatever the fuck this is."

He gestured vaguely at himself, at the artfully dishevelled hair and the whole carefully constructed image he'd built.

Jade was staring at him now, really looking at him. "You're serious."

"Yeah," John said. "I'm serious. The System rewards me for being an arrogant prick. For going off on my own. For acting like I don't need anyone. And the fucked up part is, the more I do it, the more points I get, the more powerful I become, which just reinforces the whole thing. It's a feedback loop, and I'm trapped in it."

Jade was quiet for a long moment, processing. Then, softly: "At least you're not hurting people."

"Yeah. I did that part all myself." He met her gaze, letting something hollow and raw show in his eyes. "We're all being turned into monsters, Jade. Your System just makes it more obvious."

The silence that fell between them was different now. Less heavy. More... shared. Like they were standing on opposite sides of a chasm, but at least they could see each other across it.

"I hate this," Jade said eventually. "I hate what it's doing to me. I hate that I have abilities called 'Flesh Sear' and 'Nerve Fire' and 'Echo of Torment.' I hate that every time I level up, the System offers me new ways to make people suffer. I hate that I'm being forged into a fucking torturer."

"Yeah," John said. "That's fucked."

"Extremely fucked," Jade agreed. A ghost of a smile touched her lips, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Thanks for the validation."

"Anytime," John said, and was surprised to find he meant it. "For what it's worth," he continue after a while, "I don't think you're a monster. I think you're just someone stuck in a shit situation, trying to do the right thing with the wrong tools."

Jade huffed out a breath that might have been a laugh. "That's a very charitable interpretation."

"Maybe," John said. "But I think it's true. You didn't want to hurt that guy. You did it because you had to, because it was him or you. And yeah, the System rewarded you for it, and that's fucked, but that doesn't make you evil. It just makes you trapped."

"We're all trapped," Jade said quietly.

"Yeah," John agreed. "We are."

With a wave of his hand, the shadows dispersed. He stuffed both hands in his pockets and slouched, ambling along with an aloof expression.

Jade eyed him with a considering gaze, but said nothing.

They walked in silence for a while longer, but it was a different quality of silence now. Not the oppressive weight of isolation, but something closer to companionship. Two people who'd seen the worst in each other and decided, consciously or otherwise, that it was okay. That they were both just doing their best to survive in a world that had become hostile in ways they never could have imagined.

Ahead of them, Doug glanced back, and John saw something that might have been approval in the old man's eyes. Or maybe concern. It was hard to tell.

They were approaching the community centre now, the ugly brown building coming into view through the skeletal remains of the surrounding structures. The sports fields stretched out around it, overgrown and wild, the playground equipment rusted and broken.

Behind them, Chester abruptly stopped walking.

He had the heaviest gait out of all of them, so the sound of his footsteps cutting off was jarring enough that the whole group ground to a halt, turning to look at him. He was standing in the middle of the cracked pavement, his face pale, his eyes wide with a look of growing confusion and discomfort.

"Chester?" Lily said, concern colouring her voice. "What's wrong?"

Chester didn't answer immediately. He was staring at something only he could see as he presumably navigated his System interface. His brow furrowed deeper, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"My Attention," he said finally, his voice strained and uncertain. "It's been... it's been generating points. The whole walk back."

Lily frowned. "That's good, isn't it? Means you're getting stronger."

"No," Chester said, shaking his head. The motion was jerky, agitated. "You don't understand. I've been at the back of the group. No one's been looking at me. My Attention only works if someone's watching me. If people are paying attention to me. But none of you have been. I've been watching you all, and not once did any of you turn around."

John felt his blood run cold. His voice came out flat, "Fuck."

"Fuck," Doug echoed, his eyes going hard.

Lily raised her crossbow, her head swivelling as she scanned the surrounding buildings. "Where? How long?"

"I don't know," Chester said, and there was panic creeping into his voice now. "It's been ticking up slowly, steadily, for... I don't know, the whole time since we left Sainsbury's? I wasn't paying close attention at first. I just thought maybe one of you was glancing back occasionally and I was missing it, but then I checked and the rate was too consistent, too steady, and—"

"Someone's been following us since we left the portal," Jade said. Her voice was cold, all the raw emotion from moments ago buried beneath a layer of grim focus. "They've been watching us. Tracking us."

"Why?" Lily asked. "Why follow us? Why not just attack?"

"Intel, most likely," Doug said grimly. "Or waiting for the right moment"

John's jaw clenched. Every shadow suddenly seemed menacing. The burned-out husks of cars, the shattered windows of abandoned shops, the rubble-strewn alleyways. Any of them could be hiding an observer. The silence of the streets, which had felt oppressive before, now felt predatory. They were being watched. They had been watched for who knew how long. And they'd led whoever it was straight back to their base.

"Move," John said, his voice sharp. "Now. We need to get inside, secure the building."

The group into a run. The community centre loomed ahead, no more than a hundred metres away. The distance felt simultaneously too far and not far enough.

They hit the car park at a dead sprint, their footsteps echoing off the cracked asphalt. The entrance to the community centre gaped open before them, the doors long since smashed inward by the early waves of monsters. Inside, it was dark, shadowed, the familiar layout suddenly feeling alien and threatening.

For a split second, as they crossed the threshold, everything seemed normal. The dust motes floating in the shafts of sickly light. The scattered debris on the floor. The scarred paint on the walls. Just another day in the apocalypse.

Then the world exploded.

The blast originated from deep within the building, a detonation so massive that John felt it more than heard it. The sound was a gut-punching roar, reducing the world to a single, deafening tone that resonated in his bones. The shockwave hit a fraction of a second later, a wall of compressed air that lifted him off his feet and hurled him backward like a ragdoll.

John's vision went white, then red, then a confused jumble of spinning colours as his body tumbled through the air. He felt the impact of hitting something—the ground, a wall, he couldn't tell—and then he was rolling, debris raining down around him. The taste of dust and blood filled his mouth. His lungs seized, refusing to draw breath, the air driven from them by the force of the blast.

The world was noise and motion and pain, a storm of splintering wood and shattering glass and crumbling brick. He felt something sharp slice across his shoulder, another impact against his ribs that drove the breath from him anew. His ears were ringing, a high, piercing whine that drowned out everything else.

He tried to orient himself, tried to understand which way was up, but there was only the tumbling chaos, the maelstrom of destruction that had once been the team's sanctuary.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the motion stopped. John found himself on his back, breathing heavily. Wheezing, really. His ears were still ringing, that high, keening note that seemed to emanate from inside his skull. He couldn't hear anything else. Not voices, not footsteps, not the crackle of flames.

Just the ringing.