DIE TRYING [A Roguelite Extraction LitRPG]

Wade held the dagger aimed at his bad hip, until he felt it near his lower spine. Pinched nerve it said. He didn't have time to experiment around, he had to nail the root cause on the first try.

One more breath in, and he stabbed himself.

A shallow cut all in all, he didn't want to actually sink his health points down too far.

The pain didn't care for technicalities, it flared back through him and he sucked a breath against it. Now for the part he wasn't sure of. He hooked his shirt's sleeve with his unmoving other hand, and pulled it back up. Specifically his right arm. The one infected with blackrot.

It hadn't spread out on contact with his skin before, and he'd noticed the blackrot would always stubbornly return to where it was infesting if forced out by the mithril.

It didn't like to move. Not unless there was more space… or more inviting territory. Like an open wound. It had been happy enough to move into his other arm when there were giant mimic-sized bite marks all over it.

With a grunt, he rubbed the arm all over. "C-come on, you… bastard. Dinner time."

Motes of darkness started floating out of his wounded arm, before sinking past the cut pants then into the fresh open wound. Pain faded from his leg, slowly but gradually as more of the blackrot migrated around. It really was a goddamn zombie virus, spread only by bites and wounds.

Level 4 Player - 54%

He could feel it sink in and expand out, but not fast enough. It remained just on the surface wound, content to sit in the new nest he'd given it. He needed it deeper. Closer to his spinal nerves.

Wade cursed, knowing what he had to do. The dagger in hand, he dove it deeper again. His health dipped down.

Pain roared from his leg and back. He rammed the infected arm as if he could muffle it's screaming.

It did. Blackrot spread from his arm and sunk into the wound, pain leaving almost immediately.

He waited, identify showing his health continue dropping down.

Level 4 Player - 48%

He had under a minute to survive, and still two minutes to outlast. Fuck. Had he done more damage with the stab then he'd get back from even healing this shit?

Level 4 Player - 41%

More tense seconds of waiting. Something was changing in his legs. It felt like a squeezing pressure was slowly letting go over his leg and hip. It felt more limber? Pain was nearly non-existent anymor-

A debuff was removed: Chronic Sciatica

It hit him hard. Twenty five points of health, stolen from him for years by one asshole who couldn't stand having his tiny little ego hurt, now suddenly returned all at once. A breath of fresh cool air and water while dying in the desert.

Health: 77/150

Level 4 Player - 51%

The blackrot was healing him, spreading out, returning vitality everywhere it touched. He felt simultaneously at his best, and equally his worst.

Wade's head ran though the numbers again. He was still goddamn dying. Even twenty five points of extra health hadn't been enough. At this rate, he'd just barely miss the mark. Twenty more seconds of time was needed to outlast the venom. He just needed twenty more goddamn seconds. The one vitality point return had made him go from two minutes past expiration to only twenty seconds. One more level up in vitality would do it by a large margin.

Was there a rat he could eat? Or somehow fix up his chronic malnutrition? No way that could be fixed by blackrot, not without stabbing himself so bad in the stomach he'd lose more than twenty five points of health for it.

Then he just needed to fix his neck pain same way he'd done with his leg.

Except… fuck. Wade realized the problem there. The neck would be above the mithril collar. The blackrot would be right next to his brain after that.

There'd be no going back, he'd have maybe a single hour left to live before the blackrot took over. It would give him enough time to murder the mimic on his way out.

If he was dying, and there was no other choice, he was going to do that. Fuck that thing. Fuck the System for throwing that thing at him. He wasn't going to die in a tiny room among a dead city. He'd die ripping the guts out of what killed him.

More options. What were his options?

The weasel. It had healed an entire percent point and then continued to heal up. So had the spider, and it had healed even faster. His right arm was perfectly fine - which meant it's healing factor was already outpacing the venom. If he could spread that factor all across his body? He could outlast the venom.

He grabbed his knife again, and began to ritually cut small wounds all across his legs, from foot upwards. Each time, pressing the blackrot against it.

Level 4 Player - 38%

He stabbed again and again, watching the health points sink faster as he deliberately wounded himself. Blood started spreading out under him. His other hand wasn't spared either, leaving him with deep black cuts just about everywhere, on top of the deep mimic bites. The pain was oddly muted, maybe because the venom, or adrenaline, or just shock. It felt like most of his body was starting to feel the effects of anesthesia.

And then the mimic venom paralyzed too much of him. He slid down the wall, landing on the hard ground, finding himself unable to stay balanced or counteract the slide.

Still, the blackrot wasn't deep enough in his system to heal the venon. "F-fucking do it. Isn't th-this what you w-wanted?!"

It didn't hear him. Nor did it seem to care, simply happily existing in the wounds he'd made.

For a hyper-contagious magical zombie virus everyone was super scared of, it was oddly hard to fucking spread it around when he actually needed it to spread.

He thought back how it moved, and how to make it infect more of him faster. His veins would turn black and visible first. Muscles were more secondary. Blood. That's the answer.

Wade's numb fingers felt around, looking for where his heart would be. The place the thumping was loudest. That organ was way closer to the center of the human body. By the lower part.

With his hand, he could feel it beating slowly. Weakly almost. Lub-dub. Lub-dub.

His dagger slowly angled right above it.

Lub-dub. Lub-dub.

It shook in his hand. He was too terrified to follow through. The same primal need to live kept him from doing what needed to be done to live.

Rational thought wasn't going to get him out of this. He needed emotions again. He needed to get angry. He needed to dig into that spite against the world.

Like opening a treasure box filled with sharp glass, Wade dug through his memories, looking for the one that hurt the most. The one that'll take him to the next level.

"I brought you those Haribo gummies you like." He unwrapped one and held it out to her. The nursing home here smelled like bleach and cleaner products. At least the staff kept this place clean. "It's a red one. I know those were your favorites."

The girl stared at him with vacant eyes, then turned her head toward the window several beds off. "Don't know you. Go away."

Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. His heart was pounding. He focused his mind on this one memory, letting the emotions start breaking free from their bottled up containers.

The words hit him like they always did, even though he'd heard them a dozen times now. At least today she could talk. "It's me. It's Michael. Your brother." He tried again. Sometimes he had success like this. Maybe today would work.

She blinked slowly, her expression unchanged. "My brother has... has brown hair."

"I... I do have brown hair, sis. Look." He leaned closer, but she flinched away from him, hand going up to bat him away.

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"Fifteen minutes." A nurse said curtly from the hall doorway, checking her watch. "She needs her medication soon."

"Can I just-"

"Fifteen minutes." The nurse was already walking away, her sneakers squeaking against the floor.

"Do you remember our apartment?" Wade asked the girl, who was now trying to hide under the white sheets. "The tiny one with the couch that was older than us? How you added all kinds of amazing little touches to it? Your fortress of solitude, you called it."

He could see her head shake under the sheet and he knew he'd failed. He also knew what's she say next, the words sinking into his heart like a dagger.
"Don't remember. Go away. Don't know you."

Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lu-

Wade stabbed directly with an incoherent scream.

He felt the blade strike a rib and halt there. Fuck. The pain was immense. His heart started pounding faster, as if sensing the foiled attack. Lub-dub-lub-dub-lub-dub. Some part of his mind realized he wasn't going to cut through bone with this kind of angle, using only one hand, even with blackrot. He grunted, sweat beading on his face.

He had to make sure the blade would cut into his heart. He couldn't just wildly stab down. One more try. If he used up what little energy he had left and missed, it would be over for him. He needed... he needed precision.

His finger dug around, feeling the ridge of his ribcage. The heartbeat was easy to feel on his fingertip.

The blade angled, aimed between the bone arches, and slowly pushed. He focused. On his life, on his past. Everything he could to keep the spite and anger going. More shards of glass out of the treasure box of memories. He needed more.

His life really was now flashing before his eyes.

"It's not a big deal, man. I only made a few payments to keep them off Catherine's back while her-"

"A few payments?!" The voice was so loud through the phone, even the speaker seemed to distort for a moment. "This says you've been making payments for three months. Three MONTHS, Wade! I've got the account numbers right here on paper. You thought I wouldn't find out?"

"Once insurance gets their shit together and retroactively cover the costs, it'll be fine. Jason, listen-"

"They won't! It's been a year and jack shit has changed! They know we can't afford the legal fees to beat them in court, it's never going to get paid."

"Hold on, list-"

He felt the tip of the dagger dig further under his ribcage, cutting through. He didn't even know if it was on the right path to his heart or not, and he couldn't check. He could only trust and hope he'd been right. Lub-dub-lub-dub.

"No, you listen! You can't afford this. I know you can barely afford rent solo, you told me a while back you can't even visit Ann more than once a month despite paying a loony toon amount of money to their shit service from all the hours you work - and now you're pitching into my physical therapy bills too? Are you completely INSANE?"

"Your mom shouldn't have to deal with this shit. She's got enough-"

"My mom isn't your responsibility! None of this is YOUR responsibility! It's MINE, I will fucking pay for it myself with my own hands."

He took one ragged breath, coughing as blood leaked into the lungs. All or nothing. He rammed the dagger in.

Lub-dub-lub-du--

A new debuff was applied: Cardiac Arrest

Blood started pouring out like a flood, seeping through his hands, coating the hilt and soaking his shirt. He didn't notice. All he felt was his blood pressure dropping immediately. Seconds to work with before he passed out. He lifted the dagger and let go, then slapped his infected hand right on the wound, letting the blackrot seep into the flowing blood. He watched it crawl deeper than it had with all the shallow cuts. It followed greedily, always searching for wounds.

He started losing track of reality at that point. Eyes rolling up in his head. All he could think of was to keep pressure on the wound with his forearm. Just keep pushing down on it.

Darkness swarmed his vision and he felt himself float with it. Feeling his hand grow limp on his chest. Hadn't that been important? He was.. What was he doing? Something important. Voices floated through his head.

"With what job Jason? Tutoring random people and IT work on campus isn't going to do even a dent into all this, you need to work my kind of hours for any effect like that. You'd need to quit college and-"

"The payments stop. Today. I don't care. Mom and I always made it, we can do that again. And don't fucking think I won't find out if you sneak behind my back somehow, there's always a paper trail, and I'm not stupid. No, you know what, I'm not taking that chance. I know you Wade, you'll find some way to ratfuck your way around my watch. There's only one way I can make complete sure you're not bleeding yourself dry. I'm quitting physical therapy tomorrow. I'll start it up again once I've got a career."

"Jason! Wa-"

CLICK.

If Wade died here, Jason would step in and help Ann. Of course he would, he was still wrapped up in guilt thinking the accident had been his fault. That Ann's situation was on him. Both he and his mom would ruin their lives trying to help pay for the little sister of some guy that just one day vanished from their lives and left everyone behind. Because that's the kind of people they were.

Wade couldn't do that. He couldn't do that to Jason and Catherine.

Slowly, with extreme effort, Wade pressed his hand against his bleeding chest. Struggling to hold onto lucidity. He wasn't going to die here. He wasn't. This world could get fucked. He had to live and he had to make it back home. He had to.

Something deep within seemed to respond to his desperation. Something feral that didn't speak with any words, but spoke with emotions. It sensed him. It saw him. Wade stared back and snarled at it.

It bared its teeth back in response, feeling at his thoughts, sensing his will to live on. To that... it smiled.

Lub-dub.

A debuff was removed: Cardiac Arrest

He woke up with one deep gasping breath. On the ground, a bit of red blood puddling on the floor but otherwise nothing more.

The pain in his chest was gone. The lightheaded feeling cleared, lucidity returning to him.

It was done. He knew the blackrot was seated inside his heart.

Except his health was in the single digits.

Level 4 Player - 8%

How long had he been out? Or had the stab dealt that much damage to him? Whatever the blackrot was doing, at least it was making his end feel oddly light. His heart pumped it through his body. Pain lifted off of him all across his body except for his neck.

Level 4 Player - 6%

He waited there in the darkness, at the foot of the wall, sideways. The top of his head resting on the cold floor. Waiting to see who would win. The venom, or the blackrot.

Level 4 Player - 5%

Wade didn't feel despair, only silent resignation at what had to be done. With fumbling attempts, he reached his hand out, patting on the stone floor until he found the dagger hilt. Fingers looping around the grip, lifting it back up.

Level 4 Player - 4%

Slowly, with delicate care, he brought the weapon near the back of his neck, above his mithril collar. It stopped trembling when the tip touched skin, steadying it. This was it. He'd stab there, heal his neck pains for good, get that point of vitality back. Then he'd go out there, kill the mimic and probably succumb to the blackrot right after.

Level 4 Player - 3%

Seconds slowly died away. Wade held his breath, and counted down. On three then. Push in, then slap hand to his neck.

One.
Two.
A new buff was applied: Blackrot Regeneration I