Gasi

Greg knelt there in the snow, shaking, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps that had nothing to do with the cold. The sword hung limp in his hand, the blade still stained with the blood of the men he had just…

He knew he couldn't stay there, on his knees, staring at the vomit.

Staring at the blood.

At the bodies.

Killed. I killed them. I actually killed them.

The thought repeated in his head, a skipping record that wouldn't stop. He stared at the steaming puddle of vomit in the snow, bile and blood mingling in a pinkish slurry that made his stomach turn all over again. This isn't happening. This can't be happening. I'm not a killer, I'm just a kid, I'm just...

But the bodies lying in the snow said otherwise. The blood on his sword said otherwise.

Oh god, the blood. 

There's so much blood.

Greg shuddered, a full-body thing that made his teeth chatter. He couldn't stay here. He couldn't keep kneeling in the snow, staring at the evidence of what he'd done. His knees were going numb, his fingers aching with the cold even as they gripped the sword like a lifeline.

He couldn't stay on the forest floor.

For one, his knees were getting really cold.

For two, his everything else was getting just as cold.

Hell, he wasn't sure how long he spent on the ground.

Move. You have to move. You can't stay here.

Slowly, painfully, Greg forced himself to his feet. His legs felt like jelly, barely able to support his weight, but he locked his knees and willed himself to stay upright. The sword hung at his side, heavy, the weight of it both comfortable and terrifying at the same time.

I killed with this. I killed people. Real people, not just pixels on a screen.

It had been so easy.

Incredibly easy.

He put the blade on his back again with a shaking hand, the feel of the metal making him flinch slightly. It felt wrong, putting away something that had just taken lives like it was nothing more than a toy, but what else could he do?

Just leave it here, in the blood-stained snow?

That would be suicide. No. No, I can't. I need it. I need it to... to survive.

The thought made Greg want to laugh.

Surviving. That's what this was, right?

Kill or be killed, just like in the games. Except the games never showed this part, the aftermath, the sick, twisting feeling in your gut when the adrenaline faded and reality set in.

Blood. 

It had gone everywhere, spraying on the ground and melting snow it landed on.

So much blood.

He had managed to push away all the fear of being lost and alone by focusing on his magic sword that might have been some sort of Tinkertech for all he knew — even though he knew in his soul it wasn't. Dreaming about being a fantasy hero had been cool and all, but he had been focused more on the elf and magic and pretty girl side of the isekai bullshit thing, not so much the…

Stop. Don't think about it. Just... just walk.

And so he did. 

Greg picked a direction, away from the blood and the bodies and the echoes of screams on the wind, and he walked. One foot in front of the other, a mechanical process that required no thought.

One foot in front of the other. Just stop thinking.

One foot in front of the other. Just stop thinking about the blood.

"Shut up," Greg muttered, the words slurring together as he shook his head. "Shut up, shut up, shut up."

He walked faster, as if he could outpace his own thoughts. The forest blurred around him, an endless expanse of white and brown and gray, the skeletal branches of the trees reaching out like grasping fingers.

This is insane. This whole thing is insane. I'm in a goddamn fantasy world, a real-life isekai, and instead of being the hero, I'm... I'm...

A killer. The word hung in his mind, heavy and cold as the sword at his hip. He had killed those men, ended their lives like it was nothing.

Just stop thinking about it.

Half an hour of walking and it was easier said than done. They were going to kill me, right? He nodded to himself. Self-defense... that's it. 

Yeah, the blond brightened a little, the rationalization easing his stress and pushing his darker thoughts to the back of his brain where they belonged. They were gonna kill me, and it was just self-defense.

With jagged evil-looking weapons like that and looking like literal barbarians, they were probably cannibals even.

And rapists, on top of it.

Like the Nordrans in BattleAxe Fantasy, yeah. The super grimdark fantasy game were filled with crazy barbarians like the ones who attacked him. Nordra was the ice cold area up in the North — duh — where the Nordrans, a bunch of savage brawny berserkers and barbarians raided like the psychopathic fantasy Chaos-worshiping vikings they were. They probably kill anybody they see. 

Hell, killing them was probably the best outcome, even.

He was only doing the heroic thing.

I did the world a favor, really, Greg told himself, nodding along with his own thoughts. It was more than heroic, it was expected. Killing bandits and barbarians was like the basic thing any hero needed to do to be called a big damn hero in any video game.

Hell, those guys had the same quotes as any bandit in Cloudbrim, the blond thought with a scoff, shaking his head again. '"Hurry up and die already, so I can take your stuff!"' Be more original, guys.

It made perfect sense, honestly. By Sigmund, you've posted cringe! Prepare to die!

He was the hero, they were exp points, and also bad guys, simple as. Wasting time being sad when he could focus on finding a town to lay his head and drink some mead sounded like a dumb idea, if he really thought about it. He let the rationalization wash over him, soothing the jagged edges of his conscience.

Self-defense, heroism, all that jazz. Totally justified, no moral quandaries here, no sir.

Speaking of experience points, Greg slowed his pace, completely halting his forward advance as the thought of that tickled his brain. Wait a second…

A flicker of something popped into his thoughts, the same thing he had felt right before he fell to his knees. A tug on his soul just like that strange, instinctive bond he had with the sword. The same feeling he'd gotten right before…

Right before I killed them.

He frowned, the sword humming against his back, a subtle vibration he felt more than heard. Slowly and with only a bit of hesitancy, Greg wrapped his fingers around the hilt and pulled the blade from its sheath.

It glinted in the gray light filtering through the trees, the metal bright and, without a doubt, beautiful as the blade seemed to hum with a life of its own. Greg stared at it, brow furrowed, trying to chase down that flicker of... something. He could feel it, that same resonance, that same sense of connection that had thrummed through him as he fought for his life.

A memory, an instinct, a half-formed thought dancing just out of reach.

Hi-yah!

He blinked in confusion, the chill of the cold somehow ignored as he felt that warmth well up in the sword, deepening if not intensifying. Huh.

It couldn't be, could it?

But then again, he was in a fantasy world, one with honest-to-god barbarians and swords that could cut through bone like melted butter, so who was he to...

He shakes his head, frowning as he nearly shuddered again. Right after I killed those guys… something popped into my head.

"Wait…" He blinks.

"I can..." The words came out in a whisper, barely audible over the wind whistling through the trees. Greg's brow furrowed, his mind racing as he tried to chase down the elusive thought. It felt familiar, oddly enough. 

UWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

He just wasn't sure why.

His grip tightened further, fingers curling around the wrapped hilt like they belonged there. The sword seemed to respond, a faint vibration running up his arm, a whisper of power waiting to be unleashed.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Greg raised the sword. He could feel it humming in his grip as he took a deep breath.

Here goes nothing...

With a single upwards slash, Greg swung the sword in a wild, reckless arc. And his jaw dropped open, eyes wide as a crescent of glowing blue energy burst from the blade, rocketing into the sky like a… bolt from the blue.

"Holy shit!" Greg yelped, nearly dropping the sword in his shock. He stared at the fading afterimage of the energy blade, his mouth hanging open and mind struggling to process what he had just done.

I did that. I just... I just shot a fucking magic laser beam out of a sword!

A laugh bubbled up in his throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated manic glee. It burst from him in great, heaving guffaws, the kind of laughter that shook your whole body and left you gasping for breath.

"I'm magic!" He shouted to the sky, to the trees, to the whole goddamn universe.

He swung the sword again, and another blade of energy shot out of it, tearing up into the gray sky like a fucking firework. "I'm fucking magic, baby!"

And again, and again, each swing accompanied by a wild, ecstatic shout of joy.

This is insane. This is impossible. This is—

GRRRRAAAAAAWWWWRRR!!!

Greg Veder spun around, heart pounding like a jackhammer in his chest as adrenaline flooded his system. A bear! 

A bear.

A fucking bear.

Because of course there was a bear, because apparently whatever sick cosmic joke of a universe he'd been dropped into wasn't done screwing with him yet.

Through a dense thicket of snow-dusted underbrush, two piercing eyes met his—a massive grizzly, its gaze filled with a raw, primal ferocity that sent a chill down Greg's spine. Okay, okay, don't panic, it's just a bear, just a giant, pissed-off, probably hungry bear...

With a sharp intake of breath that was only slightly shaky, Greg stumbled backward, his feet sinking into the deep snow. Shit, shit, shit, what do you do with bears? Play dead? Make yourself look big? Sacrifice a virgin?

His eyes went wider. Wait, that's me!

But before he could remember any of the probably useless bear safety tips he'd gleaned from movies and TV, the grizzly crashed through the underbrush with a roar that shook the trees. And suddenly, playing dead didn't seem like such a hot option anymore.

Fuck this noise, I'm out!

Greg turned to flee, each step a sluggish, labored slog through the deep snow. He could hear the bear behind him, the thunder of its paws against the ground, the snapping of branches and the huffing of its breath. It's gonna catch me, it's gonna catch me and eat me and I'm gonna die as a goddamn bear snack in fucking fantasy Siberia!

Panic clawed at his throat, his lungs burning with each desperate gasp of frigid air. The snow was too deep, the bear too fast, and he was just a scrawny nerd with a magic sword he barely knew how to use. This was it. This was how he died, mauled to death by Smokey the Murder Bear in the middle of nowhere.

No. His open mouth slammed shut, teeth gritted. No, fuck that. I am not dying like this. I am not ending up as frozen bear shit in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.

Desperation morphed into something else, something fierce and defiant and more than a little unhinged. Greg skidded to a stop, his back slamming against a tree as he spun to face the charging grizzly. His hands were shaking, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but the sword in his grip felt like an extension of himself, like it was made to fit his hands and his hands alone.

Alright, you overgrown teddy bear, you wanna dance? Let's fucking dance.

With a shout that was equal parts fear and manic bravado, Greg swung the sword in a wild, reckless arc. A beam of concentrated energy burst from the blade, a searing line of blue-white light that lit up the forest like a bolt of lightning.

And missed the bear entirely, cleaving through the underbrush to leave a deep, smoldering gash in a nearby tree.

Shit! Fuck! Come on, Veder, get it together!

The bear surged close and Greg's eyes widened as a paw the size of his torso swiped down at him, the massive thing furry and tipped with claws that were each longer and thicker than every single one of his fingers.

Duck!

He did, diving to the ground and away from the bear in a reckless move that had him hit the snow in a way he probably would have regretted if the snow wasn't there to cushion his fall.

Greg Veder tried to scramble to his feet as the bear whirled around, slamming into the ground in a painful unintended combat roll that only just saved his life from another swipe from a heavy bear claw.

Move! Move! He jumped to his feet this time and grit his teeth, trying to steady his breathing, to focus past the heart-pounding terror and the adrenaline singing in his veins. All he had to do was ignore his monkey instincts screaming at him to run, with the bear so close he could see the steam of its breath, the glint of its teeth, the fire in its eyes.

Focus. Breathe. He swung again, and this time the energy beam struck true, hitting the bear square in the chest. It stumbled, roaring in pain and confusion as blood matted its fur, but it didn't stop. It reared up on its hind legs, towering over Greg like a mountain of fur and fangs and fury.

In that moment, Greg realized he knew true fear.

And it was this fucking beast.

The fifteen-year old let out a wild, whooping yell, a sound that was more panicked scream than battle cry. He swung the sword again, and again, each beam of energy fueled by a mix of terror and exhilaration and sheer, stubborn resolve. The bear roared, staggering under the onslaught, its fur smoking, its blood staining the snow crimson.

Die, you fuzzy bastard! Die, die, die!

And then, just like that, it was over. The bear lay motionless at Greg's feet, steam rising from its massive bulk, the snow around it melted into a muddy slurry of blood and slush. Greg stood there, chest heaving, sword lowered, staring down at the fallen beast with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"Holy shit," he breathed, his voice shaky and slightly manic. "Holy shit, I did it. I killed a bear. I fucking killed a bear with a magic sword."

A laugh bubbled up in his throat, slightly hysterical, edged with a giddy sort of disbelief. He'd done it. He'd actually done it. Faced down a monster and lived to tell the tale. Just like a real hero. Just like--

Suddenly, he felt it again. That strange, swelling sensation inside him, like his soul was ballooning outward, reaching for something just beyond his grasp. His breath caught, his heart pounding anew as he waited for... something. Some new power, some revelation, some--

Pfftttt.

But it sputtered out, fizzling like a wet fart, leaving him feeling strangely full but also empty, the metaphysical air deflating out of the whoopie cushion that was his soul as it returned to normal, yet feeling heavier somehow.

Did I just... lose a gacha or something? What the hell?

As if in response, the sword in his hand pulsed, the sapphire sphere on the pommel glowing faintly. And with the glow came a flicker of... something. A vision, a whisper, a half-formed thought dancing just out of reach.

He saw the sword in his hand shifting, changing, growing into something massive and gleaming. A greatsword, a true hero's blade, with a hilt a foot long and a blade four times that. He saw it cleaving through monsters and men alike, ignoring armor and scale and sinew like they were nothing more than paper. He saw himself wielding it, a warrior, a legend, a...

The Vorpal Sword, a voice whispered in his mind, a voice that was his own and yet not. Its name and legend. Yours, if you prove worthy.

Greg blinked, shaking his head as if to clear it. The vision faded, leaving him standing there in the blood-stained snow, staring down at the sword in his hand with a mixture of awe and confusion.

"What are you trying to tell me?" he muttered, feeling a little foolish. It was a sword, for fuck's sake, not a Magic Eight Ball It couldn't talk, couldn't think, couldn't…

Hell, he knew it couldn't actually think, his fuckin' soul was connected to it.

If anything, if he had to describe it, it was more like he was talking to himself through the sword, kinda…

Or the sword has a little bit of me inside it? Greg shook his head again, a hiccuping laugh escaping his lips. "Magic swords, huh? Isekai protagonist bullshit strikes again."

He gave the sword a little shake, as if scolding it. "We already lost the thing, you greedy little weirdo. No use crying over spilled gacha or whatever."

The sword pulsed again, almost petulantly, and Greg rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. You want to be a big bad greatsword. Well, tough titties. You're stuck with me, and I'm stuck with you, so we're just gonna have to make the best of it."

He paused, a slow, slightly manic grin spreading across his face. "Besides, who needs a Vorpal Sword anyway? We're gonna be legends either way. Greg Veder and his trusty magic blade, heroes for hir-"

Whatever Greg was gonna say next went unspoken as his eyes went wide, the sound of rustling from behind him sending his heart racing and adrenaline surging.

His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, the blade half-raised before he even realized he was moving. Shit, shit, shit, not another one...

But instead of a rampaging grizzly, what emerged from the trees was...

A cub?

A tiny, shivering ball of brown fur, barely as big as a large housecat. It let out a sad, mewling sound as it scuttled over to the corpse of the bear Greg had just killed, nuzzling at its mother's blood-matted fur.

"Oh..." Greg breathed, his grip on the sword going slack. "Oh shit."

Guilt hit him like a punch to the gut, a sickening, twisting feeling that made his stomach churn. The cub looked so small, so helpless, confused and alone as it pawed at its mother's still form. I did that,Greg thought, a bitter taste in his mouth. I made it an orphan. Some hero I am.

He stumbled forward, feet clumsy in the churned-up snow. The cub's head snapped up at his approach, big brown eyes wide and wary. Greg froze, one hand held up in a placating gesture.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he said softly, trying to keep his voice low and soothing. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I... I'm sorry about your mom, little guy. She was just trying to protect you from the crazy asshole with the sword, huh?"

The cub just stared at him, uncomprehending, and Greg felt like the scum of the earth. Way to go, Veder. Traumatizing baby animals now. 

Slowly, carefully, he sheathed the sword at his back, the thing feeling a little heavier in his hands once again.

Metaphorically, at least.

Can't just leave the lil guy here alone, he thought guiltily. Couldn't abandon it to starve or freeze or get eaten by something worse. That... that would be even more messed up than what he'd already done.

"I can take care of you," he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could really think about them. "I mean, I'm supposed to be this big hero now, right? And what's a hero without an animal companion?"

He took a slow, careful step forward, then another, closing the distance between himself and the cub. It watched him warily, but didn't bolt, didn't growl or hiss or try to bite. Greg chose to take that as a good sign.

"It'll be just like Brother Bear," he said, a slightly manic grin tugging at his lips. "I mean, you're gonna be the only bear, and I'm not an Indian who got turned into one by magic spirits, but hey, close enough, right?"

The cub, unsurprisingly, did not respond.

Greg shook his head, feeling a little dumb. Get it together, Veder. Trying to banter with a baby bear. All this murder's making you lose it.

Crouching down in the snow a few feet from the cub, Greg held out his hand, palm up. An offering, an invitation. "C'mon, little dude. I promise I'm not as much of a dick as I seem. At least, I'm trying not to be."

For a long, tense moment, nothing happened. The cub just stared at him, eyes big and dark and unreadable. Greg held his breath, not daring to move, barely daring to hope...

And then, slowly, hesitantly, the cub started to waddle towards him. One tiny paw in front of the other, cautious but curious, until it was close enough to sniff at Greg's outstretched fingers. Its nose was cold and wet against his skin, ticklish in a way that made Greg want to laugh and cry at the same time.

Holy shit. Holy shit, it's actually working. I'm Disney Princessing this shit right now.

Emboldened, Greg reached out with his other hand, slowly, carefully, ready to snatch it back at the first sign of teeth or claws. But the cub just let him scoop it up, lifting it into the air like something out of The Lion King.

"Companion Get!" Greg crowed, a giddy laugh bubbling up in his chest. The cub squirmed in his grip, heavier than it looked, its fur soft and thick against his fingers. I can't believe this is actually happening. I have a bear now. A baby bear.

As if to punctuate that thought, Greg suddenly felt a now-familiar sensation pulse through him - that strange, swelling feeling of his soul ballooning outward, reaching for something just beyond his grasp. He tensed, bracing himself for... he didn't even know what.

Another near-miss?

But no, this time, something actually happened. A glint of gold caught his eye, and Greg looked down to see a thick ring materializing on his finger, a band of rich yellow metal with a deep blue gem set into its center. The gem was carved in the shape of a V, the letter seeming to glow with an inner light.

What the... Greg blinked, trying to make sense of this new development. Magic bling? The hell does that mean?

As quickly as the confusion came, it was washed away by a sudden, startling realization. He felt... different. Stronger, tougher, more resilient. Like he could take on the world and win. Even the cold didn't seem to bite quite as deep, the ache of exhaustion in his muscles fading to a dull, distant throb.

Huh. Neat.

Greg flexed his fingers, watching the play of light over the ring's gleaming surface. He knew he should probably be more freaked out by this, by the sheer impossibility of it all.

But honestly? After everything else that had happened, a little stat boost from a shiny trinket was pretty low on the 'wtf' scale. Just roll with it, Veder, he told himself, a wry grin tugging at his lips. You're the magic man now. Freak out later, when there's a bed and maybe some mead and hot elf barmaids involved.

Shaking his head, Greg turned his attention back to the cub still cradled in his arms. It was heavier than he'd expected, dense with baby fat and thickening fur, but the ring's power boost seemed to make the weight easier to handle. Huh. He wasn't stronger, he was sure of that, but the weight didn't strain as much. Magic buff, +5 bear carrying capacity.

"Alright, little dude. I rescued you, so that means I get to name you. Them's the rules." The cub blinked up at him, black button eyes shining with what Greg chose to interpret as agreement.

Let's see... Smokey? Nah, too on the nose. Yogi? Paddington? Winnie? All the famous fictional bears flashed through Greg's mind, each one discarded as quickly as it came. He wanted something unique, something with pizzazz, something...

"Ash," he said decisively, nodding to himself. "Like Smokey the Bear, get it? Only cooler. More badass. 'Cause you're gonna be a badass bear, aren't you? Yes, you are, yes, you are!"

He lifted the cub higher, nuzzling his face into its soft fur. It squirmed in his grip, letting out a squeaky little growl, and Greg laughed.

And then yelped, as pain lanced through his hand, sudden and sharp.

Greg held back the urge to flinch, simply to avoid dropping Ash in surprise as he shifted the bear to one hand to look at the other.

Blood welled from a set of shallow puncture wounds, stark crimson against his pale skin.

The little shit bit me!

But even as the thought formed, Greg paused, frowning. It... didn't actually hurt that much. Oh, it hurt, sure, he wasn't completely numb. But compared to the other injuries he'd sustained today - the cuts, the bruises, the sheer exhausted ache of overtaxed muscles - a little nip from a baby bear was practically nothing.

Speaking of… all those other injuries… they didn't seem to be anywhere close to as noticeable as before. Hell, he felt like he could walk all day.

Huh. He blinked. So, it's a durability buff.

Looking down at Ash, who was now gazing up at him with an expression of perfect innocence like he hadn't just tried to munch on his wrist, Greg felt his frown melt into a sly grin. "Everyone's a critic, huh?"

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

Achievement: Beast Slayer - 200 GP

Achievement: Fur Baby - 150 GP

Roll: Tier Two Rings - (100 GP)"A magical ring that provides a bonus depending on the material used. Limit one ring per hand. Titanium: Greatly increases the wearer's overall strength. If you could bench 50kg, you could bench 75kg. Glassteel: Greatly increases the wearer's agility and reflexes. Go from juggling apples to chainsaws. Dust: Fortifies the body even further with Dust, helping them absorb a tremendous amount of damage without perishing."

Failed Roll: Vorpal Sword (500 GP) - "A mighty greatsword that requires two hands to use, it has a foot-long hilt and 4-foot blade. The shining grooves of the blade channel whatever it's cutting away, so it does not drag or get caught. When wielded, it magically enhances your fighting skills slightly. It ignores armor, and it deals mighty blows against Jabberwocks, Jabberkin, and other dragon-like enemies. If you want, you can make a sword you already have into the Vorpal Sword, giving it the extra attributes received in this purchase.