System Reset: Forged in Nightmare

When Alex awoke, Gloomy was gone. He feared for a moment that she might've left him, that last night could've just been a dream. Maybe it would've been better if it was. But it wasn't, so Gloomy must've been off in the mists. She'd let him sleep his ten hours as promised—and even more from the look of things. The sky was blanketed in night, his path lit only by the Constellations and the shine of a waning moon. Even simply craning his head to look up, Alex noticed tension in his body.

His neck was stiff—the consequence of using a rock for a pillow—and when he cracked it, he heard more than just a slight pop. His spine was okay, but many of his other bones, his ribs especially, were still fractured. It was beyond a single health potion, even a greater one, to do any more than set them in place. Most of the potion's energy had gone toward repairing his arteries and sealing his wounds, and he hadn't replenished all his missing blood yet either.

He wobbled to his feet, then looked down at his clothes.

No wonder.

Beneath his midnight cloak and blotted leathers, his attire was simultaneously damp and crusted with blood. Not all of it was his. Not… most of it, he reckoned. But probably a lot. Thankfully, most mundane blood-carried diseases weren't a large concern with his Vitality raised. However, he still didn't want to be drenched in other people's blood, in clothes he'd picked off a corpse. He had a sudden, irresistible urge to rip these clothes off. If there was an Olympic Swimming Pool in front of him he would've jumped in an instant.

But there wasn't, and it was a frigid night, so he resisted that urge. A chilly wind passed and he noticed he'd slept without any blankets. He also noticed a fire pit had been dug, several meters out of reach from where he'd slept.

How generous of her.

He walked over, set down tinder, and placed a wooden slat inscribed with the rune for Fire.

Enchant

When Alex was warm again, he unclipped his armor one piece at a time, acknowledging that yes, the dirt that coated it seemed… strangely appetizing, and yes, he was definitely a bit anemic. Then he drove two large sticks into the ground, lodging a third across the natural grooves of their branches. When his greaves, gauntlets, tasset, boots, and belt were off, he flung them over the makeshift rack to dry by the fire.

They were all leather. A bit taboo, but not enough to care.

There was no getting all that blood off, no matter what he did, and it would take ages for them to air dry. The best he could do was get them dry, scrape off the excess blood, maybe apply soap and oil—then, hopefully, he'd soon find other pieces to replace them with. His vambraces, at least, were steel: much simpler to clean. He'd also picked up a steel viking helm, though he was unsure where it'd come from. He'd killed a lot of people yesterday—wearing a lot of good armor, and if he'd been in the right mind to spare a few minutes mid-combat undressing them, he'd probably be set by now.

There… were a lot of issues with that, logistically, but his moral qualms no longer held importance after he'd already killed them. It was just a waste. Now, the question was… Well, it wasn't really a question, just as an observation… but a lot of the wounds he'd sustained could've been avoided or mitigated with better armor and gear. He knew what the smart thing to do was, and he'd be dumb not to acknowledge… Well, that was to say, if he came across a black supply drop, he should probably just…

I mean, next time this could cost me my life so… yeah, I have no choice.

Or did he? Christ, in his last life he wouldn't have even hesitated, but here he was, thinking he was a little better now. It was a hard call to make, but…

Alex clasped his face, his groan growing half way into a yell as he kicked a tree. "I fucking love this place," he muttered.

Then he stood and got back to cleaning. Maybe he was being stubborn. No, he was being stubborn. He would continue to be. With any luck, this path would have visitors soon who he'd have less qualms about killing. And if not, then he'd consider it.

For now, most of the armor he'd come across wasn't metal and was either already blood-soaked, in extreme disrepair from battle, or contaminated by rotten flesh. Mostly, the bodies in Nightmare were picked clean—including the vampire—but he'd found another decent chest piece back in the Second Scenario. Although it was just leather, it was enough of an excuse for him to toss his blood-soaked one in the bushes and forget about it.

Or… on second thought, to store it in his inventory. So as not to litter, and to avoid the risk of anyone stumbling upon it and sampling his blood for divination and the likes.

Christ, where is my head today?

On his neck. Better than most places it could be. In any case, he trashed his bloodied armor in his inventory, knowing it'll likely be forgotten in there for a good few years until he met capacity and had to take an itinerary. His midnight cloak and armored gauntlets, however—he'd paid good money for. The gauntlets were an easier fix since their exteriors were scale-plated, but the cloak especially had proven invaluable near the end thanks to its stealth-enhancing capabilities, and he wasn't keen on spending another 8,000 Essence Crystals to replace it.

Which meant maintenance.

He sighed, summoning his fifth-to-last basin of the well water he'd collected. Then he eyed his cloak, dubious that it had ever been green. Regrettably, this was something he foresaw being an issue, so when he summoned a bottle of vinegar and poured half into the basin, he didn't bother rationing. Years of hard life taught him well. He had multiple bottles.

His cloak was left to cold-soak, and before Alex knew it, his toes had wriggled back to life in front of the fire. He held his phone in his hand. There was no cell service in Nightmare, and it was halfway out of battery. He looked at a photo of Alyssa during her middle school graduation. She'd stopped sending him so many after that.

A pot of bottled water simmered to a boil over the fire. Ramen was one of his few joys these days. He'd had another bowl halfway through the whole… "ordeal", and it was one of the few things that kept him going.

Judging that the blood had dried, he picked his leathers off the rack before the fire caused them to dry-age. He used the edge of his knife to scrape and peel away hardened blood, then wasted his fourth-to-last basin of well-water to give them their own quick soak, since the vinegar in the other basin would've caused cracks to form. He'd erred in the order of things—washing his cloak first.

What could he say? It was last on a long list of things worth beating himself up over. In his defense, it'd been a long time since he was this gross on the road. And a lot longer since he'd used these products.

After a quick soak, he hung his leathers to dry once more, his stomach rumbling. He side-eyed the pot, watching his noodles separate and thinking about the leftover steak he had from his feast with Eric's party.

Instead of whetting his appetite, the thought made him queasy. Go figure. He still smelled like death. He cast a glance into the mists, then stripped. He'd have to hope Gloomy didn't have inopportune timing with her return. Or the unlikely assassin, for that matter.

Though, assassins always had inopportune timing. That was their whole thing. He kept Nychta in mind, ready to summon her in a heartbeat. Being naked wouldn't stop him from defending himself. His attackers would just have to suffer a slightly more unsightly death.

He also had a feeling Nychta wouldn't resist his… Well, the whole thing yesterday was… It was his fault. She'd protected him when it mattered. And he'd forced her to…

Alex breathed in, then out. He wiped his body with makeshift cloths, watching the blood run down his ankles. He used his precious drinking water for this. There'd been undead rats in the well basin. Undead diseases were more complicated to purge, and looking down, he found not all his wounds had fully closed. And there… were many of them. He screwed his eyes shut, cursing his fate. He was going to have more scars in this life.

Breathe, he told himself, In and out.

Right, just like that, dumbass.

He hadn't come to Nightmare to make friends; it was always going to happen this way. Health potions were also less effective when taken mid combat instead of with a dose of rest. Scars? Nothing a bit of ramen and steak bites couldn't erase. They weren't on his face this time. It was better than dying.

Irritated, he scrubbed more thoroughly in places where the blood was stubborn. He went through a few of the cleaner T-shirts like this, discarding them to his inventory when they got too dirty, side-eyeing his ramen all the while. He was sparing with his soap—he needed it to last him all of Nightmare—but he decided to be less sparing with the antiseptic. He winced in pain as he applied it to his wounds. Then he bandaged them and donned joggers and a long-sleeve shirt. And… underwear, but those were fresh, extorted from Eric's party during their trade.

Alex's ramen had boiled for too long by the time he sat back down. But noodles were noodles, no matter how soggy, and breakfast was breakfast, whether accompanied by the first rays of sunshine or the endless dark of Nightmare. He sprinkled his seasoning over the bowl, then some steak—and ghetto-chashu—cilantro, the whole works, then blew, lifting the first bite to his—

"Oh, right. Make yourself at home at the fire pit I dug," Gloomy spat. "Now pack it up. We're leaving."

She stalked out of the mists with the savage look of someone who'd just killed a dozen monsters. Alex ignored her, slurping his noodles.

"Are you deaf?"

"No," Alex said. "I'm just eating my breakfast."

That wasn't a good enough explanation, so he continued. "The assassin was a member of the Blood Lotus Clan. He was operating alone. It'll take at least a day for news of his death to reach the higher-ups, then a day or two more if they decide to send anybody else."

"I'm aware. It's the only reason I let you get your damn sleep."

"The only reason?"

Alex hadn't paid close attention to Gloomy's condition last night, but he now noticed her eye bags and terribly pale complexion. She wore the same black hoodie and sweatpants beneath her leathers as she had the first night in Nightmare. She'd also dirtied a cloak of her own, which flapped behind her as she stormed up across the fire from him, hands planted on her hips.

"Say it," she demanded.

"You've been pushing a hard pace this last week. You needed that rest as much as I did. More, maybe."

"And why, pray tell, were you following me?" she asked. A brief second passed before her eyes widened. "Oh, you sick fuck! it's a sex thing isn't it?"

Alex spit out his broth. "Eugh."

"Eugh?!"

"Sorry," he said. "No offense, it's just creepy to imagine for multiple reasons."

"Yeah, I know. Why'd you fucking follow me, then?"

Alex took in a breath, calculating the odds that Gloomy might negotiate a trade in good faith with him based on her current temperament. They seemed astronomically low, and he'd only raise her hackles by telling her the truth.

"I don't mean to put you on edge, but it's a bit private," he said. "And I don't want to lie, either. Let's just say I was lonely and wanted someone to talk to."

Gloomy stood, unbudging.

"Ah—later, I mean," he amended. "Right now, I just want to enjoy my breakfa—"

Alex jolted. He'd sensed the attack coming, but in his condition, she was faster than he could react. Gloomy's kick connected with his ramen bowl, sending it shattering against a nearby tree.

"I said we're leaving! You've dragged me down long enough with this contract! You want to eat your breakfast?! Then may the devil take you, but you alone! I'm not sticking around to see if you're right about how long it'll take those fuckers to make artistry of my corpse!"

Alex's noodles drooped down the tree bark next to the porcelain shards of his bowl. The roots must've sensed the blood in his steak bites from the way they tentatively skewered them.

His fists shook, but through sheer force of will, he unclenched them. He turned to Gloomy.

"Will you tell me why you're being targeted by the Blood Lotus Clan?"

She snorted. "Devil no."

"But whatever you stole is valuable enough to warrant more assassins?"

"Where'd you hear—"

"Last night," Alex said. "He wasn't exactly quiet about demanding it back. You want to keep your secrets? Fine. I'll keep my own too. But you're stuck with me now, and I'm not exactly in the proper condition to go on a death march."

She loomed over Alex, glowering.

"I didn't need your help!" she yelled. "I was luring him closer! I would've killed him!"

Alex had to remind himself that this was a little girl he was dealing with, suffering from puberty or whatever else made a murderous, vampire-thieving, ramen-ruining bitch act out. She was his sister's age. He had to be the adult here. He was an adult, after all. Despite his appearance.

"Okay," he said, "Look, I'm sorry we got off on a bad foot Gloomy, I don't doubt you had the situation handled. I was under extreme duress, and there were probably a million ways I could've handled myself better. But we struck a deal—fairly or not—and I'm just trying to uphold my half of it. To do that, I need to eat. I need time to rest and heal my wounds. That is, unless… you just so happen to have a health potion for me?"

She shifted, clearly discontent that he wasn't yelling back at her.

"Again with that 'Gloomy' shit," she muttered.

"Do you have another name?"

He was met with silence.

"Then I guess we're at an impasse on all fronts. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to have some breakfast so I can more easily protect you. I'd also like to clean the blood off my equipment so these vampires can't track us by the stench alone. Once I'm done with that, we can set off at a pace that won't break my body, and then we can make all the idle talk you'd like. Does that sound fair?"

He looked up and was met with an unbridled ball of fury—but a silent one. Gloomy huffed, stomping off.

"And don't forget, I can still kill you if you change my mind," he added immaturely.

"Shut it! The threat doesn't carry any weight until you actually do it."

He frowned at that. Teenagers.

He dusted off his pot, which had fallen in the clamor, then set it back on the fire, bringing more water to a boil. His morning was sufficiently ruined, but that was his just dessert. Regardless, he would have his—

Oh… right.

Alex dragged a hand down his face as realization struck. That had been his last ramen.

* * *

Alex's distress drove him to nibble further at his brie. He'd always been an emotional eater when it would serve him better not to be. Despite his planning, he'd failed at every turn to ration his best food for last. Later in Nightmare, where he'd no doubt be entering seasonal depression from the most sun-less solstice imaginable, that failure would come back to haunt him.

For now, he at least had an entire supply crate he hadn't gone through. But the thought was saddening enough that he looked up from his march, half-tempted by the green beacon of smoke in the misty distance.

"Don't expect my help," Gloomy said from further up the path.

Alex noticed she also avoided supply drops, and she had very few skull marks. He leaned over, giving his aching muscles some rest. "Wasn't planning it," he said, "I have enough food to last the scenario. It's… not worth it. Your assassin only found you because you were drawn out by the purple beacon, right?"

"Yeah? And I have two relics now, so what's your point?"

"It's not worth the risk, that's all."

Taking a steady breath, he pushed himself back into motion. His ribs creaked and his tendons whined, but the pain was nothing noteworthy. Gloomy huffed in annoyance, waiting for him to catch up before pressing forward.

He stared at her back.

For a while, he'd wondered how such a small girl had managed to leave him in the dust. Desperation solved only half the puzzle—usually, it just drove people to exhaustion that much faster. Now, he saw that she was packing a lot of strength within her tight frame. Even her baggy clothes couldn't hide it. She had that overly-defined look of new muscle about her, which meant she'd likely only recently increased her strength stat. But even that didn't explain her seemingly endless stamina. If Alex weren't here to slow her down, she might have just trekked through the rest of the scenario on grit alone.

Is that really it, though?

Perhaps she had a bloodline or trait. Identify could tell him more, but people with decent Perception could tell when they were being Identified, so he'd wait until she slept. And unless she was far lower level than him, it probably wouldn't tell him all that much, either.

He pondered the possibilities, pushing himself a few hours longer before he called out for a break. Gloomy turned back, her sigh taking on an almost hissy tone.

"Again? You just had one!"

"Three hours ago," Alex said. "Remember, I'm injured. And I don't have the boundless energy I had in my…"

"In your what?"

Alex had been about to say youth, but he couldn't use that excuse anymore. Nonetheless, he plopped himself on the ground, resting in the groove of a tree. Gloomy couldn't move on without him, thanks to their contract. Traveling even a football field's length away with the intent to abandon him would send her into spasming pain. She'd learned that the hard way, as had Alex, once. Soul-oaths were absolute, and this was rather tame as far as the rite-of-passage went. Didn't mean he was proud of pulling that trick. But so long as he ate his breakfast outside of her kicking-range, the worst she could do was yell at him.

"...and fuck your mother's cross!" Gloomy yelled. "I swear on the devil, if those assassins so much as touch a hair on my head—"

Alex tuned her out as her string of curses continued. He was sure they made a lot more sense in Romanian, but through the System's translation, a lot of it just sounded like nonsense. He looked up at the sky.

It was still night, just as it had been when they'd set off some eight or nine hours ago. He remembered how he'd felt when he first arrived at Dykriest—how unsettled he'd been by the layers. They'd reminded him of the dark of Nightmare. Now, he knew they were nothing alike. Humans weren't meant to live underground, but even the layers were vibrant compared to the dull monotony of Nightmare's paths.

Each day, the scenery of the Misting Valleys was the same muted gray and dull brown as the day before. Not even a view of the sky could save this experience for him. Even if he knew intellectually that they were rapidly approaching the city, every step carried the same weight it had when he'd first started down this path over a week prior. It was hard to feel any sense of progress.

But they were progressing. That was a simple fact. He'd give it maybe only another week before they arrived at the city, even at this slower pace. So before that point, he needed to get the Crucible of the Sun quest from Gloomy.

"What are you looking at?" Gloomy asked.

She sat across the path from him now, having long since exhausted all the curses she knew—or having just gotten bored. Alex wasn't exactly having the time of his life either, traveling with someone who clearly hated him. He thought he'd been amicable enough since their first encounter, but it had earned him no goodwill from her. He was beginning to wonder if a week was even long enough to build the rapport needed for negotiations.

Gloomy was a puzzling girl. Contrary to the lengths she'd gone, she didn't seem like someone who valued her life. She had a brain, but it appeared she was the type incapable of using it on things that pissed her off.

"I said, what are you looking at."

Alex blinked. Looking at Gloomy with her hair down, she really did strike a resemblance to Alyssa, and the thought made him wince. It was likely he'd only have one shot at doing this peacefully, and if it failed…

"No, I was spacing out. Sorry," Alex said.

"Fucking creep."

Gloomy returned to what she was doing—doll carving, from the looks of it. Alex pushed his darker thoughts out of mind. It was too early for those sorts of measures. That soul oath trick he'd pulled had been the ace up his sleeve for solving things quickly, and he'd been forced to blow it just to ensure she wouldn't run off on him again. So he would just have to be patient

That was just as well. Now he had another reason to stay with Gloomy. The Blood Lotus Clan had put a target on her back, and that presented its own opportunities. He was going to take his time with the next assassin they sent. Intel, with a side of pleasure.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

He grunted at that thought, then got up. "Alright. Let's get going."

"Finally," Gloomy said. She pushed herself up, but the glower didn't leave her face.

Alex strode past her.

"You coming?" he teased over his shoulder.

Gloomy muttered curses under her breath—something about the devil again—and retook her lead. Alex's lips lifted in the corners. There was nothing wrong with putting a bit more spring in his steps. It was good for his mood, and feeling old had more to do with mood than actual physical discomfort, once you reached a certain level. He may be wounded, miserable, and tired, but at the very least, he didn't want to feel old.

* * *

A few hours later, Alex was clutching his back, easing himself down carefully. It was still night. His every step was still as painstaking as all the others he'd taken. He was still old.

Not old, he reminded himself. Injured.

It made little fucking difference.

"Where's your attitude now, Alex?" Gloomy taunted. "Stupid ox. Can't handle a little walking?"

"Yeah," he said. "We're settling down for the night."

"We're— what?"

Gloomy's snark disappeared as she curled her fists. Her brown eyes seemed to glint an unfamiliar tinge of fury as dawn's first light crawled on the horizon. Then, just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. She huffed a sigh and sat down farther along the path, digging a pit.

"That's it?" Alex asked. "No vulgar curses?"

"What's the point? You already know all the ways I'd kill you and desecrate your mother's grave, but I can't. It's just talk."

Oh. Maybe he was actually making progress—

"So, I'll just keep it to myself," Gloomy continued. "Until this contract expires and I can actually fucking do it."

Never mind.

"Well… that's all well and good," Alex said, "But for now, please feel free to dig the pit over here. Two fires create twice the smoke. And I take it you planned on starting yours the old-fashioned way?"

He held up his runic enchantment. Gloomy eyed it dubiously. Eventually, she got up and slumped back down across from him.

"You're a mage?" she asked, incredulous.

"I can Enchant," he corrected. "With the System's skill, it's possible to activate runes without studying true magic. It's just more limited that way."

"But you were a mageling," she asserted. Then she spat to the side, a disgusted look on her face. "Or a Warlock. You know too much to be a damn outsider."

"And how about you?" Alex asked.

Gloomy continued digging in silence. He sighed. "Communication is a two-way street, Gloomy. If you want to share about yourself, I will too. Right now, all you need to know is that I can light a campfire without much effort."

When she'd finished placing her kindling, Alex nestled his wooden slate between the driest twigs. He easily reached out for the aspect of fire, drawing it towards his runes. A spark ignited, consuming the slate, then the kindling, then the larger logs of wood until a healthy fire stirred to life between them.

The flames reflected in Gloomy's eyes, and for a moment, she seemed lost in them. She got that way occasionally—lost, distant. It reminded him how young she actually was, and made him wonder what kind of shit she must have gone through to end up the miserable girl she was now. It was easy to forget those kinds of things in Nightmare. It was a reminder she was every bit as human as he was.

But when you have blood on your hands, you become something more than just human. Something else. No matter how hard you try to wash yourself clean of that, the stain remains.

With a thought, Alex summoned Nychta into his hands.

"What the—"

"Relax," he told her. "Just doing some maintenance."

There was distrust in her eyes, and her hand went behind her back… then she settled back down. "Cunt. A little warning wouldn't hurt. I swear I—"

She fell silent as Alex drew Nychta from her sheathe and laid her across his lap. For once, the girl seemed to have no curses for him, so he turned his full attention to his sword.

In his rage, Alex had used her as a tool—something to bludgeon his enemies with—rather than a partner in the dance between life and death. She was an extension of his soul, the beautiful parts of it at least, that were capable of giving rather than just taking away. And he'd damaged her.

He brushed alcohol across her length, then oil, not caring that Oslumnen didn't so much as rust. His fingers traced the cracks of her hurt.

"I'm sorry, Nychta," he whispered, "It won't happen again. I swear it."

The next time he needed a mere weapon, he'd use a weapon. And next time… He hoped next time would be different.

Alex sheathed her. Then he remembered he had company. Across the fire, Gloomy stared with wide eyes. But she said nothing, so nothing had to be said. Who didn't talk to their sword a little after a rough battle?

He chuckled. "Sorry, don't mind me. I'm going to need some peace and quiet for a while to concentrate. Will that be an issue?"

Hesitantly, Gloomy shook her head and Alex focused his attention inward. He'd delayed this long enough. Whether he liked it or not, he really did need every scrap of power he could get. And that battle… it was as though he'd hardly been present for it. If he didn't reflect on this now, it would be lost to him forever.

Essence Crystals have been consumed!

You have leveled up!
You have leveled up!
You have leveled up!
You have leveled up!

Alex closed his eyes in total recall.

"Battle" was the wrong word for what had taken place. It had been a massacre.

You have entered a charged state.

An electric energy coursed through him, and his mind became painfully clear. There were no voices, no lost souls. He was himself, racing through the soul mists. The Blood Mist Assassin was nowhere to be seen—there was no boil. But there was a fervor in his blood, rushing through his veins like molten fire: rage, in all its goodness.

He hadn't thought twice about cleaving that woman's head off. Or about piercing that man through his heart while he begged for his life, clutching his health potion with bloody stumps.

He'd relished it. Every cut he'd received, every gouge in his flesh, was the loosening of his nectar. He'd liked the heat slickening against his skin in his blood's spill; he'd thanked the shiver that coursed through him when heat left. Every wound was like a dent in a broken dam, so that his rage could run free like a river.

Very few times in his life had he fought like this.

He was a demon on his last stand. Inches from being broken, yet completely unstoppable. He focused on the feeling of essence in his skin. The tingle from being charged. He felt the pain his body suffered, and the pain his astral body did when spiked by needles of intent. He followed those needles, tracing them back, cutting through enemies in a slaughter. He saw it on their faces as they ran—the fear, the pleading, the desperation.

Now, Alex experienced it all as it had really been. It felt good.

His stomach climbed to his throat and he resisted the urge to puke. He maintained his focus, noting the way his muscles twinged and spasmed, how the electric charge of Essence dulled all his fatigue to nothing. These were qualities of someone pushing his strength.

But it wasn't the time to increase his strength. He focused more inward, on his soul, and there, he heard the voices.

"Remember… what thisss… is all for…"

They wormed their way deeper, melding with him. He listened. It was so much easier that way. But theirs weren't the only voice trying to be heard. He noticed another—a scream that had seemed so quiet in the moment. Nychta.

She fought against the Lost Souls, expunging their taint.

And she was losing. She was shattering.

He focused on their bond, where it stretched taut and thin. He remembered how it felt to will her into submission, to enslave her. Like bringing a dog to heel. He made her kill, even as they begged for their lives, even as she cried out in pain. He'd used her to decapitate countless men, to hack and saw at their necks.

He remembered how high he'd felt off the power in that relic—and how vulnerable it made him. It only magnified his rage. Then he saw the priestess who kneeled in prayer.

"Ananise."

He was just lucid enough to echo back their names, like a twisted spectre. Koran had been the head he tossed at her feet. The one he'd taken that helm from, he remembered. He leveled his sword at Ananise's neck to make the same of her.

Except—he didn't.

Alex's control slipped. If he hadn't been paying such close attention to his bond, he would have missed the moment it happened. Nychta shone with light. And suddenly, he wasn't in the soul mists anymore. He was sitting beside Laura in that meadow of flowers atop the cliffs of Thule—their sanctuary. The ocean waves crashed against the rocks below in that alluring rhythm. The smell of fresh flowers graced his nose, like he hadn't smelled them in forever.

Laura turned to him, her face serious.

"Alex. You need to be a better person."

His breath caught at the sight of her. He didn't know what to say. And he didn't have time to figure it out either. The words came from his mouth, unprompted.

"I'm sorry, but no," he replied bluntly. "I've seen what happens to good people, and I don't have a death wish."

"I didn't say good. I said better."

He scoffed. "There's a difference?"

Her lips went firm into that thin line that meant he'd misspoken. Alex knew exactly what she was going to say, word for word, and he'd already seen what he'd come here to see. He could feel his Essence binding with his stats. This was enough.

Only, when he tried to leave, he found he couldn't.

No… don't do this…

"Yes, there's a difference," Laura said. "Alex, you know as well as I do that you can't hide anything from me, so stop pretending you don't care. You have potential for good in you, but I'm not asking you to be good. I'm asking you to be better."

"Enlighten me," he said.

Alex's left eye twitched. His body wasn't under his control, and he found he couldn't look away from Laura. Nothing good came from dwelling on the dead.

That's enough, Nyctha. Take me out…

"You can really be insufferable sometimes," Laura said. "You know yourself, you know when something is wrong, and you really do care—oh no, no, don't you interrupt me, Alex."

She held a finger to his lips, but her expression was anything but loving.

Alex strained to escape from the memory. God-dammit! Nychta!

Laura sighed. "Look. Being better doesn't mean being a saint, I'm not asking you to put your life on the line for anything. I'm just asking you to listen to yourself when you feel that something is wrong. And make the hard choi—"

"That's enough!"

Alex's demand was laced with power, and his inner world fell away. He was back in the drab, colorless world of Nightmare. Gloomy lay on the ground across from him… faking sleep. Nychta was across his lap, glowing brightly for a second before returning to her dormant luminance.

Essence has integrated with Strength!

Strength +1

Essence has integrated with Fortitude!

Fortitude +2

Essence has integrated with Perception!

Perception +3

Essence has integrated with Arcane!

Arcane +7

Alex took in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, letting it all pass through him.

Well, that was one task done.

And the increase to his Arcane stat was greater than he'd expected—which was bound to make enchanting easier. He supposed more strength might've been nice, though it couldn't be helped. His current strength was nearing the limit of what his body could handle on his current diet. Too much muscle without protein and the fat content to match was a hindrance, not a blessing. He'd probably need to chance upon another food-crate if he wanted to take the stat above twenty.

It was just another one of those 'smart' decisions, but this, at least, might be something he could solve peacefully if he got lucky. Black supply drops were rarer, and always resulted in conflict.

He took another breath. Examining the battle in his memory had made it clearer what that priestess of Lady Light had done. Similar to Mages, classes like Priest or Paladin allowed one to wield Essence outside the system, in the form of Divine Energy granted to them by their patron deity. Prayer could sometimes allow them to surpass their skills' capabilities, but this wasn't that.

Because rather than using any sort of Essence formation-like a skill or ability, the priestess had essentially just flooded him with Divine Energy, forcing the Lost Souls out through sheer will. And sending him hurtling down the mountain.

He… couldn't blame her. She was probably going to have nightmares for a long, long time.

Alex stared blankly as the fire flickered in front of him. Creatures echoed from the dark and gloom of the forest. During Alex's first life, simply experiencing Nightmare at night had been horrifying on its own. Being alone in this world was scary.

Alex… had killed all the priestess' party members. In all likelihood, she was probably dead. Maybe not yet, but she will be. Priestesses were valuable. However, they weren't good on their own, and she was too far ahead of the main pack to meet anyone friendly. It was possible she had enough food and water to reach the city in time. Otherwise, her choices were between dying from dehydration or chancing her luck anyway.

It was probably better for him if she died. It didn't matter how strong or weak she was. At his level, anyone nursing a grudge posed a risk. It was just… one of those things.

Let's see… What else?

Alex knew better than to look at his achievements, so he opened his stat page instead.

Alex Smith
Tier 1 - Level 30, Novice

> Stats

Vitality: 9 (+3)
Strength: 22 (+6)
Dexterity: 14 (+2)
Fortitude: 14 (+5)
Perception: 14 (+3)
Arcane: 15 (+7)

He nodded and realized he had no real reason to look at his stat page. He'd already been tracking the numbers in his head. It was a hazardous spread of circumstantial gains and offered him no comfort. He closed it out.

Then Laura's expression appeared again in his—

He shook his head. In any case, Lady Light's Divine Energy wasn't harmful to the living—at least not in its purest form—but it still wasn't something you wanted just floating around in your body. Divine Energy was distilled Essence, incompatible with mortals, and could cause health complications over longer periods. Thankfully, removing it was simple. He had a core, even if it wasn't a fully-functional one. All he had to do was cycle Divine Energy out through a similar method he'd to use to cycle Essence in.

The thought of returning to his inner-world after what he'd just seen terrified Alex a little, but he found his nerves eased as his breathing aligned with the Fallen Feather of the Phoenix. He summoned his elixir, inhaling another microdose before stoppering the bottle. Then again, focused inward.

His inner-world hadn't changed much when he'd developed his core—except that it no longer felt estranged from him. It was tethered to him by body and mind, rooted in his solar plexus, tangible in the eye of his imagination. The only thing different was his shattered core, whose cracks formed the dimensional walls of his inner world. He could tell immediately that they had been made slightly wider, just as the pieces of his sword seemed to have shattered imperceptibly further from one another.

He didn't dwell on that and just focused. Past the walls of his core, floating aimlessly throughout his body—astral and physical—was the Divine Energy. And further outward, the Essence in Nightmare stirred.

Alex wasn't one to waste resources, especially not now, so as he began circulating the Divine Energy with the elixir's aspect-pure Aura, he also drew from Nightmare's Essence to repair the cracks in his core. Soon, all the Divine Energy had been gathered, and a cycle of Energy and Essence spiraled throughout his inner-world. They cycled with each other but didn't mix. Before long, the aura dissipated, and the cycle continued on momentum alone.

As more Essence was refined, the gaps in Alex's core slowly closed. Yet, the Divine Energy seemed to be taking far longer to process.

The first sign that something had gone wrong was when the Divine Energy didn't leave his body. It seemed to spiral deeper into his soul. Alex panicked. That couldn't be good.

Yet… there was nothing he could do to stop it. He had no Aura of his own. And without that, the currents couldn't be stopped. Consuming aspect-pure Aura wasn't the answer, either. Lady Light's Divine Energy would taint it with the aspect of Light—it would only add more fuel to the storm.

Alex could do nothing but watch in abject horror as he seemingly refined… no, he wasn't even refining the Divine Energy—how could he?! Essence was refined to remove impurities—to remove the lingering traces of the life it'd been taken from. Mortals refined Nightmare's Essence and the System's Essence because Planets and the System were some of the only entities capable of sterilizing Essence enough for it to be bound to new life. But this Divine Energy came directly from Lady Light—it had no impurities. It was simply taking a joy-ride deeper and deeper into his soul.

There was a word for people who consumed un-sterilized Essence—Warlocks. Or the worst kind—a vampire. But this Divine Energy… it was neither impure, nor unsterilized. That had to make a difference…but… what would happen to him?

Death, probably. He had no basis behind that guess, but if he didn't die, then how would he even categorize himself? Hell, what the fuck was even happening? And why? How?!

Alex ran his mind in circles, panicking for a good ten minutes longer before realizing again that there was nothing he could do but watch. After twenty minutes, his abject horror became a reluctant acceptance. After thirty minutes, that horror crawled back, but with a new feeling—morbid curiosity. Not long after that, the Divine Energy had drifted so deep within his soul that even watching required his highest intensity of concentration.

Where… are you going?

Alex became aware that he wasn't the only one observing this. Nychta was awake, watching from deeper within, where his senses couldn't reach. And the deeper his consciousness did travel, the more unnatural the dark seemed to be. Ever since he'd become capable of sensing his soul, the resting state of his inner-world had always been a deep darkness. To feel the sun in the core of his being he'd had to strain his senses. Before now, that had never struck him as odd, yet even after sinking so deep within his soul—at a time when his sun should be brighter than ever—it was still dark. He followed the Divine Energy as far as he could until it seemingly… just disappeared. No, it sunk deeper, but it was as though his senses had just hit a wall.

Odd was an understatement. At the center of his soul was a sun, so why was his inner-world so dark? He'd seen that sun before, yet straining his concentration to the max, he couldn't even glimpse it now. Maybe… it was unnatural. What if this darkness was actually just…

…A shadow.

The moment the thought occurred was the moment Alex realized he was not alone in the dark. Chains rattled—chains that he was certain he'd rid himself off. He wasn't weak anymore. It might be enough, he may still have his moments, but he wasn't weak. Objectively, it was true. He'd ambled half-dead and alone into a Mage's Nightmare and killed sixteen people higher level than him. This was his past! It gave him the power he'd needed to do that! No one else had his advantages, so why were these chains still—

"Oh? Is that so?" a voice whispered seductively in his ear. Her hands brushed his chest from behind, her breath climbed his neck as she talked. "Then can you imagine it, sweet-heart? Beating me…"

Alex felt himself gripped in place. If this darkness was a shadow, then that was because something was blocking the light. Slowly, he turned around. It was not Anne who had trespassed his soul. It was not someone he recognized—or maybe not 'someone' at all anymore.

she was a young girl with blond hair and dark, gouged pits for eyes. Her voice was airy and wispy, her words innocent and childlike.

"...We were wondering…when you might come… to visssit," they whispered.

Alex growled. "You… did that. You were the ones that made me kill them!"

The girl flickered, shifting into an older man, their voice deepening. "..Wasss our… help… un...welcome?"

"Help? You call that help…?"

No, more importantly, why were they here? Alex had been flooded with Divine Energy, they all should've been— "You…" Alex felt his voice shake. "You left an imprint on my soul…?"

The Lost Souls flickered once more, into an elderly woman. "Whyyy… can't you… s-s-ssee—"

The instant they made a single movement forward, Alex got the fuck out of there.

Returning his senses outward, he saw that the sun was already in its afternoon arc. The days were shorter now, but he had the distinct feeling that more time had passed than he'd realized. Across the fire, Gloomy sat up, feeding it more timber, watching him with a wary expression.

"You're reaaally fucking weird, you know that?"

"Gloomy, I'm not in the mood—"

"Cool," she cut him off. "Didn't ask."

Alex grimaced. Then sighed. He'd been talking aloud, hadn't he? Well… at least he was still here, somehow. He couldn't sense the Divine Energy, but he couldn't hear the Lost Souls either. It was still in there—both were in there. If he were counting freak occurrences where he lived when he should've died, then this was the third. Forming his Core was the second. Dying was the first.

Alex chuckled. And yet I'm still here…

"No seriously," Gloomy continued. "There's something really fucked up about you. 'May the Devil take you,' sure—I said that, but I didn't expect him to fucking do it! You wretched crow! What was that seizure? Do I need to start keeping garlic with me when I sleep?!"

"Garlic?" Alex pinched his eyes. He couldn't hear the Lost Soul's voices anymore, but he still wanted to avoid the subject. "Don't pretend. You didn't get any sleep either, did you?"

"I sure won't be getting any now!" She jabbed the fire more furiously, sending up embers. Then after a pause, she muttered, "And what's wrong with your sword?"

"Oh, Nychta?"

"You named it? On my soul, I—"

Gloomy trailed off as Alex drew half his sword's length from its sheath. Then, her expression turned troubled. "That thing… had a lot more cracks earlier."

Alex shrugged. And as he did, he realized his body hurt a lot less than before he had cycled that Divine Energy. He sighed in exasperation, deciding to keep that little tidbit to himself. The longer it took to reach the city, the better. His goal wasn't to escape these assassins, after all. Once they were dealt with…

Gloomy glared at him. "And what's with that look? I'll believe it's not a sex thing, but you still give me the fucking shivers."

Alex frowned. He was certain he'd kept his expression blank.

"I'm… glad we're on the same page then," he said, unsure of himself. "Gloomy, I haven't seen you eat yet. I can tell you've increased your Strength stat, but you're going to lose that muscle if you keep yourself so gaunt."

"How's that any of your business?" she snapped.

He groaned, pinching his eyes. Right… young girls could be sensitive about these things. "Look, I'm not trying to critique you, but we're in this together. If you're rationing that tightly, then please, eat this."

Alex held out the rest of his roll of brie. She wrinkled her nose, not taking it.

"A peace offering," he explained.

She seemed to consider something, then snatched it and shoved it into her mouth. The way she gagged and coughed afterward immediately made Alex regret it.

Some time passed. When Gloomy returned from the mists, vomit trailed from her lips. Alex had just eaten three Lars Bars—the worst of his rations—and very much wished to do the same. But obviously, he didn't.

"What's that?" Gloomy asked.

Alex held up his hand. "You mean a phone?"

She snorted, rolling her eyes, then sat back across from him, hacking a small chunk off a piece of campfire wood. She began carving something round—what he presumed was another doll. Possibly. It was hard to tell.

Truthfully, it was unexpected, too. He had thought she would demand they set off again as soon as she returned, but it seemed she wasn't in such a rush today. That was good for him, at least. Daylight was a limited quantity in Nightmare, and he'd hung up his pillowcases of clay earlier. Now they'd have more time to dry. He got out his wooden slats and started practicing the rune for water.

Not ten minutes later, Gloomy threw a vaguely humanoid-shaped sculpture onto the ground in frustration. Alex, who had spent that time watching her, asked, "Would you like some help with your technique?"

"Fuck off."

Alex held his hands up placatingly. But thirty minutes later, she threw down another carving—somehow even worse than her earlier attempts.

"And what would you know about it?!" she demanded.

"A fair bit."

Her eyes furrowed, her expression caught somewhere between fury and intense deliberation. Or both. God… I pray Alyssa has grown to be a respectable young woman.

Alex looked back at Gloomy and sighed, deciding not to make her ask. "I'll just be carving my own thing over here and talking to myself. You already know I talk to myself, so don't tell me to shut up."

Saying it felt corny, but Gloomy didn't object. Her eye just twitched furiously, and he heard dark curses as she hacked at the log for another block of wood.

"How nice of you." he heard her mutter. He was certain it was both sarcastic and not actually meant for his ears. But yes, he was being nice. And he had to hope it would be enough. Because otherwise, I'll have to kill you, Gloomy.

Alex heard Laura's voice in his head again, but he was not the same man he'd been when she'd shared those words. Yes, he knew it was wrong. But he needed the Crucible of Sun to kill Anne. Failing negotiation or extortion, there was only one other way to get a quest from someone unwilling to hand it over.

Still, he had time. One week. So he summoned a block of wood into his hand, along with his knife, and started talking. "To begin with, whatever trees these logs came from, they're much harder than the ideal carving wood for sculptures. They have a coarse grain, which means…"

In those few hours remaining before nightfall, Alex imparted all the knowledge he had to give.