I have spear fingers. Two of them, to be exact.
I’m frozen on the bed, trying to replay the last few seconds to be sure I’m not just losing my shit. There was a sensation of cold passing from my chest to my arm, a soft glow, and then my fingers were… this.
My index and middle finger are twice their normal length and tipped with metallic spear-tips. I wiggle them, cringing at the unnatural weight of my transformed fingers.
“This is your fault,” I say, pointing a spear finger at Bugbug.
He floats in his stupid craft, bulging eyes watching me as his single nostril flexes and relaxes. “Bugbug’s fault? Hah. Hah. Hah.”
I scowl at his strange, halting laughter. “This is funny to you?” I demand, turning over my weird new fingers and shuddering. “I wipe with my right hand, Bugbug. I can’t—”
“Is funny. Yes. S+ potential power is spear fingers. Hah. Hah. Hah.”
I bite back my frustration, trying to think through exactly how this happened. “No,” I say, talking to myself more than Bugbug. “I blocked two spear thrusts. I felt something weird in my arm. It moved to the stone in my chest. When you scanned me, I saw the two… light things.”
“Bugbug requests extraction again. Repeat, Bugbug, requesting extraction.”
“And,” I continue, ignoring him. “Now I have two spear fingers. That’s not a coincidence, is it? Two blocks. Two growths on my sphere. Two spear fingers.” I lick my lips, eyes closed as I focus to see if I can reverse the transformation. Just like James said, there’s something almost instinctive about it. The closest comparison is it feels like trying to slow my heartbeat, like a relaxing or release.
There’s another glow and my hand returns to normal. But this time, I don’t feel a flow of energy back to my chest. Whatever power I absorbed from those spear strikes is gone. Spent.
But I’m smiling now as Bugbug uselessly calls into his little ship for extraction. I’m smiling because I think I can see why a power like this would be ranked as having such high potential.
“So what happens if I block a hundred spear strikes before I transform my arm? What if I block a gunshot, or a lightning strike, or a campfire?”
“Human wants to block a campfire?” Bugbug asks, looking up from whatever buttons he’s pressing in his ship. “Hah. Hah. Hah.”
“Watch,” I say, hopping off the bed. There’s a fire burning inside the hearth area, which is another upgrade to the previous version of these cabins. I kneel in front of it, then cautiously extend my left arm. I feel the heat start to blister my skin, but the shield doesn’t trigger.
Bugbug is smiling, and his teeth are disgusting. They’re little sharpened points, like goblin teeth. “It attacks you.”
Annoyed, I clench my teeth and shove my arm directly over the flames. The light on my arm finally glows bright and I feel the same sensation, like liquid passing from my left arm to my chest. I pull my arm back, flashing a triumphant smile at Bugbug. “See? Scan me. I bet there’s some more shit growing out of my egg.”
“Corestone. Not egg. Stupid human.”
“Just scan me.”
Bugbug’s ship fires out a light that sweeps up and down my chest, revealing my corestone with another crystal-like growth extending from it. This one is a bright orange-red color.
“If the stupid human was right and the ugly little alien was wrong, what does that make you?” I ask.
“Bugbug is not in the harvest games. Gloat if you like, but you are still… crops.”
I frown, turning to look at him. “What does that mean?”
Bugbug’s mouth moves, but no sound comes out. He glances to his side, as if looking at something I can’t see.
“Did someone just censor you?”
“Is not important. Continue pointless experiment,” he says, waving a stubby arm in the direction of the fire.
“Ah, now it’s an experiment?” I ask. “And you can admit you’re curious to see what happens. It’s okay. We can still be friends, even if you’re an asshole. At least you aren’t trying to eat me.”
“Bugbug did not say he was not planning to eat you.”
I glance over my shoulder at him suddenly to find him flashing those ugly little teeth again.
“Hah, hah, hah,” I say, trying my best to do his weird laugh.
Bugbug’s face goes suddenly serious.
I turn back to the fire, brace myself, and shove my arm in the flames again. When it works a second time, I resolve to sit here and keep repeating this. I want to at least get to six to see what happens if I push past the number of fingers I have. Would two blocks give me… what, two fire fingers? So what would six do? A fire arm?
I’m oddly exhilarated by the possibilities as I shove my arm in the fire for the fourth time. I don’t even hesitate now because I’m learning to trust my shield. And that’s exactly when it doesn’t work.
I wait half a second before I see the hairs on my arm singe and curl up, then I feel the sharp agony of fire on my skin. I yank my arm back and glare at Bugbug, who shrugs his small, rounded shoulders.
“Campfire has counterattacked. Hah. Hah. Hah.”
“Funny,” I say, checking the damage to my arm. Thankfully, it doesn’t look too bad. It’ll probably blister, but nothing I can’t manage. “So the blocking capability runs out. Or it has a cooldown or something.” I pause, looking up at Bugbug. “Well? Is it too much to hope you might offer some insight? Or did I just get the world’s most useless concierge?”
He doesn’t respond right away, almost as if he’s weighing his options. Finally, he makes a strange gesture with his hand, almost like he’s waving to me. Based on context, I’m guessing it means something else to him, though. “The number you call your level… improving this should improve capacity.”
I nod slowly. “So the higher level I am, the more attacks I can block and store. I’m level 3, so I block and store 3 attacks. Is that how it works?”
“Not certain. Stupid human should perform more experiments… carefully.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Since when do you give a shit about my safety?”
“Bugbug did not say this.”
“He implied it.”
“He did not.”
“Yes, he did.”
James sticks his head in the door, glancing around as if trying to see who I’m talking to. “Who did?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “I was just thinking out loud.”
He closes the door behind him, brushing snow from his hair. “Right. I was coming to see if you wanted to go look for monster tracks with me. Lana wants to know if it’s still patrolling close to our camp.”
“From the sound of this monster, should we really go looking for it?” I ask.
“It’s daytime. It only seems to travel at night. We’re just looking for tracks.”
I nod, standing from the fire. In truth, I’m just eager to get back outside the outpost and gain more levels. “Let’s do it, then. Anyone else coming?”
“Nah,” James says. “Kato and Halfdan are liabilities out there. I hunted with them once and refuse to do it again.”
“Kato? The Roman?”
“Yeah.”
“Does Miyasha ever go out on hunts?”
James shrugs. “Why should she? We could use her here.”
“I’m thinking maybe those levels we’re gaining might help improve our skills. If she has a crafting power, she might still need to gain levels to get the most out of it.”
He watches me closely, then looks around the room again as if trying to see something he missed. His eyes land on the Last Action Hero poster I’ve got lying open on my bed. He gives it and Arnold’s greased up muscles a look. “Did I interrupt something when I came in here?”
“No,” I say. “Let’s just go.”
James opens the door for me and waits.
I can’t help stopping at the threshold as I reach inward and try to sense my little chest egg. I may not be able to see them, but I think I can feel the stored charges of fire there. I think I can also feel the emptiness in my arm, like it’s not ready to block yet. For now, I’ll keep the fire banked. With any luck, my arm will let me know when it’s safe to block again, too.
James eyes me. “What are you smiling about?”
“Oh, nothing. Just that getting super powers, leveling up, and helping upgrade an outpost is a mild improvement over where I came from.”
He works his lips to the side, then gives a seemingly grudging nod. “Yeah, actually… Same here, brother. But let’s stop jerkin’ our Jimmies about it and go find these tracks before dark.”