Book 2 | 21 Makings of a Class

I stomped the ground and activated oppression. High pitched screaming echoed out around me along with a hailstorm of hellfire. Deformed, fungal iguanas rushed from the trees. Mushrooms replaced their eyes, and each of them dragged molted skin behind them. The wafting rippled from energy as if alive.

Their skins all peered at me before screaming. Something assailed my mind, and my knees buckled. Shaking my head, I rebuffed their onslaught as trees around me wilted in seconds. They devolved into dust, and all the wildlife in Oppression’s range disintegrated in a wave of fire and siphoning aura.

Amidst the deluge of fire, Oppression molded under my will as water would. Before I assessed those changes, ascendance raged in my blood, and the fungal iguanas finished bathing the forest in flame. The closest of the pack squirted blood from their eyes, and I stomped my foot. A telekinetic pad hit its bottom jaw before the red gunk fell onto my armor, hissing and steaming.

Plumes of heat blurred the air before my armor smiled. One of the iguanas dashed forward and swung a knife-like talon toward my throat. I ducked under the swing and stepped forward. Dragging my fist behind me, I launched an uppercut into the beast’s stomach. Its scales held it together, but my telekinetic implants transferred the force into its gut.

A geyser of gunk gushed from its side. It stiffened from the impact, pain overwhelming the beast. I drove a thousand needles from my armor into it before kicking it aside. The wound splintered as it flew away.

Its body split into pieces, first from the needles slicing him apart, then from the force of my kick. The iguana’s blue blood splattered across the aliens and me like smashing a smurf full of blueberry cobbler. A blade scraped against my back, and I unleashed a torrent of spikes behind me.

My armor molded out with force. The swords of dark metal skewered the fungal iguana before two other beasts lapped their tongues, preparing for a fire breath. I pushed my two hands together, creating two telekinetic fields to smash their heads together. As their skulls slammed in front of me, my hands clapped with enough force to generate a tiny shockwave.

Their heads crunched before the wave passed through them. They fell to the ground, their flame sacks rupturing within. I turned around, finding three other iguanas remaining. One of them sprinted away, the other two confused and afraid.

I stepped forward, reaching out and clasping my hand. A telekinetic panel formed between me and the sprinter. I pulled my hand back, and its head slammed into a nearby tree. Bark bloomed out in a cascade of shards. Sap splattered. Roots ripped. Mana flashed, and I leaped from my position, sailing into the air.

I lost levity, before jumping downward via a telekinetic pad. I pulped the monster below me. The other two decided on a retreat, but I turned to them. I reached out my arms and slammed them together via telekinesis. One of their fire organs ruptured, and they exploded. The other member careened off course before slamming into a tree trunk in the distance.

Its tough body crumbled under the force of its propulsion, and I was upon it. I had charged to the last iguana as it spiralled in the air. It collided against the bark as I tackled it into a tree. Ascendance gave power in place of pain, and it fell to wet ribbons around me as smashed the tree apart.

Its body popped underneath my charge, blood splattering once more. I trampled its corpse, standing atop the steaming body. Bending down, I decapitated the head of the iguana by wrenching it off. Above, some scouting monster flapped its batlike wings. It turned. It omened followers from afar.

Ascendance flowed in a torrent as I launched the iguana’s skull at the scout. The head collided against its body, destabilizing its line of flight. The bat circled a few times before slamming into the ground. I lifted my foot and stomped. Telekinesis formed. Force applied. Blood burst. I stood over the bodies, a monster among them as fires burned in the distance.

And my armor laughed, its voice an echo of metal and hunger.

The moment passed. Despite the ease of the process, killing these monsters presented a problem. Their bodies may spread the leaching yellow forest further. For that reason, I eliminated the bodies. Walking over, I picked up a chunk of a body before sighing at the gruesome work. In a trance, I paced from corpse to corpse.

After a few minutes, the scene cleaned up well. Taking the last body, I placed my hand into a pile of mush. Feeling something odd, I raised my hand, and I held the foot of the Denali. Like a living nightmare, the foot in my hand melted into my armor over two seconds. I stumbled backwards before landing in a pile of mush behind me.

My armor soaked in the corpse, sending a chill down my spine. I lifted my hand, staring at it. The armor shook, pulsing with hunger. I closed my eyes. Up until now, I never absorbed the corpses of normal people. It was always some variant of eldritch. I never considered assimilating the corpses of humans or sentients as Schema called them.

It horrified me, the process akin to diluted cannibalism. Before that soaked in, the sonorous sounds of the forest crawled over me. I had to leave. With gritted teeth, I walked around and cleaned up the few corpses remaining. I sprinted several miles away before finding a rocky outcove.

Nestled in the sweet embrace of the earth, I considered the leg. It happened by accident, though I hoped it never happened to someone in camp. That prospect repulsed me. In one of the few moments of peace amidst this campaign, I detested my armor. I wanted it off.

While it gave great resilience and energy unbounded, it held a dark potential. That potential ate at me, but I closed my eyes. As was the case with Althea, I carried a terrible gift. I swallowed a mounting terror, and I summoned rationale thought. Everyone held the capacity to maim or murder or maul. They never wielded that against people, and I would be the same.

To guarantee that, I took a steadying breath and checked my surroundings. Nothing moved nearby. I tested Oppression once more since the aura acted as my most destructive weapon. Since obtaining it, the aura became one of my greatest fears. Oppression’s ability to slaughter normal people was unmatched by any other tool at my disposal.

If I passed the wrong area while activating it, I’d murder hundreds if not thousands of people in seconds. Mastering this aura would stop future cullings from ever happening. To do so, I had to understand its influence, but that was a tall order. Oppression had always acted odd. It began as Agony, and that skill felt more like a physical aura.

Agony altered into Oppression after gaining this soulbound armor, and in turn, the aura left the system’s normal progression. Calling forth my aura reminded me of summoning a force from within, not quite mana nor movement. To that end, I activated the aura while searching its bounds.

Oppression’s range fluctuated, allowing me to change the shape of the aura. Before that moment, it had always unleashed in a growing sphere, but now I could alter that shape. After a few minutes of trying out different things, I discovered an ability to condense the aura. As I did so, I opened my menu screen and checked out Oppression.

The Charging Calamity - Gives unique ability IV Oppression | Current Damage: (18,750 + 48% of health/min) within a maximum of a 222 ft radius. Counts as physical damage to enemies and allies.

The range and scaling of oppression increased by 20% for some reason. A wave of recognition rushed over me in an instant – Cosmic Soul granted this ability. I molded my armor once more, stretching the tips of my fingers into long blades. Elongating and maintaining the strange shapes simplified, and I smiled.

I learned two important aspects about myself. Firstly, Cosmic Soul helped augment my armor abilities, and secondly, those were soul abilities. I shut down Oppression before running through the forest again, lost in thought. I still searched for a deer as I pondered what my armor was, though Cosmic Soul explained plenty.

My armor changed more than my body; it altered my soul. My aura, armor changing, and perhaps other abilities revolved around my soul as well. If I controlled my soul better, then I would wield the abilities my armor gave me as well. Suddenly, Cosmic Soul evolved from a nebulous tree into one of my most vital boons.

After all, my armor was the backbone of my build. Anything that boosted it further granted me immense utility, and I’d discuss it with Torix after foraging from nature. To that end, I dashed through the forest, keeping closer to the town. I kept mobile and stealthy since more of those Denali scouts likely lurked in shadowed places.

They frightened me more than the eldritch did. That sonic grenade guaranteed my death if a follower of Yawm heard one. If anything, I had luck on my side from earlier. Thinking about the level 100 perk, I smiled. It already paid dividends in ways I’d not yet noticed. Those thoughts swirled in my head as I found another wilderness trail, this one littered with bits of brown and white fur.

Tiny signs of wildlife exposed themselves to me, but I lacked the knowledge to properly parse them. Despite my lack of experience, I followed the density of these broken branches, hardened tracks, and lingering scents. Once I homed in on the scent of a deer, I bolted at its direction, neglecting sight in place of smell.

My change in tactics helped me this time. A deer glanced at me in the distance before darting away. I outsped it, tearing through the briar brambles and underbrush. It kept weaving around obstacles, but I tore through them. This cut down on my travel time, letting me reach it in seconds.

I ran beside it and sent a silent thanks to nature and whoever would listen. After taking a breath, I wielded telekinesis to snap its neck. It collapsed. The deer’s legs dug into the ground, still trying to escape me. With the central nervous system severed, it could no longer make a coherent escape.

Horrified, I placed a palm over its eye and speared its brain with my armor. Its writhing movements ceased, and I lunged onto one knee. I blinked a few times. Nausea bubbled in my belly, and the taste of bile billowed into my throat. I closed my eyes. Despite having killed many monsters, this unsettled me.

This was no eldritch. The deer meant me no harm, meaning the kill wasn’t out of necessity. That let the act linger, and I questioned why I killed it in the first place. Still, the act was done, and wasting the meat served no purpose. Preventing that, I thought over how to process the deer.

I tore out two bits of my armor, making them into hooks. I attached them to a nearby tree branch, and I hung the deer by its feet. I sliced a cut down its belly and field dressed the organs. After clearing out the innards and taking care with the nastier ones, I dug a deep hole and buried them. Otherwise, a bear or much worse would smell them and come running.

After that, I slit the deer’s throat, letting the blood drain out of it. Using a bit of telekinesis, I squeezed it from toe to head, speeding up the draining process. It required many telekinetic plates, and it strained my limits more than I imagined. The force of my squeeze also lacked the explosivity of normal magic, but that was ok. A subtle, constant pressure had its place here.

Once blood no longer dripped from the deer’s throat, I carried it with me. Normally, I should’ve aged the venison. This elevated the meat’s quality while tenderizing the collagen. If no steps were taken to process wild game, then the meat would be harder to chew than strips of shoe leather.

For now, draining the blood took precedence since it outright ruined the meat if left in. Considering how much meat I gathered, I wanted it to taste decent. Having giant clots intermingling in the steaks wouldn’t exactly help with that. Optimally, I’d rather leave the meat in a fridge for a day or two before cutting the meat into strips to fully drain it. However, this would do for now.

Packing the deer into my shopping cart backpack, I headed to Torix’s current encampment. As I passed through the trees, there was a chill in the air. Embedding the wind, the first inklings of winter settled in. Glancing up, a few trees changed in color, the green leaves shifting orange and red.

Winter was coming, and time was passing. Yawm wouldn’t be stuck for much longer, and the knowledge of his eventual resurgence hung around my neck like a noose. By the time I reached the encampment, I had calmed my anxiety. I could do this. No, I would do this. Using the rift’s time sink would help, and I had plenty of help.

Enjoying a few meals with someone wouldn’t be a cardinal sin. If anything, it helped keep us sane. With that in mind, I paced back up into my personal tent. I stowed my supplies away before stopping by the cafeteria. Nested in the soup kitchens, a large block of ice sat below the surface. Torix, once again, crafted a rune for its creation and maintenance.

Like the chefs of the camp, I tore out a chunk of ice before heading back to my tent. Torix calculated the ice to reconstitute to a certain size, letting camp members take as much as they needed. After flaying the deer, I placed it onto the cold block, and it misted on my surroundings.

I put it all onto a tarp before slicing the deer’s carcass across several spots to help it drain. I wrapped the meat in the skin before putting ice over the top as well. Taking a deep breath, I walked out of my tent before crossing the camp.

My telekinetic pads kept my feet from breaking Torix’s house as I reached him again. He dissected an insect while jotting down messy notes into a journal beside himself.

I stepped in front of him and waved. He glanced up, setting down his knife,

“Ah, you’re back. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I shrugged, “I met some scouts out in the surrounding forest. I took a few out.”

Torix nodded, “I found the message, though it never detailed anything overly specific. Did you catch what these scouts were called?”

“The Denali.”

His eyes flashed purple,

“Ah, a bit less militant than the Force of Iron, though far more widespread. Did you dispatch the bodies?”

I shook my head.

“I didn’t kill them.”

Torix’s eyes flared red.

“You didn’t?”

I took a step back.

“Their status reads like their normal people. If anything, they can accomplish a lot of good through their chronicle mission. I thought you’d really like them considering how much you value information.”

Torix’s eyes dimmed. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Ah, that’s right. Their status reads relatively well.”

My heart drummed in my chest.

“Torix, just tell me where I messed up.”

Torix’s eyes turned blue again.

“The Denali carry a heavy burden and responsibility. They are one of the few truly system wide organizations that survey most worlds. This gives them a tremendous amount of power. However, they also carry the ability to betray, lie, cheat, or steal as any sentient can.”

Torix peered at me.

“The Denali act as information brokers. They sell secrets across the galactic web and will oftentimes give out sensitive details to opposing organizations. While I appreciate their attempts at unveiling the truth, they use what they find to blackmail planets and empires into pitiful positions. If you ever find them, slaughter them to the last sentient.”

A chill ran up my spine.

“I…I didn’t know.”

“As well you shouldn’t. They manipulate system details so that they uncover new planets for their chronicle. That also gives them the ability to manifest details about themselves that sound complementary. However, many empires have declared bankruptcy due to their caustic influence.”

I frowned.

“And here I thought I’d found a somewhat benevolent force out there. Damn. Sometimes, it feels like everything out there is trying to get us.”

Torix continued, “The real question is why they’re already here. Technical proficiency aside, they shouldn’t have uncovered this planet that quickly.”

I pointed at the worldtree’s direction.

“Maybe it’s Yawm? Or the same dimensional pulse that brought you here?”

Torix thrummed his fingers on his desk.

“It’s hard to say. I recognized the pulse because of Alfred and his research. Yawm likely happened upon this place from the same event. The Denali? They aren’t leveraged in such a way. They use statistics, triangulation, and other methods to find a planet currently hidden from the wider system. Hm.”

I raised a hand,

“But Schema mentioned in the status that it doesn’t know how the Denali finds a planet. Not doubting you or anything, but how do you know when Schema doesn’t?”

Torix’s eyes flared,

“Remember, information from the Denali’s status was compromised.”

I smacked my forehead.

“Gah, of course. I’m picking this up so slowly for some reason. Man,  what’s wrong with me?”

Torix shook a hand.

“Skepticism isn’t a universal trait. It is specific to what you question. If you question your own thoughts, then you shall come to doubt them. The same could be said of status information. In your case, you’ve never needed to question what Schema’s given you informationally speaking. Therefore, you’ve learned to accept the information as the truth.”

Torix leaned forward.

“This is a valuable lesson. Nothing in this life is completely infallible.”

I nodded.

“Yeah. Even that statement.”

Torix swung his hand.

“Now you’re learning. Aside from those details, I’m beginning to think something is strange about this planet outside its rift-heavy status.”

I gulped,

“Any reason why? Well, aside from Yawm or deep space factions finding the planet too soon?”

Torix’s eyes flared.

“There’s a myriad of other issues, but I won’t bore you with the inane details. So far, I’ve yet to uncover any hard evidence, but when I do, I’ll keep you informed.”

 I gnarled my hands.

“That’s…Menacing.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Time shall tell.”

I turned a hand to the lich,

“At least it seemed like the Denali weren’t here to conquer the Earth or anything. They lacked the strength for that.”

Torix frowned, “Then they’re likely gathering blackmail to use against future factions that may succeed in the future.”

I gulped.

“Who knows. Maybe they’ll help us against Yawm.”

Torix began dissecting the creature once more,

“There’s a small chance that the Denali will sell information of Yawm’s location to a group of bounty hunters.”

I shrugged,

“Well, it’s like you said; Time will tell. Good luck with the research.”

“And you, your hunting.”

With those thoughts in my head, I went back out to the forest outside of camp. Figuring out how to control oppression and my armor had become my weekly goal. I’d focus on training them, honing them down till I wielded like a master swung his sword.

After reaching a ways away, I reached out using Oppression. Until now, controlling the distance of the aura correlated alongside its intensity. If I wanted the full force of oppression, then I needed to move it out to its full distance. Gaining further molding of the aura would let me use it beside allies.

Taking a few hours, I molded my armor and aura. I attempted more complex shapes and patterns in my metal. Rings, keys, and serrated swords, I crafted many strange objects and held them for soul training. It required a strange focus, not quite like physical control but similar. This reminded me of meditation.

During meditation, one honed their focus onto a singular point. No matter the thoughts that traversed one’s mind, the individual honed their focus onto a singular thing, usually one’s breath. Keeping my armor mirrored that, but it required a more palpable, complex mental configuration.

Holding a spine or blocky fist for a moment proved simple. Maintaining a changed body shape required constant diligence, and I struggled against an urge to return to normal. Still, it held an allure similar to physical or mental mastery. By conquering myself, I gained confidence to conquer other parts of my life.

While training, I also inspected my current skillset. One of my newer skills, Gorger of Mana, drained enemies of their energy and essence. That skill allowed me to drain enemies through my armor needles. To further its piercing abilities, I contemplated ways to telekinetically augment the skill.

After all, my telekinetic pads let me pierce someone’s skin or armor. Gorger of Mana allowed me to spread needles. One of my most devastating tactics involved pulling out my fist once the needles invaded an opponent’s insides. Despite that effect, I held higher hopes for the skill. It was a unique skill when I gained it, meaning it contained five different base skills.

If I learned those skills, I’d gain greater leverage over the ability. Even better, Gorger of Mana could help me obtain my next mythical skill, one on par with a Boundless Storm. After gathering my level 1,000 perk for intelligence, I’d be able to combine three mythical skills into a legendary one.

The sky was the limit thereafter.

Despite my plans and training, this evolution would take time. I researched Schema’s interweb alongside Torix’s vast library, and I found little information on them. What little I mustered up explained how difficult they were to create. They required at least three mythical skills and a tremendous binding agent.

That happened to be the most difficult aspect. Finding three mythical skills could be done. Cohesively using them all at once for a singular purpose? That presented a wall for most that attempted to create one. In order to smooth that process along, I had to ensure that my mythical skills operated in tandem.

Which, yenno, was easier said than done.

Even Kessiah and Torix didn’t have either a class or a legendary skill, so I set them as my current goals. Hopefully, having a class or legendary skill in conjunction with a level higher than 2,000 would be enough to kill a follower or two of Yawm. Either of those goals would take months, maybe years. Pinning down exactly when would be tough considering my lack of experience.

Considering Boundless Storm was more of an innate fighting style that built on my boxing, developing other mythical skills acted as firm challenges. I had to find some sort of direction for them, otherwise I’d wander through random skills instead of gaining useful ones.

With that in mind, I planned out a few mythical skills that likely existed. The first was some variation of a runic warrior. Carving runes, learning the language, and channeling mana through them offered valuable skills. Even better, crafting gear could make a mythical skill as well. It would be something like a blacksmith and runic mage kind of thing.

Another likely mythical skill would be a gravitational mage. Ascendance gave me a powerful mana type, one that held more volatility and promise than most mages. That mana gave me a unique skill already. If I could combine that with gravity magic and my telekinetic magic, I could make a mythical skill out of that as well.

Those two other mythical skills would give me a total of three mythical skills. I prayed that would be enough for a legendary skill since the current hierarchy of skills worked like a pyramid. Five normal skills combined into a unique skill, then three unique skills combined into a mythical one. A legendary skill would require several mythical skills but hopefully only three.

My newfound control over my armor abilities opened up the gateway for finding one of those new mythical skills as well. After creating a legendary skill, I may even make more than one if I could fuse more mythical skills after that. At that point, I may uncover one of the classes Torix mentioned.

And boom, fighting off Yawm may not be so impossible after that.

Getting Althea at least a mythical skill would be huge for us as well. In fact, making her entire rifle from my armor would be a prolific boost to her power. Bolts from my armor could offer massive gains as well. The metal of my armor was much harder than bone after all. Combine that with a few runic carvings, and I could give Althea a massive boost in combat potential.

That tied perfectly into developing the runic warrior skills I needed as well. She didn’t even take as much damage as I did during fights, so she wouldn’t require replacements as often. Getting Kessiah to tear strips out of my armor may help as well.

With that in mind, I headed out towards the encampment, leaving a patch of dead trees and wildlife behind me. Once I neared the encampment, the sun already set a while back. I reached the central crafting area and began my toil and labor.

Configuring a rifle would be difficult without a reference, but I wouldn’t need to. I passed by Althea’s tent before asking for her rifle schematics. A quick chat later, she gave them to me, and I got to work while using a few harpoon cannons from the Force of Iron. They called them equalizers, and after researching them in Schema’s logs, I figured out why.

Versus armored targets and vehicles, the piercing rounds punched through with ease. They operated much like rocket launchers had before Schema arrived. Unlike RPGs, a harpoon cannon honed in much faster, and they could also be primed for organic targets. That prep process involved putting hooks or serrations on the harpoons.

Althea’s acid and spear production handled that well, so created two barrel types. The first involved speed and power. The inner barrel hid spiraled grooves within, and when the bolt passed through the barrel, these grooves spun the bullet inside. The second barrel held a larger barrel without adjustments.

Each firing cylinder carried different runes, one speeding bullets and the other helping stabilize them. Behind the firing chamber of the rifle, a block of iron acted as a shock absorber. Whenever the cannon was fired, the block of iron bounced back, and hydraulics began reducing the kinetic recoil.

While still causing a bit of slingback, the engines or runes helped contain most of the otherwise backbreaking rebound. In other words, it acted as a momentum sink. This stopped the rifle from dislocating the shoulders of soldiers. Althea invested in strength for this purpose, letting her aim and fire through the backbreaking recoil.

Without the need for an engine, my assembly sped up by leaps and bounds. Outside of the momentum sink, the ammo compartment was oversized to handle harpoons instead of bullets. In fact, every part of the weapon was made thicker as well, allowing it to handle the extreme forces placed upon it.

All in all, it would be a serious challenge to build. To complete this project, I had to learn better manufacturing, measurements, and runic augments. The task loomed over me, casting a shadow of doubt in my mind. Despite my nerves, a grin tugged at my lips. Excitement shone in my eyes. I let out a quick laugh, one burgeoning from my palpable excitement.

This would be fun.

Starting off, the moving parts took precedence since they handled most of the shock from firing. Althea could grow her arm into the weapon with her abilities, letting her compensate for some of the structure of the weapon. However, I wanted her to have an easier time from here on out. Adjusting the gun’s build would be the starting point for that.

I began writing a blueprint to my side while cross referencing Althea’s rifle. While going through the drafting process, I conceptualized the key differences required for her weapon. First, I decided on removing the trigger for the gun. Althea would grow into the rifle, and firing would be neurological, not based on a delayed, physical spark mechanism.

Second, I added a bayonet on the outer right edge of the barrel. The glistening edge offered melee abilities, and I added a lower stock grip on the barrel for better hip firing as well. These differences would make the rifle heavier but easier to handle. The fact that Althea could wield a sword in combat also helped her should something close the distance before she fired.

Taking a moment, I reviewed my build. I walked over, asking another engineer at their table for any advice. The younger man offered sound pointers. I spent a few hours going through his suggestions, and I kept note of the man. He still worked long into the night, and his experience shone despite his youthful demeanor.

As he began walking off, I raised a hand.

“Ah, excuse me man. What’s your name?”

He gulped.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“The opposite.”

“Oh, well I’d tell you either way. I go by the nickname Diesel.”

I smiled.

“I’m Daniel. Let’s hope we meet again.”

To his own surprise, he smiled. He scoffed at himself.

“Yeah. I hope so too.”

With that handled, I began production.

I already considered how I might tear out a piece of armor and blacksmith it into shape. I could work the metal and make it into an excellent piece of gear with hours, perhaps days, of effort. That would slow me down to a snail’s crawl. Lacking the time to spend weeks crafting, I brainstormed other ways of processing the metal.

To that end, I expanded my armor into the shape I needed. I began with the barrel since I conceptualized it easily. I stretched the barrel from my palm, growing it over the course of fifteen minutes. It took time to keep the barrel straight and smooth, and I restarted several times.

Once I got the hang of it, I made the barrel about two meters long. By then, I strained to keep the armor in form. Spending a few minutes, I amassed ascendence where the barrel met my hand. Heat built in the limb at a slow pace until it burned. My armor took damage until my health rested at three quarters its usual amount.

I sweat from the pain. In time, the armor glowed. Finally finished heating the metal, I reached my other hand up and pulsed ascendance. I sharpened the edge of my hand, and strength surged into the limb. I sliced down, and my armor cut through the barrel, a clean-cut forming.

Beads of sweat poured down my face, but I accomplished my task. A clean, well made barrel met my eye. Taking another hour of sharp focus, I crafted another barrel without the grooves. From there, I needed a few tools. Firstly, I had to have some sandpaper made with bits of diamond instead of sand.

While not extremely common, the Force of Iron had diamond paper on hand. It turned out that tiny pieces of diamond are a lot easier to make than big ones, especially when they’re artificial. After that, I ground away at the barrels to hone down imperfections and smooth the inner lining of the barrel.

I poured sweat by the end of the process, and despite my augmentations, the process required some serious finesse. Any imperfection could kill Althea if it caused a malfunction in her weapon during battle. For that reason, I extended my finger and hand to comical proportions so I could reach deeper into the barrel. I took the process as a challenge; it helped me learn precision and control with my armor.

What followed made that grueling process seem like child’s play. I carved out the inner spirals of the barrel. That itself wasn’t tremendously difficult. I found a nearby forge, and after heating the barrel using its fire, I shaped my hand into a gear. I burned my arm while pulling my hand through the barrel.

The studs of the gear dug into the barrel, and I rotated my hand in a slow, gradual spiral. Circling tendrils of molten metal brimmed off the inner barrel as I did, and I rifled its inner section. That was a suggestion from Diesel, and I quietly thanked the man for the advice.

I swiped the slag away before brainstorming for a bit. I drafted a runic phrase or two that would help the bullets drill more. It would reduce friction and contact with the barrel as well. With ascendant mana pouring into my arm, I cut into the barrel’s inside. The simple inscription changed the quick technique into an arduous undertaking.

Hours passed. The stars dimmed in the distance, and the edge of a sunrise rose in the distance. Sweat beaded off my forehead as I etched the patterns onto the barrels. The carved passage was a combination of two runes. One represented ease, flow, and taking the path of least resistance. The other rune symbolized transformation, change, and movement.

They melded into an incarnation of fluidity like a river zigzagging across a tumultuous landscape. No matter the terrain, that river found its way through the rise and fall until it met the ocean. The harpoons copied that sentiment, slicing through air and flesh alike. They would weave around anything in their path.

As I finished the outer part of the barrel, the sun rose. I stood in a pool of my own sweat, and I drank through two gallons of water in the meantime. It dispensed from a rune Torix carved at the side of the workstations, though it required quite a bit of mana to get water from. Taking a moment to assess the situation, I considered my schedule.

Althea and I wouldn’t have lunch until midday, so I ate a ration from Torix before continuing my carving. On the last remaining portion of the barrel, I carved another combination of runes. The first rune represented stability. It mimicked the surface of the moon, not in image but in meaning.

Our moon always faced earth with an unchanging, perpetual surface. Thousands of years passed, yet it remained the same until something unsettled it. That embodied in the sigils, each a passage to the continuity of all celestials and the shimmer of stars.

The next rune represented the power of finality, and it held intricate patterns that interwove into images of consequence. Locked within the symbol was the enormity of a supernova and the glory of a good death. These runes came into a message like a reaper whispering in your ear.

By the time I finished, I chugged through three more gallons of water, and I grimaced at myself. I may need a shower for once, and my inhuman willpower shone in this task. I toiled for nearly twenty hours without rest, and most of it involved brutal, jaw-slackening effort. Despite the unwieldy task, I pushed through the difficulty.

I carried a bone deep exhaustion despite my filled stamina and mana. Even if I had all the willpower in the world, my mind craved respite and relaxation. It needed a moment to collect the rapid thoughts traversing it. For that reason, I struggled to operate my mind at peak efficiency.

However, the result was well worth it.

It chilled my spine a bit as I stared at the runically etched barrel. It looked more like an artifact of great power like the flute of a god with all its intricate detail. Glancing at it, I couldn’t help but smile with satisfaction. There really wasn’t another word to describe it. It was exquisite, like glancing at a painting infused with history.

I hardly believed I made it in the first place. Taking a dollop of mana, I placed it onto the runes. The power of the runic language pulsed through the barrel as I charged it. It hummed as I kept putting mana into the sigils, the might of the runes evoking a soft glow over time. As the sun hovered midway over my head, I grasped the barrels and ran over to my tent.

I set the barrels beside a sleeping bag I’d never used before finding the camp’s showers. After a quick wash, I headed back. I took the meat and sliced meat from the deer in long chunks. The muscle cooled and relaxed a few hours ago, letting it fall off the bone. I laughed at that.

I probably messed up this process plenty, but any meat from a normal creature would feel soft being systemized. Either that, or the density that constitution gave made the meat seem soft. If anything, there might be an industry to find unsystemized worlds for tender cuts of meat.

I packed that question away before doing the same with meat. I slung it over my back. After picking up my grocery cart full of cooking supplies, I walked on over toward Althea’s tent. As I walked, something fell over my eyes. It was my hair. It had grown in length, reaching below my ears. By the time I reached Althea’s tent, the sensation of my hair surrounding my head exasperated me.

However, I lacked any time for a haircut. Once I reached Althea’s tent, I knocked on the side of it. Silence answered me. I frowned, knocking once more. A quick groan ebbed from the tent before Althea snapped,

“Who is it?”

“Daniel.”

“What? Why are you…Oh shit.”

The sound of fumbling feet and clothes being put on rumbled from within the tent. A minute later, her voice muffled through the tent,

“Uh, can you come back in like, ten minutes?”

“I’ll go get a haircut to give you some extra time. How’s that sound?”

“Perfect.”

I sat the shopping cart onto the ground along with the deer skin and meat. It was a weird sensation, waiting on someone. Somehow, I oriented my days into these isolated blocks where I trained in solitude. Even in the training square, few talked to me if ever.

I accustomed myself to constant movement, and that itch grated at me. I facepalmed. Of course, my hair. I walked a few blocks away, finding a house with a mirror in it. After peeling my helmet back and inspecting myself, I noticed a few changes. First off, I grew quite a bit. I leaned over to enter the home in the first place, and every doorway threatened to hit my forehead.

Even in the cramped bathroom, I leaned far over for a good view of the mirror, and a bit of stubble grew on my cheeks. Hell, I always wanted a beard, but this wasn’t the stubble of a plaid wearing lumberjack. This was the stubble you get at the cusp of manhood. In other words, peach fuzz.

I despised the look, and worse still, the system or my armor worsened my beard. I remember having more than a few black hairs before, but they all melted to nothing. I made a razor with my armor and got to cutting.

I unveiled a changed body. Besides the beard, my hair covered most of my face. My skin changed from a deep brown to a mid shade of gray. A thin scar ran vertical down my lip, the mark new and fresh. A couple other scars traced down my neck and face, most of them just small knicks.

My hair blackened from the dark brown I once had. I frowned. At least it matched the gray skin. Grabbing a chunk of my hair, I cleaved a chunk of it off. Taking large swaths of the excess, I kept carving hair away until I got closer to my scalp. Though new to me, I enjoyed the delicate work after hacking at metal all night.

I relished my deft control and enhanced coordination. All the practice on runes gave me a far better grasp of my hands, and that let me handle the process far better than I otherwise would. After about fifteen minutes, I inspected my work. To my surprise, I handled the task well, better than most barbers at least. To be fair, that wasn’t saying much if I remembered pre-system days correctly.

It was an undercut, though I lacked gel or anything. My hair stiffened since the system, so it resisted the wind at least. Glancing closer at the mirror, I didn’t look too shabby. I leaned down some since the system started, sharpening my features. On a good day, with the right lighting, and with a sharp suit, I might even be handsome.

My armor rippled. I surged ascendance into my runes, and they glowed, crimson light bathing the bathroom in red. My eyes changed color from green to a lighter red, and I sighed. I changed when I fought, my figure almost menacing. My helm slid over my face and grinned. I held down a wave of fear at the jagged teeth and oozing ascendance.

In the end, I still looked like an ashen warrior at best and a horrific monster at worst. Not the most welcoming sight for a quick lunch.

I pulled the helmet back and walked out of the house. At Althea’s tent, I knocked on the entrance. Despite having waited far longer than she asked, she wanted another few minutes. It should’ve bothered me, but it didn’t. Instead, I buzzed in anticipation.

I spent the time telekinetically flipping stones. Interrupting my trance, Althea finally unzipped the tent, letting me in. Glancing inside, I could see what took Althea so long.

And her appearance struck me like lightning.