Chapter 119 (Book 3 Chapter 47) (Part 2) (Patreon)

"You should pick your next Crystal Bearer Skill."

Rob blinked at Faelynn, his mind taking a split second longer to process the question than usual. "I will later," he said, placing his half-empty cup on the table. "Why decide now? Wouldn't it be better to wait, discuss each option in detail, and carefully select the right Skill for our current situation?"

Faelynn shrugged. "Probably," she said, in an overtly relaxed tone. "But I'm bored. Monopoly is scary, and truth-or-dare was even scarier, so there's nothing left to do for entertainment. Picking a new Skill is fun and exciting and won't lead to me unintentionally confessing the details of my dreadful romantic history."

"I'm the one picking the Skill," Rob pointed out. "Not you."

"I can help!" Faelynn chuckled at some joke that only made sense to her. "What do you say? It couldn't hurt to at least contemplate your choices."

Rob paused, then shrugged, mimicking her previous motion. With a thought, he brought up the options for his next Crystal Bearer Skill and started to read them aloud.

Name: Message
Prerequisite: Crystal Bearer Level 5
Description: Allows you to send system Messages to members of your Party. The content of each Message is formed by mental dictation. Message recipients can reply using the same method. Recipients can ignore Messages and block further incoming messages as they wish. All Messages in a person's log will be inaccessible once they leave the original sender's Party. Those Messages will be restored once they rejoin a Party made by the original sender.

Name: Bind Item
Prerequisite: Crystal Bearer Level 5
Description: Grants you the ability to Bind inanimate objects to your soul. The methodology of what constitutes an 'object' is the same as Spatial Storage. Bound Items can be hidden or summoned at the user's discretion. There is no range limit to how far away an item can be summoned from. They can also be re-formed by the user with no penalty, even when destroyed. Items can be re-formed once every three seconds. Duplicates of the same Bound Item cannot exist. Limit of 20 pounds and 216 cubic feet per item. Once an item has been Bound, it cannot be un-Bound for one year.

Keira, Zamira, and Meyneth had gathered round by the time he was finished. Vul'to would've been similarly interested, but he was currently passed out under the table. "Those are my two options," Rob stated. "There are pros and cons to both of them."

"Such as?" Faelynn queried.

Rob frowned as he tried to recall the discussion they'd had on these Skills last time around. Back then, Awaken Class was the clear frontrunner, but he'd given the other two Skills their due consideration as well, examining each of them in detail. Those logical, thought-out arguments were obscured behind a fuzzy haze, like a thick warm blanket was wrapping itself around his brain.

"Such as..." Rob scratched his head. "Does it matter? We shouldn't be making this decision now. No point. Smarter to wait." He took another sip. "You heard it here first! Only smart decisions from here on out."

--

"Rob, can you please check on Meyneth?" Zamira asked. "I think she may be the next to fall."

Meyneth was sitting at a table, head in her hands, surrounded by nearly a dozen empty bottles. Rob walked over, staying in the Dragonkin's line of sight and being careful not to make any sudden movements. "Meyneth?" He called out, quietly. "You doing okay?"

"Kill..." Meyneth mumbled, her eyelids drooping. "Kill...them..."

"Yup, she's okay."

--

"You have parents?" Faelynn asked, confused.

Rob and Keira exchanged glances as Zamira floundered to come up with an answer. "Everyone has parents," the Bladesoul eventually settled on.

"At some point, yes," Faelynn remarked. "But yours are still alive?" She paused, then let out a little squeak, her mouth falling open slightly. "Oh, I'm sorry. Was that a strange thing to say?"

"No, no," Zamira lied. "However, if you don't mind my asking...what exactly do you mean? There are plenty of other Combat Class users whose parents survived The Cataclysm."

"They act differently," Faelynn plainly stated. "Safer, I mean. Their familial ties bind them with a certain degree of self-preservation. Our – sorry, your Party tends to act with reckless abandon. Like you have nothing left to lose."

A spark of guilt flashed across Zamira's face. "It's not as if I'm unaware of the grief it would cause my family were I to perish," she mumbled. "I love my mother and father dearly and wish no harm to befall them. But...there are things that I must do. Things that I feel obligated to accomplish. They understand that, and are supporting me in all my endeavors – although I'm sure that it causes them great heartache at times."

"They sound like lovely people," Faelynn said, empathetically. "I'd love to meet them someday. Introduce me, won't you?"

Zamira froze as Rob internally groaned. Faelynn probably hadn't meant that in a romantic sense – if nothing else, she wouldn't have said it without the alcohol loosening her tongue – but either way it was way too much for Zamira to handle right now. Rob decided to rescue her instead of letting her stew in an awkward puddle of drunken emotions.

"Come meet my parents after hers," Rob said, putting on a wide grin. "I have it on good authority that they're pretty damn awesome, and they’d love to hear about...uh...Fiendland stuff. Yeah." From out of Zamira and Faelynn's field of vision, Keira gave Rob a thumbs-up and mouthed 'good work'.

"You have parents?!" Faelynn cried out, sounding twice as baffled as when she asked Zamira. "You slapped a Corrupted Leviathan in the face!"

"He had it coming." Rob said, sagely. "And it was an entirely tactical move, thank you very much." He was about to continue, then hesitated, the mirth draining out of him as old memories resurfaced. "Hope my folks and Jason are doing okay," he mumbled. "If Diplomacy did its calculations right-"

<I did, obviously.>The Skill giggled, their words slurring. <Don't disparage my good name.>

"If Diplomacy did its calculations right – which I'm sure it did – then today is my birthday. Here, and on Earth." Rob's gaze fell. "It must be hard for everyone. They don't even know I'm alive."

Keira placed her hand over his and gently squeezed. "I'm sure they do," she said, in a soft voice. "If they're anything at all like you, then they won't so easily give in to despair."

Rob's cheeks felt warm, and it wasn't just because of the alcohol. "Thanks," he mumbled, squeezing Keira's hand back. Suddenly aware of the three pairs of eyes on him, Rob stood up and turned around. If he couldn't see them, then they – and their inquisitive looks – didn't exist. Object permanence was a myth.

He was in the middle of composing himself when a bolt of inspiration struck. Rob walked over to a nearby window and pulled it open. Sticking his head outside, he cupped his hands over his mouth and began to shout into the night.

"Hey, Dad!" His voice was cracking. "Mom! Jason! Wait for me, okay? I've got shit to do here, but I'll make my way home no matter what it takes! Promise! Don't rent out my room to any weirdos while I'm gone! Don't..."

Rob paused to rub his eyes, taking a single, shuddering breath. "I miss you guys," he sniffed. "Hope you're doing okay."

--

Bludgeoning Proficiency Increased! 5 -> 6

Reached Level 20!
5 Stat Points Gained!

Jason took a single, shuddering breath as he wiped the sweat from his brow. Beneath him, the crushed remains of a Taken gurgled its last roar, the creature's clawed hands twitching in a pool of black, viscous blood that spread larger with every passing second. Dozens more of its kind lay sprawled out among the hotel auditorium, their heads and chests caved in as if they'd been smashed with a hammer.

Or a Strength-infused baseball bat.

Grimacing, Jason hefted his weapon of the day and examined the spiderweb of cracks running down its side. It had held up admirably, but it was still a wooden bat being used to pummel creatures that partially resisted bullets, and Weapon Hardening could only go so far. He was lucky that it'd stayed intact long enough for him to finish the job.

Jason gingerly laid his holy implement of justice to rest – meaning he tossed his dollar-store baseball bat onto the floor – and started walking towards the exit, goose-stepping around Taken corpses as he went. He made sure to keep his eyes focused upwards and away from their faces; it was never fun when he realized that one of the monsters he'd killed used to be someone he knew. There was a time and place for pathos, but today was not that day.

Reached Level '20', huh? Jason chuckled as read the notification. Fitting.

As he walked, a voice crackled to life in his ear. "Are you finished in there?" They asked. "I'm hearing a whole lot of silence, which means you're either done or dead."

Jason tapped a button on the wireless headset to alert them before replying. "All clear," he answered. "Unless there's a crawler hiding in the shadows somewhere, and that's for the guys with the assault rifles and thermal goggles to take care of."

"Fantastic," the voice drawled. "Another day where I don't have to tell PR that the Sergeant got himself killed by taking on a lobby of thirty Taken all on his lonesome."

"Thirty-four." Jason sighed as he stepped over a pile of wet, decayed flesh that was once a person. "Look, Marco, I don't care how well it plays in the ad reads. I'm not a freaking Sergeant. It's kind of an insult to the men and women who earned that rank for you to keep calling me that."

"Tell that to marketing," Marco flatly stated. "You'd think the world ending would mean that optics are now less important than results, but if anything it's the opposite." He paused, humming lightly. "Besides, let me know when normal Sergeants can punch a hole through brick walls with their bare hands. I'd say that counts for something."

Jason grit his teeth. "World hasn't ended yet."

Marco barked out a harsh, joyless laugh in response. "Maybe from your perspective. As someone without superpowers, I count every day that I wake up with my brain intact as a blessing."

Jason stayed silent. He didn't agree with Marco's fatalistic attitude, but he also didn't want to rock the boat. Not when the local military branch was already doing him a favor by letting him undertake low-risk missions. Technically it benefited them as well – they got to take each of his successes and throw it onto the morning news as another victory for humanity – but there was always the chance that he would die and render their investment in him worthless. Jason was worth more alive and safe than alive and at risk. He was the Portal Boy, Sergeant Miller, owner of Skills and stats, proof that Earth could take the Outsiders' magic bullshit and turn it against them.

In short, he was a glorified mascot who could hit things very hard. And until scientists discovered a way for anyone else to harness Levels, that's all he'd ever be.

Forcibly putting aside his concerns, Jason shifted his focus to the reason he'd sauntered into a hotel and started beating abominations to bloody pieces: his new Level up. Stats didn't make him invincible – far from it, as the Baker Street Horror could attest – but each Level he gained felt like a building block towards something greater. At Level 20 he was already far stronger than the absolute peak of human biological limitations. Who knew what he'd be like at Level 30 or 40?

Maybe then Jason could give the Horrors a run for their money and help the military push them out of the eastern city bloc. Soldiers armed with guns could defeat them, but not without incurring losses of resources – including lives. It wasn't worth it when the things would just come back a week later. But unlike bullets, Jason's muscles weren't in limited supply, and unlike baseline humans, increased Dexterity meant he could dodge a Horror's charge. Him going toe-to-toe with the worst that the Outsiders had to offer would open up a whole new world of strategic possibilities. Jason imagined a joint assault involving him and one of the local squadrons; Marco yapping in his ear as they advanced, soldiers giving him covering fire, his sledgehammer raised high to bash a Horror's skull in...

Admittedly, he was getting ahead of himself. But even if his potential ended up falling short of his imagination, and his Level growth stalled out after 20, he'd still make sure to head into the city each day and hunt Taken until his body begged for respite. Every victory counted, no matter how small or large. He – in the most objective possible terms – could do more to fight against the Outsiders than any one person was capable of. If normal people without weird-ass number powers were putting their lives on the line, then what kind of excuse did he have? No way in hell was he going to sit back and let his home get overrun by Lovecraftian nightmares. Not unless they pried it from his cold, dead fingers.

And to that end, he needed power. 'Character Sheet', Jason thought, calling upon the instincts granted to him by the portal that stole his best friend.

Character Sheet
Name: Jason
Level: 20
Race: Earth Human
Class: N/A

HP: 280 / 280
Stamina: 53 / 170
MP: 50 / 50

Status Effects: Determined

Strength: 38
Vitality: 28
Endurance: 17
Dexterity: 35
Perception: 20
Mind: 19
Magic: 5
Unspent Points: 5

After a few moments of contemplation, he decided on the standard upgrade spread of 2 Strength, 2 Dexterity, and 1 Vitality. Perception was high enough that he'd stopped being caught unawares by ambushes, so any higher would likely be wasted points. Endurance was similarly in that 'high enough' range; boosting it might become necessary during longer campaigns, but for now it was fine as-is. Mind and Magic were still useless until he figured out how to actually use magic. Out of the many wonders he'd been granted, an instruction manual was not one of them.

That left Strength, Dexterity, and Vitality. Strength had been in that 'high enough' range – common Taken usually died after one or two swings – until the Horrors started showing up. Bigger creatures necessitated a bigger beating. Then there was Dexterity, which would always be crucial, both offensively and defensively. It was honestly a better defensive stat than Vitality, which so far had ended up being slightly disappointing. Being able to endure greater punishment than the average person was less helpful than it sounded when healing from those injuries took the same amount of time as normal. It was easier just not to get hit in the first place. He'd been hoping to pick up some sort of regenerative Skill, but either they didn't exist or he hadn't met some unknown Prerequisite for them. For now, he'd opted for the best defense being a good offense, killing and evading his enemies before they could touch him.

Jason nodded, satisfied with his choices as he allocated the points accordingly. There was probably a more effective stat spread that he wasn't considering, but this was the best he could do with the information he had. No sense in agonizing over what he didn't know. Strength, Dexterity, and a smattering of Vitality had served him well so far, and he doubted that those particular stats would ever go out of style.

Stepping over the last of the corpses, Jason opened the hotel's front door and walked into the afternoon daylight. He stopped to wave at the platoon of soldiers who were waiting in formation outside – his backup, in case things went south. They returned his wave, a few hollers of 'Sergeant' resounding across the parking lot, some sarcastic and some genuine. Jason offered them a sheepish grin and a salute, because what else was he supposed to do? Without wasting another second, he vacated the premises, resembling a six-foot blur as he ran at full sprint down empty city streets.

Jason arrived at his house around ten minutes later. He knocked on the door twice, paused, and then knocked once.

"What do we say when our drive starts to fade?" A voice from inside asked.

"Remember Bosco," Jason answered. "Remember Clara. Remember Rob."

The door unlocked with a click as Jeanette opened it wide. "Good to see you," she said, a radiant smile on her face. "You were almost late."

Jason swept her up in a kiss followed by a gentle embrace. "Good to see you too," he sighed. It was sappy as hell, but he sincerely felt like the luckiest man in the world every time he saw her. The last seven months would have been much, much worse without Jeanette by his side. "Is everyone here?"

"All three of us," she affirmed, beckoning him inside. "Some others wanted to come, but..."

Jason nodded. A good 99% of the city populace had already moved far away from Portal Sigma and Portal Delta right after the advent of the Taken uprising. Which didn't end up mattering once Portals started appearing all over the world, but it wasn't like anyone wanted to move back to a city that was cursed to forever be known as the place where the apocalypse began. Most of those who'd stayed were thrill seekers, and their enthusiasm had quickly died out, figuratively and literally. Now the only people left remaining were those with abnormally strong ties binding them to the area.

Like Rob's parents. Jason greeted them with a round of hugs as he entered the living room, noting the dark circles and pronounced lines of worry on their faces. As hard as the last seven months had been on him, it'd been a million times harder on them. He could only hope that today would ease some of the melancholy plaguing their hearts.

The four of them took their seats at a table in the center of the room. They sat facing a lone cupcake with a single lit candle embedded on top. It was supposed to be a full-sized cake, but confectioneries were low on the supply shipment totem pole, so a cupcake would have to suffice. A portrait of Rob with Jason and his parents stood next to it, proudly displaying a simpler time of laughter and smiles. In it, Rob could be seen holding his fingers in two V-signs behind Jason and his dad's heads. He'd 'ruined' countless photos that way – and now it felt integral, like that goofy pose was allowing them to re-experience an unfiltered part of what made Rob, Rob. It was funny how easily yesterday's exasperation could turn into today's nostalgia.

"I guess I'll start," Rob's dad began. He opened his mouth, then closed it, sighing. "Damnit, I'm no good at this sort of thing. Just...I love you, Rob. Come back soon. We'll wait as long as it takes." He sat back, arms folded in on themselves as he stared at the cupcake like it was a patchwork lifeboat in an ocean storm.

Rob's mom was next. She placed her hand on his portrait and lowered her gaze. Half a minute later, she removed her hand and nodded, wetness glistening in her eyes. Jason waited a few seconds to make sure that she was done before taking his turn.

Whatever his turn was going to be, anyway. There was so much that he wanted to say, but the more he thought about it, the more Jason realized that it didn't matter if he spoke for a minute or an hour. Words couldn't properly express the aching sense of loneliness he felt when thinking about Rob. It hurt less than it used to, and nowadays it was counteracted by fond remembrance, but the hurt was still there, a scar that would never truly heal.

Looking deep, Jason decided that if nothing would be enough for himself, that he should say something to help Rob's parents. They needed someone to share their burden – and more importantly, to give them hope. Choosing his words with care, Jason spoke firmly and with confidence, as if he believed his words from the bottom of his heart.

"He's alive," Jason stated, locking eyes with Rob's parents. "And he's coming back."

They held his gaze for some time. Eventually, they nodded, releasing a fraction of the tension gripping their bodies. It was a minor victory in the grand scheme of things, but Jason treasured it far more than any number of slain Taken or Levels gained.

Their spirits lifted, everyone stood up and clapped their hands together. After all, tradition needed to be honored. It wasn't a real birthday party without a lovingly awkward rendition of Happy Birthday sung by friends and family.

I know he's alive, Jason repeated. Not for the others' sake, but for himself. I'd bet everything I own and all twenty Levels on it. He's surviving, and he's *thriving*.

--

My heeead.

Rob winced as he kneaded his temples. After checking his system messages in search of a new Alcohol Resistance Skill – no such luck – he immediately activated Push Through, exhaling in relief as the pain lessened from overbearing to manageable. It probably wasn't a great idea to abuse that Skill for this purpose, but, eh, once was fine. Considering the Deserters' unofficial policy on drinking, it's not like last night was going to become a habit.

Last night, he mused. Last night was...a thing. Everyone certainly enjoyed themselves, at least. He couldn't really remember what happened after Faelynn left and Zamira fell asleep, but as he was alive and unmurdered, he could cross Monopoly Part 2 off the list. Actually, assuming that the night did in fact end without incident, that meant that there'd been no fistfights, no major property damage, and no broken friendships throughout the entire affair.

All in all, it was the chillest party Rob had ever been to. Score one for Riardin's Rangers over horny, intoxicated college-goers.

Should check on the others, he thought. Add them to my Party so they can get the effects of Push Through. Best hangover remedy there is. Dreading the imminent sunlight about to assault his senses, Rob forced his eyes open.

The first thing he noticed was that he was back at his personal living quarters, laying in his bed.

The second thing he noticed was that Keira was in bed with him.

Naked.

The world held still as Rob's train of thought ground to a screeching halt. Nothing existed except him, Keira, and the jackhammer of a heart that was pounding in his chest. Then, as if a dam had broken, his lost memories of last night came flooding back, filling his head with images of exactly what happened.

In excruciating, explicit detail.

Oh.

--

Author's Note:

For anyone worried that this is going to go unresolved until Book 4: I'm not that evil.

And as always, thanks for reading!