"Alright, boys, I've got great news."
"…"
"Today, I'm teaching you a powerful spell passed down through my family for generations."
"What spell?" Vyer asked.
"A powerful one."
"What's it do?"
"Something powerful."
Grok and Vyer exchanged skeptical looks.
"As my best students, you've earned the right to wield this insanely cool spell. Let me show you. Vyer, give me your hand."
"Uh, okay…"
I grabbed his thick, clawed limb with both hands.
"Expecto Patronus!"
Vyer dropped like a sack of bricks, confusion plastered on his face.
"Weird," he said. "I can't move."
"What a powerful spell!" Grok chimed in. "His neck's seriously fucked up. As a healer, I can feel it. Sensei, you're really—"
"Penis Falloffus!"
"Hah… Now I can't move either. Sensei, you're badass."
"Can you heal yourself, Grok?"
"Nah, don't think so. Need my hands for that. Wait, how're you gonna heal us? Sensei? Sensei!?"
When you run high-voltage electricity through metal, the conductor heats up due to resistance. I stuffed extra skin under my shackles to avoid burning my leg. I'm used to instant healing, but it's time to ditch that service. I focused my magic on the last chain link tethering me to the rock. When it glowed red-hot, I… rummaged through Vyer's pockets and found the shackle key. That's it… Done…
"Sensei, what're you doing?"
"Don't worry, guys, it's all under control. Trust me."
"Cool, but why the stake and sledgehammer?"
"Why? I wanna drive this stake with this sledgehammer. Duh."
"Right… Look, you're our teacher, but do you have to climb on me? I don't really like humans. They're gross. Kinda make me gag."
"Oh, sorry. Hang on a sec, I'll drive this stake and get off."
"Does it have to go in my eye?"
"Yeah, it's for your own good. Second stage of the spell."
Those two attacks ate about sixty percent of my mana. Killing them with magic alone would've drained my whole reserve. So I went with brute force. Took about ten minutes to crack that big bastard's skull.
"Phew… Finally. Your turn, Vyer."
"What happened? Couldn't see from here. What's up with Grok? What's the second stage do?"
"Ohhh… It gives incredible sensations and unreal power. Grok's soaking it up, so don't bug him."
"What were those sounds? Felt like he was screaming in pain."
"You're not wrong…"
Killing (relatively) sentient beings didn't stir any moral conflict. Brutal as it was… But that's only from a humanist perspective. From my side, I think I was fucking merciful to these scumbags. Maybe that's why I feel this emptiness inside? I dreamed of killing them for so long, plotting the most savage Mortal Kombat fatality moves. But now, I'm kinda… sad? The anticipation was way better than the act. I couldn't have gotten attached to these fuckers, could I? What's wrong with me? What are these shitty feelings? I should be screaming with joy! If I could resurrect them, I'd do it just to kill them again. One death's not enough.
I gained four levels from those two. Even with my 99% penalty, the level gap was huge. I'd probably have gotten twenty or thirty levels without my specialty. Oh well. At least the thought that my torturers turned into experience points, a stepping stone to my dream of freedom, keeps me warm.
It's been about three years since I got stuck in this mess. So I'm around seventeen now. Luckily, no one threw me festive torture parties for anniversaries, so I can't be sure. But I've grown and gotten stronger. Got some abs out of nowhere. Never seen those before. My magic skills leveled up too. Time to go home. Though I've forgotten where that is. My pre-hell life's fuzzy. I think I had a girlfriend. Yeah, Annie. Or did I make that up? Let's say it's true. Makes it more dramatic.
I'm not a sentimental guy. This place won't spark nostalgia. Someone said you only remember the good stuff. I'd argue with that. I hate this place with every fiber of my being. No, scratch that—I hate this whole fucking world. If there was a big red button nearby, I'd press it without hesitation, even if it said "don't."
-
/ Race --- Human /
/ Level --- 19 /
/ Specialty --- Slave (1%) /
/ Base Stats: /
/ Strength --- 35(+4) Endurance --- 40(+4) Agility --- 18 Magic Power --- 72(+1) Mana --- 109(+10) /
/ Skills: /
/ Concentration --- 128 / Sensitivity --- 120 / Mana Control --- 113 / Thinking --- 109 / Resilience --- 103 /
/ Element --- Lightning /
/ Titles: /
/ Martyr /
-
Finally got a new title, and it doesn't sound like an insult. The bonus is 1600%. My wounds heal seventeen times faster. Not bad. Won't save me from fatal ones, though.
I split my stat points between mana, strength, and endurance. The base stats are straightforward. No abstract bullshit like luck or fighting spirit… If there was luck, I wouldn't even think about where to put points. Strength is max power. Endurance is its reserve. Same with magic power and mana. Agility handles speed and reaction. Since my power's enough to kill a demon, I need more mana. Can't neglect physical stats either. Without game mechanics, they're hard to boost. And I'll probably have to run a lot. I left skills alone—they're high enough. Their growth isn't my priority now. The first four are clear. Without them, I'm Tony Stark without a suit and post-lobotomy. Resilience is meh but could be a lifesaver.
Resilience --- Allows staying conscious after taking damage. Higher values let the subject endure more damage while conscious. Doesn't affect overall survivability.
This skill could synergize with my title. Maybe I should've boosted it, but with my penalty, every point's worth its weight in gold. No… fuck gold. Each point's worth a mermaid's tear made of antimatter, squeezed by Elvis Presley in the Mesozoic under Jesus Christ's supervision on Mars.
Some hellhounds were eyeing me curiously, but the demons' bodies kept them at bay for now. I'd have to face them soon. Gotta prep. So, nearly busting my ass, I hauled Vyer up and propped him against the rock. Took some effort, but I invented a new specialty: demon scarecrow, successfully installed. I remembered how much I shat myself when I first saw him. Now he looks pathetic. Doing the same with Grok wasn't smart—I'd need a crane.
I threw on my favorite short leather jacket. Grabbed a couple knives from the table. A few days ago, I had Vyer make sheaths and a belt for them. Before he died, he also crafted a small shoulder bag where I stuffed the frying pan, leftover salt, and some useful junk. I made a spear from the pole Mary passed on, flattening and sharpening the end. Finally, I snacked on Grok's arm. I think I burned more calories separating the meat than I got from eating it. Felt like chewing rubber forever. And at last, I said goodbye to my best friend.
Farewell, comrade. I'll never forget you. You were my whole world, and you'll stay in my heart forever. My mattress…