Name: Amir Azad
Title: War-Summoner
War Points: 10,000
STR – 38
DEX – 30
VIT – 148
My stats were stagnating. I was gonna have to find a way to get them back up. I could purchase a few stats for War Points, but that was the least-efficient way to get them up. Definitely not worth it.
I passed through a town without a name I remembered. The signs had long since faded. One of them hung by a single bolt, swaying in the cold wind like it was trying to forget where it came from. I stopped at a homeless shelter near the edge of it. A low building with frost on the roof and the stink of sweat and canned food leaking from the cracks in the walls.
Inside, no one asked questions. I took a seat near the back, by a broken vending machine that still hummed like it had a purpose. I kept to myself. Ate a meal that tasted like metal and salt. The man beside me slept sitting up, mouth slack, arms crossed tight across his chest like someone might try to take something from him in the night.
I stayed an hour. Maybe two.
Then I walked on.
The plan was simple. Crude. But simple.
Walk north.
Keep walking until I crossed into Canada. I had my passport. I had supplies. Food sealed in my inventory, clean water, bandages, spare clothes. Enough to last if I moved smart.
Serafall said America wasn't safe. She didn't mean the streets. She meant the shadows between them. Too many teeth in this country. Too many things that watched from cracks and doorways and waited for silence to fall.
They'd expect me to run. Expect a plane ticket. A bus. A train. Something fast. Something crowded.
They'd expect a crowd.
They'd expect New York.
But I didn't want a crowd. I didn't want a hundred strangers between me and whatever came next. Devils of House Stolas–Helena's angry relatives–would surely come for me. The Vampires too. And I had something of an inkling as to the possibility that the Hunters, whose warehouse I blew up on account of Sebastian's trickery, were coming after me too.
If they came for me, and they would, I wanted space.
I wanted trees.
I wanted a fight on a long road with no lights and no traffic. Just the sound of boots on gravel and blood in the snow. No collateral damage. No innocents dying because some asshole entity didn't think they were important enough to spare.
That was safer. For me. For everyone else.
So I walked.
The road stretched ahead, cracked and split in places, the paint lines gone. On either side the woods rose up thick and bare, branches clawing at the gray sky. The wind moved through them in low howls, like a dog pacing a fence line. Mum and I once hiked through here, many years ago. Only now did I wish I'd spent more time with my parents, knowing it'd be a very long time before I'd ever see them again.
I didn't mind the cold. The coat I wore was lined, but I didn't need it; I just thought it looked good on me. My blood ran hotter now. Whatever the System had done to me, it had changed more than just the skin and muscles and bones. The 148 Vit points pushed me into a realm that was beyond humanity. Serafall showed me just how high the ladder really was. And how much I'd still have to climb to really get anywhere. But, as of now, I was pretty sure I could survive in the North Pole, buck-ass nude, and live comfortably.
Snow began to fall sometime past noon. Light at first. Then thicker. It softened the world. Took the sharp edges off the trees and buried the rot on the forest floor.
I passed broken fences, old cars rusted out and stripped. Probably busted down and left behind when no help came. No people. Not this far out. Just birds that scattered when I came too close and deer tracks half-filled with ice.
I kept walking.
Behind me, the city slept. And ahead, the border waited.
Not a gate. Not a wall. Just a place where one country ended and another began. A line scratched across the world by men who had long since died. The road narrowed there. A checkpoint stood silent under the weight of the clouds, glass windows dark, cameras pointed in every direction. Fences stretched out on either side, tall and barbed and rust-flecked, like the bones of something too old to bury.
My plan was not to stop.
I wasn't going to show papers. Not even for a second. It stood to reason that anything as old and rooted as the supernatural had already wormed its way into the systems of men. Governments. Databases. Machines. Too many cameras. Too many questions. Too many eyes I couldn't see. If I handed over a passport, it would ping somewhere. And somewhere wasn't far enough anymore.
They'd know. They'd come.
I wasn't afraid of them.
But I wasn't chasing them either.
That was a lesson learned the hard way. Blood and fire and screaming. Faces I didn't know twisting in the dark. A hotel floor slick with things better left undescribed.
I'd always considered myself deliberate. Measured. Think first, act second. That was how I saw myself.
But looking back, I hadn't done much thinking at all.
I'd charged in. Half-blind. Half-mad. Riding rage like it was enough to carry the day. And maybe it had been. Maybe the [Blank] aura had done all the real work. Stripped magic from their hands and turned monsters into meat. Without it, I'd be a body cooling in the dirt. Forgotten. Lost.
So, I wasn't going to reveal myself to anyone this time. The checkpoint would never find me. I'd go around. Over. Through the woods, maybe. Find a break in the fence and slip past like a shadow between headlights. Or I could just jump over the damn wall; it wouldn't even be hard, honestly.
Something moved in the woods.
Quick. Heavy. Off to my right.
I stopped walking. Let the wind speak. My ears caught the sound again—snow displaced, branches shifted, not the whisper of deer or the flap of birds but the stomp of boots. Steady. Measured. Weight behind them.
Four sources. Spread out. A meter or so between each.
I stepped off the road.
The forest met me with quiet. The snow crunched beneath my boots. I slid the [Tau Rail Rifle] from [Inventory] and kept it low. My thumb brushed the side panel. The weapon thrummed once. Warmth bled into my shoulder. I activated the [Blank] aura at the lowest setting—enough to strip away spells if it came to it, not enough to kill anything breathing too fast to think.
I stepped past the tree line. The road behind me disappeared in a slow fade of white and gray. Pines stretched tall above, their limbs sagging with snow, the smell of sap and cold bark sharp in the air. I moved quiet. Slow. One hand on the rifle. One foot forward.
Twenty feet ahead, the trees shifted again.
Four shapes emerged from the underbrush. They didn't try to hide. Didn't need to. They stopped just short of a dried bed of leaves matted with frost. The snow crunched under their boots. They stood still. Watching.
They looked human.
Couldn't have been vampires. The sun was out and bright and clear. No cloaks. No smoke curling off their skin. Their eyes weren't red, and their teeth didn't gleam.
But they weren't regular either. I sensed a spark within them, similar to the sparks within the vampires and devils I'd met and fought. Magic, perhaps? Whatever it was, it told me that they were, at the very least, above baseline humanity.
They wore leather—brown coats, padded armor beneath. They looked professional–or, at least, they looked as though they'd been this way their whole lives. Their hands were gloved. Faces marked. Eyes sharp. Soldiers, or something like it. Their weapons caught the light. Rifles on their backs, handguns strapped low to their thighs, blades tucked into boots and belts. One of them, the tallest, carried a repeating crossbow slung over his shoulder. The bolts were tipped with something pale. Shiny.
Silver.
My grip on the rifle tightened.
They didn't speak. Neither did I.
The wind moved between us. Carried the scent of metal and pine and old blood. A squirrel darted through the limbs above, stopped, turned, and vanished again.
Devils wouldn't come like this. They wouldn't lower themselves with the usage of firearms.
Who the hell were these guys?
Trained. Equipped. Intentional.
Not amateurs.
One of them stepped forward.
His coat moved like oilcloth. Heavy, treated, made for long marches through bitter places. He stood a head taller than me, maybe more. Clean-shaven, with a jaw like old brick. The kind of face that had been carved by bad nights and worse mornings. A silver chain hung at his neck, gleaming faint under the patchy light. It wasn't for show. None of it was.
He didn't draw.
Didn't shift weight. Didn't twitch.
Just stood there and watched.
The others kept their places. One near a dead stump, another crouched behind a split log, the last in the open, arms crossed, one hand resting on the grip of a sidearm. Spread wide. A net with teeth. If I made a move, they'd close in from all sides.
None of them crossed into the reach of the [Blank] aura.
Could've been caution. Could've been luck. Either way, they kept out.
The leader spoke first.
"You're the one who blew up our warehouse."
His voice was calm. Even. The kind of tone that didn't leave much room for lying.
I didn't lower the rifle. But I didn't raise it any higher, either.
I sighed.
"Yeah," I said. "I did."
Another stepped forward. Younger. Shorter. Brown hair, sunburnt neck. His coat didn't hang as heavy. Looked new. Still carried a stiffness in the shoulders like he hadn't earned it yet.
"Why?" he asked. "You're human. Same as us. Why'd you attack us?"
I glanced between them. The tall one didn't flinch. Neither did the others. No one moved.
"I didn't mean to," I said. "Didn't want to."
They said nothing.
"I was hunting a Devil. One that took my mother. Threatened to kill her. To get close, I made a deal with a vampire. Sebastian LaCroix. He said if I helped him, he'd help me. His price was your warehouse."
The tall one blinked once.
"I didn't know it was yours," I said. "Didn't know you were hunters. I wasn't aiming to hit your people."
Silence. The wind moved through the trees. It kicked up a curl of old leaves between us. No one reached for a weapon.
"Were you successful?" the leader asked.
I narrowed my eyes. "What do you mean?"
He didn't blink. "Did you find the devil you were hunting?"
I nodded. "Yeah."
"And?"
I smiled.
"I beat the shit out of her. Crushed her skull like a melon. Made sure she didn't get up again."
The man at the stump shifted. Just slightly.
The one with the crossbow leaned in. "Name?"
"Helena Stolas."
Something passed between them. A glance. A breath. The weight of a name hitting where it hurt.
The leader stepped forward another pace. Not threatening. Just closer.
"I hope you're not lying."
"I'm not."
Their leader took out a cellphone, dialled something, and then called someone. "Helena Stolas. Yes. No. Mhm. I see. Thank you."
He put the phone back in his pocket and turned to me. "You did kill her. The devils are out looking for you–the vampires too. Is that why you're running?"
The other hunters suddenly seemed at ease by the revelation. Their stances shifted, rigid to less rigid, but far from unguarded.
I nodded. "Off to Canada, yes."
"And from there?"
"Greenland, and then Iceland, and then maybe hide out in the Faroe Islands." I said. "I'll probably just swim the distance. Shouldn't be too hard."
With my infinite stamina, granted by my 138 VIT, it would probably even be easy.
One of them laughed, but not in a mocking manner. Their leader smiled too. He walked up to me, holding out his hand, and I… decided to deactivate my [Blank] aura. We shook hands. He took off his hat. "Amir Azad, instead of that crazy plan of yours, how about you join us?"
Name: Amir Azad
Title: War-Summoner
War Points: 10,000
STR – 38
DEX – 30
VIT – 148
I raised a brow. Not in doubt or insult, but in surprise.
"You want me," I said, "after I blew your warehouse to dust?"
Lukan shrugged. The motion carried weight but no heat. "Arms and armor are easily found and let go. Not cheaply, but the Order of Hunters is hardly going to bleed from that. But you…"
He folded his arms, measuring me like he was fitting a rifle to a new stock. "A recruit who's put down a High-Class Devil? Not even with magic, but with his bare hands… now that… that's worth more than any warehouse."
He tipped his head at the men behind him. "I'm Lukan. Great Hunter, by oath and by deed. These three—"
The tall one with the crossbow slapped the weapon's sling. "Garin."
The younger man touched two fingers to his brow. "Shane."
The last, squat and broad, lifted a hand. "Bob."
"Just Bob?"
"Yeah..."
"...."
"I know, it's not a very cool name."
Lukan went on. "Their blades are keen, their will keener, but numbers are thin. The Order bleeds hunters faster than we can bind them."
He let his words hang. The trees creaked overhead. Snow slipped free, drifting between us.
"Our mission," he said, "is freedom. No more chains, no more contracts. We break the neck of anything that feeds on the living. We hunt down every single night creature that preys on humanity, no matter how innocent they may seem."
Garin spat in the snow. "Devils, vampires, even angels if they show."
Bob's fingers drummed the holster at his hip. "All gods fall the same height."
Lukan's gaze never left mine. "You've stood in the dark and didn't blink. You know what waits there."
He stepped closer, boots grinding frost. "You can help end it."
He held out his hand again—gloved, steady. "Protection. Training. Gear. Artifacts. Camaraderie. Doors opened, doors closed. And allies when you need them."
I kept the rifle low but ready. "Sounds tidy. What's the price?"
"Your aim," he said. "Your oath. Nothing else we care about."
A pause. "We're not asking for your soul. Only your shot."
I scanned the tree line. Nothing stirred. "And if I pass?"
"Then keep west and pray the road stays empty," Garin said.
Lukan raised a palm, silencing him. "You walk free, Amir Azad. But the House of Stolas rides north, and the night rides with them."
Shane thumbed a silver bolt. "Head start's short."
I exhaled fog. "Give me time."
"You have it," Lukan said. "But time is not exactly a luxury."
I nodded once. "Contact?"
"Phone," he answered.
I pulled the device from my coat. Battery at half, airplane mode blinking. I tossed it.
Lukan caught it, thumbed the screen alive and tapped once. "Encrypted channel. Impossible to trace."
He handed it back. A new icon pulsed red in the corner.
"Press once," he said. "We'll come."
Bob chuckled, low. "Or what's left of us does."
I slipped the phone away. "You're betting on a stranger."
"We're betting on proof." Lukan's eyes cooled. "Helena's corpse is proof."
Garin clicked the crossbow's safety. "You think on it. The border's a thin line. Monsters don't care about lines. They'll keep chasing you."
"I know." I said. "That's why I'm headed to Canada–less people, more wilderness. If they come after me, I can fight properly, without having to think of civilians."
Bob huffed. "Good. You're already thinking like a Hunter. Whatever happens, the lives of the innocent always come first."
Shane glanced skyward. "Snow's thickening. We'll lose daylight."
Lukan offered his hand a final time. I didn't take it. Not yet. "Thank you for the offer."
"We can give you a ride out of here."
"I'll walk," I said.
"Then walk quickly," Lukan answered. "North or south—it's all the same hunt."
He stepped back, signaled with two fingers. The hunters melted into the timber, boots leaving shallow prints that filled with fresh snow. In moments only the hush of the pines remained and they were gone.
I stood alone again.
The [Tau Rail Rifle] cooled in my grip, metal fading from blood-warm to dead steel. The phone in my coat pocket pulsed once. A red icon blinked slow and steady, a single eye in the dark.
I sent them both away. Inventory swallowed them without a sound.
The wind moved through the trees. I breathed it in. Cold and pine-bitten.
Then I walked.
North again.
Not on the road this time. I'd grown tired of it. Too clean. Too empty. It stretched flat and bare like it had been drawn by a lazy god. You could see a mile ahead, and there was nothing to see. Just gas stations that looked like they'd been copied from the same blueprint, diners with dust on the blinds and nobody behind the counter. Asphalt, cracked and gray. Yellow paint faded to nothing.
The woods were better.
Wilder. Uneven.
No stretch of path looked the same.
Branches hung low, heavy with snow. Trees leaned against each other like drunks sharing secrets. The ground shifted underfoot—sometimes soft, sometimes stone, sometimes frozen hard enough to bite back. Birds stirred overhead. Squirrels darted between roots. Old stumps stood like watchmen, hollowed and silent.
I walked through them.
No direction but forward.
The meeting with Lukan hung in my thoughts like a coat too heavy to take off. He made a strong offer. Clean. Direct. Join the Order. Fight monsters. Get protection, gear, training. Travel. Safety.
And purpose.
That last part mattered.
It sounded good. Almost too good.
A part of me wanted to say yes. Maybe a loud part. But another part—the quieter one, the one that had kept me alive this long—held me back.
I didn't know Lukan. Not really.
He talked like a soldier and moved like one too. But that didn't mean he wasn't lying. Or hiding something. Maybe the Order really was what he said. Maybe it wasn't.
I'd made enough mistakes already.
Portland had taught me that. Helena. Sebastian. That damn warehouse. All of it.
I'd rushed in. Trusted too easily. Acted too fast. Thought I could brute force my way through the dark and come out clean.
Nearly died for it.
Not this time.
I wasn't just going to jump in because someone gave me a name and a cause.
So I walked.
And I thought.
After dozens of hours on foot, the sun rising and falling like breath, I reached the border.
There was no wall.
No fence. No gate. No watchtower with a man behind glass.
Just a line.
A strip of land cut straight through the forest where nothing grew. No grass. No tree. No stone out of place. Just a clean wound through the snow, bare and unnatural, running east to west until it vanished over the edge of sight.
I stood at the edge and stared at it.
Raised a brow.
Shrugged.
And stepped across.
The shift was faint. Not light. Not sound. Not even smell. Just a tension in the air, like passing through the frame of a doorway into someone else's house. My boots sank the same in the snow. My breath left the same frost on the air. But something changed.
Territory.
Not metaphor. Not suggestion. Something else. My skin prickled once and then it was gone. Whatever line I crossed, it wasn't just political.
I turned, looked back the way I came. Trees stood quiet. A hawk cried in the distance. I caught a shape slipping between the branches—a deer, maybe, or something pretending to be.
Further off, I heard the faint rumble of engines. The kind that belonged to border patrols. But they were far. Too far. Their presence little more than ghosts behind the hills.
No one waited for me. No one followed.
Only the trees. Only the wind.
I let out a breath, reached into my [Inventory], and pulled out the world map I'd stored.
Unfolded it.
Laid it flat against my palm. My finger traced the route. If I hadn't gone too far west, I was somewhere near Quebec. That meant the coastline wasn't far. I could follow it north. Cross through the jagged stretch of land until I reached the Torngat Mountains. From there, I'd swim to Baffin Island. Then to Cape Dyer. Then to Greenland.
I studied the line again.
Swim.
Not impossible.
Not with the body I had now. Not with the [Blank] aura keeping the worst things away and the stamina to outlast most machines. I'd make the distance. One stroke at a time. I might actually enjoy it. And, if it proved challenging enough, I might even get a stat boost.
I folded the map. Slid it back into the [Inventory]. Kept walking forward.
Speaking of boosts, maybe it was time I took a serious look at the [Blessings] tab of the System. I had 10,000 War Points anyway and making them just sit there seemed like a waste. One of my biggest problems was my lack of personal power. As Sebastian proved, even with my [Blank] aura turned up to its maximum, a gun could kill me very easily. The [Blessings] were the cheapest path to power at the moment.
Though, I could buy the [Astartes Augmentations], which would cost me about 8,000 War Points, but the description basically said it'd make me seven feet tall and bulked to hell. While interesting, the last thing I wanted was to stand out that much. The same was true for the [Custodes Augmentations]. Strong. Very strong. But not what I wanted or needed at the moment. Physical strength was good, but I had a feeling it wouldn't be very helpful against magical bullshit.
No, the [Blessings] were definitely the way to go forward. And if they were anything like the [Blessing of Isha] that I got when I first received the System, these were bound to be powerful and helpful.
So, I opened up the [Blessings].
[Blessing of Tzeentch] - You gain an unnatural aptitude for all things magical, including the native magic of your starting world. Lessons that would take normal mages decades to master will only take you a few days or hours. However, you become more whimsical and prone to changing your choices at the last moment. Costs 9000 War Points.
[Blessing of Nurgle] - You gain an unnatural physical resilience and endurance that far outstrips your body's natural ability. You feel no pain and gain an increased resistance to toxins, poisons, and venoms. However, you emit a foul and powerful odor that no amount of bathing will get rid of. Costs 9000 War Points.
[Blessing of Slaanesh] - You gain an unnatural charisma and presence that almost appears to enthrall people around you. People will want to listen to every word you say and convincing others to do what you want becomes easier. However, you are more easily led astray by temptations. Costs 9000 War Points.
[Blessing of Khorne] - You gain an unnatural aptitude for physical combat and warfare. You become physically stronger and faster, beyond your body's natural ability. However, you are prone to anger and drawn to violence as the first choice. Costs 9000 War Points.
[Blessing of Vashtorr] - You gain an unnatural aptitude for all things technological. You are able to build and innovate wondrous devices, and understand highly advanced mechanical and technical concepts and machines that would otherwise boggle the mind. However, you lose your sense of ethics when it comes to innovation. Costs 9000 War Points.
[Blessing of Malice] - You gain the power of [Soul Siphon]. With it, you are able to steal a tiny fraction of the power of those whose souls you devour. However, this ability is considered abominable in most universes and most of those who witness you performing [Soul Siphon] will be repulsed by you. Costs 9000 War Points.
[Blessing of the God Emperor] - You gain an unnatural resilience against corruptive elements, mental attacks, soul attacks, and conceptual attacks. Your willpower becomes nigh-unbreakable and successful attempts at mind control or any form of master effect will only cause you to freeze at worst. However, you gain an unnatural and unexplainable hatred for non-human sentients and AI. Costs 9000 War Points.
Ah, very interesting options here.
Name: Amir Azad
Title: War-Summoner
War Points: 10,000
STR – 38
DEX – 30
VIT – 148
I kept north, feet breaking a thin crust of ice with every step, map tucked back into the inventory. The pines parted just enough for a sliver of gray sky. While the wind rattled needles overhead, the system window lingered in the corner of my sight—seven blessings lined up like knives in a case.
I walked and thought.
Tzeentch dangled easy magic. A few days to master what took arch-sorcerers decades. Maybe handy when devils start flinging sigils the size of trucks. Yet the fine print whispered whimsy. Last thing I needed was to wake up one morning and decide the sun looked better on the wrong side of the horizon.
Nurgle offered painlessness and lungs tougher than engine blocks. Inviting on a snowbound trail. But the stench… I imagined frost melting off branches just to escape the odor. Hunters, devils, tourists with camera phones—every one of them would smell me coming a mile out.
Slaanesh promised silver-tongued charm. Doors open, guards wave, enemies rethink. Useful, sure. The trade-off came wrapped in silk: temptations, distractions, sweet rot. I pictured some nightclub in Montreal, weeks burned away while House Stolas closed in. Not smart.
Khorne pushed brute force. Strength, speed, reflex. Pair that with the rail rifle and things start looking unfair. Downside? Anger first, questions later. I'd already done the hot-headed routine and nearly died for it.
Vashtorr flashed schematics in my mind—warp drives, railguns the size of school buses, drones shaped like spiders, phasers, fucking gundams, and whatever else I could think of. Tempting–very tempting–as Engineering had been my second choice if I didn't pass the entrance exam for Medical School. Ethics switch set to off, though. Hard pass; Mom drilled that line in too deep.
The God-Emperor's blessing was armor for the mind, soul, and everything in between. A fortress against possession, illusion, corruption. Nearly perfect—until the line about hating non-humans. Considering my friends list kind of currently featured Serafall Leviathan, that felt like bad chemistry.
I stopped at a fallen spruce. Snow clung to the uprooted trunk. Boots creaked as I braced one foot on the bark and scanned the tree line. Quiet. Cold. No eyes on me but winter's.
Malice waited last. Soul Siphon. Take a sliver of power each time I drop something that still remembers its name. No ceiling on that, no strings to mood swings, no stink cloud or species bigotry baked in. Folks would gag at the sight, sure, but most devils and vamps already gag at the idea of a human flattening them. Reputation's a lost cause anyway.
I exhaled, steam curling. Wrist flicked, system window filled my vision. The other blessings dimmed as Malice pulsed a dull purple.
"Let's see how deep the well goes," I said to the empty woods.
Confirmation. War Points tallied: 10,000 → 0.
A cold bloom spread across the inside of my chest—ice water poured straight into bone. I staggered, palm on the spruce. Snow dusted down. The air sucked itself thin, then snapped back.
Power stirred, thin threads winding up my spine. Not a roar. More like a key turning in a lock that had never opened. Somewhere far off, maybe miles away, something small and living shuddered and went silent. The forest returned to stillness.
The window dissolved. No fireworks, no trumpet fanfare. Just a new line in pale script:
[Blessing of Malice] acquired — Soul Siphon available.
[Soul Siphon (level 1)] - Absorb the soul of a fallen foe and permanently steal 1% of their total stats.
Worth it. Sure, 1% was almost nothing, but it was a cumulative thing that, in time, would give me a busted amount of stat points. And, surprisingly, the efficacy of the spell grew with what I assumed was through constant usage.
I straightened, rolled my shoulders. Nothing felt different on the surface—same wool coat, same heartbeat, same breath frosting in front of my mouth. Yet a quiet hunger traced the edge of thought, patient, waiting for the first soul to taste.
I set off again, northbound through the pines, boots crunching, steam rising off every exhale. Canada ahead. House Stolas behind. New weapon inside.
Plenty of monsters between.
As the hours rolled on, I stuck to the treeline and kept away from anything paved. Cities, towns, even outposts—I gave them all wide berths. Didn't want eyes on me, cameras in doorways, whispers in police radios. The woods were quiet company. No walls. No questions. Just snow, wind, and bark.
I crossed into a shallow valley and followed the slope down. The ground dipped toward a creek I hadn't noticed until the sound of running water reached me. Light caught on it, glinting between low shrubs and the flat, bare trunks of maple trees. I moved slower then, careful with my steps.
That's when I saw it.
Biggest thing I'd ever seen on four legs outside of video footage. A bull moose, easily taller than me at the shoulder, stood in the middle of the clearing. Its antlers looked more like tree limbs than anything an animal had a right to grow. It stood half-submerged in the stream, head lowered, slurping mouthfuls of cold water like it was sipping from a trough.
I stopped dead.
It hadn't noticed me. The wind was in my favor, blowing toward me and dragging the scent of wet fur and bark across my face. My boots settled into the dirt as I crouched low. No threat here. Just curiosity.
I'd seen deer. Rabbits. Even a fox, once. But they all ran the moment they sensed me. This thing didn't run. It didn't do anything but drink, big chest heaving slow and steady, fog spilling from its nostrils like a furnace.
The size of it didn't hit me all at once. It built slowly, as I watched. Its back was broader than a sedan. The muscles in its legs twitched with each shift of weight. I could see flies clinging to the edge of its shoulder. And it was calm. No tension. No fight-or-flight. Just an animal doing what it had done a hundred times before.
I stayed there for a while. Five minutes, maybe more. Just breathing slow, eyes locked on the beast. Something about it felt grounded. Real. It didn't care who I was or what kind of mess I'd made back south. It just drank.
Then I leaned forward.
My weight shifted. A twig snapped.
The sound cut through the clearing like a gunshot.
The moose froze. Its head jerked up. Water dripped from its muzzle. Eyes locked on me.
And then it charged.
No warning.
Just motion.
The creek splashed in its wake. Antlers swayed like they were catching wind. Its hooves dug deep and thundered over the ground. Brush tore apart in front of it, kicked snow flying.
I stood. Didn't run. Didn't move yet.
Holy shit, this thing was bigger than a car. Just its head was probably already half my whole body.
Any other day, I probably would've turned tail and bolted the moment that thing charged. It wasn't like I had a death wish. But the moose came at me, and I didn't move. I just stood there, one hand flexing around the grip of the rail rifle, the other half-raised like I wasn't sure what it wanted to do yet.
That's when the question hit me.
How strong was I, really? Not in theory. Not against vampires or devils or mages with too much eyeliner. But against something real. Something with muscle and weight and hooves the size of dinner plates. A Bull Moose.
I had 38 points in Strength. That was more than any powerlifter in history, more than the guys who flipped tires the size of hot tubs and pulled eighteen-wheelers with chains strapped to their shoulders. Technically speaking, I was well past peak human. But moose? Moose were built different. Built like walking freight trains wrapped in fur.
Was it stronger than me? Probably.
But I still wanted to find out.
More than that, I wanted to test it. Me. Against bone and muscle and raw, dumb force.
So I didn't run.
I lowered my stance and charged straight at the moose.
Yes, it was stupid.
Yes, it was dangerous.
No, I wasn't changing my mind.
The trees blurred. Snow sprayed up in small arcs behind me. My boots thudded hard into the frozen ground, and ahead, the moose pounded toward me like it had a vendetta. Its head was down, antlers tilted just right to catch me if I messed up the timing. Each breath it exhaled came out like smoke from a furnace. Its hooves hit the earth hard enough to make it vibrate in my chest.
Time stretched thin.
We closed the gap.
I reached for the antlers. Not the tips—those would gore me. The base. Just above the brow. Thick, solid, built to ram trees and rival bulls alike. My hands clamped down on rough bone.
And that's when I remembered something important.
Weight.
No matter how much strength I had, I still weighed what I weighed. And the moose, well—it didn't care. It didn't care about physics, or training, or the System. It didn't stop. It didn't even slow.
I latched onto its horns.
It kept going.
My boots lifted from the ground almost immediately. It was like grabbing the front of a speeding pickup truck. My legs flailed, snow spun beneath me, and I was airborne—held there by nothing but my own stubbornness and two very pissed-off antlers.
The moose kept charging. I went with it.
My eyes widened. If this big bastard slammed into a tree, I'd probably be fine—148 points in Vitality could handle a hit like that—but the moose? It might snap its own neck. And I didn't want that. This wasn't supposed to be a kill. Just a test. A contest.
So, I made a call.
I shifted my grip, bent my knees, and pulled myself up. My legs wrapped over its neck, then I kicked off hard and flipped my body onto its back, landing awkwardly between its shoulder blades. It skidded in the snow, stumbled, stopped.
Then it went nuts.
The Bull Moose bucked like I'd strapped a rocket to its spine. Its head swung left and right in wide, snapping arcs, those antlers cutting the air just inches from my ribs. I leaned low, arms tight around its thick neck, boots digging into its sides like stirrups. It roared. Or grunted. Or whatever sound a moose makes when it's losing its mind. Whatever it was, it was loud.
I held on.
Then a new problem hit me.
I had no idea how to knock out a moose.
No pressure points. No glass jaw. No convenient human anatomy to exploit. Just slabs of muscle, fur, and bone the size of paving stones. My hands weren't doing much but holding on. So I figured, alright, if punching it wasn't an option, then maybe tossing it was.
I slid off the side and hit the snow running. Before it could react, I ducked low and slipped underneath, chest to the frozen dirt. My hands found its torso just behind the front legs. I planted my feet. Roared. And pushed up.
The moose didn't rise easy, but it rose.
Its hooves kicked. Its weight shifted wildly. It thrashed, twisting and jerking like it couldn't make sense of gravity anymore. I could feel every pound of it trying to disagree with me. It was like lifting a barbell stacked past safe limits—heavy, yes, but manageable. I'd lifted far heavier things before, honestly. This was nothing.
I got it overhead.
Snow scattered off its flanks as it flailed.
Then I slammed it down.
Not hard enough to break bones. Just enough to send a message. The ground shook when it landed. A puff of snow exploded out from the impact. The moose hit the ground sideways, legs twitching, head dazed.
I stepped back, panting lightly. Not from exhaustion—more from adrenaline, from the sheer ridiculousness of what just happened.
Big bastard lay there blinking.
Still alive.
Still breathing.
Just… confused.
Good. That made two of us.
It turned to me with wide, dark eyes, and then promptly had a cardiac arrest and died.
What?
Without much thought on my part, I reached out and activated [Soul Siphon].
Name: Amir Azad
Title: War-Summoner
War Points: 0
STR – 40
DEX – 31
VIT – 149
I blinked.
Then blinked again.
Two points to Strength. One to Dexterity. One to Vitality.
That… was a lot.
I stepped back, boots crunching in the snow. The moose lay still, steam rising off its body in soft waves. Its eyes were glazed over, but not twisted or cursed. Just empty. Like it had gone to sleep and never gotten up.
My fingers flexed, then curled into a fist. There wasn't any dramatic change. No sudden surge of power or fire racing through my veins. But I knew what those points meant. Back when I still gained stats from regular training, getting even a single point took days. Weeks if I wasn't careful. That moose just gave me four. For one fight. One kill.
I glanced at the corpse.
Big bastard.
Didn't deserve to go out like that.
A nasty little thought crept in while I stared. What if I did this again? Just one more moose. Or two. Hell, if every wild animal gave even half of that… I could get real strong, real fast.
But I shut that down right away.
No.
I wasn't about to become the world's worst poacher just to pad my stats. That wasn't the plan. That was never the plan. I'd fight devils, vampires, whatever came next—but I wasn't going to start wiping out animals that were just trying to live their lives. This one attacked me. That's why it died. That was it.
Still, it was hard to ignore the numbers. Four points. Just like that.
I looked around the clearing again. Nothing stirred. The trees stood quiet. The wind moved like it didn't want to bother anyone. Somewhere behind me, water still trickled through the creek, soft and steady.
I moved to the moose's side and crouched. Reached out and touched the side of its neck. The fur was thick, matted slightly with snow. Warmth was already starting to fade. I wish I'd just stayed away from it. That way, it wouldn't have charged me and fucking died of a heart attack. Still, I gained something off of it. And dad taught me to always be respectful of anyone who gave me anything.
"Thank you," I said quietly. "I didn't want you to die. And I'm sorry that you did."
I stood and backed away. The body would freeze over soon. Maybe a wolf or bear would find it and have the feast of a lifetime. Maybe it'd just lie here and rot into the soil and a new tree would sprout where it died. Either way, it would return to nature and, hopefully, allow something else to grow and live. Its part was done.
My part wasn't.
I adjusted the strap of my coat, rolled my shoulders, and started moving again. North, like always. Each step felt just a little easier. Not faster. Not lighter. Just… stronger. Like the ground gave back a little more each time I pushed off.
The sky had darkened while I was distracted. The gray had turned heavy. Thicker clouds rolled in. Snow started to fall again—not heavy, but steady. Enough to coat the trees in a fresh dusting and soften the world underfoot.
I kept walking.
Sooner or later, something else would find me.
Vampires. Devils. Whatever. The Hunters already had.
And if the Hunters could track me through this cold, then it wouldn't be long before the others did too. House Stolas didn't seem like the kind to let things go. Especially after what I did to Helena. That name probably still echoed in whatever hellhole they called a home. I could probably defeat whoever they'd send after me, but–after seeing Serafall ignore my [Blank] aura–I did not want to risk anything until I was strong enough.
So, yeah.
I'd fight again soon, but I also needed to get stronger first.
On that note, I wondered if I could absorb the souls of the daemons in the dungeons. I doubted it, since they were spawned by the System and probably didn't have their own souls, and it'd be way too easy if I could, which wasn't how the System rolled, but I'd try once I found a place to hunker down for a while–a place that wasn't in Northern America. I'd try it once I swam to Iceland or something.
The snow came up to my ankles in some places. Dry, powdery stuff that clung to the hem of my coat and whispered underfoot with every step. The trees around me were quiet. Just tall, straight trunks and bare branches, no sign of towns, roads, or people for miles.
I kept moving.
Joining the Hunters still floated in the back of my mind. Lukan had made a good case. A safe place to rest, weapons, allies, structure. Not bad, especially with what was chasing me. But structure meant rules, and rules meant someone up top pulling strings. I didn't like strings. And, honestly, if the Hunters were anywhere close to being good at their job, then there wouldn't be any vampires in Portland.
Still, he wasn't wrong. It'd be good to sleep without one eye open. Just for a night. Maybe two.
I made a mental note to revisit the offer later—after I'd put some more distance between myself and anything with fangs or wings.
So far, keeping to the woods had worked. No devils. No vampires. No civilians either, which was the point. There was a romantic part of me that wondered if I could just be a mountain man and live off the land, like Bear Grylls
That lasted three days.
I'd just finished climbing a shallow ridge when a voice cut through the quiet like a knife across frost.
"Did you think you could outrun us, human?"
I stopped walking.
Didn't draw.
Didn't speak.
Just turned my head and looked up.
There, perched in the crook of a tall maple tree, was a woman. Pale skin, long black hair, and the kind of outfit that didn't belong in the middle of a Canadian forest. Leather straps barely clung to her chest, more decorative than functional, and thigh-high boots that didn't look made for snow. What the shit. Why was she dressed like a stripper? Her wings—thin, batlike, glossy black—twitched slightly behind her like they were feeling out the air.
Definitely a devil.
I kept my face flat and neutral. Didn't give her anything. But, I had to admit, if her outfit was meant to use her bodice as a means of distraction during combat, then it was effective.
She smiled, sharp and bright, and dropped from the branch without so much as a flutter from her wings. She landed light in the snow about fifteen meters away, knees slightly bent, one hand brushing her hair behind her ear like she wasn't just announcing a kill.
I raised a brow and tilted my head. "How'd you find me?"
She grinned wider, flashing sharp canines.
"You offended Ukko," she said, like I should know what that meant. "He told us where to find you."
I blinked. "Ukko?"
She shrugged, wings shifting. "Finnish god. Lightning, thunder, that kind of thing. You must've stepped on something sacred."
I stared at her for a second. Then looked around the woods.
Same trees.
Same snow.
Same silence.
No shrines. No old statues. No ancient glowing rocks.
"…How?"
She smiled like I'd asked a stupid question.
"Gods don't need reasons. They just need moods."
I scratched my chin.
"That seems like a personal problem." And then, it dawned on me. The Bull Moose. It must've been a sacred creature for this Ukko guy and I just ate its soul. Or it could've been something else altogether. At least, the devil was right in that gods really don't need reasons to do anything if Greek Mythology is anything to go by. "Ah, now it makes sense."
She laughed—short, high, a little too pleased with herself. "Keep talking like that. I like my prey arrogant."
I stepped once to the side, adjusting my stance just slightly. The [Tau Rail Rifle] stayed in my inventory for now. I didn't want to escalate too fast. Not yet. Plus, I was pretty sure I didn't need it at all.
"Prey?" I asked. "You sure that's the word you want?"
She tilted her head, grinning. "Confident. I like that."
Then her smile dropped.
"Let's see if you're still smiling when I pull your lungs out."
She started walking forward. Her boots didn't sink at all, like the snow just decided not to exist for her. Her wings spread slightly, casting thin shadows on the white behind her.
She lifted her right hand and closed her fingers into a fist. There was a brief hum, a flicker of red and black light—and then a bow burst into existence. The thing looked like it had been carved out of molten obsidian and smoke, edges flickering at the ends like dying coals. A matching quiver full of arrows appeared on her hip, each one burning faintly with the same unstable glow.
Definitely magic.
Which raised a question.
Was she not briefed?
Did Serafall not send out a warning bulletin to all the Stolas Devils? Because unless this woman was swinging in the same weight class as Serafall herself, her spells wouldn't mean much inside my [Blank] aura. They'd fizzle, short out, maybe pop like fireworks if she pushed too hard. Also, why would she come this close if her main method of combat was with a bow?
And if she knew that—and still came close—then she was either extremely confident, extremely stupid, or not really here.
A projection, maybe. An illusion.
Which… worked, honestly. The outfit alone was enough to draw attention. Looked like someone took a dominatrix cosplay and ran it through a fantasy filter. All leather and cleavage and strategically-placed straps. Flashy enough to make someone stare, stupid enough to make someone die.
I didn't stare.
I scanned.
The trees around us were tall, old, packed close together. Good cover. Branches hung low, weighed down with snow. The shrubs were thick enough to crawl through. The fresh powder gave soft footing, but not enough to silence every step. I swept the area with my eyes. No shapes. No movement. But that didn't mean anything.
She'd said "us," after all.
This was a trap.
Sniper? Maybe. A flanker? Probably. Could be anything, really. My [Tempestus Scions Training] ran a dozen scenarios in the back of my head like tabs on a browser.
I let out a long breath, scratched the back of my head, and kept my voice calm.
"Before we begin," I said, "may I know your name?"
She stopped walking. Stood tall. One hip cocked. That bow stayed in her hand, ready but not drawn.
"Halia Stolas," she said.
There was a little pride in the way she said it. Like it mattered.
She tilted her head, watching me.
"Niece of Helena Stolas."
I nodded slowly.
"Ah," I said. "I killed your aunt."
"You did."
I gave her a look. "This is about revenge, then?"
She laughed.
"No," she said, shaking her head. "The Patriarch of House Stolas put a very pretty price on your head: a Sacred Gear User peerage member. I'd like to be the one who claims it."
I blinked. Looked at her again. Then gave the woods another glance, just to be sure.
And then, I shrugged. "I appreciate the honesty."
She grinned. "I'd get a bigger prize if I brought you in alive. After all, a human killing a devil is almost unheard of, unless they–you know–had something very special about them."
"You gonna come quietly?" she asked.
"No." I said. "I don't think I will."
She pulled the bowstring halfway back.
"I didn't think so."
A shadow shifted slightly behind the trees to my right, about fifty meters away. Quiet. Barely a ripple in the white. An ally? A sniper? No idea.
I didn't move yet. Didn't blink. Just watched the space behind her shoulders.
"Well," I said, voice flat. "Let's get this over with."
Name: Amir Azad
Title: War-Summoner
War Points: 0
STR – 40
DEX – 31
VIT – 149
My eyes tracked upward—just past her shoulder, not her face. Just high enough to catch her attention by proxy. That was not what I was doing. No, I was performing rudimentary calculations in my head. If I wanted to distract her, I would've tried something that wasn't meant to fool first graders.
Halia glanced up. A twitch of the neck, the briefest shift of her weight. Her gaze snapped back down, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
"Nice try, human. I'm going to enjoy—"
"You talk too much," I said.
I flicked my wrist. The [Squiggoth] appeared above her and dropped.
It didn't fall gracefully. The thing was nearly fifty tons of green hide, muscle, armor, and uneven tusks. A mountain in motion. It slammed down from five feet above her, as if the air had given up holding it. Halia barely had time to register the shadow.
Impact.
Snow blasted out in every direction. A gust of air swept through the trees, throwing branches backward with brittle cracks. The ground jumped. Loose powder lifted and hung suspended, a white haze blanketing the clearing.
The [Squiggoth] let out a low, rumbling groan, legs splayed out slightly from the drop. Its massive sides rose and fell as it adjusted, tusks scraping against a tree trunk already leaning from the shockwave. Steam rolled from its nostrils.
No scream. No cry of pain.
Just silence.
I stepped forward, brushing snow off my coat sleeve.
The [Squiggoth] shifted its bulk slightly and then stilled. Beneath it, something twitched—half a limb, black leather folded and snapped at unnatural angles. One of Halia's wings jutted from under its flank, crumpled like wet paper.
A faint hum of magic sizzled out from under the beast's belly, brief and failing. Her bow—if it had survived—wasn't making a sound now.
I crouched, eyes scanning the treeline.
No movement.
The flanker—whoever it was—hadn't reacted. Maybe they didn't expect that. Maybe they were stunned. Or maybe they were already running. Most likely, they saw me summon this thing and retreated to reassess the situation; at least, that's what my [Tempestus Scions Training] told me. Either way, no one was coming.
The [Squiggoth] rumbled again, thick hide rippling as it shifted weight to its haunches. It settled into a crouch, hooves buried deep in churned snow and cracked roots. The air vibrated with its breath—a low, steady huff.
I walked past the behemoth. Frost clung to my coat, crunching as I moved. Snowflakes drifted through the air, catching the light.
A shape lay twisted in the shallow crater, half-covered in broken branches and loose powder. Halia Stolas. Her body bent at a sharp angle, torso rotated farther than a spine should allow. One wing had folded in on itself, the other stuck out at an odd angle, torn along the membrane. Her leathers were torn open at the seams. Blood soaked through in dark patches.
I stopped at the edge of the crater. Her hand twitched. Fingers scraped at the ice. Broken nails, skin pale and cracked.
This really hadn't been a trap? It hadn't been an elaborate trick or illusion? Was she faking this? Was it a clone? How odd. I expected more. I expected a lot more than whatever this was. Still, I kept myself open to the idea. The last thing I was gonna do is underestimate my enemy.
I crouched, just outside arm's reach in the event she tried something slick. Her chest rose and fell—barely. Jaw crooked. Cheek bruised deep.
"Are you somehow still alive under there?" I asked.
No answer. Not that I expected one. It was clear that this annoying woman was definitely still alive.
I stood and tapped the [Squiggoth] on the shoulder. "Hey. Walk over there."
It snorted, then turned. Each step sent small tremors across the ground. It grumbled, tail swinging wide, and lumbered toward a nearby tree. Once there, it opened its jaws and bit through the trunk in one clean motion. Bark cracked. Wood splintered. The whole tree tipped and vanished down the beast's throat.
"Woah." I blinked. Shook my head. Then turned back to the crater.
Halia still lay where I'd left her. Her eyes fluttered, just enough to follow movement. Breath steamed against the snow. Slow. Uneven.
Her head lolled. Hair matted with blood. She twitched once as I approached, barely able to move.
The crater wasn't deep. Just enough to trap her body in a bed of broken ice and disturbed earth. Both her arms were broken and mangled. Her spine had clearly been snapped as her torso bent at an unnatural angle. Her legs had taken the worst of it. Both femurs shattered. Joints blown out. Flesh split where bone pressed from within. The ribs were concave, sunken under her weight. If she was human, she would've already died from blood loss, organ failure, sepsis, shock, and about a hundred different things. Jeez, even her skull was cracked and splattered.
Still, she breathed.
I crouched again, resting one knee in the snow. She turned her head with effort, jaw misaligned, teeth red.
"Tough," I said. "I figured you devils were tough, but this is honestly amazing."
She didn't reply.
I leaned slightly closer. "But this ends here. You lost. However, you haven't personally offended me. So I'll offer you one thing: a quick death."
Her mouth twisted. Not enough for words. Enough for spit.
Oh no you don't-
She spat.
The glob hit my boot, trailing red and spit. It landed on my chest.
This little bitch.
I reached forward and placed my hand on her bloody forehead. "I've changed my mind."
"Soul Siphon," I said.
The air tightened. Her body stilled.
A sliver of red light lifted from her chest like smoke drawn into a vacuum. It spiraled upward, twisted once, then vanished into me. A slight tingle ran across my ribs. Then it was gone.
A window blinked into view.
+2 STR
+3 DEX
+2 VIT
STR – 42
DEX – 33
VIT – 151
Oh, that was a very good bunch of stats right there. And, just like that, I felt myself become stronger than I was a few minutes ago, even if only by a little bit. No War Points, unfortunately, but that was to be expected as Halia was way too weak to be acknowledged by the System.
I dismissed the prompt, then turned to look at the body to see if something was gonna happen to it. Given all the blood and broken bones, I didn't think I was gonna see anything unusual. Still, one couldn't be too careful if life and death were on the line. Nothing happened. No shift. No stir. Nothing. The soulless corpse was just a corpse. And it would remain that way until the carrion came and ate her flesh.
I turned toward the woods.
Stillness hung over the trees, broken occasionally by the crunch of snow or snapping of branches. My [Squiggoth] had decided to wage war on the forest itself. The beast lumbered from trunk to trunk, massive jaws snapping shut with heavy cracks. It chewed methodically, branches splintering and bark shredding between thick teeth.
I frowned. Usually, my units waited patiently. This one, however, seemed eager—almost stubborn—as it feasted on pine and maple alike. With a mental command, I sent it back into my [Inventory]. The air popped as it vanished, silence settling back in its place.
I paused a moment, scanning the distant shadows beneath the trees. Halia's ally was still out there somewhere, watching. Waiting. Snow drifted lazily, landing soft on my shoulders. My breath hung in clouds around my face, fading slowly as the cold seeped back in.
With a grunt, I adjusted my coat, turned north, and walked on.
Days passed, blurring together into a rhythm of boots and snow, wind and silence. The forest gradually faded into rocky terrain—low hills coated in thin snow, scraggly bushes clinging stubbornly to cracks in the stone. Wildlife scattered at my approach; bears ambled away, wolves melted back into shadows, deer vanished into thickets.
Two weeks later, I reached the northern edge of Quebec. A harsh landscape stretched out before me: jagged cliffs plunging down to a dark, restless sea. Ice crusted the rocky shores, waves breaking against them in sprays of white. Beyond lay the Hudson Strait—a vast expanse of water dark as iron, topped with restless ice.
I took a running leap from the cliff and hit the frigid water hard.
The cold surged around me, pressing tight against my skin. I pushed forward, arms cutting smoothly through the sea. Hours passed, day sinking into night, the stars wheeling slowly overhead. Ice floes drifted past, jagged edges scraping against me, then sliding away into darkness.
I swam steadily, tirelessly. And, oddly enough, I actually found it somewhat calming as sharks and other marine predators couldn't threaten me at this point. That I wasn't attacked by vampire mermaids or devil mermaids while I was in the water was a bit of a godsend, though. The pod of whales I swam by certainly was a welcome surprise.
On the second day, I crawled onto the rocky shore of Inuit territory, Baffin Island, fingers gripping icy stone. I rose, dripping, water streaming from me in freezing rivulets. Steam curled from my skin, melting frost into mist. Snow crunched beneath bare feet as I moved inland, toward distant peaks.
The land here was bleak—an endless expanse of white broken by the occasional shadow of stone or frozen lake. I knew there were natives here, somewhere, but I wasn't about to get anywhere near them in case another devil showed up. I crossed hills, valleys, climbed crags sharp enough to tear through leather gloves. The cold wind howled sharply, carrying flecks of ice and snow. I wondered how many people have died in these parts of hypothermia, while I, without winter clothes, wasn't even feeling chilly.
At Cape Dyer, I stood atop a cliff, watching dark waves roll beneath a pale sky. Greenland lay somewhere beyond the horizon. Without hesitating, I dove once more into the frigid sea, plunging deep beneath the waves. My limbs pulled steadily through the water, strength inexhaustible, driven by the relentless beat of heart and breath.
Days slipped past in a blur of darkness and muted light. The sea became a companion, harsh and unforgiving. Occasionally, shapes moved in the deep—a pod of whales gliding silently below, a shark circling cautiously at a distance. None approached too close.
Finally, after five days, the rocky shores of Greenland loomed ahead, ice cliffs rising sharp and white beneath a steel-gray sky.
I crawled onto land, standing slowly. Steam rose thickly from my skin, ice cracking and falling from my shoulders. I shook water from my hair and took a deep breath, tasting cold air that smelled sharply of salt and distant glaciers. And then…
+2 VIT
Huh… well, that's nice.
STR – 42
DEX – 33
VIT – 153
At this point, my VIT stat was already firmly within supernatural territory, because no one in the history of the entire world could've survived the frigid waters that I swam through with no protective gear–that and the fact that I could regenerate from mortal injuries.
In Greenland, I was little more than a stranger in a strange place. I didn't speak the local language and nobody knew me. Still, I maintained protocol and kept myself away from any settlement. So, I walked right through its rocky, cold, and barren center, whereupon I passed by strange goat-like animals that I didn't know the name of, weird-looking white foxes, and the occasional polar bear, all of which got the fuck away from me the moment they saw me. As I walked, I had to really think about where I needed to go to find some kind of peace, even if only for a little while. I'd swim to Iceland next and, from there, the whole of Europe kind of just opens up. I'd also eventually need a new passport and possibly an entirely new identity if I wanted to settle anywhere for extended periods. I could probably find some access to a black market if I looked hard enough.
Annoying. But ultimately necessary.
Someday, I was going back to Maine to explain everything to my parents, show them that I wasn't dead, that I had disappeared for a noble cause.
Someday…
AN: Chapter 52 is out on Patreon!
AN: