Chapter 4: Soulless: Scavenger
It skittered across the alley toward him, first running on two legs before lodging itself against the wall on all fours. All four of its long limbs writhed unnaturally, its head twisted so that its mouth faced upward and its eyes downward—like a true cone, only this one bore a crazed smile lined with serrated teeth. It was dead set on eating him.
Normal cones didn't eat people...
But that was that. He hadn't signed up for this shit. He turned to run, hoping his newfound agility would serve him well.
And as he'd speculated, it did. He found himself sprinting at a speed that wasn't superhuman, but far better than his old 20 km/h self—tearing toward the end of the darkness, toward the light and the footsteps of real people.
But it never came. It felt like he was reaching the end, yet the end kept receding, stretching away from him at the same pace...
"What in da hell.."
What registered in his ears were the footsteps of that dreary creature—or whatever it was—now hot on his tail, its length casting a new shadow.
That goddamned Grim Reaper never mentioned this side of the bargain. He'd only gone on about the good parts, and whatever else. Looking back, perhaps Arthur was the dumb one for signing the deal without a detailed evaluation.
[Host behind you!]
His system lurched into action, and instinctively, his body ducked sideways—a supernatural reflex he never knew he possessed. His eyes swiveled to see the creature's body dive against the empty air where his silhouette had been moments before. It crashed into the ground in a shrieking heap.
His motion halted.
["Reaper System: Synchronizing host's biological and biochemical systems.]
Wait... wait... what was this thing inside him blabbing about? Synchronizing what?
[Synchronizing complete. Initializing optimal nervous reaction... initializing.]
He was about to question its words when he felt it: his senses sharpening beyond anything he'd known, his brain processing the monster's form like an infrared scan. Dark red spots glowed on its two knees and elongated elbows, and its heart—or whatever that circular, beating orb was—pulsed in its eyes.
[Combat sequence initializing... completed.]
A holographic display bloomed in front of him, but his eyes weren't fixed on it. They were locked on the creature, now steadily gaining traction. Its face was tilted at an unnatural angle, but it hadn't lost that crazed smile.
[Name: Arthur Lynch
Identity: Grim Reaper
Rank: Juvenile
Physicality: 12
Intelligence: 23
Attributes: Death, Soul
Soul Collection: 1/1000
Weapons: Death Scythe,
Grade: Mythic
Title: None
Fate: Severely outmatched
Threat Analysis:
Target: Soulless
Rank: Scavenger
Scavenger Physicality: 20
Intelligence: -1
Attributes: Illusion
Chance of Survival: Positive 99.8%]
The creature flicked it's hand, summoning two grey, bony elongations like blades from the creature's form. Its footsteps slowly encircled him.
[Arthur Lynch, I suggest granting permission for the system to attain full control of biological functions]
Well, his answer was a quick "no". He wasn't handing his life over to some bot-like entity. And besides, the survival odds were high—99.8%. How ironic, when the creature outmatched him in every physical way except intelligence. Given that mad smile, there was no doubt it was dumb as rocks.
He could use that to his advantage. He took his stance, certain that if he still had a beating heart, it would be pounding like a drum.
The creature lunged at him, its speed a blur—but he could still track it. He willed the scythe into his hands..how? The system probably would explain later, along with a lot of other necessary things..The scythe collided with the monster's bony thorn in a clash of sparks.
The mad grin never left its face as its other hand pierced sideways toward him. He sidestepped, then ducked low—the thorn brushing a few strands of his hair. With all his force, he hurled the scythe downward, shattering the monster's thorny blade and digging deep into its limb. He could have severed it clean off, had the monster not recoiled.
It lodged itself up the wall, its crazed smile still plastered on. He was starting to wonder if it wasn't the monster's fault—maybe it was some condition it couldn't control.
How pitiful. But anyway...
"How was that, System?" He subconsciously grinned in pride, panting in huge heaves.
[It seems your days at the States military camp still have a grip on you. Scavenger's physicality reduced to 19. Good job, Lynch.]
How'd it known about that,well since it was in his mind and such,and the fact he had witnessed more weirder stuffs,this was a little less uneverving..
He wiped the sweat from his brow. Never knew those bad memories from the camp would one day save his ass.
"But what are these... monsters? And by the way, as a Reaper... can I die?"
[I suggest you focus on your battle, Lynch. The question-and-answer section comes later]
His eyes wandered back to the spot where the monster had been—but its crazed figure was gone.
Not for long. In the next second, he felt the sharp edge of a claw slicing through the air toward his face from the left. Rotating the scythe in a vertical 360-degree arc, he swiped leftward. The swing carved a slight chasm in the walls and stirred the still air—but...
No monster.
[Duck, host!]
Instinctively, his body obeyed, as if manipulated not by him, but by the system. A sharp grey thorn pierced the air where his head had been. Another came from below in an impaling uppercut, nearly evading his senses.
Yet he reacted—bending his head backward as far as he could. The blade nearly kissed his jaw, his eyes locking onto the monster's terrifying face and maw of teeth, now digging below at him.
But he swung his scythe right in line to cleave it at the neck. Its body dissipated into mist on contact, materializing far across from him.
"How in the hell did it do that? Was it its illusion ability?"
[You guessed right, Arthur. And also note:
Physicality drained: 5
Survival rate: 78%
I suggest you minimize complex combat patterns. Should I take over, Arthur?]
The words rang in his subconscious, along with the strain in his muscles and the weakness in his bones. Were Reapers supposed to feel pain? He was finding it hard to believe his intelligence alone was keeping his survivability at 78%, even with his physicality down to half the creature's.
Did it had anything to do with the Death Scythe's grade... Mythic?Well from his 22-year old experience,it mostly functioned as a cool synonym for powerful.. Valuable..rare,
He prayed such, applied here..
"System... what does the rank 'Mythic' mean?"
[I can't delve much further other than: It possibly means the scythe in your possession has reaped almost ten thousand souls. Possibly a gift from your predecessor—that's the only logical hypothesis for why you possess such a powerful scythe]
Was it possibly that of the cheery Indian guy? Well, if it was, then "he" had his eternal gratitude. His eyes wandered to the creature in front of him, whose eyes were now dripping dark viscera like they were bleeding.
The orb within it pulsed more frantically and erratically. An idea blossomed in his mind, born of desperation and realization.
"System—or whatever—is this Mythic weapon is cool enough to sever that monster in one go..."
[Possibly,] it chimed.[But you lack the agility and speed to do so. All points are distributed evenly across areas of your physicality. Should I put it on display]
His hands clutched the scythe tighter. Both he and the monster's eyes zeroed in on each other.
"Hey, system... how about you pull all my physicality into speed? I've got something I want to try..."