Something was building up at the end of the staff, some kind of force Francis could almost see, a shimmering purple and black orb.
He yelled, unsure why, but it felt right. During his charge, he didn’t try to dodge, as he couldn’t tell how much time he had before whatever it was would be released.
Those yellow eyes seemed to brighten when he swung his sword at it, the mouth opening and some sound coming out that he couldn’t make out.
His blade smashed into the staff, sending it sideways; a wave of force erupted from it, sending it crashing into a tree off to his left and littering the area with shards of wood.
Francis swung again, trying to remember the combination Phillip had drilled into him hundreds of times. Part of him wished for a shield in that moment, but right now he had both hands on the hilt of his weapon, trying to put every ounce of strength he had in each strike.
The lizard’s movements seemed off. Each time it attacked or parried, the creature's movements looked sluggish. Almost like when he would practice against Luke. The kid wasn’t as skilled as any of them, so beating him had never been a problem.
Francis ducked under the staff as it came at his head, then thrust his sword, which pierced a half-inch into the lizard’s stomach.
A shriek that hurt his ears came, and the lizard backed up a step. A clawed hand came free from its weapon as it tore at its robe.
Stunned by the sound, Francis took a moment to think. As he recovered, he moved again to strike, but when the lizard’s robe tore free, Francis froze.
There on its chest, running down the scaled body, was some sort of pulsing purple mass of flesh.
What in the world?
Two eyes appeared in the middle of the mass, each of them a yellow orb. A tiny mouth the size of his thumb formed, then screeched.
"Foolish... you are not strong enough... How did you come to find us?"
The lizard's mouth wasn't moving, and just like earlier, Francis heard the sound in his head.
It hurt, but his mind seemed to be able to overcome whatever it was that felt like needles piercing his brain.
“How?! You cannot resist us! I–”
"I'll kill you," Francis said. His voice felt like it took forever to get those words out-- everything was so slow. The lizard grinned.
"
Fool, you are not strong enough. Every one of you will die. The gods here are weak and we–”
Francis swung his sword, the weapon striking into the lizard's face. Unfortunately, it was the hilt, not the blade, that struck.
Everything suddenly returned to normal time, and Francis continued his assault again.
His blade hacked at the creature, and the lizard managed to use its staff, deflecting the strikes.
“You shall all die! Every last one of you!”
His mind felt like Phillip was using his head as a target for rocks, yet he didn’t give in. Francis knew that if he did, there was no way he or Michael would survive.
Swinging again, Francis tried something Phillip had done to him many times.
He attacked low, to keep the caster distracted, watching as sparks flew when his sword hit the staff. Then he kicked the lizard’s stomach where the weird mass of purple flesh was, causing blood to squirt out.
The creature stumbled backward, another assault of some kind coming as the lizard let out a whine.
Not waiting, Francis pushed the advantage. Freeing his left hand from the sword, he grabbed the dagger on his belt and thrust forward.
One cut. Deep.
Metal punched through the star-shaped purple mass fused to the reptile's chest. It felt less like flesh than Francis had expected. It was crunchier. Like a hard outer shell, even though it pulsed every few seconds. Purple blood gushed, hissing on contact with air, splattering Francis’ armor and exposed skin. His whole hand was covered in it.
The burn came a second later, feeling like ice for a heartbeat and then like he had shoved his hands directly into a roaring campfire.
Another shriek came from the mass as it quivered, yet this time it was different. The sound vibrated inside his skull; white seared across his vision. Still blind, Francis acted off instinct and training, driving the dagger in again and again, guided by the crunching sound before a wet squelch. Each strike sent a tremor up the blade.
His arm froze mid-strike, and his vision returned, revealing purple tendrils of violet ichor coiling up his wrist. They were embedded in his skin and vibrating slightly.
Yes… a stronger shell at last.
The words rang out in a chorus of voices inside his skull. Layered like a choir out of tune. His legs buckled, the dagger falling from his outstretched fingers. A groan emanated from the lizard’s body as it fell, its yellow eyes fading to darkness.
Pain washed over him, smashing his brain like a kick to his skull. He grabbed for his temples, trying to breathe.
You. Us. We. Share the marrow. Share the will. Let us guide you.
“No!” Francis cried out loud, yet the sound felt like a whisper against a raging wind.
Memories began to bubble up. Sunlit wheat, his brother Michael racing him next to an irrigation ditch. Both of them with muddy feet, and the air was filled with laughter. These memories began to flicker. Things Francis once remembered were vanishing, seemingly impossible to hold onto.
And then that memory was gone. Something inside his mind ripped it away. The field lost all color. Michael’s smile dissolved, and the memory vanished like the last ember in a fire.
“NO!”
His voice rang out against the force that was pushing into his mind. He was frantic, trying to find a way to overcome what was happening. The pressure of his tongue pressed against clenched teeth gave him an idea, so he bit down on his own tongue.
Warm, red blood, his this time, filled his mouth. The taste of it and the pain brought a moment of clarity. The choir of voices pulled back a moment, and then came in even harder. Almost seemingly upset.
Pain will not save you. Offer the memories, and we will house them. You need not fear death ever again.
Another scene raced past. Michael was laughing, having doused Francis with a bucket of cold water while asleep. Francis was sputtering, trying to breathe while his brother turned beet red. The chill he had felt vanished. Gone was the laughter and the color. Nothing remained of the memory.
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Francis felt movement within him, a pulsing object within his chest. It raced through his body, out of his arms and legs. His heart felt like it was trying to sync with the beating of the pulsing within him.
Anchor. Find it.
He forced a breath through gritted teeth, sending out a dribble of red from his mouth.
Find what matters.
Before him, the lizard’s body lay motionless. The purple mass on the body was turning black, rising into the air, and vanishing before his eyes.
It’s dying…
And then it hit him.
It needs me.
He forced his hands and arms to move, searching the dirt, and found what he had been looking for. The dagger was there, still slick with blood.
“I’ll die before I give in,” Francis growled.
The pressure in his head increased, a sensation almost as if someone was pushing a metal rod through his brain. His body revolted, not allowing him to lift his arms and bring the weapon closer.
Clenching his eyes shut, Francis bit on his tongue a second time and focused on what he always did when the pain was overwhelming: his brother and the will never to quit.
The memory of when Michael had saved him was Francis’ anchor. He was five, playing where they shouldn’t have been, and the broken cart had tipped over, pinning him.
His brother stayed with Francis, using all the strength Michael had to hold the cart up just an inch so Francis could breathe. Sweat had beaded along Michael’s face as his brother held it for almost two minutes until someone came. It had taken Michael a few days to recover. His mother said Michael had hurt himself saving Francis.
A voice came in that memory. Like a peal of thunder, it rang out.
“Just hold on, Frankie. Hold on, I’m here.”
Color began to fade in the flashback, and Francis roared as he felt the presence inside him try to erase his most crucial memory. Whatever it was inside Francis, it was trying to erase all instances of his brother in his life. All memories of who Michael was.
“NO!”
As the invading force inside him started to remove that thread, Francis pulled it close, wrapping his very being with it. Color raced back through the memory, and a backlash of some kind echoed inside his head.
Heat swelled inside his chest. He possessed no magic. Just a pure, utter, unbreakable will in that moment. Whatever was inside him cried out in pain.
Francis watched as the purple tendrils outside his body began to tear free. Blisters and gashes in his skin erupted, and the violet flesh thrashed about.
Host unyielding… we… fragment…
Roaring with anger, Francis stabbed at the twitching purple mass on his arm with the dagger, sending the metal blade through it and his own flesh.
A jolt came that caused his entire body to tense up. Something snapped--not a bone, but something else.
We… I… you… unyielding… undying… power forsaken… still–
The sound of crunching branches rang out from behind him, and Francis turned, seeing a catkin appear in the opening of the circle of trees. Its eyes glanced at him and then at the corpse of the lizard next to him.
It roared, racing toward him, claws extended wide.
You… we… die… one last chance.
As those words were echoing inside his skull, Francis felt something change within his very being. His mind and body felt like they were on fire, as if he had fallen into a blacksmith's forge at maximum heat. Then a moment later, it all vanished. His body felt light, as if he was floating above the ground even though he wasn’t.
He couldn’t move, couldn’t dodge the outstretched claws that came, tearing his throat out before the tiger-kin’s teeth bit into him.
Undying… always undying.
[ Physical Changes Underway ]
[ Stat Increases Acquired ]
[ Mutation Has Occurred ]
[ New Skill Acquired ]
[ Blood of the Undying - Error ]
[ Power Doesn't Match Creature Type ]
[ Skill Modified to Match Type ]
[ Blood of the Undying - 100+ Sage ]
[ Undying Activated ]
[ Host Lacks Survivability ]
[ Skill Potential Located ]
[ New Skill Acquired ]
[ Fast Learner Granted ]
[ Fast Learner Level Locked ]
Francis saw his life end, his brother’s smile still there as darkness overtook him.
***
The sound of the morning bell rang early that day. The sun was barely showing above the mountains far to the east, and light wasn't even streaming into their open window as each boy heard the call to begin training for the day.
"It's earlier than usual," Michael grunted as he sat up. "What gives?"
Pain like nothing Francis could remember wracked his body. A cry escaped his lips as he screamed. Memories flooded his mind, evoking images that made him want to cry.
"Francis! What's wrong?!"
Blinking over and over in the room's darkness, he could see Michael bent over the bed, worry written all over his expression.
"You're.... I’m alive..." Francis said.
"Uh, yeah... why would I be dead?” Michael asked. “Gods, man, you about made me think you were about to die. Don’t do that!"
His brother stood back, studying him, cocking an eye, obviously not sure what he was talking about.
"Did you have a bad dream or something?”
There in Francis’ vision were notifications. Words that shouldn’t be there upon waking up.
Focusing on them, Francis felt his eyes widen.
[ Status ]
Francis Lancaster
Age 17
Strength:
13
Endurance:
17
Agility:
12
Wisdom:
12
Perception:
10
Magic:
10
Skills
Swordsmanship (Common) - 13 Novice
Shield Use (Common) - 10 Novice
Tracking (Uncommon) - 10 Basic
Stealth (Uncommon) - 7 Basic
Traps (Uncommon) - 3 Basic
Rock Throwing (Common) - 5 Basic
Mental Resist (Common) - 14 Novice
Blood of the Undying (Unknown) - 100+ Sage
Fast Learner (Epic) - 1 Basic (Locked)
He blinked again. And then about eight more times as he took that information in. So many parts of the sheet weren’t as he remembered them. And the final line…
Blood of the Undying? Did... Did I really die? That’s impossible… I mean…
Francis couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Increased stats, new skills, and a memory that scared him to the core. Bolting upward, he glanced at his arm and hands, letting out a sigh of relief when he didn’t see any scars or purple tendrils.
Michael's expression remained concerned, and he bit his lip, indicating his brother was not handling Francis’ behavior well.
"What... what just happened?" Francis asked.
"The bell, it's early. Phillip is waking us up way too soon, but then you went all crazy on me, screaming like a girl."
Shaking his head, Francis sat up. "Sorry... I... I had a bad dream. You… I…"
"Well, forget that dream. Things are going to go badly for us if we don't bust our asses and get dressed now. We'll probably be the last ones and end up being punished as it is."
Nodding, Francis watched as his older brother started getting dressed. Francis still struggled to believe he was back in his room and that he had somehow been reborn. The same old torn clothes and smells were just as he remembered them. The truth was, he noticed things he had never paid attention to before, like the stitch in his boot and where it would eventually come undone. He quickly pulled up his shirt and saw that he looked fitter, his waistline a little tighter. Smiling Francis then grabbed his bicep and squeezed, feeling the strength he knew was there from how hard it felt.
I didn’t dream this, did I? No... that's not possible. My stats have increased, as have my skills... The only way that could have happened... and then that new skill.
[ Skill Check ]
[ Blood of the Undying - 100+ Sage: You have evolved due to a physical change. Now, your blood carries with it power over death. A point has been set. You shall return here upon each death, carrying over all skills and stat changes. ]
Does that mean I can die again? Is there a limit?
"Hurry up, moron! Why the hell are you checking yourself out?!" Michael exclaimed as he yanked his boots down onto his feet. "I'm not going to wait around any longer."
"Yeah... sorry."
[ Skill Check ]
[ Fast Learner - 1 - Basic (Locked) : Your ability to learn skills is increased. Depending on the kind of skill one is attempting to learn, the rate of successfully doing so can range from 2x to 10x the normal speed. ]
Francis’ mind seemed to struggle with the idea that any of this was true. Yet as his brother prepared to leave their room, everything felt like every other day upon waking up in the training yard.
Francis got dressed and ran out the door a minute after his brother, earning a glare from Phillip for being the last one.