II-13 Affliction

The orcs are savage, but do not confuse them to be savages. In my years fighting them, the only consistent weakness of their people has been their overwhelming urge to fight and die. They care nothing for true victory. They care little for each other or an overarching war effort. Their kind cooperates, but they do not ally. Likewise, they butcher each other as much as they do us—and their forces are less an army and more a horde of hyper-intelligent serial killers that simply enjoy the finer aspects of bloodshed.

But this does not leave them without culture. Indeed, the orcs are a curious race. Should you capture one, they will compliment you, they will speak to you, discussing the music and culture they have experienced across all the realms. And should they find an opportunity, they will break free and brutally kill you. But until then, they are perfectly capable of being affable.

Because this is just a matter of passing enjoyment to them. Every orc returns in some fashion—inheriting memories from their previous incarnation. It is not uncommon for many orcs to reincarnate over and over, raiding the same world for pleasure or obsession. This is also who we have discovered the strangeness of their skills, which is shaped by their bestial nature, but also a mimicry of another’s cultural expression…

And this is the more insidious danger of facing an orc. And of earning one’s favor. Because they are imprinted upon by an adversary they find worthy, and in turn they bestow a sort of “orcish attunement” on their foe. This happens when an orc chooses you as their “Vaketh-Bakal.”

This is better translated as Nemesis-Beloved.

This occurs when their god, the Challenger, compels the system to bequeath an “orcish attunement” on the Vaketh-Bakal. An attunement which, if nourished further with violence, inflicts a state of ever-building rage and eventually even bestows the Pathbearer an Orcish Skill—one that mirrors a skill the Pathbearer already has.

This could be anything from an Adept-Tier Sword Proficiency Skill to even something like Cooking in the form of Culinary Berserker. It magnifies everything they do in a kitchen. Everything. Whatever they cut or prepare, there is more of it. Whatever tastes or spices they apply, it gets to a higher extreme. It is, in a sense, like the orcs themselves. Immense. Heavy. Crushing. But cultured.

The dangerous thing here is how the skill grows and influences the Pathbearer. Minor annoyance is magnified into anger. Rage builds and constantly grows. Then comes the casual urge toward bloodlust, which becomes an itch—a need. Only by going on a prolonged fast from violence can the Pathbearer be cleansed of the influence. That, or in rare cases, mastering their rage, bending the skill to their will, and fusing the Orcish Skill to the original it infests. This creates something that retains the strength of the Orcish Skill while cleansing the constant urge toward brutality.

Failure to do so will eventually end in madness and a new template being formed. From there, a new orc is born in their miserable Tutorial dimension, and he takes the title of 1…

-To Slay the Warborn: A Primer on Orc Combat

II-13

Affliction

Skill Evolution: Hypersense (Adept) > Seer of Horizons (Heroic)

Skill Evolution: Toughness (Common) > Repulsion Shroud (Adept)

Seer of Horizons > 101

Hydromancy > 44

Deadeye > 91

Bowslinger > 88

Skybearer’s Strength > 56

Tactical Overseer > 77

Wings of the Starhawk > 90

The world returned to Adam as the last fragment of his broken mind snapped back into place. His consciousness came like a light as notifications about Skill Evolutions and levels rushed through him. Adam shouted in pain and tried to clutch his head, but he found himself restrained—held in place by dense bands of metal.

Skybearer’s Strength was a thing that granted immense aerial agility and gave one the condition to resist the lurching pull of gravity when performing aerial maneuvers. It was the result of him attaining Wings of the Starhawk as Skill Evolution first. But Skybearer’s Strength wasn’t that great when it came to breaking out of what felt like titanium bands clamped over his body.

“Adept—Adept Adam. Stop struggling. You have not been captured.” Uva’s voice was firm but calm.

Adam blinked several times as the last of the blurriness shrouding his eyes cleared. Several dense metal restraints were holding him in place. He looked up and saw various Weaveresses, Umbrals, and automata gathered around him. A few of them were Biomancers, he could tell that by the white coats they wore, but there was also Uva and two Weaveresses that bore focus crystal helmets looking down at him. His body felt like a nest of pain and agony. There were patches of his mind that still felt fractured, memories that he couldn’t access without severe pain.

“What… what happened?” Adam groaned. He blinked and looked around. White room. Webs holding items and machinery in place. Yeah, this was Cradle. Broken Moon, back here again… They should get a permanent room for me at this rate.

“Your idiocy came bearing ill consequences,” Uva said, flatly and coldly. “You distracted the Jealousy and led it on a chase for about fifteen hours with all your clones. Then its Psychomancy field briefly touched your mind, and I almost broke mine trying to stop it from hollowing you out completely. But thankfully and coincidentally, my team and Still Water’s Shadow Cell was not near the gate and did not set off a series of explosives luring it back to its original position, assuming the gate was under attack.”

“Ah,” Adam coughed. “Thank you, Sister Uva. And the Ascendants none of your people were anywhere near that gate.” Her stare was piercing and unblinking. Adam was starting to feel a building tense of discomfort. “I, uh, I suppose I should explain my reasoning.”

“Cherished Sister,” one of the Biomancer’s said. “This patient needs rest—”

“He is fine,” Uva said, her tone hard. “He can rest in a moment. I have things I need to discuss with him.” The Weaveress Biomancer wanted to object, but Uva’s cold glare made her squeak. That glare was promptly turned on Adam, and he suddenly felt very, very vulnerable again. The Jealousy might have torn his mind asunder, and was far more powerful than Uva, but with the way she was looking at him… Adam didn’t like his odds of survival. Especially not in his current state.

Then he heard a music note from afar. The Composer was playing again. This song, it was midnight… Adam focused his Awareness—but his senses felt alive and unbound. Suddenly, his mind cleared more and he pulled the notifications back.

Skill Evolution: Hypersense (Adept) > Seer of Horizons (Heroic)

Skill Evolution: Toughness (Common) > Repulsion Shroud (Adept)

The Young Lord blinked. “Sweet gods, I must have… I didn’t expect this for months.” Uva cocked her head at him briefly, but he narrowed his eyes and focused. A second later, his senses slipped free from his body and began drifting through the air. The feeling was uncanny. The speed at which he could move and the details that were offered to him were overwhelming. In a second, he pierced through the entirety of the Cradle, with every sense mapping out the many rooms. There were patches of darkness—places that didn’t give enough detail, but overall, he had an almost perfect picture of the place.

And then overload kept going. He drifted through the cradle-shaped structure and shot toward the Composer’s Symposium. Along the way, he perceived everything across the city in absolute detail—could instantly accelerate toward anything he could hear, see, or smell. And that was when Adam realized the extent of his new skill. It was like a traveling chain for his Awareness. He could instantly lock on anything that could be perceived by sight, sound, or taste. He could immediately cast his Awareness to that position, and from there… he could jump again.

The feeling was absolutely liberating. It was like his senses were unchained from his body—

“Adept Adam,” Uva called again, this time sounding unsure.

Adam paused. His Awareness drifted just over the Composer’s Symposium, and he considered going in, but decided to respect the goddess’s privacy. It was inappropriate to enter another’s home without being invited. Even if Adam could hear and see practically anything. With this Skill Evolution—to Heroic no less—he was practically a Diviner. Well, not really, but functionally.

“Adept Adam,” Uva called again, sounding more worried this time.

Adam recalled his Awareness. His senses shot back to him immediately. He was taken aback by what he saw from himself. His irises were now a clash of colors, halfway between a brilliant, rising dawn and the curving blue of a distant horizon. And it was all because of how hard he strained himself trying to track the Jealousy—planning his flight to evade the damn thing for hours and hours.

He spawned so many clones with the blade—sent lured off entire enemy cavalry teams and shot some of them down. It was stupid. It had nearly killed him. But it pushed him like never before, and the prodigy—the Young Lord of Blackedge was changed.

The system desires strife. And the system rewards true struggle.

Adam blinked as his Awareness settled back in himself. He swallowed and couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s… It’s Heroic-Pathbearer Adam, now, I’m afraid.”

Uva was about to say something else, before she went quiet? “Truly?”

“Truly,” Adam breathed. He felt like he was floating. “I thought—I didn’t expect this for a few months… No, I didn’t expect this at all. I thought I was going to get a Master-Tier Skill Evolution. But this…” He remembered how much sensory detail he fought to process—tracking every single enemy hunting him, cutting through impossible routes and hidden paths to survive just a while longer.

Madness. Absolute madness. And it was rewarded.

“My congratulations,” Uva said, briefly astonished.

“Thank you,” Adam gasped. “My… Toughness evolved as well.”

“That, I am not surprised about. I had to kill several riders who had you at the end. Each one was pulling a limb. You actually lost your right arm.”

Adam blinked. He stared at his right arm and swallowed. “Ah. Well. I… I owe you my life, Sister Uva. I am forever grateful.”

She nodded, her face unreadable. “And I am beyond furious with you. What part of patience and planning is not taught at your surfacer academy?”

“It is taught, I just decided to ignore it. This once.” Adam paused. “Did he make it in?”

“Yes,” Uva practically hissed. “He did. And now the gate is closed. Even with slaves and goods piling outside. Intelligence has intercepted reports of an internal state of emergency for the gate. It is in lockdown. We do not know what happened, but there are some assumptions I can make. And most of them… drive me closer and closer to anger and disappointment. What were you thinking?”

“That I had a chance to save my home and I was going to take it,” Adam said honestly. He looked at Uva—really looked at her. Her face was cold and moving, but his Awareness was Heroic, and he could practically see how tightly she was clenching her jaw. She wasn’t lying about being furious, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why. “The Animancy Core couldn’t get to Blackedge. I couldn’t allow it. We didn’t have the time and I made a choice—”

“Without consulting anyone else,” Uva said.

“Yes,” Adam said, keeping his own rising rage in check. “Because it’s my home. And Shiv’s. I understand this wasn’t a rational thing to do, but I have no choice. The information we got regarding the core’s transport was wrong, and I took the only shot I had to stop it. I had to make sure he made it in.”

“And now, he is inside, and the gate is sealed.” Uva went quiet for a moment. She breathed three times. Deep breaths. “We do not know what security is inside. We don’t know what he faces or how many Masters there are or if he has been captured…” A sigh escaped her. “Do you know what a mind mage can do to someone?”

“Shiv’s practically unkillable,” Adam said, doing his best to justify his voice. “Hells, he probably wants to be killed. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had another Master or Adept Skill by the time we find him.”

“Or,” Uva said, almost too quietly. “He could be completely hollow. No more mind. No more Shiv. And Compact could have a Deathless Pathbearer who adapts to whatever killed him. Who gets stronger based on whatever kills him. And then they will use him as a weapon against the other Faiths, and then we might need to kill him for good.”

Adam blinked. “I—”

“Would you like that?” Uva asked, a bit of heat entering her voice. “Would you like to see him dead? Would it please to finally take revenge on his existence? For the things he never did?”

“No!” Adam shouted. The anger in him spiked. “Never! Never! Question my honor that way. I am not that kind of person! You can say many things to me, but never accuse me of scheming to do such a thing. Even against someone… someone…”

“You hate?” Uva asked.

Adam closed his eyes. “I don’t bloody know. All I know is he was there, and I had an opening. Shiv… he would understand. He went in willingly.”

“Because he’s practically fearless,” Uva said. “Nothing shakes him. Not for long. But that is not a good thing. Not always.”

The Young Lord studied her features. “You… I’m sorry. I know you care for him—”

“This is about more than my feelings or relations, Hero Adam—” Adam winced. Mostly at the title. And that was the problem of entering the Heroic-Tier—the sheer awkwardness of your title change. Uva continued. “This is about the security and the safety of Weave. If they dig through his memories, think about what they can discover on top of having a human weapon like him? Think about what we have to do if he ‘somehow escapes’ and reaches this place. Has he been compromised? Has he been turned? Someone will need to delve into his mind. Someone who isn’t me. And this is the best case.”

She scoffed. “I do. I do care. But I am a Sister of the Arachnae Order, and now my worries are personal, professional, and existential.” She let out another breath as her demeanor softened. “I am… I do not know how I might act if Weave was under threat, and I was in your position. I cannot claim to be more steady of heart. But the consequences of this action are bigger than just us.”

“And so will be the consequences if the Animancy Core gets to Blackedge,” Adam replied. “The Republic—if my home falls, we will be at war. I assure you. And I don’t—I don’t think I have the strength to fight any of you.”

At that admission, Uva’s coldness thawed completely. She shook her head and rubbed her face in exhaustion. “Composer. I just—we just didn’t have enough time.”

“Yes,” Adam grimaced. Then paused. “There is another possibility you aren’t considering.”

“What’s that?”

“That Shiv is currently wreaking havoc within the gate and enjoying all the brutal, nasty, tortuous deaths that he wants and coming back as even more of an unkillable monster than he was before.”

Uva blinked. “The thought did cross my mind.”

“Then why didn’t you present that as a damned possibility?”

“Because I prefer being cynically surprised than hopeful and disappointed,” Uva deadpanned.

Adam laughed weakly. “Captain Irons would have loved you, too. That’s something exactly like what he would say.” Then, Adam felt a shiver in the air and heard— “Ah. Valor. I was hoping we didn’t lose you.”

The skull floated in from the outside, hovering just over Uva’s shoulder. “Adept—”

“Hero, now,” Uva corrected.

Valor stared at Adam. “Truly? Well. Nearly dying at the hands of the Jealousy has done you some good. Apparently Master Shiv has inspired you. And awoken a competitive spirit.”

“Well, don’t say that yet,” Adam grumbled. “Last thing I want to discover is that he’s a Heroic-Pathbearer, too, somehow. Or he somehow obtained three more Master-Tier Skills. Or… well, I don’t—I hope Uva’s worst expectations prove false. In fact…” Adam looked at the Biomancers. “I will endeavor to make it false. Release these restraints. And where is—I need my bow and armor. And rapier.”

“Exalted Guest,” one of the Biomancers called. “You still need more rest…”

“I can rest in the wilderness,” Adam said. “I’m going to put my new Skill Evolutions to use.”

“Compact has expanded their patrols in the area and summoned an army of dimensionals. Still Water has encountered several war demons in the dark. She claims they are lying in wait—prepared to strike anyone who approaches.”

“That’s fine,” Adam said. “The way I think, my Seer of Horizons Skill doesn’t need me to be anywhere near the gate. I just need to be in the same realm.”

Uva’s eyes widened slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I think if I listen a bit harder and transition a few times, I can project my Awareness into the Composer’s Symposium. Or close enough before I encounter the proper wards.”

“From here?” Uva asked.

“Yes.”

“How fast?”

“Well, you saw how I didn’t react when you were calling me by my name, earlier, yes? Well, my senses were actually on a very, very brief walk.”

“That sounds… staggeringly potent. And invasive.” Uva seemed conflicted.

“Worry not, Sister,” Adam said. “I’m not the kind that peers into other people’s privacy. I’m just the one that suffers the unwanted details because the world around me is too loud and too obvious.”

Uva proved very good at hiding her embarrassment. Adam proved to be better at spotting the muscles on her face contract in a very specific way. She did a thing where she channeled her nervousness or tension by pressing her tongue hard against the roof of her mouth—and Adam could hear the sound. If he focused, he could project his—No, absolutely not doing that.

“Thank you, Heroic Pathbearer Adam,” Uva said mentally. He cringed in place.

“I’m sorry. I’m still getting used to it.”

“It’s fine… It’s more than fine…” Her expression then took on a thoughtful quality. “Much more than fine. Do you want to out hunting alongside me again, Heroic-Pathbearer Adam? I think you just gave me an idea.”

“Adept Sister Uva, there is nothing I would want more in the world.” Adam grinned. “And this time, we might be the ones who get to save Shiv.”

Valor made a noise of doubt. “That is, if he needs saving at all. To trap someone like him in a gate is a bit like locking the doors after a tiger sneaks into your home.” Uva and Adam shared a look as they considered the Legendary Pathbearer’s words. “Maybe… you were not the only one who did something unwise…”

***

Goldsmith and the two Inquisitors took turns explaining to Tran and Heather what was happening, and Shiv added his own details when he thought they were necessary. However, before things got

“Wait? You fought an orc?” Tran asked, his face a mask of utter terror. “A Master-Tier orc? That’s why this place is under lockdown?”

“811,” Shiv said, glaring murder at the Inquisitors. They shivered and bent before his ever-building Dread Aura. “But that’s not important. What matters—”

“No, no, Shiv, that is important. You fought an orc? And you killed them in direct and single combat?”

“Yeah,” Shiv said, almost turning his aura on Tran. He managed to stop himself. Though he felt a lot better after cooking, the anger was beginning to climb inside of him, and fast. More than anger, he felt this itch inside him. And itch that screamed for him to threaten and eventually hurt the Inquisitors. “Again. Tran. I’ll get to that stuff in detail later if you want to know, but this conspiracy concerns—”

“D-did the orc tell you he loved you by the end of the battle?” The female Inquisitor said. She was still shivering from Shiv’s presence, but her question made him reduce his Dread Aura slightly.

“Wait? How’d you know that?”

“Did he say he was going to come find you again?” Tran added. He briefly eyed the female Inquisitor, and they shared a mutual look of dawning realization.

“Yeah,” Shiv said again, confused. “I know how orcs are. They reincarnate, or something like that. My Foreshadowing—”

“Foreshadowing?” Heather interrupted. “How in the hells did you get that?”

Shiv unleashed the totality of his Dread Aura on her and calmly spoke: “Heather. Do you like having a tongue? Because if you do, don’t interrupt me. I’ll bite mine off, and then I’ll start passing around the injury with my wyrm. I’ll do it to everyone but the person currently speaking.” 

His words left him as a growl by the end. Heather paled. He felt parts of her courage bend and crack under his aura. Shiv was tired of people interrupting him. Frankly, Heather’s presence here bothered him enough. Tran was practically the only one he would put up with, and Shiv was pretty pissed at him too.

“Vaketh-Bakal,” Tran said with an uneasy look on his face.

“What does that mean?” Shiv said. “What language is that. Why can’t I understand it?”

“Orcish,” the female Inquisitor whispered. “Because there is nothing close enough in common language." It means ‘Nemesis Beloved.’ You are now the favored enemy of an orc. They will see you across dimensions and worlds, life after life, death after death.”

“Again, I know that,” Shiv said. “My Foreshadowing showed me that. It even showed me him getting a quest.”

“Ah, shit.” Tran closed his eyes. He let out a long sigh. “You got attuned. Shiv, that’s why you’re so mad—why you did all the things you just did in the kitchen. And probably earlier too.” He saw Shiv’s confusion and continued. “Okay, so, the bestiary might be a little… off when it comes to some races.”

“Not a little,” Shiv said. “I learned that the hard way the first time I ran into a high vampire.”

“Right. But this has to do with the orcs, and with them, if you face one that’s strong enough, fight him hard enough, and even defeat him, he’ll choose you as his Vaketh-Bakal. It’s the closest thing the orcs have to a mating ritual. Except they don’t mate, they call out to their god, and he marks you with an attunement—kind of like a new magical skill. Except it grows with every act of violence you perform. Eventually, if you hurt and kill enough people in a short enough period, it’ll hit a critical point, latch onto one of your existing skills, and the attunement will become a new skill—an orcish skill.”

Shiv blinked. For a moment, he was absolutely wordless. “You serious?”

“Yes!” Tran said. “That’s… that’s why you went into a berserker rage in the kitchen just now—over potatoes.” Shiv started shaking again at the memory. “Shiv—Shiv, no! That’s the skill bleeding into you. And if you keep killing and hurting people, the urges will only continue to build—until you start getting more orc skills, and by the end there won’t be anything left of you, because your mind will have been consumed and then imprinted on a new orc.”

Absolute silence followed. “But… I won the fight,” Shiv muttered. After dying once, but he killed the orc the second time, so the fight was at least a technical draw.

“Yeah, that’s the danger of fighting an orc,” Tran said with an apologetic look. “You get marked if they tell you they love you. That’s your reward for winning a duel. That’s why Lone Star suggests mass artillery, magic, and stealth. Direct engagements mean you get attuned.”

Another beat followed. Shiv let out a long breath. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Tran said. “That’s an appropriate response.”

The Inquisitors looked at each other. Oldsmith stared at its missing arm.

“Those damn savage curs!” Oldsmith said, slamming a fist on the table in outrage. “Orcs! Vile creatures! If not for them—”

“I was still coming for you,” Shiv said, honestly. “I was coming for you before the orc told me he loved me and marked me as his… What was it again? Vaketh Backicl?

“Vaketh-Bakal,” Tran repeated.

“Thanks, Tran,” Shiv muttered. He eyed the Inquisitors and glared. “I was still probably going to kill you all too. Just… maybe I wouldn’t have hurt you as much. And used you as experiments for my Woundeater.” Shiv paused and thought back on the last few minutes. “Broken Moon I… I wasn’t even thinking when I started dumping those injuries back into you.”

He even gave Heather and Tran the whole how he wasn’t going to torture and butcher people speech earlier. Shiv facepalmed to hide his embarrassment. “I, uh, sorry, Heather. You’re still an asshole, but you didn’t deserve the threat just now. You too, Tran. Sorry.” The Slayers looked at Shiv with less terror and more wariness. Siggy, who recently returned from unconsciousness, peeked in from the side. Shiv snorted. “Siggy, you’re a slaver-runner. There’s no apology coming.”

“Right, got it,” the goblin looked away.

“Alright,” Shiv said with a long sigh. “So… is there a cure?”

“Yeah,” Heather said, though she sounded very unconfident. “You can starve it.”

“How?”

“Don’t kill anyone for about a month. The skill will starve and die then. The orc will still come to kill you, but the orc attunement requires constant nourishment through bloodshed so you won’t end up turning into an insane serial killer and spawning a new orc in their nightmare dimension.”

“A month?” Shiv sputtered. “I can’t—Heather, I’m planning to kill every slaver and bastard holding this gate as soon as I can. The Gate Lord, especially. Then, I need to go fight the rogue Necrotechs at Blackedge and try to kill the Vicar. My non-calendar is practically filled with killing.”

“Well, you could try… diplomacy?” Oldsmith said, its voice sickly sweet. “I am sure that the Gate Lord can be reasoned with. Indeed, is it not the purview of all thinking beings—”

Shiv palmed the table and drove the over end into Oldsmith. The bot folded over, gagging violently as it was pinned to the wall. “This isn’t the skill,” Shiv said flatly. “This is just because you’re a child-beating piece of shit.”

The female Inquisitor looked down into a bowl of soup. “This man is doomed… And we are doomed with him.”

“Well, not exactly,” Tran disagreed. “There’s one other thing you can try aside from non-violence: A Skill Fusion. You can try merging the Orcish Skill with the skill it’s born from. That usually lets you cleanse and get something new that… shouldn’t be affected by the orcish urges. I think. I—I don’t know specifically. It’s what the primer on orc combat said.”

It sounded more palatable to Shiv. But there was one problem. “How in all the hells do I do a Skill Fusion?”

“How do I make violent and angry cooking more like cooking?” Shiv almost snapped.

Everyone stared at him blankly. He just sighed. “Right. I’ll try to figure that out. But first… but first.” He looked at the Inquisitors and Oldsmith and spiked his Dread Aura. “You guys have a lot more talking to do.”

***

Dread Aura > 57

The Inquisitors proved to be more knowledgeable than the automaton by far. Apparently, they knew about the attack on Blackedge months in advance. The woman was even the one that reached out and hired the raven and crows that appeared during the festival. It was as Harkness claimed: The ones he fought were rogue New Albion assassins turned freelancers. Apparently, there was a whole network of them across Integrated Earth.

The Inquisitors were operating directly under Inquisitor Szjik back at the capital. Apparently, the notebook Oldsmith gave Shiv earlier was something called a Sync-Letter. That made it one of two books bound to each other, and what he wrote on one page would appear in the other. Apparently, Master-Advisor Oldsmith and Inquisitor Szjik updated each other nightly about what was happening on their side.

City-Lord Havel Van Stormhalt, meanwhile, was above both of them on the totem pole, and was apparently second only to the Ascendant that set this whole thing into motion.

The final bit of essential information had to do with the Animacy Core. Presently, the Gate Lord personally held it within his personal vault. With how much danger the Animancy Core posed to all lesser forms of magic and even the fabric of someone’s soul, an agreement was drafted between Oldsmith, Vicar Sullain, Compact, and Confriga for the Gate Lord to hold the weapon while it was in the gate before handing it back to the Inquisition on the surface.

Apparently, the exchange was scheduled for tonight. Due to Shiv’s brawl and subsequent encounter with the Gate Lord, however, that likely wasn’t going to happen anymore.

Which was good for Shiv, because it gave him more time to deal with the problem.

Unfortunately, this was where the good news ended for Shiv. Also, in part, because of his fight with the damn orc. 811’s final words weren’t just some creepy reincarnator’s promise, it was also practically a Curse. Except it wasn’t entirely detrimental, and also spiked his Cooking levels too. Probably because Culinary Berserker was connected to Cooking. He couldn’t level one without affecting the other. Unfortunately, having Culinary Berserker also meant that his original plan of “find a way to kill all the enemies while trying to avoid killing the slaves” was probably going to end with him experiencing mindless bloodlust.

And the only way out is to either not kill for a month—which I don’t think I could do if I tried. Confriga’s a Heroic-Tier Pathbearer, and there are probably more than few Masters under him too. I’m not nearly strong enough to fight them all at a non-lethal disadvantage. Well, maybe if it was purely physical, but if someone targeted my mana fields enough or broke my mask and used Psychomancy on me…

Shiv sighed as he considered all the problems ahead of him. Shit. I felling miss Uva. She could’ve stopped me from going into that blind rage earlier if she was here. Probably would have stopped me from casually torturing the Inquisitors too. He looked at his left arm and watched a wyrm drift to and fro. The Necromancy wound was fading slowly, but it was like waiting for an injury to heal naturally while he was Pathless. And that’s what I have to deal with. Need to find a way to fight the Gate Lord without him blowing my head apart with Necromancy.

That being said, he wasn’t alone anymore. Both Tran and Heather were Adepts—and reliable. The former had a lot more experience and the latter was a Jump Mage. That greatly increased his options. There was also Siggy who knew this place’s underbelly, but… she was mostly doing things because she was afraid of Shiv. Which worked for him, but didn’t make her reliable.

The three people from Blackedge sat inside Oldsmith’s personal study. Shiv kept a watch over his unmoving Inquisitorial prisoners using his Woundeater mana. After the Psychomancer tried reaching out to his fellow Inquisitor once, Shiv reflexively took all the man’s fingers. That sent a rush of relief through Shiv—but also probably made his Orcish Skill probably worse. This was why Shiv ended up choking the prisoners out.

Even then, it took Tran pulling at him before he let go of the Psychomancer.

“Well, I won’t lie,” Heather said, rubbing her eyes. “Things are looking absolutely abysmal right now. But that doesn’t mean there’s nothing we can do. Or that we can’t get out of the gate.”

That caught Shiv’s attention. “What do you mean? The gates under lockdown. The path to the Abyss and the surface are both closed—and I didn’t even get to see where the surface’s exit gate is.”

“Correct,” Heather said, a bit of condescension seeping into her tone. “However, locked is the key word here. A gate is a minor world between words born from bridging mana. It cannot truly be sealed because if mana does not pass through, then there is no space between. A bridge must remain connected, after all. This means that given enough time and focus and skill, I might be able to activate one of the exits. Maybe.”

“You can do that?” Shiv said, impressed.

“Maybe,” Heather emphasized again. “My Portomancy evolved into Dimensionality. But I’m not that advanced yet, and considering the size of this place… it’s bigger than Blackedge, but not by that much. I’d say we’re in a Category Eight Gate.”

Shiv stared. “Does that mean the gate’s Heroic-Tier or…”

The Jump Mage almost said something disparaging, and then she seemed to notice how much larger Shiv was than before, and that he was wearing his old bones as armor. “No, that’s not exactly how it works. Gates output a lot more mana than most Pathbearers. As such, they are rated like mana storms. This is a mid to low gate, I believe. But that means I should be able to slip through. Should.”

“Nice, Heather,” Shiv said. “Glad I saved the two of you.” Both she and Tran eyed Shiv. “It’s not the only reason. You want me to apologize for all the torture and butchery I did again?”

“No, no,” Tran said, raising his hands. “We know. We’re not blaming you. But… It is weird. With it being you. We’re not used to… the new you yet.”

“I haven’t changed,” Shiv said. “I’m just bigger, stronger, faster, a little wiser, and I got some kind of Orcish Skill virus that’s compelling me to hurt and kill people by turning my slight annoyance into explosive anger.” They kept staring at him. “Alright, yeah, I guess you two have a point.”

“You said you had a mask that could disguise you?” Tran asked.

“Yeah,” Shiv said. He pulled out the Mask of False Paths again, handing it to the Adept Slayer. “It’s a bit damaged from when I came in, but it’s also one of the few reasons I got this far.” Shiv frowned. “I’m probably going to go down and kill Oldsmith in a while. I was thinking about beating it to death with a belt for obvious reasons, but now maybe I should do it quick. And then I’ll see if I can take its face.”

Tran shook his head. “No. Don’t. That’ll still feed the skill. You’ve done more than enough for me and Heather, so, I think you should leave some of the, uh, liquidation work to us for now.”

“Liquidation?” Shiv asked.

“We’re going to kill these fucking people,” Heather seethed. “That sword-bitch especially. And then the Psychomancer slowly.”

Shiv frowned at Tran. “Hey, does the Orcish Skill spread between people?”

A dark look came over the Slayer. “No. But getting mentally tortured after being physically mutilated doesn’t help one’s resentment.”

Shiv nodded slowly. He didn’t know how he felt about this. Aside from being frustrated, because a small part of him really, really, really wanted to experiment on them using his Woundeater and—Shiv froze. “You said the Orcish Skill spreads and multiplies to other skills as well.”

“Yeah, it grows through you,” Tran said. “Why?”

“I think the next skill of mine that might turn is my evolved Biomancy,” Shiv muttered. “I can’t stop thinking about using it on people. It didn’t even occur to me that I was torturing them earlier.”

“Yeah,” Tran nodded. “Orcs, man. They’re a real nightmare. System blesses the hard bastards at Lone Star for holding them at bay. Anyway. Here’s what I think the plan is now. We kill the prisoners—there’s not much more we’re getting out of them, and I’m not risking anything with Master-Tier Inquisitors. You see if you can take the bot’s identity. Then me and Heather are going to do some scouting when we can. You should… stay here for a while and try to fuse your Orc Skill with your original skill. I’ll try to think of something else in the meantime.”

“What you want us to do about the goblin?” Heather asked. “Because I think I’m just about mad enough that I can make killing her personal for me, too.”

Shiv considered that and then grunted. “Leave her alive for now. She knows things about this place. Oh, and Heather. When you kill the female Inquisitor, bring me her armor and weapon. There’s someone I want to give it to.”

Heather blinked. “I… kind of wanted to take that off her. Especially since they destroyed my gear.”

Shiv laughed and pulled some of his reserve corpses from his mantle. Both Tran and Heather flinched and backpedaled, their expressions shifting into confused terror. Shiv ignored them as he used his Biomancy to start assembling two new sets of armor. “If you need armor, I got some diamond-hard ones—and if you give me some time, I think I can get you two some Master-Tier Adamantine-strength bone armors as well. That can harden in response to all kinds of damage. It’s pretty good. I just need to die a few times more to harvest enough bone for that. I’d give my Adamantine exoskeleton to Uva too, but I want her to have something else in case she’s not comfortable wearing my bones.”

Shiv peeled away the skin and extracted the flesh as he spoke. Nearby, he heard Heather and Tran both gag and look away as two new sets of skeletal armor came into shape. “Here,” Shiv said. “Step in.”

Dread Aura > 58

He frowned. He wasn’t using the aura right then, so why’d it level?

“I, uh,” Tran said, he swallowed as sweat started pouring down his face. “W-who’s Uva?”

“Girlfriend,” Shiv said, a slight grin flashing on his face. It dimmed a second later. “She probably would have kept me from doing some of this stuff.”

“Girl—” Heather’s eyes bulged. “What? How? You were gone for—for…”

“Two weeks or so?” Shiv guessed. “Yeah. But me and her went through some stuff together, and, uh, I guess one thing led to another. I hope she’s fine.”

“And you would rather us wear your bones? As armor?” Heather blinked.

“It’s good armor,” Shiv said. “Trust me. Now. Who wants to get fitted first?”