CHAPTER FOURTY ONE

  Jimmy Yoon stared unseeing into the depths of the snow covered forest. All of his attention focused intently on his core, his arms, the way his legs were spaced shoulders width apart—stance rock solid, as if anchored to the snow covered earth. He closed his eyes. Inhaled deeply. Then let it out in a slow exhale, releasing a cloud of misty vapor—obscuring his focused features as he did so.

  In his minds eye, he pictured the scene just as clearly as if he were right back there in the glade. The surety of his movements, the way his hips twisted, his arms moved. Jimmy’s developing mind having absorbed the scene greedily on that fateful day. Subsequently refining it with each quiet visualization he performed in the days that followed. Until the image was crystal clear in his mind. It was as if he knew the steps by heart, now his only goal was to replicate them.

  Seconds passed in unbroken stillness. Snowflakes alighting on his hair and eyelashes.

  Then, with a sharp exhale, Jimmy Yoon performed a crisp strike. The seemingly basic straight punch kicking up a sudden updraft. A whirling breeze surrounding him on all sides, hiding him behind a twisting veil of snowflakes. There were gasps of surprise and awe from the children sitting around the campfire, followed by excited chatter, which continued up until the moment the snowy cyclone abated.

  The strange spectacle vanishing to reveal good old reliable Jimmy—looking more perplexed than any of those present had ever seen him before. He bent down, picked something up from the ground, and dusted off the snow.

  Then he turned to them, the item held up so they could better see, his previous look of confusion replaced by a beaming gap toothed smile. Somehow, in his hand, the five year old boy held an ability cube.

  ?—|-Power Blow-|—?

  ?[Common]?

  At the cost of physical stamina, release a blow that deals additional damage.

  The others were quick to crowd around Jimmy, in hopes of getting a better look. Chorusing ooo’s and aaah’s as he rotated the light gray cube this way and that. Their eyes wide and sparkling with rapt attention. Brimming with shock, incomprehension, and, on not a small number of faces, the budding seedlings of naked desire.

  +++

  DAYS LEFT BEFORE RARE CLASS CUTOFF DATE: (6/15)

  The muggy stretch of snake infested jungle was a ruin of scorch marks, ice patches, and impact craters. Of course, this was by no means a rare occurrence where Richards little ragtag group was concerned. The wholesale destruction, following the elite encounter, opening up a little clearing of sorts inside the congested terrain. One which they currently had all to themselves.

  Well, mostly to themselves. The insects, unfortunately, didn’t count. Still, the not-so slice of paradise was something of a relief, after the hours they’d spent hacking their way through the dense and thorny underbrush.

  A temporary respite. Their neat little oasis. One which was, admittedly, infested with blood sucking parasites. The droning nuisances a particularly sore spot for the buff baby in question. It also was in no way removed from the sweltering heat. The humid climate which was, even now, wringing every last drop of sweat from their collective pours—feeling like they were breathing through a paper bag.

  Although, in its defense, the secluded den did get one thing right. It gave Richard a clear base of operations. Inside which he might go about his grand and ingenious plan, to methodically shatter his soul into a million tiny pieces.

  Well, if he did it correctly, played it safe and kept his finger on the pulse, he should be perfectly fine. If he miscalculated, however…? Yeah, his soul would most likely be destroyed.

  “Oh, the things we risk for the sake of progress.”

  From atop the scaly serpentine hide of the Lvl 65 Raging River Anaconda—a fifteen meter long boa that more resembled a pool floaty, than it did a fearsome predator—Richard stared down at the purple cube in his hands with a mix of fear and anticipation.

  ?—|-Flesh Manipulation-|—?

  ?[Epic]?

  You can manipulate your own flesh, as well as the flesh of others. Speed and control are dependent on ability level.

  Richard prodded the jiggly gelatin of the dead anaconda.

  I sure hope this still counts as flesh. Otherwise, I might be risking a whole lot of soul damage for nothing.

  Not giving himself a second more to contemplate just how idiotic he was being, Richard set a system timer, brought the epic ability cube close to his chest, and gingerly slotted it inside. In the next moment, his entire world was inundated by madness, frailty, and, above all, pain. His thoughts absconded into oblivion, and his vision went dark.

  +++

  Richard gasped like he was coming up for air from an impossible depth. Bolting upright into a sitting position, he was immediately bewildered to find that he was no longer inside the defeated monster den, though his position atop the serpentine elite hadn’t changed. No, somehow he found himself inside of his soul palace. Massive anaconda floating within the central elevator, the central shaft which connected balcony floors. That wasn’t the most astonishing thing however.

  No, the most peculiar thing of all was that he wasn’t alone. There was a figure sitting next to him. One he recognized. Quite frankly, it would’ve been pretty hard not to. It was him, after all. Clean shaven, wearing a tweed three-piece suit, and with hair styled in a fashionable swoop, he sat cross legged on the gelatinous corpse—his arm wrist deep in the bubbling creature.

  Wait, bubbling?!

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  As Richard watched, the flesh around his body doubles hand began to ripple and churn. Then to swirl as it took on fantastical shapes and forms. The pinkish jello swelling upward until it resembled a wobbly block of cement. A look of concentration flit across his body double’s features, and, in the next moment, the jiggly block of monster meat seemed to mold itself into a crude sculpture. One of a laughing baby wearing a crown, cape, and with a scepter in his hands.

  Letting out a quiet sigh, his body double shifted his seated position and rolled his neck. There came a series of loud pops, and this time, the sigh he released was one of pure relief. Richard blinked. Frowned. Then his head snapped upwards, eyes grown wide with alarm. And, as if on cue, in the next moment, a raging river of books, tomes, and aged scrolls burst free from the stuffy confines of his lone balcony. Spilling forth to fill the central elevator like dye dropped into water.

  The literary avalanche only abating once nearly two thirds of his balconies total volume had been exhausted. Whereupon the sky of shifting pages converged. Tumbling down in snaking streams to engulf them in a circular wall of off-white. The fluttering procession encircling them.

  Winding around in lazy rotations. A glacial paper cyclone that stretched up until it grazed the artificial mist barrier high above. The scene especially concerning from Richard’s perspective, if only for the fact that it wasn’t actually him that was directing any of this.

  Richards eyes were once more drawn to his body double. The man not seeming shocked in the least by this peculiar turn of events. And in fact even as he watched, books and scrolls broke away from the pack in droves. Swooping trains of priceless knowledge lining up to be read by him. Flitting up to eye level, briefly revealing their contents, before swiftly being replaced by the next in line.

  And what was even more impressive, even as this was happening, the odd flesh sculptures continued to pop up one after another. It was a feat of multitasking he wasn’t sure he could’ve managed, even with his control stat nearing seventy.

  Suddenly, the entire soul space shuddered, as if under the ferocious assault of gale force winds. The quaking lasted for several long seconds before abating just as quickly as it had come. Wide eyed, Richard whipped his head around, wondering what on earth could affect him so badly this deep inside his soul.

  Then it hit him. Voicing his thoughts out loud, he spoke more to himself than, well, than to his other self.

  “This isn’t real. Or rather, it is real—this is my soul palace, I can feel it is—but you, this corpse. Clearly something screwy is going on here. Am I right in assuming I’m currently in the midst of losing my mind?”

  “Hmm…?” his adult body double hummed. “Oh no, I believe you lost it the moment you embarked on this particularly suicidal venture. Really, what on earth possessed you?” as he spoke in a mellow monotone, he continued to create little meat sculptures—growing faster and more skilled as he went. “Overclocking your ability slots at a five to one ratio was one thing, but twenty-five to one? No, the way I see it, you stopped being sane quite some time ago.”

  Richard ignored his sarcastic comment.

  “So, what? I get that we’re inside my soul-”

  “Or mind, whichever takes your fancy. I certainly know I’m not supposed to be here, that’s for darn sure. And this snake, well, that was my doing, really. Purely a figment of imagination, naturally. Very interesting skill you have here. Anyway, the two of us together are just one shy of completing the tripartite. Soul? Mind? It could go either way, really. Does it really matter which is inside of the other?”

  Richard frowned. Watched as his body double sculpted a highly detailed imagining of a coterie of knights riding down a fire breathing dragon.

  Tripartite? What does he mean by- oh!

  Richards hand snapped out, and, from the swirling mass, a single book emerged. Zipping through the air to slap into his palm. He pried it open, flipping through the pages briefly until the contents of the book on Freudian Psychology was firmly imprinted in his mind.

  “Ah. I see. So I’m just going to go ahead and assume I’m the ego,” his double nodded, gesturing for him to go on. “Which would make you, what? My superego?”

  His body double flashed a bright white smile.

  “Got it in one. There was a rather large crack in your psyche, so I just figured I’d pop in, pay you a visit. Sorry id couldn’t make it. He’s been a bit under the weather ever since, well, you know. Fancy place you’ve got here, I must say. You should host some time.”

  “I’ll keep that under advisement,” Richard deadpanned—talking to his subconscious like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  Then he paused, watched the personification of his unconscious mind construct a meticulously detailed study of human anatomy.

  “So… are we-?”

  “In very big trouble? If you manage to pluck that red hot poker out of our chest in time, ostensibly? We should recover. If not though, yeah, we’re probably pretty screwed.”

  “Right, so. Likely wasn’t my best idea. Got it.”

  “Hmm… I wouldn’t go so far as to say all that. In fact, with my help, it might still work, this radical notion of yours. Just, please, give me a bit of advance warning next time?”

  Suddenly, another massive quake rocked his soul palace. This one lasting far longer then the first—leaving hairline fractures in the support beams of the nearest balcony.

  “And I believe that right there is your cue to leave. Feel free to call on me any time. I’m always happy to master new things.”

  And so saying, Richard’s superego reached forward and poked him in the forehead. And for the second time that day, the world as he knew it sank into oblivion.

  +++

  When Richard awoke, it was with agony wracking his entire body. His muscles spasmed uncontrollably, his ability to see was nonexistent, and there was something warm and sticky dribbling from his nose and eyes. Whispers assailed him from all sides, like an assembly inside his head—harsh and cutting, smooth and seductive—yet he was in so much pain he barely paid them any mind.

  Already he could feel his consciousness slipping from him once more, and he had this sinking feeling that, were he to fall unconscious again, he wouldn’t be waking back up. With all the strength and mental fortitude he possessed, Richard straightened out his painfully curled right arm, feeling the muscle tear and tendons strain. Before he lost use of the arm completely, Richard, jerked the jittering arm crosswise, until his claw of a hand was resting above his sternum.

  He grit his gums so hard he tasted salty iron. It felt like his jaw would snap from the strain. Foaming at the mouth, he pried open his fingers, just wide enough that they’d serve to get the job done, reached into himself, and plucked the accursed cube free. In an instant, his seizing stopped, the voices quieted, though the pain, most noticeably, still radiated from every inch of his body.

  Richard went limp. Simply lying there for a time, eyes unfocused, and panting like a dog. Eventually, after several minutes of recovery and the injection of a healing syringe, the world swam back into focus. What he was immediately greeted with upon it doing so left him truly speechless for the first time since awakening inside his infant body.

  Through dogged repetition, creative application, and an impeccable understanding of the underlying principals, your ability [Flesh Manipulation] has ranked up in proficiency.

  [Flesh Manipulation] has reached lvl 1

  [Flesh Manipulation] has reached lvl 2

  [Flesh Manipulation] has reached lvl 3

  [Flesh Manipulation] has reached lvl 4

  […]

  [Flesh Manipulation] has reached lvl 98

  [Flesh Manipulation] has reached lvl 99

  [Flesh Manipulation] has reached lvl 100

  [Flesh Manipulation] has reached its MAX level.

  You can now combine this ability with a similarly MAXED level ability cube to possibly increase it’s rarity grade, and or, continue to level up its proficiency.

  Richard merely stared slack mouthed at the series of system prompts for several long seconds. Then, the only words he found appropriate, given the circumstances, tumbled out of his mouth almost unbidden.

  “What… what the actual f-!”