Hope felt the benefits clearly. His stats had risen once again, and the effect was significant. The new skill had certainly come as a surprise—and a welcome one.
Level 56
Physis: 4490 (+943) [+300]
Magia: 1005 (+277)[+250]
It also made him wonder if he should start seriously exploring more creative ways to use Magika and try to uncover new skills in more… safe environments.
He checked his coin and noticed the Elite had given him 500—twice as much as before, though a worse deal in his opinion given how hard it had been to take one down… at least before this last upgrade.
He was particularly satisfied with his first level 10 skill and the 80% reduction in mental strain, but the new feat also made him realize he was wasting one extra Spacetime Handling slot in his gear. He no longer needed it to reach the +6 bonus. Maybe it was time to swap out that D-grade accessory for something new.
After a moment of silence, he stood up in a single motion, feeling refreshed—and ready for a second round.
Perhaps he should give exploring a try. Last time, he’d marched four hours straight north from Gob’s shop with little to no change in terrain or enemies, the volcanic region stretching endlessly as far as he could see.
He’d opted then to keep grinding close to the store for efficiency, buying more gear before attempting further scouting. But now, with his current stats…
“Hey, Eve, wanna check North? I’ll carry the backpack.”
Eve stared at him and nodded.
Hope took the big backpack and strapped it over his back. The moment it touched skin, he realized his fancy new coat had indeed been torn during the fight.
Fuckin’ Scorchbrute.
“I’ll pick up the pace this time. Let me know if it’s too fast, yeah?”
“Ok.”
With that, Hope headed back through the tunnels. After quickly orienting himself, he set his march toward the north—or what he believed to be north.
Along the way, he sporadically used Air Gear to give himself a boost, leaping over ridges and magma rivers. But for the most part, he kept his mind busy thinking up creative ways to expand his skill arsenal. After all…
Discovered Skills gave a ton of stats.
Might as well squeeze the System for everything it had.
Yet not long along the way, he noticed something was off as he looked around—
He couldn’t see Eve.
No, wait.
He leaned over a jagged ledge and spotted her below, her form floating slightly above the ground, drifting toward him.
She wasn’t slow. Hope could sense an efficient mix of Air Magika and maybe a touch of Kinetic to keep her stable.
But then it hit him.
He was faster than Eve now.
He still remembered the first time he saw her—how she seemed to blink through space, how she floated like some ghostly figure, how magical it had all felt.
But now?
Now he understood.
Eve was just good. A damn good Magika user, using fundamentals with insane efficiency. There was no mystical Citizen trick, no hidden divine powers. Just skill.
Still… something didn’t add up. Her level… was still one!
Was it fake? Could she cheat the system? Or was there something Hope hadn’t figured out yet?
He wasn’t going to press her for answers.
He owed her a lot—and besides, she was the only friend he had left. A real one, too.
Hope sighed, brushing the dust off his arms.
Then, casually, without a word of warning, he dashed toward her and swept her off her feet.
“Ah—! Hope!”
Eve flinched, eyes wide, as he swept her off the ground with both arms, holding her close before she could react.
He smirked, barely slowing. “You’re light. Good.”
A tinge of red spread across her cheeks. “Y-You don’t need to…”
“Relax. It’s faster this way. Just take a rest—I’ll take care of it.”
She didn’t reply, but her fingers clutched the fabric of his shirt a little tighter. Her face stayed turned just enough to keep him from seeing how red it really was.
Hope didn’t give it much thought—his head was already busy calculating what else he could do with Spacetime Magika, wondering if there was something crucial he was still missing.
He leaned forward and picked up speed, legs kicking off molten ridges, vaulting across lava gaps, wind trailing at his heels.
Behind him, the blackened land howled with heat.
In his arms, Eve stayed quiet—but didn’t let go.
Hope kept moving with near mechanical rhythm—legs coiling, releasing, adjusting for the terrain’s tilt and heat. Magma veins pulsed along the ground like molten arteries, casting shifting red light against the sharp cliffs. The heat didn’t bother him anymore, not really.
Cracked stone, soot-covered hills, the occasional spire of obsidian splitting the skyline—every stretch of land looked the same as the last. And yet, he kept running.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
At some point, Eve shifted in his arms.
“You’ve been quiet,” Hope said, eyes forward. “You asleep?”
“No.” Her voice was soft. “Just… trying not to get in the way.”
He scoffed. “Bit late for that.”
She gave a weak puff of air—maybe a laugh, maybe not. Then, after a pause, “If you’re tired, you can—”
“I can keep this going for a day or two, Eve. Don’t break a sweat. Just let me know if it’s uncomfortable or anythin’.”
She hesitated, then shook her head slightly. “No… It’s fine.”
Hope didn’t slow. Instead, he leaned in, tucked her tighter against his chest, and muttered, “Hold on.”
A shimmer of heat passed under his feet as he twisted his stance mid-stride.
Air Gear flared.
With a low crack, pressure reversed beneath his soles, and they launched—off the ground, into the air, clearing a jagged ravine split by a river of glowing lava.
The wind snapped at his coat. Ash danced in the air behind them like sparks off a grinder.
Eve didn’t flinch, didn’t gasp. She just tilted her head enough to watch the ground blur beneath them.
And like that, they flew for several seconds before landing with a soft thud, Hope keeping the pace.
“Feels good, ain’t it?”
Her voice came a moment later. “Yes.”
They passed another sulfur plume, the stink sharp in his nostrils. Hope sidestepped around a fissure and jumped off another ridge, using a small burst to glide over the molten gap.
Hours passed as they kept going, but it was just more of the same—endless scorched land and rivers of heat. Hope decided he’d give it a bit more time, and if nothing showed up, they’d head back.
And… it seemed he made the right call.
They stopped atop a jagged cliff, both staring ahead.
A massive magma sea stretched into the horizon, steam rising from it in thick sheets, with occasional bubbles of gas breaking the surface. But across the whole sea of red, one feature stood out.
A path.
A bridge—narrow, black, and cracked—extended far into the shimmering haze, crossing the magma like a spine of stone.
And standing on that bridge was a lone figure.
Hope narrowed his eyes, triggering Sharpwatch. The world snapped into focus.
It looked like the Scorchbrute he’d fought before—same broad frame, same molten hue—but… bigger, maybe. Hard to tell from the distance.
Its skin was darker, like blackened rock, and its armor was several notches above anything he’d seen: a full set of plated gear that encased it from horn to heel. In one hand, it held a massive, one-edged blade. In the other, a diamond-shaped shield—jagged, almost cruel in shape.
Two horns jutted from its helmet, sharp as blades.
But more than anything, it was the prompt that caught his eye:
Ashborn Tyrant [Alpha]
Level 100
Seriously?
“A peak tier-1 Alpha…” Eve muttered as she stared at it, clearly surprised.
“It’s the one after the Elite, right?”
“Yes.”
“So… how strong would this guy be? Like, in Elite terms?”
“Stat-wise, an Alpha is roughly 25 to 30% stronger than an Elite. But—”
She paused. “That’s not the real divider. While Elites of lesser races rarely possess skills, an Alpha is always guaranteed to have one.”
“What? A skill? That big brute has a skill too?! The fuck.”
Eve stayed quiet for a beat longer. “This is truly an unfair challenge. Facing a level 100 Alpha… even if their race is tier F…”
“Unfair? That’s the word I’ve been hearing the most lately. But to be honest, that’s life, right? I wasn’t expecting anything easy from the fuckers in the sky. They wanna push me, see me beg, die, whatever.
“Anyway—Elite, Alpha, whatever comes next, just let them come… I’ll take them.”
Hope smiled. “Just not now,” he chuckled.
He looked out at the surrounding scenery—fields of cracked black rock, rivers of heat, and that ever-boiling lake. Yeah. Looked like he’d be here a while, grinding.
He exhaled. Well, it wasn’t that bad.
He had Eve. Gob. And that fancy shower.
“Alright, scouting done. Let’s grind a bit more and hit that money grubber for some good, fresh juice.”
A week slipped by—same lava, same grind.
Hope didn’t even lean back as the strike came.
The Scorchbrute’s mace swung for his head—only to meet a sudden stretch of warped space, a gap where there had been none. The blow passed through harmless air.
The wind from the swing didn’t crash against him. It embraced him. He twisted with it, riding the motion, feeding it into his own rhythm, his momentum, his Air Gear.
He kicked off the ground—form blurring forward—as a shield came to meet him. He twisted again, letting the strike slide by, shifting the space beneath the creature’s feet just enough to throw off its anchor and speed.
In the same motion, he compressed the air ahead, then expanded it behind—snapping forward in what was, effectively, a blink.
Past the last line of defense.
And then he thrust.
The wind gathered at the tip of his spear, compressed into a tight pebble of force. Space collapsed in with it, folding around the point, pressure building, coiled.
It connected.
The spearhead pierced through a gap in the armor—flesh, bone, and muscle giving way. In that instant, he released it. Pressure burst from within like a silent scream. By the time the body buckled, Hope was already meters away.
Not a drop of blood or meat touched him.
The wind deflected it all.
He didn’t look back.
Just turned, whistling a new tune, and walked out of the tunnels with Eve by his side.
“What do you think about this one? Not too shabby, eh?” he said with a grin between whistles. “Does it count as that thing you talked about—what was it… music?”
Eve chuckled. “You’re getting there, Hope… don’t give up.”
“Hey, I like it, you know? Feels like it transmits the essence of the wind or somethin’.”
“The… essence of the wind? Well, on the bright side, your vocabulary is improving.”
“Well, I taught you a bit too. Like rad and grifty—give and take, yeah?” He smiled as he looked at her. “Got an excellent teacher too.”
Eve just shook her head.
Hope wasn’t feeling particularly tired yet, but he could use a break. “Let’s hit Gob. Whattaya say?”
“Sure.”
As they made their way to the merchant, he flashed them a bright smile. The ugly bastard had grown on him… a tiny bit.
“If it ain’t the myth, the legend,” Gob croaked, spreading its stubby arms. “What can I do for you, champ?”
“Same as always. And throw in those boots too.”
“Oh? Got the cash for ’em already?” Gob chuckled. “Last one for the set. You’re quicker than I thought, kiddo—cleaned me out faster than expected.”
The merchant pulled out a square, wooden-like box and popped it open, revealing a pair of sleek, dark-woven boots lined with faint ridges and reinforced seams.
Draftrunners
Rank 1 Gear (Grade: C, Type: Foot)
Requirements: Spear Handling (Level 6), Air Handling (Level 6), Physis 2400, Magia 360
Effect: +200 Physis, +25 Magia, +1 Spear Handling, +1 Air Handling
The moment Hope slid them on, he felt a soft grip around the soles.
“Feels good,” he admitted.
“Looks nice too, lad,” Gob said. “So what now… that’s full Grade C gear, right? Ready for the big boss?”
Hope nodded after a beat. It was.
“Sure. But not before my juice.”
