Blood Fever

Zayn sighed, his body aching as if every muscle had been ripped apart and stitched back together wrong. His gaze remained fixed on his Outline as it floated steadily above him, its faint glow casting flickering shadows around his battered form.

Since he was already inspecting his Qualities, he figured he might as well look at the other one [Unfortunate]

The moment he focused on it, the description appeared before him in stark, unfeeling text:

[Unfortunate]

You are a disliked existence. Misfortune will cling to you like a second skin, weaving misery into every corner of your life.

Zayn stared at the words, his chest tightening. It felt like some kind of sick joke, a cosmic punchline delivered at his expense. He let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow and dry. "Really?" he muttered to himself, his voice tinged with sarcastic amusement. "The damn book's insulting me now? What's next—you're pathetic, try harder'?"

But the momentary levity didn't last. His thoughts turned back to the Qualities themselves, particularly why [Unfortunate] was even listed here. It didn't seem to serve any purpose like the [Blessed by Red] Quality. That one, at least, hinted at some kind of role or significance. This one just… mocked him. It stated the obvious.

Zayn already knew he was unlucky. His entire life in the empire had been a miserable string of misfortunes and pitiful circumstances. He didn't like thinking about it, didn't like how those memories clawed their way back into his mind. Yet he couldn't help but wonder why this Quality would appear here, in a Story. Was it tied to the body he was inhabiting, like [Blessed by Red]? Or was it because of him, Zayn the one from engaging the Story?

He shook his head, shoving the thought aside. Dwelling on it wouldn't help, and he had more pressing matters to deal with. His eyes returned to the Outline, lingering on the newest addition to his status: the Wills section.

Wills: [Blood Fever]

The name alone made him uneasy. It sounded ominous, dangerous—like something that had no business being tied to him. With a deep breath, Zayn focused on it. The description unfolded before him, but unlike the cold, structured tone of the Qualities, this one appeared almost poetic, its words etched in bold, crimson script:

Will: [Blood Fever]

Rank: Mundane

Type: Artifact

The First Will of a young aspiring Character. Born from his need to live merging with the murderous will of his first obstacle. He shall never fall as long as his bloodlust remains.

Zayn blinked, rereading the description several times. This… was different. The phrasing, the tone, even the way it presented itself—it felt more alive, more visceral as if the words themselves carried weight.

"Never fall as long as his bloodlust still remains…" he muttered, the words chilling him to the core.

It didn't take long for him to piece together its meaning. The [Blood Fever] was tied to his fight with the flaming monkeys, born from his desperate desire to survive and the bloodlust of the Blood Claws.

Zayn couldn't decide whether to feel horrified or relieved. On one hand, this Will might be the only reason he was still alive. On the other hand, it terrified him to think that his survival now depended on something so dark, so vicious.

"This Story just keeps getting better and better," he muttered sarcastically, his voice tinged with bitter amusement.

He gazed turned upwards, his body still too weak to move much more. For now, all he could do was process everything he had learned. The Red Flame, his Qualities, this new Will—they were all pieces of a larger puzzle, one he was determined to solve. But first, he had to figure out how to survive the next step.

Zayn let out a heavy sigh, his breath shaky as he stared at the dim glow of his Outline above him. His body felt like a broken shell, every muscle torn and screaming in protest. "How the hell am I supposed to even move?" he muttered. It wasn't just a question; it was a bitter lament. He lay there, his mind racing as he tried to think of some way to pull himself off the ground, but no solution came to him.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something strange. The runes marking [Blood Fever] in his Outline began to glow—a deep, menacing blood-red hue that sent a chill down his spine. He didn't even have time to react before the glow intensified, and what appeared next nearly gave him a heart attack.

A transparent visage of the smaller monkey he'd killed earlier materialized in front of him. It looked just as it had when alive, its spirit-like form faintly shimmering with a ghostly aura. For a moment, Zayn thought the monkey had come back to exact its revenge, and panic surged through him.

"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, his voice strained. His heart pounded as he braced himself for the worst.

But the monkey didn't attack. Instead, it stood there, lifeless but aggressive in its posture, its glowing eyes fixed on his Outline. Zayn watched, bewildered, as the monkey's form wrapped his Outline in a blood-red glow. Then, in one swift motion, the light shot into his chest.

He winced, expecting searing pain or some other horrifying consequence, but what he felt instead was… warmth. It spread through his body, soothing yet disconcerting. He lay there, waiting for something else to happen, but nothing did.

"What the hell?" Zayn muttered, his initial panic giving way to confusion. After a few more moments of nothing, frustration boiled over. "Oh, come on!" he shouted, his voice hoarse. "You ruin my body, nearly kill me, and then give me nothing? If I'd known this would happen, I'd have made your deaths even more painful, you useless flaming bastards!"

His angry tirade was cut short as his eyes caught something odd on his chest. Angling his head with difficulty, he spotted it: a necklace made of bone with the same monkey symbol he'd seen earlier.

"What in the…" Zayn trailed off, utterly dumbfounded. The necklace was identical to the one he'd received during the festival—the same one that had turned into the monsters he'd just fought. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "Now it's back? What are you, cursed jewelry or some crap?"

Before he could make sense of it, a surge of anger erupted within him, sudden and overwhelming. His irritation sharpened into a fiery rage, and his focus shifted entirely. Why was he lying here, next to a stinking corpse, covered in bloody puke? The sheer indignity of it all ignited something primal within him.

With a guttural growl, Zayn found himself moving. Against all logic, his battered limbs pushed through the agony, and he ripped off the tribal outfit stained with his own blood and vomit. His hands found strength as they shoved the corpse away from him, and his body lifted off the ground.

He stood there, trembling but upright, his mind struggling to process what was happening. His injuries hadn't disappeared—he could still feel the sharp pain in his ribs, the throbbing ache in his limbs—but somehow, he was standing.

"How…" Zayn began, but before he could finish the thought, the strength drained from his body, and he collapsed face-first onto the ground.

The pattern repeated itself a few more times. Each time anger flared within him, he would find the strength to stand, only for his body to betray him moments later. As he lay there after yet another failed attempt, realization dawned on him. His thoughts drifted back to the description of [Blood Fervor], and it all began to make sense.

"'Never fall as long as my bloodlust remains,' huh?" Zayn muttered, a small, grim smile tugging at his lips. He looked down at the bone necklace on his chest, finally understanding its purpose. The thought amused him. "You know, I might be unlucky as hell, but this… this is some twisted kind of luck. Figures."

He even slightly wondered if he read it wrong but he knew he didn't.

With that, Zayn steadied his mind, forcing himself to push back the sudden surges of murderous thoughts that the [Blood Fever] seemed to amplify. His anger subsided, replaced with grim determination. Slowly but surely, he managed to stand again, his movements awkward and strained but deliberate.

"Alright," he said, his voice low. "Let's see just how far I can push this."

Zayn flexed his fingers and moved around his limbs, testing the extent of movement he had in this strange state brought on by [Blood Fervor]. His muscles felt stiff, his movements sluggish, but he was upright and alive, which was more than he could have said a short while ago.

His blood had dried into a crusty film over his skin, and the jagged hole in his stomach was still there, though he noticed something peculiar: the bleeding had slowed to a near halt. He couldn't explain it, but the feverish state seemed to suppress the worst of his injuries.

Turning his gaze to the dead body of the sickly man nearby, Zayn felt a pang of unease. The man's pale, lifeless face stared at nothing, confirming what Zayn already knew—he was well and truly gone. He still didn't understand the man's resemblance with him as it seemed to tuck at something within him but he didn't know what.

Still, Zayn knelt beside the corpse, giving the dusty, threadbare clothing a closer inspection.

The clothes were worn, dusty, and smelled faintly of earth and sweat, but they were functional—and more importantly, not covered in blood and puke. Zayn grimaced as he tugged the clothing free, working quickly to strip the corpse without looking too closely at its gaunt features.

He tore some unnecessary strips from the cloth and tied them tightly around his most serious wounds, the makeshift bandages stemming what little bleeding remained.

Sliding the rest of the clothing on, Zayn took a moment to adjust it. It hung loosely on his frame, barely enough to cover the extent of his injuries, but it made him feel a little more human. He pulled the ragged collar into place and gave the sickly man a half-hearted nod.

"Thanks for the outfit," Zayn muttered, his voice dry. "And… I guess for everything else. Even if you did almost get me killed."

Zayn rose to his feet, his movements slow and deliberate. As his gaze drifted toward the horizon, he found himself wondering what would happen if he failed to complete the Story.

He knew the consequences of an Unconcluded Story were dangerous for the surrounding world—tales and rumors of corruption and chaos spreading like wildfire—but he had no idea what would happen to him. He wasn't sure he wanted to find out.

With a resigned sigh, Zayn shook his head and muttered under his breath, "Not gonna happen. I'll finish this thing, one way or another."

The thought steadied him, and he glanced up at the sky. To his surprise, the sun was still setting, painting the horizon in a deep crimson. Despite everything feeling like it had lasted hours, only a short amount of time had passed. He could even hear distant cheers—muffled but unmistakable—coming from the direction of the village.

"Festival's starting, huh?" Zayn said to himself, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips. "How nice of them to wait for me." The timing felt too coincidental, almost as if the Story itself were pulling the strings.

An ominous sense of foreboding settled in his chest, but he steeled his nerves. The worst of this was still ahead, and there was no turning back now.

He tapped the necklace around his neck, the bone pendant warm against his chest, as if responding to his touch. The pain from his injuries lingered, sharp and unrelenting, but Zayn used it to ground himself, to keep his thoughts focused on what lay ahead.

Before leaving, Zayn turned back to where his two improvised weapons—the clawed bone claws of the smaller dead Blood Claw—lay discarded near the battlefield. A faint smile tugged at his lips.

He even entertained the idea of using the bigger claws of the larger monkey but how he would use them was a problem thus he tossed that idea out.

"No way I'm going empty-handed," he murmured, walking over and scooping them up. He tested the weight of the claws in his hand, luckily the forearm part had broken off in the struggle so he could hold them better like claws between his fingers. He messed with them for a bit before puncturing them on the edges of his bottom wear to hold them. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

As he stood there, silhouetted against the blood-red sky, Zayn tightened his grip on the weapons and set his jaw. The festival was calling, and so was the Story.

"Let's get this over with," he said quietly, turning toward the sound of the distant cheers and beginning his slow, determined march forward.