Chapter 21

Thane leaned against the stone door, green blood smearing the jagged keyhole beneath his palm. The air reeked of decay and scorched ozone—he couldn't smell it, of course, not through the magic suit's olfactory lockdown. His full-body armor filtered everything, even the sting of the air, but that didn't mean he couldn't feel the filth.

The ambiance was a week old chainsaw massacre beginning to rot. The fog a morass of stifled screams. If this had been anywhere but a sterile pocket dungeon, he would've expected a swarm of flies, maggots, or at least something crawling. Instead, it was quiet. Clean. Horrifyingly clinical. And that, somehow, made it worse.

Mourning dragged behind him in a slow trail, carving lazy grooves in the blood-slick stone.

"...Crap—uh, I mean stupid system. You know what? I'm too tired to be witty. I don't want to hear a peep from you."

The stone door was sealed tight. Smooth. Impenetrable. Except for the giant keyhole that someone had stolen from a cartoon vault.

He turned in a slow circle.

The carnage stretched across the chamber, fog still curling along the ground like a lazy snake refusing to return to its burrow. It veiled the broken shapes of what used to be goblins. Some were in pieces. Some were more stain than shape. And some were... hard to even categorize.

Thane squinted into the haze, jaw tight. "There has to be over a hundred. Right?"

There was no clean way to count. Not when half of them had been run through a blender and seasoned with poor life choices.

He took a shaky breath. One spark of hope flared in his chest—maybe one of these gruesome little idiots had the key.

Vacuum Mode: Engage.

Corpses shimmered and dissolved one by one, loot flickering into his inventory. The items stacked automatically, thanks to his recent settings tweaks.

Loot acquired: 112x Goblin Jerky

Loot acquired: 112x Dry Biscuit

Loot acquired: 18x Warm Waterskin

Loot acquired: 5x Miscellaneous Goblin Junk

Loot acquired: 1x Rusty Key

He froze, heart skipping a beat. "Finally."

With trembling hands, he opened the inventory and selected the rusty key. A moment later, it materialized in his palm.

It was tiny.

Like... dollhouse tiny.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Was this a joke? It had to be. Some kind of twisted loot-box lottery where the grand prize was mockery. He half expected a message to pop up. Congratulations sir, you've unlocked: Utter Disappointment. Maybe next time he'd get a key-shaped sticker. Or a participation ribbon.

The key couldn't even open a diary, let alone the goblin equivalent of Fort Knox. He glanced around, brow furrowing.

Why do the bodies vanish but the blood doesn't? Does the system have a policy against cleaning up viscera? Priorities, man.

He groaned and flopped backward onto a patch of relatively unsullied ground—only lightly crusted with gore.

Thane exhaled, centering himself. Time to wrestle his ADHD thoughts into something resembling order. Focus. Breathe. Notifications first. He could go full 'Squirrel!' later.

"Maybe the system feels sorry for me," he muttered. "Maybe it's finally time to see if I earned anything besides PTSD."

He opened his notifications.

Normally, this would have been a wall of blinking windows and overlapping system spam. Each demanding to be mentally clicked like a digital Whac-A-Mole. But not this time.

This time, the system had bundled multiple messages into neat, streamlined notifications. Thane blinked at it in surprise.

"…Huh. That's… convenient?"

It wasn't expected. It wasn't explained. But it was neat, clean, and exactly the kind of UX improvement he hadn't known he was desperate for. 

Skills Available:

Aerial Acrobatics – increases proficiency of aerial maneuvers

Parkour – increases proficiency of ground maneuvers

Jumping – increases jump height

Intimidation – increased chance to intimidate foes

Poisoner – poisons used have increased efficacy

Berserker – fall into a battle rage blinded to everything except your foes

Outnumbered – increased resistances when attacked by numerous foes, scaling.

Maybe the system was giving him a break. Short, concise descriptions for once—as if it actually respected the fact he was on a time limit. Then again, no. That would require the system to possess a soul. Or mercy. Or even the faintest hint of empathy. More likely it was just too lazy to pad the UI today.

He skimmed the skill list and sighed.

Aerial Acrobatics wasn't bad. Honestly, it was kind of tempting. He'd spent more time airborne than someone with zero flight training ever should—might as well make it look intentional instead of being a scarecrow thrown off a cliff.

Parkour got a raised brow. He'd already shouted it like a battle cry while flinging himself off a wall. Maybe this would finally justify it.

Jumping, though? Hard pass. He could already launch himself high enough to headbutt a tree branch into early retirement. For the safety of foliage everywhere, he probably shouldn't lean into that particular skill.

Intimidation wasn't scaring monsters anytime soon, but it had a solid chance of traumatizing a child. He already dreaded being seen in the suit—a blend of back-alley creeper and failed runway concept. No need to make his fashion crime threatening, too.

Poisoner came next. Effective? Probably. But Mourning already spewed out enough toxic fog to down a rhino. Maybe it would be perfect later, but he didn't see it saving him right now. He wasn't looking to double down on noxious overkill just yet.

Berserker got an immediate veto. Being concussed and emotionally compromised definitely wasn't the tactical edge he'd been missing.

Outnumbered, though? That one made him pause. It sounded like a band-aid for people who routinely got mobbed. In other words—him. Not flashy, but potentially very useful.

He didn't select anything just yet. Skill slots were limited—ten in total, and he already had a few taken. There were titles to check, too, and some of them might come with their own tricks. Better to see the full spread before committing to anything permanent.

Thane moved on to the next notification.

Title Awarded: (COMMON) Against All Odds I (+5 free stat point)

Awarded for slaying 100 trivial creatures or above in a single battle.

Title Awarded: (UNCOMMON) Against All Odds II (+10 free stat points)

Awarded for slaying 100 easy creatures or above in a single battle.

Title Awarded: (RARE) Against All Odds III (+10% stat bonus)

Awarded for slaying 100 equal creatures or above in a single battle.

Title Awarded: (EPIC) Against All Odds IV (+25% stat bonus)

Awarded for slaying 100 tough creatures or above in a single battle.

Title Awarded: (LEGENDARY) Against All Odds V (+50% stat bonus)

Awarded for slaying 100 dangerous creatures or above in a single battle.

Title Awarded: (LEGENDARY) Disdain the Odds (Evolve one stat)

Awarded for slaying 100 creatures 300% or above your level in a single battle.

Title Awarded: (LEGENDARY) Ignore the Odds (Evolve two stats)

Awarded for slaying 100 creatures 600% or above your level in a single battle.

Title Awarded: (COMMON) Apprentice (+2 free stat points)

Awarded for getting your first skill to apprentice rank.

He sat there, blinking at the flood of title notifications. The system, apparently, had decided to recognize his goblin-flavored nightmare with something resembling generosity. It was almost like it looked at the battlefield, saw the goblin purée, and thought, 'Maybe he deserves a cookie.'

The names were dramatic—ridiculously so—but Thane wasn't above appreciating a little flair. What really caught his attention were the three stat evolutions. He had no idea what that actually meant. In the books he'd read, evolutions ranged from mythic-level upgrades to glorified participation trophies. Still, considering how absurdly hard they would normally be to get, his gut told him these ones were probably the real deal.

He took a steadying breath, closed the notification, and opened his stat screen. Excitement bubbled up—he wanted to believe this was going to be good. Maybe even game-changing. But the system had a history of handing him fireworks and lighting the fuse with a smirk. Still… evolutions. This was the kind of thing he'd dreamed about while bored at work. It was hard not to feel a little giddy.

Strength(STR) → Kinetic Might (KM) – Strength scales with movement speed. No movement, no bonus.

Dexterity(DEX) → Vector Precision (VP) – Precision of physical and magical movements.

Endurance(END) → Density Titan (DT) – Gain density with each point. Increased mass does not affect stamina cost.

Charisma(CHA) → Resonant Gravitas (RG) – Your voice vibrates with unintended authority.

Luck(LUC) → Karmic Velocity (KV) – Perception sphere. Increases radius 0.25 ft per point.

He stared for a long while.

Kinetic Might turns me into a sledgehammer on skates. Every bit of speed becomes force. The faster I move, the harder I hit—simple, brutal math. It sounds incredible on paper, but it's also a commitment. No standing your ground with this one. No 'hold the door.' If I'm not already moving, I've got nothing. Which means every fight becomes a dance of velocity. Still, with how often I'm already in motion? This could scale to something terrifying.

Vector Precision might finally let me throw a punch without also punching myself. Physical precision is one thing, but adding magical finesse into the mix? That's a game-changer. Especially if I ever want to do more with momentum magic than crash into walls. I just hope it doesn't turn every spell into a delicate art project. I'm not exactly Mister Graceful.

Density Titan feels like cheating. Extra mass without the stamina drain? That's practically begging to be abused. More density might make me harder to move, harder to hurt—and maybe even harder to stop. Of course, that added density could make dodging feel like wading through molasses, so I'll have to be smart with it. Assuming I live long enough to experiment.

Resonant Gravitas. My voice would "vibrate with unintended authority." Cool, maybe. If I were negotiating peace or rallying troops. But I'm in a dungeon—not a senate chamber. Unless the goblins are suddenly holding debate club tryouts, this isn't going to keep me alive. I'm not bringing a business card to a sword fight.

Karmic Velocity is... mysterious. The idea of a perception bubble growing with every point sounds useful—eventually. Right now, it's basically a glorified early warning system. But long-term? It might be the difference between walking into a trap and waltzing around it. Or maybe it's just one more way to justify my paranoia.

He stared at the list. Two locks, two tempting, one dud. Three evolution points.

Vector Precision was a lock. Thane didn't even have to think about it. Anything that helped him control momentum magic—actually control it—was a win. At first, he figured it would stop him from flinging himself around like some kind of magical pinball. Which, to be fair, it probably would. But then a different idea started to form—what if being a pinball wasn't the problem? What if that was the play? If he could steer the bounce, shape the ricochet, he could become a kinetic nightmare. Pinball with purpose. With mass. With a flail. Now that sounded fun. And horrifying. For someone else.

Thane grinned like a mad man.

Density Titan was the kind of upgrade that sounded like it came with side effects—and he wanted all of them. More mass, less stamina burn? Yes. Add in the implied durability and he was basically layering stone under his skin. It wouldn't be invincibility, but it might stop him from leaking so often. The way he saw it, the thicker his body, the thinner the enemy's options. It was the difference between punching a balloon and punching a cinder block. Dodging might turn into slow-mo ballet, but if momentum magic could compensate, it was a worthy trade. And hey—if Endurance also buffed his natural stamina regen? That'd be icing on an already armor-plated cake.

Kinetic Might and Karmic Velocity, though? That was the rub.

Kinetic Might was brutal, clean, and aggressively simple. Strength that scaled with speed—it was elegant, efficient, and terrifying. It read like someone had taken physics and stapled magic to it. Every step, every launch, every ounce of momentum would translate directly into devastating force. On paper, it looked amazing. But it demanded constant motion. No bracing. No tanking. No heroic last stands. The moment he stopped moving, he'd be nothing more than a very dense target. That kind of trade-off didn't sit well with him—not when his life was currently measured in minutes.

Karmic Velocity didn't come with flashy numbers or a clear power boost, but it nagged at him. Subtle. Creeping. The kind of stat that didn't help until it saved your life. Sure, the awareness sphere was tiny now, but if it grew with every point in Luck—and he had plans for that—then maybe it was the best kind of broken. Not strength, not speed—survival. He could learn to hit harder. He could train technique. But you couldn't train "didn't get ambushed."

He hesitated. Then sighed.

"Alright, magic paranoia bubble. Don't make me regret this."

He selected Vector Precision. Density Titan. Karmic Velocity.

His eyes drifted to his stat sheet—and popped wide. His stat bonus had shot up to 115%. It had been 30%. Thirty. The sudden spike hit like a math-themed jump scare. He hadn't even spent his free points yet.

He looked at the screen and smirked.

Should I just dump everything into Density Titan? Max it out and dare the world to try moving me? It makes me an immovable wall, and considering my stamina is bottomed out, it might not be the worst idea. I already calculated my regen earlier—and I need every edge I can get to power through the rest of the dungeon. Plus, there's a chance my natural stamina regeneration scales with the stat, though I'm not entirely sure. But if it does? That alone could carry me through whatever's left in here.

But then Thane realized he could land that beautiful 20 in Endurance and still have enough left to bring Luck to 20—plus balance the rest at 11 each. 11, 11, 20, 0, 20. Symmetrical. Clean. Satisfying. Like setting the volume to 50 instead of 47—irrationally important, but deeply gratifying.

Sure, part of it was vanity. He liked a neat sheet. But there was logic too. Strength and Dexterity at 11 gave him a solid balance between raw power and finesse. Endurance and Luck maxed out? That was resilience and awareness. And Charisma? Yeah, still sitting at a goose egg. What was he going to do—woo a goblin? Hard pass.

He spent the points, and admired his stat screen for the first time in a while.

Name: Thane Arthur Cook

Age: 27

Level: 1

EXP: -404.25%

Health: 48%

Stamina: 6%

Stats: Base (Actual)

STR: 11 - (23.65)

DEX→MP: 11 - (23.65)

END→DT: 20 - (43.00)

CHA: 0 - (0)

LUC→KV: 20 - (43.00)

Free points: 0

Skills:

Flail mastery - apprentice (34%) → Journeyman

Identify - novice (61%) → apprentice

Unique combat - apprentice (3%) → Journeyman

Cockroach - available

Momentum Magic subtypes:

Physical momentum

Thane was ecstatic. Even the dreaded EXP counter couldn't bring him down. He glanced at the timer—T - 1:04. Not bad. He'd managed to burn through all his upgrades in just a few minutes.

System Hint: It is recommended to only evolve one stat at a time.

Oh sure. Now you tell me. That's like a GPS yelling "Exit here!" when I'm three lanes over and ten feet from the off-ramp doing sixty.

He didn't even get the chance to scream.

Pain lanced through him like lightning on caffeine. His limbs jerked, his back arched, and his brain lit up like a pinball machine mid-tilt. His eyes rolled back, and darkness swallowed him.

He laid on the blood-slicked stone in a boneless heap. There was nothing left to fight—and no one left to witness what he was becoming.

And the clock was still ticking.