Fuck, I was bored.

In the last few weeks, I'd just about hunted these lands bare of goblins and Slaethians. Not that I'd seen many Slaethians after I turned their little fort into flaming rubble. Still, plenty of leftover goblin jerky for folks to munch on.

Tastes like fishy, burnt chicken.

Wouldn't recommend.

Oh, and before you ask—no, I can't tell the difference between Slaethians and Imperials. To me, they're the same flavor of oppressive asshat. If I had to describe it, it's like trying to compare an army to the national guard. Same-same.

Anyway! In my boredom, I wandered over to the shipyard, which was looking a lot better these days. I mean, if you ignored the cratered buildings and fire damage, you could almost pretend it hadn't been annihilated. Maybe. If you squinted. And had no standards.

Nikola, bless his gnomish little heart, was still frothing at the mouth over his cruddy-looking airship. And I genuinely couldn't tell you why. Honestly, a preschooler on a sugar high with a box of matchsticks and edible glue could've slapped together something more appealing.

But hey, I bit my tongue. Didn't share that little gem with him.

Yet.

I rolled my eyes at Nikola's back as he fussed over his precious seed—some sacred gift from the beastkin queen, supposedly. Truth be told, I had nothing to offer his little passion project, and honestly? I didn't care to. So, I left him to it and wandered off into the ruins, letting my mind drift as I tried to imagine what this place looked like before it all went to shit.

It felt tropical, sure—warm air, heavy with moisture, bugs that probably wanted to kill me—but I hadn't exactly played explorer outside the city limits. Could've been an oasis. Could've been hell with palm trees. Speaking of which… those trees? Yeah. Totally palm trees, except someone juiced them up on magical steroids and forgot to say "when." Their trunks were massive, like redwoods with something to prove. I mean, who looks at a tree and thinks, needs more thicc?

Anyway. As I wandered, I let a little flame flicker in my palm—green and purple, pretty as sin. Necrotic Flame. Mine. Technically it's fire magic—aka my archnemesis—but this wasn't your average burn-you-to-a-crisp kind of fire. It didn't hurt me. Not even a sizzle. Was it because it was my magic? Or did I have some weird-ass immunity to necrotic bullshit? No clue. Don't care.

All I know is, it's perfect for cooking people—I mean, meat. Uh… not human meat. Well—okay, screw it, who am I kidding? You all know I'm a cannibal. No sense playing coy now. So! Back to cooking people meat. Necrotic Flame? Chef's kiss. Crispy on the outside, twitchy on the inside. Just how I like it.

Not as good as rotten, maggoty spoiled meat, of course—but still a solid second place.

Still, I've been trying to use it less lately. Don't want to become a crutch-flame addict, y'know? Been working on casting my other system skills the hard way—like a big eldritch girl. Gotta flex those chaotic murder muscles without the system doing all the hand-holding. And turns out? I'm kinda amazing at it. Not that I'm surprised.

Is it raw talent? Divine intuition? The half dozen, passive insight skills I've collected like a loot goblin at a system buffet? Who knows.

Now, you might be wondering—am I exaggerating about how amazing I am?

Yes. Yes I am.

That all being said—I've been busy in my boredom. Between turning goblins into BBQ, I've been using the little green bastards as unwilling volunteers for a personal training montage. No real sport in killing them, so might as well make it educational. Gotta say, though... my new skills? Kinda fascinating. Not exploding-head level impressive yet, but still—definitely fun to play with.

Take Disintegration, for instance. Hard to tell if I'm actually pulling it off without the system—it acts a lot like Corrosive, so the effectiveness is kinda... meh? Jury's out. Then there's Devourer. Sure, it speeds up eating (yum), but the real perk—adding skills to my Selectable list? Hasn't kicked in yet. Honestly, I miss Absorb. I still have it, but it seems dead outside a dungeon.

Maybe I just need to eat a Champion.

Hmm. Wonder if Anlyth would let us take a little nibble. Just a taste. Purely academic.

Phantasmal Dominion and Phantasmal Mist? Gods, I love those. Battlefield control like a boss. But trying to cast them without system training wheels? Ha. Yeah, good luck. They slip right through my fingers—too alien, too weird, too... other.

Where's all that precious insight I like to brag about, huh?

Doesn't mean I've given up, though.

Not everything's a bust. I think I'm finally getting the hang of Surge. That one's a potential game-changer—if I can trigger it on command, system be damned. No visible cooldown, no mana drain that I can see, but I know there's a limit. I can feel it lurking, just waiting for me to push too far.

I'll be honest—it's a lot like Burst.

Which got me thinking… what if I merged them? Like, fire both off at once—bam!—double juice, extra speed, maybe even tear a hole in space-time while I'm at it.

Sounds fun, right?

Threads of Horror is a bit easier to manage without the system, at least for the smaller stuff. Like right now—as I'm sharing this—I'm running my black tentacle-tongue over my now-solid teeth, savoring the feel. There's something satisfying about the crunch of bones, y'know? But when it comes to the more intricate shit, I still struggle. Even with the system's help and all my insight, it's not exactly smooth sailing.

Armor casting, for instance? Yeah, let's just say it's not my finest work. Joints are a nightmare. Too fiddly. The whole thing ends up looking more like a draped fabric cosplay nightmare than anything remotely intimidating. Very not eldritch chic. Vexing, honestly.

Still—small win—the thread seems fire-resistant. Maybe even fireproof. That's... something. I'm dying to know if it holds up against Holy magic, though. Wouldn't it be delicious to finally get a leg up on Anlyth during our little spars? Without tapping into the Divine Stellar Core, of course. She whines and calls it cheating when I do that. I call it fair play. Tomato, toma-shut-up-Anlyth.

Now, speaking of the Divine Stellar Core... what can't I say about it? Former Dungeon Core, mashed together with—what—two of my other unique skills? That thing is like hitting the nitrous switch while snorting powdered divinity. Pure power. Raw, unfiltered, reality-warping cocaine.

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

And fuck, I love it.

Last but not least, let's talk about the enigma that is my other two new Unique skills: Birthright and Heiress. Their descriptions are vague as hell—like a cryptic fortune cookie scribbled by a drunk prophet. I don't even know what they do.

Take Birthright, for example: "Claim your legacy! As one of the lost children of the Primordial of Life—a long-forgotten Titan—you gain additional system aid and insight, enhancing your understanding of ambient mana manipulation and mastery over your skills."

Cool. So… another passive insight boost? Great. Thanks for the inspirational fluff, now tell me what the hell that actually means. How much insight? What kind of manipulation? Why am I still guessing?

And then there's Heiress: "Your dominion knows no boundaries. As the newly born Princess of the Realm of Dreams, all magic within the Dreamscape is amplified. From tranquil dreams to the darkest of nightmares, all will recognize you as the rightful heir to the Goddess of Dreams—young nightmare, your power is limitless."

Limitless? Really? That sounds like a scam. Is this only in the Dreamscape, or does it apply when I'm using Nightmare Dominion in the real world too? WHERE IS MY FUCKING MANUAL?!

All I know is they're passives. Quiet. Always-on. Just... lurking. Doing something. Maybe they're incredible, mind-blowing, game-breaking powers waiting to unfurl at the perfect moment.

Or maybe they're duds. Silent, decorative, tragic little wastes of potential I'll lose before I ever figure them out.

Because of course. Of course the cosmic jester juggling my fate—my story, my everything—would toss me a pair of "mystery box" passives and laugh as I try to make sense of them.

What a royal dick.

Oh! And for the final-final roll call—let's not forget some of the spells I actually learned to use without the system before swapping them out like an over-caffeinated LitRPG addict with commitment issues.

We've got: Blight, Corrosive, Thermal, Fear, Life Drain, Paralysis, Terror's Infusion, Burst, Ethereal Mist, Spider Walk, Spores, Venomous, Spirit Vessel, Necrotic Flame, and Polymorph. And of course, the good ol' reliable Silk Webbing.

Damn. I know a lot of magic.

I probably should use them more often, but honestly? It's hard not to fall back on my battle favorites when shit hits the fan. Not much else to say there—other than, yes, I'm a magical hoarder with poor rotation discipline. Sue me.

Ah, crap—almost forgot Polyglot. That's the translation skill. Currently showing up in my list as a Unique. Yep, another one of my many passives. Like a magical autocorrect just vibing in my brain.

Easy to forget. Real useful bastard. No clue how it works. Am I speaking Elvish to elves and Goblin to the J—

…you know what, let's not finish that thought. Some inappropriate questions are best left unanswered.

Also, I'd rather not lose readers over my mental quirks. Cannibalism? Totally fine. But joke about racism? Oh no, that's too far for the hardcore. All I have to say is: hypocrites. Tee-hee!

Last but not least—we've got Phantasia. Not much to say about that adorable little hive mind skill, other than I'm pretty sure it's tied to my subconscious. Not my soul fragments, mind you. Totally different department. Bet I could shove those chattering bitches in my head into Phantasia if I tried hard enough.

But hey, that's an experiment for another day.

Preferably one with less risk of blowing myself up.

…Probably.

We still need lightning. Like—actual lightning. Sparkle-zap, fry-your-brain, smite-a-fool-from-the-sky lightning. I want it. I need it. I crave it.

Yeah, and to snag it, we'd need a dungeon or a champion to munch on—and then we gotta cross our gooey little fingers that the system even coughs it up as an option.

Pfft. Devourer doesn't play by those rules. We don't need no stinkin' dungeon. Just someone stronger than us.

Right, because those grow on trees. Who the fuck's stronger than us that isn't rocking system hacks or divine sugar daddies?

Ugh. Whatever. I still want it. I'm not about to go full toaster-bath trying to steal it, but damn it, I want it.

What, you scared of a little shock?

N-No… Shut up. Maybe. Okay yes but only because I'm flammable, thank you very much!

All I could do was roll my eyes and pretend I wasn't hearing the peanut gallery tap-dancing on my brainstem. I was getting better at ignoring them—because if I wasn't, you'd be drowning in internal dialogue and side arguments every other sentence.

Honestly, I don't care how many times I say it—the voices in my head never shut the fuck up. Like, ever. They've got more runtime than a cursed podcast I can't unsubscribe from. And don't even get me started on the algorithm. One intrusive thought and suddenly it's a full-blown flame war between alt-right neckbeards, antifa vegans, and someone's grandma dropping cannibal casserole tips in the middle of it.

Like, why does one of the voices in my head sound like an old lady?

Worse still... it's all playing at once. In my skull. Thanks, brain.

Anyway, I think that covers all my magic. I think.

Memory's not what it used to be. You try having your soul shattered, scorched, glued back together with divine spit, and then tell me how many brain cells you've got left doing the mental gymnastics of spell recall.

And don't get me started on all the judgmental opinions I get.

"Oh, Blake, you're unstable."

"Oh, Blake, I hate reading about the voices in your head."

"Oh, Blake, maybe don't eat people."

"Oh, Blake, your narrative arc is a downward spiral into madness and violence."

"Oh, Blake, you're a lesbian?"

Yeah? And? Fuck off with your Goodreads rating and choke on your sanctimony.

Wait—what was I talking about again?

...Oh. Right!

Wait—

Nope. Shit. Lost it.

We are officially off the rails, folks. The point has packed its bags and left the station.

Lost in my own maze of thoughts, I absentmindedly continued to manipulate the Necrotic Flame. I was captivated by the way its strange glow danced around my hand, vanishing and reappearing with the snap of my fingers. It was an odd fascination, really. This flame—potentially lethal and definitely something I should fear, given my charming little vulnerability to fire—instead brought a peculiar kind of delight as it harmlessly caressed my dark, sinister pudding flesh.

Yeah, yeah, I know I've already gone on about this too, but I can't help it. It's mesmerizing. And it's helping, okay? I'm trying to recenter my manic thoughts, so let me have this.

Surprisingly, it didn't even affect my Silk Webbing—the original variety, not the fire-resistant, hardening, mind-altering type. Sure, the other variant, Threads of Horror, is a bit overpowered, but under my clumsy control? It's about as useful as using silk for teeth.

Well… okay, technically I do that. Tee-hee.

Still, it makes me wonder—could I fashion a sword out of it? Not that I'd be swinging blades around with my nonexistent sword skills, but maybe I could weave it into a tentacle spike or something equally stabby.

Ah, the endless possibilities.

Gods, I love being me.

The day had settled into a sort of mellow rhythm. The beastkin were up and about, out of their catacombs, conducting patrols, and, notably, there was no sign of the Slaethians. It was, in a word, boring. Ever since I found myself in this bizarre reality of magic and monsters, my life had been one long string of battles.

Maybe now was a good time to turn off my Sleep immunity and take a nice, cozy nap in the dream realm. Maybe even go visit dear Momma.

I was leaning against some rubble, about to do just that—when it all went straight to hell.

"BLAKE! BLAKE!" a woman's voice rang out.

I turned, eyes narrowing as some random chick with long bunny ears came skidding to a halt in front of me. The damn things bobbed about.

"What?" I groaned.

I had no idea who she was. There were so many beastkin, and there was no way I was learning all their names. That said… she was kinda cute—if you're into bunny girls with big tits and very little clothing.

"An airship has been spotted heading this way!" she blurted out, her words tripping over each other in her haste. "It's an advanced scout ship. The Slaethians always send one before the main wave of their armada."

A smile tugged at my lips.

"Huh. Well, that should fix my boredom."

"W-What? You don't understand!" she sputtered, eyes wide and ears twitching with panic. "They always attach at least one Champion to a scout ship!"

"A Champion, huh?"

You're going to get us killed—again!

Who said that?

Yeah—shut the fuck up, pussy!

I want a new jump rope!

An edible intestine jump rope?

Hell yeah, we're in!

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