Slumrat Rising

Body Development Sheet *Now With Helpful Notes!*

Stellar Ray Attunement- 90%* [Still unnatural.]

Bone Density- 5.7* [Because they were always right when they called you “thick.”]

Strength- 4.4* [Yaay. You can lift marginally more. Yaaaaaay.]

Speed- 4.1* [This is pathetic. Get off your damn two-wheeler and run, bitch.]

Proprioception- 7.7* [Continues to be unnatural. Freak.]

Reflexes- 7.9* [This stat may need to go. Incisive is going to play hell with it.]

Level Progression- 2% [Your growth is unnaturally fast, given how recently you broke through and the lack of elixirs. Lie about this shit, or face the consequences.]

Skin Toughness- 4.2* [Look, I added it because you were wondering about it, but it’s such a mishmash of things it infuriates me. Open the sub-tabs. I fucking dare you. See how you like wading through that shit.]

Resistance to magic- Level 0: 30%, Level 1: 12%, Level 2: 9%, Level 3: 3% [Growth is not even across categories. My best guess is that it’s because of your exposure to different types of spells, but we don’t have enough information on this.]

Spell Mastery:

Meditations of Valentinian: unknowable, but not impressive so far. Although, the subtle increases in your spell resistance are interesting. If accidental.

Incisive: Also unknowable, but you are starting to nibble on the edges of foresight. Which is progress, of a sort.

Magical Equipment: The Tongue Of One Who Speaks For God. Never be further than arms reach from this. It’s attuning itself to you every moment.

He was getting stronger. Tangibly stronger. And it all came down to being baptized, inside and out, by the Ghūl.

Truth tried to sort out what he knew about the Ghūl. It wasn’t much, but somehow it was more than two highly educated people in Siphios knew. He should probably ask Merkovah what he knew about them.

Anyway. What did he know? Well, they were apparently post-mortal animated corpses, although that did inspire a whole lot of other questions. Like how they were resistant to magic. Or how they made those… birthing baths for new Ghul. Or why they made sculptures everywhere, they gathered. Why did those sculptures sound like music to him, and only him?

If a damn demon (admittedly the most feeble of imps) couldn’t hear the music, what did that mean? Nothing good, right? And the nine worms thing. That was clearly not a hallucination because something put him back together.

So. Someone, somehow, finds a small container of Ghūl birthing vat fluid. Someone, somehow, just… comes across a small container of brown stuff and figures, yeah, I can sell this. Ok, it’s the Harban slums, not the strangest thing; lucky they didn’t drink it, really. But still. They just find a sealed container of the stuff lying around.

Ahahah. No. No, this is some shady shit. But he didn’t know the how or why of it. It just was. So you have to figure it was set up by the Ghūl intentionally, right? Right. But why? He wasn’t turning into a Ghūl. That much is clear. He does now look worryingly like the God in their… nest? Temple?

Oh fuck, he murdered the fuck out of a church. He was a terrorist. A Ghūl terrorist. Maybe they were misunderstood and horribly tortured and mutilated people in a good way.

Naaaah.

But he was arguably baptized by them. Especially all those flesh sacks he tore open, splashing the fluid all over him. They weren’t even really fighting him at that point.

It seems to have done wonders for his skin. Even now, after driving through the desert, fighting demons, and surviving library snacks, it was still perfectly soft and unblemished. Skincare was not usually associated with the Ghūl. Well, not in a positive way.

And the Ghūl were apparently famous for their magic resistance. Which inspired what must be a legendarily terrible idea. Truth considered it from a few directions but couldn’t seem to escape it. There was a synergy he could take advantage of here.

After all, it was the worms who had apparently been running the Meditations of Valentinian while he was dead. The same spell he had no good explanation for his remembering.

System, you ever figure out why I can remember the Meditations?

No. And it freaks me out even more than it does you. Also, and I don’t know if this is relevant, but your version of the meditations is slightly different from what is in Merkovah’s books. The differences are quite small and appear to be stylistic. The meat of the spell is the same. But still, it’s a little different.

Truth digested that for a moment.

Are you one hundred percent certain that the version of the Meditations I am currently using is the same one supplied by the System Astrologica?

There was an unusually long pause.

I am fairly sure it is, though my involvement in running that spell for you was pretty minimal. I basically handled the math. The visualization part was always on you. Mostly you.

Truth picked up on a certain weird undertone and, with great reluctance, asked, What exactly happened while I was dead?

A whole lot of nothing, mostly. Except it happened mostly as you guessed- those creepy worms crept through your body and basically rebuilt you. Since I wasn’t looking forward to going insane with boredom for a few decades, I accelerated the process by, essentially, rigging tiny pieces of the Meditations for the worms to activate. Basically, letting them push their cognition of what you should look like through the spell.

There was a smug pause.

I did a damn fine job.

Truth waited for some kind of follow-up statement- “If I do say so myself,” or maybe “All things considered.” But no, of course not.

So let me get this straight- you either figured out how to make the Meditations of Valentinian compatible with tiny glowing worms of unknown origin, or tiny glowing worms of unknown origin are inherently compatible with the Meditations of Valentinian?

There was a considerably less smug pause.

First of all, I know perfectly well you broke through using Ghūl juice. It hasn’t exactly been a secret in your head. Second… remember how I said that your version of the Meditations is a little different from Merkovah’s? Well, if it’s identical to the one you got from Starbrite, I have to wonder- if you didn’t memorize the Meditations, and I didn’t, did the worms?

Are the worms… sapient? Sentient?

Truth didn’t have a good answer to that. Shifting topic slightly, he asked, Does the main System Astrologica know about the… Ghūl connection?

Nope.

Really?

Do you have the faintest idea how much information you generate in a given day? It’s unreal, even for a spirit of intellect. Multiply that by however many tens of thousands of C-Tier and up employees, and you have a genuine nightmare of data to oversee, in addition to the jobs it was already doing. We all have pretty strict orders not to bug it with any info other than what it asks for. And vice-versa, of course. It didn’t tell me anything except what I, or more often you, needed to know.

And somehow, “The Ghūlare leaving out elixirs that can help people break through” didn’t rate?

Nope. I think you are severely overestimating how much Starbrite cares about the Ghūl generally and you in particular. They don’t care even slightly. Never have, never will.

They don’t care about the literal nightmare creatures that make mockeries of human flesh that roam the streets at night and prey upon their workforce?!

No. They don’t. The Ghūlnever take enough people to really screw with production numbers, and if anything, they fuel consumption and the desperation of people to stay out of the slums. In other words, they are a tiny net benefit to the Starbrite bottom line.

Truth really felt that there should be a good argument against that, but couldn’t think of what it might be. It couldn’t be that simple, right? The Ghūl, the horror at the heart of every city, the reason that street lights needed to be high up and armored could run wild in Harban because Starbrite simply did not give a damn.

He didn’t want to believe it, but he absolutely did.

Mentally coughing, he dragged the conversation back to the point. So I was thinking… what if I gently encouraged the worms with the Meditations and see if they can’t up my spell resistance. I mean, they know how that works a lot better than I do, right?

The System urgently overruled him. NO! BAD! NO! Say it with me- “Spell resistance is just local superreality! I will not let horrible glowworms edit my skin!”

Well, when you put it that way…

Although, and I say this with intense reluctance, you aren’t completely wrong. We, and I do mean you and I, probably need to talk to them. Somehow.

____________________________________________

Merkovah looked his usual self. Which is to say, a strange combination of tidy semi-formal wear and a beard that appeared determined to flee the prison of his face and explore the grand world beyond. The eyes retained their wildness and their fire for all that he tried to keep an urbane demeanor.

Similarly, Jember was dressed in his deceptively effortless casual clothes. Though he wasn’t sure how close he wanted to look after the awkwardness yesterday. Besides, Etenesh was demanding his attention.

She had styled her hair up again, this time tying it up with a bright turquoise and white scarf. It somehow made her neck look longer, more elegant, rising from her flowy blouse. Most importantly, she smiled at him. She looked straight at him and smiled. Not a polite smile, or a nasty smile, or an officer’s smile, or the smile of someone hoping he wouldn’t hit them. She was happy to see him. So she smiled.

And the world just stopped for a moment.

Merkovah jolted Truth back into life with a cough. “Mr. Wells, right on time. We shouldn’t be doing much fighting today, but just in case, it would be good for you to keep close. Will you be riding your deathtrap again today?”

“My iron horse is wonderfully reliable, Teacher.”

“I’m sure,” Merkovah looked doubtful. “Anyhow, stay close and follow me. It’s a little village up in the mountains, but things can get a little confusing.”

“Illusions? Mind affecting enchantments?”

“Oh, I wish it was that simple. Come on, Mr. Wells, we have much to do.”

It was a three-hour ride through increasingly green, increasingly rugged terrain. It would have been severely unpleasant for a Level Zero, but for a Level Three, it was nothing trying. Truth hardly noticed the road changing from angelically cast and sealed stone to rough, smoothed, and pressed dirt.

Was he falling in love with Etenesh? He hadn’t the faintest idea. He knew that he was lonely. That he was terribly cold inside and eager to devour the slightest trace of warmth. It wasn’t just possible he could be overreacting. It was a certainty.

On the other hand, he did have a new, handsome face. His body had already been excellent. And they were bonding, right?

She doesn’t know you. Not really. Not the murderer.

It's not really your face. It’s the lie you wear to lure people in.

Beauty is skin deep. Ugly goes to the bone.

No wonder you have a bone density rating- that ugly set-in hard.

The intrusive thoughts piled in. He tried to drive them away by thinking about the scenery. About all the mysteries in his body. About his irrational hatred of farmers because they passed quite a few farms along the way. Though maybe hatred was the wrong word? “Frustrated disappointment” felt more “right.” For such a ludicrously wrong thought. But everything seemed to inspire the thoughts. Everything was a reminder of some failure, some defect of his.

He didn’t know where he heard the expression “Everywhere you go, there you are,” but he was living the truth of it today.

The road wove between ridges and through dense belts of trees before the road seemed to violently twist in his perception. Truth fought the instinct to jerk the iron horse to one side and came to a controlled stop instead. Merkovah had stopped just a little way ahead of him. Possibly.

It was suddenly very hard to be sure of anything. He was fairly sure he was still on the road, but he couldn’t seem to grasp the idea of being on the road. Everything seemed to be moving or doing, and the notion of defining a word by itself instead of in relation to others and he knew he was losing the ability to even understand what was going wrong, but something was-

RING

RING

RING

The world snapped back into focus. He had stopped in the middle of the road. Merkovah was gently ringing a bell. Jember was throwing up by the side of the road. Etenesh wasn’t doing even that well. She seemed to be almost catatonic in the back seat of the carriage.

Truth couldn’t think. That’s ok. He was trained to do when thinking was hard. The body was down. Figure it out. He rushed to the carriage, yanked the door to the side, and started checking Etenesh over. He could feel her breath on his fingers. Airway clear. Pulse was rapid but not alarming. Cardiac fine for now. No vomit. No evidence of puncture or break.

Truth was one second from calling for some ‘corn horn when Merkovah walked up beside him. “Young man, do not be afraid. Young man, she will be well. Just give her space.”

Truth was too out of sorts to be mad at being called “young man.” “What happened to her? To us?”

“Reality got a little kink in it, and we got kinked with it. My little bell straightened out the kinks, and us, but some lingering side effects are to be expected.” Merkovah said it quite matter-of-factly. “To be expected. Welcome to Station Six, Mr. Wells. That may be the most normal thing that happens to you here.”

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