Class choices:
He scrolled through the list of choices. Borus was not lying when he said titles would determine your classes. All of his titles were connected to his classes, one way or another.
Berserker came from the title [Bloodthirsty]
He glossed over Galewalker, which seemed like a more specified version of an assassin class. He admitted that there was some fun in sneaking up on people at times. But doing it all the time? Nope.
Zayn pursed his lips. This pesky system was having a joke, wasn’t it? He was pretty sure SysAdmin007 was writing this. Only someone as petty as that could do so.
But among the choices so far, he liked this one the most. Though he was getting annoyed at having to guess what these skills meant just based on their names.
Martial arts was self-explanatory. What did fists of iron mean? Maybe it’d turn his hands as hard as iron. The Reckoning sounded cool as hell, but he was very clueless on what it could actually do.
Hell summoner:real deal? Beware though; the one who stares into the abyss becomes one with the abyss.
Zayn paused, taking a second to digest that. Being a Hell summoner was insane. Spirits and demons running back and forth on his calls would be metal as as far as he was concerned.
Though he was not too into a summoner-type class. Summoners had weaker bodies and focused more on summoning stronger beings to do their bidding.
He would have to make contracts with hell spirits and such. Even if he ignored how morally dodgy dealing with devils could be, he hated having to rely on something else’s power.
Red rager:
Requirements: At least 10 in Strength, Fortitude, and Constitution. Title [The Helldiver], [Bloodthirsty],
Starting skill: Bloodburn, I see you now, Stone-shattering fist
“Whoa”
As soon as he saw Red Rager, all of his hesitation floated towards the back of his mind. The system was not giving him much of an option, was it? If this was a multiple-choice question, the answer was a bit too obvious. Harnessing the power of bloodlines? He loved the sound of that.
He paused his hands. What’d mean? Ambiguous moral standings? Was he talking about Red Rager? He could understand Hell Summoner, at least. Running around and making deals with the devil was certainly not the popular choice. What was Red Rager’s deal?
“Why?”
Zayn stared.
That was a tad bit ominous. But he could see the argument. He really could. Though he almost couldn’t stop his finger hovering towards the confirmation button.
A tinge of doubt rooted inside and spread like wild weeds. He halted his breath, staring at the warning screen. Remembering how he got into mechanical engineering. How that had gone for him.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Not like things would have been much different if he had followed his dreams of becoming a racer. His life would have still been ruined. Earth would have still revolved around the sun. The apocalypse would have happened all the same.
But maybe, just maybe, he would have been a tiny bit
“Very few times does a man get to choose their own path in life.” Raka spoke all of a sudden, its tone full of reminiscence. “Birth, Death, how the world reacts to you and your choices—none of those are within your control. You could spend your entire life trying to do just the right things, doing all you can to make sure everything falls into one place; you’d still make mistakes. And the very moment you slip, the world will bare its fang at you anyway.”
Zayn stared at the bike in surprise. Any other time, he’d quip that a bike born just a few hours ago shouldn’t speak like a wise old man who’d been through the vicissitudes of life. But Raka looked strangely sad.
He licked his lips. This time, he would follow his own heart, even if that path only led to ruins.
He might as well gamble. What good are safe choices? If he lost, he would be just another name in the forgotten river of time. But if he won…
He couldn’t feel any difference, not until heat suddenly escaped out of his body. Or so he thought. The world turned excruciatingly cold. Even the faintest air current pierced his skin like ice shards.
He groaned, and his knees buckled. He fell on the ground, writhing. A hiss rose out of his body, wafting into a swirling mist.
Red streaks covered his body, tracing every single vein and artery, incinerating everything in it’s path—spreading up to his bones. It was like a kick to the balls. Only, he could felt it in his entire body.
“That’s just a flesh wound, kid.” Raka's words rang like a bell, reverberating over and over inside his head. In his mind, he was getting submerged under the pressure of the weight of his blood.
When he started wondering if he was going to break into puddles of blood, the pain receded to nothingless; to a sudden standstill.
When he woke up, the world had turned silent. He scanned around in panic, only relieved once he saw Raka in the distance, whirling around, looking for something.
He stared at the new barrage of notifications.
Bloodburn made him grin like an idiot. With that activated, he could definitely punch through a tree. Assuming it could be upgraded, it would become a powerful trump card for him to use in future.
It seemed like he was going to have to bleed quite often. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. What did it mean by secrets? Skills? Knowing your enemy skills beforehand would surely come in handy.
It was rather lackluster. But he couldn’t complain. For this dungeon, this was almost the perfect skill.
He had put three more points into strength. Now that he knew how to allot points, it became easier every time. He’d been more on the slender side before, and sitting around in office gave him a bit of a pudgy belly. He stared at his own body that looked more and more bulky.
Honestly, this felt like doping. Only, it was permanent and with no side effect. He put the final point in intelligence after a lot of reluctance, only because it was starting to look a bit too unbalanced.
Though, It was ridiculous. He had gotten at least thrice as strong since the morning. He chuckled at his own joke.
Zayn pursed his lips. The timing was rather immaculate. Did they wait until he chose a class to send the package? Was he worthy of a compensation package now, after getting the class? How ruthless.
“What?”
“0”
least
The system admin cut out before the message could finish. Zayn chuckled. He wasn’t like the others. Others would hesitate and choose something in the middle to stay on the safer side. Not Zayn; he always loved a good bet.
A rectangular box fell out of nowhere with a thud.
“A coffin?”
He took a step back. Did he get sent a corpse as a compensation?
“Oi! What the hell is this?!” Zayn shouted in the air, but no response came after a while. He wasn’t sure what he should have expected from a troll, anyway.
Holding his breath, he crept towards it. The coffin was cold and smooth to the touch, as if it had been under a glacial temperature for millenias. From it’s texture, he couldn’t really tell if it was made of wood or metal. It felt like neither and both—giving him a completely alien feeling.
Intricate designs spiraled across its entire surface, faintly glinting in the dim light. His eyes were fixed to the circular insignia at its center: a blade and a hammer, crossing over each other.
With a thud, it opened up by itself—almost giving him a heart attack.
“Screw–” He swore, half expecting a mummy to jump out, but he found himself staring at a suit. A suit.
Nether Suit (Relic - Common): ‘
Traits : [Adaptation] [Polymorphism] [Red]
He wasn’t sure whether the bloody moon behind him gave it an eerie red hue or whether the hue came from the suit itself. Wearing this was asking everything to attack him. Golems would see him coming from a mile away.
“Can I change colour?”
“Black or blue?” He asked again, only to receive wind at his face for half a minute. He sighed, taking a look at himself.
Nameless (Common—growth):
Currently stored skills (0/1)—none.
The nameless gauntlet was shaped like a pair of dragon claws. It was pitch black; any light that neared it was gobbled up by it like a mini black hole. As soon as he touched it, it shrank and fitted around his hands, turning into a pair of handgloves.
The glove gave a feeling of familiarity
“Huh? Sure.”
He stared at the rectangular box on the side, checking its description. White dots centered on it’s black body. One dot above, three on the side.
Toolbox of [The Mad Sculptor]:
Effect :
He rubbed his forehead after reading that description. How amusing. So, that was the Pandora’s box. Pandora's box had landed on his lap on day one.
Quickly deciding to abandon the box, he stared at the coffin again. Clown suit, gloves, and Pandora’s box; the whole circus was in one place. It was only missing a clown mask.
“Whatever.” He suited himself, despite his unwillingness. The jeans he wore had been shredded a while ago, filled with grime from all the fighting. And he’d already thrown his jacket a while ago. For the last few hours, he was practically a madman running with his junk hanging in the wind.
Comfort spread through his entire body as he put them on one by one. Although he said it’d look bad, it didn’t seem like the worst combination ever. Though, he couldn’t be too sure.
The rectangular toolbox made a shifting noise, changed sides by itself, and turned from one dot to three, throwing out a small hand mirror.
“Nah. I’m out.”
