Despite walking towards monsters, Normann moved at a sedate pace, hands in his pockets. They had stopped funneling out of the Rift and moved into more defensive positions with their little ramparts. The people behind him stopped firing as well, watching him.

  He hadn’t seen this type of monster before, and the SYSTEM’s HUD didn’t provide anything, not without a boon or debuff similar to what information his [Read the Bones] would supply. The HUD’s purpose was more geared towards an operator’s own status than anything else and required input like [Read the Bones] in order to provide it.

  But a monster’s appearance was sometimes enough to start evaluating a situation. As he approached, Normann was able to get a better look at them. Green skin mottled with black and off-grey splotches across their bodies, some of which were similar to boils or blisters. Eyes that were tinted with yellow, and mouths filled with rotten teeth. They wore mostly rags wrapped with leather strips, a bare hint of modesty or perhaps out of necessity given the name of the dungeon they were spilling out of. Only one of them wore anything remotely clothing and it held a book of sorts. Its arm was shaking as it summoned up another bolt of purple and pink energy. It shouted something, but if they were meant to be words, Normann didn't understand them. It screamed out the same phrase, waving its glowing hand at him, but he didn’t stop walking.

  Monsters weren’t friendly. They weren’t peaceful or rational. Rifts plagued humanity for over a hundred years, and not once had a monster attempted to speak to humans in any way that could be considered even non-threatening. It’s not that the monsters weren’t intelligent. Those that could spoke in a language no human recognized. It couldn’t be recorded or written down, a quirk of the SYSTEM Oliver hypothesized but unprovable in the end. Monsters, and Rifts in general, were threats and needed to be put down fast by experienced and power operators.

  Normann was neither.

  He should panic. He should be attempting to hid or flee or something other than walk forward. Normann had no training beyond very basic combat survival skills that involved fleeing. He knew the basics and had spent decades watching Lucas, Beaumont, and the others train their own skills. He could survive, but he had never done anything like this. Never had to actually fight on the front line.

  Except his anima refused to stay still. The energy coursing within him urged him to take another step forward, even when he desperately wanted to flee. “Okay, brave brave sir idiot,” he said in a shaky breath, walking towards the monsters, “you can figure this out. It’s a puzzle, nothing more.”

  Normann took in his surroundings, as the few dead people scattered around. He slowed slight as he saw the overturned stroller, the slightly burnt tiny shoe lying next to it. “Identify the outcome, list the facts, and match the facts to the outcome you desire while identifying what prevents said outcome. You can-”

  He was less than twenty feet away when he caster of the group released that bolt of energy. It slammed into his shoulder. Skin burned and tore as the magic bored into him, tearing through him until it collided with his bones and burst with a flare of heat and darkness. He stumbled back, flailing to get his balance, then fell to a knee. His HUD flashed red: his HP bar zeroed out, meaning the attack bypassed whatever passive defensives he had.

  “Fuck you green motherfuckers!” D shouted from far away and somewhere down a tunnel. The monsters roared just as far away. He knelt between them, eyes closed but his HUD still bright in his self-imposed darkness. Guns fired behind him and the monsters poured out from behind their make-shift walls, and he could only feel the burning of his arm and his magic chomping at the bit to break free. A quick shuffle of large feet approached only to be shot five or six times and collapse near him.

  Norman sucked in a breath and squeezed his eyes harder as he pressed against the hole in his shoulder. “Idiot,” he muttered. He had lived for over ninety years as an operator because he had been smart and knew what he was capable of. Now, back for less than twenty minutes, he was walking to the firing line of monsters. Even an F-rank monster was capable of slaughtering an operator of an equal rank, and he hadn’t acquired his complete set of components yet. It didn’t matter what his attributes were. It didn’t matter that he had a quest. It didn’t matter that he came back with a purpose and needed to fix things, to save people. He could still die if he was careless.

  He glanced over to the stroller. To the body curled around something. He couldn't hear anything over the screams and the gun shots and the roaring flares of magic coming from the monster. Every noise had overwhelmed until he just heard soft cries.

  Normann closed his eyes and punched the ground. Carelessness leads to deaths, Hawks, Lucas told him. You may not care, but we do, so let’s pay attention right?

  He nodded to the unspoken question, like he did all those years ago. Lucas saved his dumb self from being fried because he was too busy trying to keep others aware and safe to watch over himself. He had a job then, and carelessness nearly killed him.

  When this Rift opened the first time, he had been stuck in the school, waiting for a rescuing that would never come. He couldn’t remember how long it took for Sentinels to arrive and finish the Rift. But he did remember the gun fire, the explosions, and the screams that came from outside for so long. He remembered the few students staring at their cellphones, some of them calling their parents and some not being able to get through.

  As he stood up, the hole in his shoulder repaired itself, knitting bone and skin back together. His shirt was torn and burnt, the sleeve barely hanging onto his shoulder. No hole though, no fried or torn skin. Almost perfectly smooth. He pressed against it, and the pain of anima rebuilding him was all he felt, that sharp electric stab that stretched throughout his body. Nothing of the wound itself.

  His HP bar filled completely too only to flash once the red bar was back.

  Bullets flew past and the monsters charged from their makeshift barricades. Normann heard them, knew of them, but was still as he stared at his now dry fingers. Rarely had he seen an operator recover from a wound like his without a healing spell or potion of some sorts. While most operators possessed some ability to spell to heal themselves, it was either a slower effect or short lived. Regeneration was an extremely useful ability and some of the best Strikers made use it to stay in combat for longer than was sane.

  That was at S-Rank though, where the capabilities and dangers were amplified beyond human sensibilities. Operators became almost god-like when they fought. At F-Rank, bullets could still kill and fire still hurt, so healing magic mattered even more. Especially when an operator lacked their full suite of components, possessing only their core. They would be slightly above human, capable of more, but the difference wouldn’t normally be enough.

  It wouldn’t be enough only if an operator relied solely on the SYSTEM to determine what they were capable of.

  Anima was an ephemeral substance, barely in reality but existed more as a metaphor, within him to describe that energy and power the core gave access to. All operators had this energy, or rather, it would be better to say that all operators possessed access to anima due to their cores. The exact methods and means in which they are used aren’t understood, even by Normann’s time. The way that the energy is used by the operator is broken into three basic categories: abilities, spells, and passives. Passives, as the name implies, are ways an operator’s anima affects either them or the world without their directed input, in the same manner a person digests foods or processes air. The stark difference between abilities and spells was distance: an ability was centered on an operator and directed through them with a very limited spread, while a spell is centered or targeted towards a more distant enemy with often a wide range of an effect.

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  All three came from components. Passives were mostly through the core, while the remaining components provided a wide range of abilities and spells reflecting the eidolon they represented. With only his core, Normann had a single Passive and nothing else. Until he obtained his components, all he possessed was his body and the anima within it.

  It’d be enough.

  Normann squeezed his hand into a fist, capturing his storming anima that raged within him. He didn’t actually hold it, but it followed that force of will he used; a mindset that demanded the energy within him act as it wanted it to. His shoulder raged in tandem, the pain overwhelming his vision for a moment with a bright white heat, but as he pulled the anima under his control, the pain slowly died down. The hole in his shoulder had repair itself, and while the pain would continue, he could function. He could fight. That’s all he needed. He didn’t need to be whole or clean or even healthy. He needed to function. Everything else could be dealt with later.

  In his first life, he simply existed in the world as it passed around him. His life was one of patience and just being present, never stepping forward or into danger. He was just there, a walking and talking object used to make everyone around him fight better. He was nothing more than a source of boons and afflictions, a means of making other operators’ lives easier. It was all he was to anyone. It was all he was good for. He made smart choices, always thinking through his actions and how he could help. He needed to prove he wasn’t a waste of space or effort by others. They may not have said it, but he knew they thought it, even if it was fleeting. The dumb and worthless Penitent. That was all Normann was.

  He wasn’t a front liner, and even when it was down to the last six of them, he never stood that close to the fights. His bosses originally gave him a crossbow before magical rifles were developed, but never was a great shot. His sparring routines and proficiency was subpar at best. His stats were even worse; his role in the group was solely there to grant one of the best afflictions known to the world. That he had a secondary buff to grant was completely secondary. The rest of his abilities didn’t matter. He had relied too much on others’ efforts to survive until he couldn’t. It was the smart choice for an operator that might as well have been an afterthought.

  “Okay then,” he spat out blood and stood straighter. It didn’t have to be that way. Not any more.

  Normann flared his anima, black and red lines spiking from his first, as his channeled it into Lucas taught him the trick to channeling anima within the body, empowering basic attacked with melee weapons. Or better, open hand attacks. His anima would travel paths within him, similar as if he were to use an ability or spell. It wasn’t the most efficient of moves, though, and he couldn’t recover his AE while using it. But it would be useful until he could use his anima more efficiently.

  It fought against his grip, trying to worm its way free. But as the first monster approached, a rudimentary spear ready to pierce him through, he twisted with the stab letting it pass right by him. He slide the pocket of anima, charged and concentrated, down his hand to his elbow as he turned. He followed his momentum, stepping in and spinning to deliver a solid elbow to its head with a solid crack. A flare of red and black popped when he connected with it.

  The monster fell back, knocked off his feet, and Normann continued his step forward, sending his anima pocket back to his fist only to spread it out along his forearm. Another monster swung overhand with a heavy club. Normann took the bulk of it on his empowered forearm and moved down with the force, reducing its force even more. Another step and he stood up, driving his fist into its stomach. The flare of energy exploded out its back, red and black lines of anima as sharp cutouts.

  The other monsters paused their charge and the gun fire ceased. Normann glanced at his HUD: both HP and AE dipped slightly, though the red bar had already filled again. As long as he held his anima, his AE would slowly go down. Eventually he’d have to release it, but for the moment, he had plenty to spare.

  Six monsters remained standing nearby, two on the ground, and the caster hid behind the barricades they all had set up. He took it all in, the two on the ground, small debuffs next to their names “Sickly scaldren”. A health bar had appeared above it, over two-thirds empty. If he focused on the debuff, a small tooltip appeared, but he didn’t have time to read it. A bolt screamed past his face, the hazy purple and pink dragging thin lines across his cheek and jaw.

  “Right,” he said. “Need to focus.” Normann cracked his neck and stepped towards the remaining scaldrens.

  He wasn’t fast. He didn’t need to be. He wasn’t strong. He didn’t need to be. All he needed was the same thing that kept him alive in the future: persistence and an idiotic stubbornness to die. He never had grand attributes that caused others to be in awe of him, not like Doyle and Beaumont. But in coming back and taking the new core, all that had changed. He had changed.

  The second bolt crashed into his chest, but he didn’t stop walking this time. He leaned into the energy and let it burn into him as he continued forward. His HP dropped by only half and slowly began to rise again. Normann smiled as he continued to approach the group.

  He wasn’t fast. He didn’t need to be. He wasn’t strong. He didn’t need to be. All he needed was the same thing that kept him alive in the future: persistence and an idiotic stubbornness to die. He never had grand attributes that caused others to be in awe of him, not like Lucas and Beaumont. But in coming back and taking the new core, all that had changed. He had changed.

  His anima pounded in his body, like a second heart beating in time with his own. Normann kept his pace slow and inevitable as he walked. He forced his anima down to his fists.

  His magic swirled around his body, in and out of his limbs, in a chaotic dance that threatened to consume him. Everything burned and he wanted to stop. As he approached, a scaldren roared at him and charged, a weapon raised to slam into him. Normann stepped into the monster’s space and blocked the blow. He nearly buckled, but used the momentum to continue forward and up, swinging with a punch of his own. He pushed his magic from the storm within, from his heart down his arm to his fist, giving it an ethereal burnt gold glow with spikes of red and black.

  He had more than enough anima, especially with no abilities to use them on. His hand burned from holding in the energy, but he focused instead on follow through, moving his hips with the punch so he could continue to step towards the caster and the Rift. Both were larger threats than the monsters in front of him.

  The scaldren’s health bar appeared with that debuff again next to it. It dropped over two thirds this time as a number flashed above it faster than he could catch. It stumbled back only to trip over another incoming scaldren, knocking each other to the ground. A tooltip appeared again when he stared at the scaldren he punched but it disappeared when he looked to the next one.

  The scaldren were a relatively common F- and E-rank monster race. They spawned from the early Rifts, coming from excessively warm environments in the form of delves rather than dungeons. If they spawned from a higher rank Rift, then they’d usually were minions to some other powerful monster. They also had a rudimentary culture from what little was learned about them before more pressing needs came about.

  Another scaldren stepped forward, this one had a grayed out name above its head. Norman twisted as another club was swung at him, though he couldn’t avoid it. It crashed into his ribs, and he felt the crack vibrate through his chest and core, down his opposite arm. His HUD flickered like an old tv for a moment as his body bent with the blow. His HP bar dropped again, almost zeroing out, before starting to climb back up.

  Normann clamped down with arm on the weapon and held it to his body as he spun his hips, pulling in the lichen so he could easily punch it. He channeled his anima again and felt the bone give way beneath his punch. The scaldren’s health bar appeared and dropped even further, almost bottoming out. It fell back, releasing its club, and Normann caught sight of the small symbol next to its name, but he shifted his attention back to the another scaldren running towards him.

  He grabbed the club and swung it like a baseball bat at the charging monster, channeling his magic through his hands and into the weapon. A fourth bolt flew at him, passing by as he stepped into his swing and connected with the scaldren’s chest. This time, the health bar flashed into existence only to bottom out immediately and disappear just as fast. Normann watched the life in its eyes die as it flew back from his attack. It flew away from him, staring into the empty eyes and the shocked expression. Normann turned away

  A fifth pink and purple bolt hit him in the face, and he stumbled back. Another scaldren attacked with its own club, striking his back and forcing him off balance. He stumbled forward, pushing another scaldren to the ground. Normann spat out a mouthful of blood and straightened up best he could. The scaldren who attacked him froze in its next attack and stared up at him, trembling. The club it possessed had small chunks of black, glassy rock in it. “I’m sorry,” Normann said and swung another baseball swing; the monster didn’t evade despite how slow he was moving. It stood with its club held to its chest as its death came as fast as its friends.

  Norman made short work with the other scaldren, killing the ones on the ground as swift as he could. By the time he had finished, his AE was near empty and his stamina bar was full, but he felt exhausted. There was one left, the caster behind its barricade. No other monsters escaped from the Rift, no threats surrounded them. For the most part, nothing could exit the Rift when its immediate vicinity, maybe a ten to twenty yard radius, had an operator standing in it or when one had entered the Rift itself. As long as Normann stood near the open hole in reality, nothing else could come out.

  He had one more thing to handle before he could enter it and complete his quest.