Elias emerged from the alley's damp shadows onto a bustling street. The rain had ceased, leaving puddles reflecting the dull gleam of streetlights. Commuters, oblivious, hurried past, their faces etched with the familiar weariness of a mundane workday. It was unsettling, this stark contrast between the hidden horrors he'd just faced and the world's placid ignorance. The pollution was here, he realized, woven into the fabric of everyday life, manifesting as subtle decay, lingering despair, fractured anxieties. Negative emotions, the true fuel of the Eldritch.
He brought his right hand up, flexing his fingers. The skin felt perfectly normal, no tell-tale scar or seam. The mouth, his terrifying cheat, was gone, invisible to any casual observer. A faint, almost imperceptible warmth radiated from his palm, a constant reminder of the alien power simmering beneath his skin. He still felt that subtle resonance of the absorbed entity, like a barely audible static in the back of his mind. It wasn't intrusive yet, but it was there, a new layer to his consciousness.
"Level 1," he muttered under his breath, recalling the game's ranking system. He was barely stronger than an average person, despite his unique absorption. A low-level Eldritch had been easy enough, but the higher tiers would be terrifying. He needed to adapt, fast. He was a player in a world where game overs were permanent.
His gamer's mind, accustomed to optimizing builds and planning routes, kicked in. He needed information, resources. Money, for starters, and a place that wasn't a damp alley. More importantly, he needed to understand this world's version of the "meta." Where were the safest low-level grind spots? Which areas had higher concentrations of benign pollution? His eyes scanned the passing faces, a new kind of filter applied: identifying potential sources of the cosmic rot. He was no longer just Elias Thorne; he was a reborn player, thrust into the ultimate survival game.