'Urgh, my head! I really need to stop waking up like this.'
Morgan sat up with a groan, his brain pounded against the insides of his skull like the worst hangover he'd ever experienced and his body screamed in protest of every choice he'd made. His stomach churned as a fresh wave of nausea flowed through him.
Rolling onto his right elbow he hurled without much effect. He hadn't eaten much recently so the only thing in his stomach was partly digested nuts and stomach acid that was stained red.
The world twisted and bent around him as he swayed back and forth, every tiny movement sending a new jolt of pain racing into his brain. Groaning, he laid back down on the grass and tried to tune out his body to little effect.
'How'd I get here?'
He was confused. The last thing he remembered before passing out was turning the berserk goblin's brain into a slushie, after that nothing. That fight – he was certain – took place on a dried up, rocky riverbed, much different from the soft grass he found himself on, so he had to have been moved.
But by whom? He was unsure.
It couldn't of been the judgy man as the last Morgan had seen of him, was his back as he sprinted into the woods. Was it the catatonic woman? No, it couldn't of been her either, she was too far gone to even get out of the way of the fight.
So who moved him?
Unable to move much to investigate, he decided to take things one step at a time.
First up, he needed to figure out his condition. Focusing his mind he traced his limbs, noting they were all there still and that they all hurt. He was really worried he'd lose the arm, so it was a relief. His left arm felt partially numb in the places it didn't hurt, resulting in the grass feeling like needles against his skin.
A quick test confirmed he could flex all his fingers, but it may have just been phantom limb syndrome. He'd hold onto his hope for now and check once he mustered the courage to open his eyes.
On the other side, his right wrist felt swollen and he noted he couldn't move it, not because it was broken, but because something was wrapped around it, restricting his movement. Now that he noticed it, he could also feel something similar around his head, arm and chest.
It would seem whoever saved him, was kind enough to treat his wounds.
Also the fact he was laying on grass with the sun shining down on him and the wind whistling through the trees told him it probably wasn't that Baron's men.
Unable to discern anything else, and with his nausea induced dizziness fading, he slowly cracked his eyes open. The sudden light was like a spear to his brain as he winced and closed his eyes again. Opening them again after a few seconds, he was more prepared for the sudden light, and only squinted this time.
He was in a clearing, the high tree canopy framing the sky above him. A blue panel hung in his vision that he quickly read before dismissing, only for multiple new ones to appear.
[Berserk Goblin L26 Slain, 127XP acquired]
[Skill Acquired: Death Stand L1]
[Skill Acquired: Overclock L1]
[Death Stand L1 (Active): The user has treaded the line between life and death and survived. When in a near death state the user can exceed all natural limiters for a short time. Boosts all stats by 3x for 10 seconds, after activation this skill enters a 3 day cooldown period in which all the user's stats are halved.]
[Overclock L1 (Active/Passive): The user entered an overclocked state in which all mental processes were boosted. Passively provides increased resistance to mental strain and brain damage. When active this skill boosts the user's mind based stats by 5%, cooldown and backlash are dependant on the duration of the skill.
*When activated in a near death state, provides a 80% increase in all mind stats.*]
[ERROR: Unable to process level up (x4)
SOLUTION: Select Class!
ERROR: Function conflict detected…
ANALYSING…
ANALYSING…
ERROR: No solution found!
ANALYSING…
SOLUTION: ^#^&#* #%#$&^#]
*Urgh*
Morgan gripped his head as information was shoved into his already sore mind. From the description of his two new skills it seemed he almost died to that goblin. The thought of dying to such a revolting creature triggered a few unpleasant emotions to stir within him, relief, anger, disgust…
Shaking his head, the pain stopped him from spiralling into an unpleasant train of thought.
He wasn't sure what happened to the system in the later half, what with the 'function conflict', whatever that was, but he could understand the first half.
If he was right, the reason he'd felt bloated since waking, was because he had a stockpile of experience he couldn't properly use without a class. What experience was or why it was in his body eluded him, but it didn't seem to be harmful.
One issue lead to another as he realised, he didn't know how to acquire a class. The system just said to select one, but no menu showed up no matter what he thought, and he didn't see any options.
'Should I finish this now, or should I have a look around?'
His aching muscles made his choice a lot easier. Mentally reaching out to the system he tried to ask it a few things about classes, without any luck.
'How do I select a class?'
That - he found - seemed to be the right question, as information on some kind of ritual engraved itself into his mind. It didn't seem too difficult, he'd just need to draw a sigil and drip a few drops of his blood onto it.
Morgan regarded the method with a healthy dose of scepticism. But it was a strange world and the knowledge came from a strange blue panel that floated in his vision, so he figured he'd give it the benefit of the doubt.
Slowly sitting up, he groaned as every muscle in his body ached. Laying around any longer wouldn't help him.
Immidiently the smell of smoke and cooking meat wafted up his nose, somehow going unnoticed before. With stiff movements he turned to look into the clearing, where he immediately recognised the emaciated form of his friend sat on a log, by a fire with a pot bubbling away over it.
Opposite them sat the judgy man, which surprised Morgan. He was working on stirring the pot with a metal ladle and hadn't noticed him yet. Behind him, the three catatonic people bumbled about. They seemed to be doing better, but it was clear their minds weren't all there, as they merely stumbled about the ten metre wide clearing without purpose.
With nothing better to do, he took a closer look at the people gathered.
The first – and closest – person, was the woman he'd dragged out of the goblin camp. She was around 160 centimetres tall with brown eyes and hair. A few freckles dotted about her face, but other than that she was quite average.
Next was the man the other guy rescued. He was shorter than Morgan and the woman, at only 155 centimetres tall with a stockier build. He too had brown hair and eyes, but no freckles, he was quite muscular though.
The second woman looked much the same as the first, but had more wrinkles and a few grey hairs spotted about her head. She might have been woman 1's mother, the resemblance was that striking.
Finally, Morgan turned his gaze to the only conscious human being – not including Iskandar who was very much aware. He was the tallest of the group at 176 centimetres tall and wore what looked to be leather armour over a smooth grey shirt, unlike the rags the others wore.
He had striking red hair tied neatly in a bun and equally crimson eyes that seemed to blaze with a hidden fire. Most striking was his condition, his skin was smooth and unmarred, without any of the subtle signs of malnutrition the others showed.
A sword hung by his waist, the handle cracked slightly. That was likely the sword the berserk goblin was wielding. Under the cuff of his right sleeve, Morgan could see the start of a tattoo that continued up to his neck where it peaked out from beneath his collar.
Morgan got the distinct feeling that tattoo had some kind of meaning, perhaps this world's language, or maybe it was merely symbolic.
Before he ponder it any further, the man noticed him and met his gaze.
The two sat locked in a staring contest for a few seconds before the man turned away first to tend the food. Setting the ladle against the edge of the pot, he stood up and walked over to Morgan, where he crouched in front of him.
"Hey you. You're finally awake. Try not to move too much, you've been out for three days and your injuries were quite severe. Wait here, I'll get you some food."
As the man ran off to serve up the dish in the pot, Morgan shifted his posture till he sat cross legged.
'Hmm? What's that?'
A metallic glint caught his eye from beneath the blue cloth coiled around his left arm. Curious, he tugged the edge down.
He didn't find what he expected.
Beneath the bandage, wasn't his skin, but a silver material that moved like skin. It was perfectly smooth and looked almost like polished steel, except it seemed to be mixed with the natural, lightly tanned white of his skin.
With trembling hands, he gently scratched at the edge of the discoloured section, right on the seam where it met his normal skin. It must have been a joke, or maybe a temporary side effect of some unknown medicine.
What it wasn't, however, was normal. It looked like the type of material a futuristic android would be made of, not a human.
A horrid thought occurred to him. What if this was some form of flesh eating disease he'd contracted from the goblin camp.
His scratching grew more frantic as it refused to budge. As if it was part of his skin.
He hated that thought. But not as much as the thought of finding more of the inhuman material. With frantic movement he tugged at the bandages wrapped around his chest, what if it spread? He needed to know.
The arm was already a write off. It pained him to admit it, but he'd have to chop it off before whatever disease the goblin had on its sword, could spread.
Without his tools, he doubted he'd be able to make a cure before it got too late, assuming there even was a cure…
His hands stilled as the bandages dropped from his chest, the same thick vein like structures spread out from his heart across his chest, but with a minor difference. They now glimmered with the same metallic sheen that plagued his arm.
It grew out from his heart like the branches of a tree, reaching as far up as his neck and as low as his midriff. His skin no longer bulged as the pattern became flush with the rest of his body.
No, it wasn't real. It couldn't be. Morgan's hands clawed at the metallic skin, trying desperately to find where it ended and he began, because there had to be an end. Maybe, if he tore off the infected tissue he could-
A pair of strong hands grasped his own as blood dripped down his chest.
"Stop! You're hurting yourself!"
"No! I've got to get rid of it before it can spread!"
Try as he might Morgan couldn't fight against the other man's strength. Grabbing a rope from nearby, he tied it once around Morgan's wrists, and then around his ankles, completely restraining him.
They must not have understood his situation. This had to be some kind of alien disease, if he was fast enough he might be able to stop its spread before it could get beyond his skin, he just needed to get free.
"Just stop… please."
"I can't, it must be some kind of disease! It was probably on that goblin's blade, so I might still have a chance."
"It wasn't… on my blade."
He stilled, turning to the other man. The way he phrased that made it sound like he knew something about this disease, maybe he could help him cure it.
"You know something! Tell me, quick!"
The man sighed and looked over at Iskandar – who watched from their perch by the fire. They seemed to have a silent conversation before he turned back to Morgan – who continued to tug at his restraints like a wild animal.
"Your friend over there is certain whatever that is, you've had it since the start. When I asked about it, they told me it was on your back the entire time. They just assumed you knew about it and didn't want to pry, but apparently not… sorry, I guess?"
Morgan's shoulders slumped as he stopped tugging at the restraints.
He knew the man was probably telling the truth. It couldn't have been a coincidence the marks on his chest perfectly matched where the strange bulges previously were.
The more logical answer was, this was here from the start. Maybe as some form of side effect for using his engine?
He wasn't sure.
A million guesses could be made, but he'd never know if any were correct. Not until he investigated himself.
"…Fine, I believe you. Please release me now, I need to cover… it… back up."
Hesitantly the man untied Morgan's hands and stepped back, he was still ready to jump in if he tried to rip his skin off again.
Sighing, he untangled the bandages and started rewrapping his chest. It hopefully, wouldn't be as much of a problem if he couldn't see it.
He winced as pain shot up his arm, he'd completely forgotten it was injured and probably made it worse with his struggling. The man was all too eager to jump in and help him pass the bandages behind his back.
It was humiliating having the man help after his outburst, but Morgan knew there were some things he couldn't do alone – it was the reason he had a team back on earth. Pulling the bandages tight, he tied them off and put the matter to rest.
He sighed again as he tugged the bandage back over his arm. Whatever they were made of, definitely wasn't the same as his old shirt.
Morgan squinted at the man in suspicion. Now that he got a closer look, it was clear the man's clothes were a grade above that of the other people. Still, he was in no position to pry.
The smell of cooked food reached his nose as his stomach rumbled.
It had been days since his last proper meal, and this man was kind enough to offer him one. Taking the offered bowl gratefully, he lifted it to his mouth and sipped its steaming hot contents.
The flavour wasn't much to talk about, just water with a few herbs and some meat, but it was more than he'd had for a while, and for that he was glad he saved the man.
"Thanks for the food. I'm Morgan Astraeus, and you are?"
The man looked shocked by Morgan's introduction, but quickly got over it and took the offered hand with a smile.
"Nice to meet you as well. I am Rowena Invictus Silverayne The First. But you can call me Wren. Are you by chance a noble?"
Unsure why he included his middle name, Morgan attributed it to cultural differences and went about his day. Though he was curious about one thing.
"What's a noble?"