Kapitel 1: The System
"Hey, I'm going to heal you. Do you consent?" Hearing someone's voice of to his left the younger the 10-year-old boy turns to face the girl standing next to his bed
Panacea stood in her hero costume, which was practical and suited to her role as a healer within the New Wave team. Her costume was primarily white with green accents, reflecting her medical role. The white bodysuit covered her from neck to ankles, fitting snugly but comfortably. Green accents adorned the suit, with stripes and patterns adding distinction. A medical symbol, like a green cross, was displayed on her chest.
She wore green gloves and boots, matching the overall color scheme, and a utility belt with medical supplies. Unlike many heroes, she didn't wear a full mask, her identity publicly known due to New Wave's policy of unmasked heroism.
Before, seeing a hero so close to him would have made him excited, just like any other child. But now, all he felt was pain and sadness because he knew he'd never see his family again. The joy that heroes once brought him had been overshadowed by the crushing weight of his loss.
As Panacea moved closer, he tried to muster a response, but the lump in his throat made it difficult to speak. She didn't push him; she simply waited, her expression gentle and patient. He could see the kindness in her eyes, and for a brief moment, it offered a small comfort amid his overwhelming grief.
"I... I consent," he finally managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. The healer nodded and gently placed her fingers on his arm. Her touch was warm, and he felt a tingling sensation spread through his body as her power began to work. The pain that had been his constant companion started to ebb away, replaced by a soothing calm.
As she healed him, Panacea remained silent, focused entirely on her task. The boy closed his eyes, letting the relief wash over him. For the first time since the tragedy, he felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, things could get better from here.
To replace the boy's missing arm, Panacea had to use the excess fat from his body. As she concentrated, the boy's weight began to decrease, his body slimming down as the fat was transformed into the necessary material to regrow his limb. The process was intense, but Panacea remained focused, her brow furrowed in concentration.
By the time she finished, his severe burns had been treated, and the missing arm had been regrown. His body was now restored to a more manageable state, though the healing process had left him exhausted and disoriented. Panacea watched with her usual composed expression, aware that while his physical injuries were healed, the emotional and psychological toll of his ordeal would take much longer to address.
While healing him, she noticed that he had recently developed a Corona Pollentia, indicating that he had most likely triggered recently. The sight of the marker on his status was a stark reminder of his precarious situation. A kid this young with Parahuman abilities would be a prime target for the gangs that prowled the city.
She had seen the paperwork: his family was dead, and there were no living relatives. At best, he might end up in a foster home, but given the circumstances, he could easily find himself on the streets, vulnerable and alone. Panacea knew the harsh realities that awaited children in such situations, especially those with newfound powers.
Her mind raced as she considered the next steps. She would have to report this to the PRT, or perhaps talk to her mom to see what could be done for him. The system was flawed, and many like him fell through the cracks.
Panacea had grown increasingly disillusioned with her role. Every day, she faced the reality of her powers and their limitations. The endless cycle of suffering, the faces of those she couldn't save—it all weighed heavily on her. Healing was a skill she had been forced into, and despite her reputation as one of the best, it was a power she loathed. It felt like an endless, thankless job where no matter how much she healed, new wounds and tragedies seemed to emerge.
As she looked down at the boy, she felt a pang of frustration. If only she could escape this burden, leave the world of heroes behind and live a life free from the constant pain and responsibility. But as much as she resented her powers, she couldn't ignore the immediate need before her.
"At least for now," she thought bitterly, "I have to make sure this kid gets a chance at a better life." It was a small, bitter comfort in her larger struggle. She knew the PRT would likely fail him, as it had failed so many others, but she couldn't turn her back on him. He deserved at least this small piece of hope, even if it was delivered through a power she despised.
With a heavy heart, she resolved to take action. She'd follow up with the PRT and ensure that the boy got the support he needed. If she could secure even a sliver of a chance for him, it might, in some small way, make her own burden a bit more bearable.
(BREAK)
As I watched my healer leave, I turned my attention to the floating screen that hovered in the center of my vision. Nobody seemed to notice it but me. Am I going insane? It's possible, considering I've just lost my entire family and endured hours of excruciating pain. Did I trigger? Is this strange thing my power? It seemed useless, not having helped me while my family was suffering.
A pinging noise jolted me out of my dark thoughts, drawing my attention back to the screen.
[Skill Gained!]
Basic Healing: [Rank 1] – Restores minor injuries.
[Check Status?]
"Status?" I muttered to myself, rubbing my fingers under my chin. The strange panel before me offered a bizarre distraction from the torment that had consumed me. The interface was undeniably real, and its presence was a disorienting contrast to the backdrop of my grief.
Name: Devon Mitchell
Class: Necromancer
Title: [Unassigned]
Level: [1]
Experience: [0/1000]
Health: [49/100]
Mana: [50/50]
Stamina: [10/80]
"Huh, so it's like a game?" I said aloud, my voice hollow. I had always liked video games; my dad and I used to play them together. Dark Souls, he called them. The memories of those late-night gaming sessions with him brought a fleeting sense of normalcy amidst the chaos.
In those games, every challenge was an obstacle to overcome, every enemy a puzzle to solve. Now, the floating screen in front of me seemed to echo that familiar pattern. It was as if my life had turned into a bizarre and twisted version of one of those games, where instead of digital quests and enemies, I was facing a harsh, unforgiving reality.
I tried to find solace in the familiar concept of leveling up and skills, hoping it might provide some guidance or escape from the pain. Maybe, just maybe, this system could offer a semblance of control in a world that had suddenly spun out of control.
"Necromancer? What does that mean?" I muttered, my curiosity piqued despite the fog of despair that still clouded my thoughts. The term was unfamiliar and intriguing. In the games I used to play, a necromancer was often a character who wielded dark magic to raise the dead or command undead minions. But this was real life, not a game, and the idea of controlling or summoning the dead felt both unsettling and oddly fascinating.
I glanced back at the screen, searching for more information or clues about what this "Necromancer" class could entail. The concept seemed so far removed from the comforting familiarity of video games. Here, it wasn't about fictional worlds or fantasy settings; it was about survival.
I tapped the Attributes tab, and the screen updated with a detailed breakdown of my stats. Each attribute seemed to represent a fundamental aspect of my being, and I took a moment to absorb their significance.
Strength: [10]
Agility: [12]
Endurance: [14]
Intelligence: [8]
Charisma: [6]
As I looked at the numbers, I couldn't help but draw comparisons to the games I used to play with my dad. In those games, stats like Strength and Agility determined how effective you were in combat, how quickly you could move, and how much you could endure. The familiarity of this setup was a small comfort in the midst of my turmoil.
Strength was modest, suggesting that I wasn't exceptionally powerful in physical terms. Agility and Endurance were slightly higher, which might mean I could be more resilient and mobile, a small silver lining. Intelligence was low, which made sense given how overwhelmed I felt. And Charisma, well, that was barely above average, which didn't surprise me given my current state of despair and disconnection from the world.
I tried to make sense of how these attributes would affect my abilities as a necromancer. What did these numbers mean for my powers? Could I really raise the dead, or was this just some cruel twist of fate that turned my life into a twisted parody of a game?
Burns: Healed
Arm: Regrown
Fatigue: High
The list confirmed what I already knew—I was in a better physical state than before, but the toll on my body was significant. I had survived, but the exhaustion was palpable. The pain had subsided, and my missing arm was restored, but the fatigue from the process was intense.
I needed to rest, but the curiosity about this system kept me engaged. If this strange new interface was my way forward, I had to understand it better to use it to my advantage.
I decided to delve deeper into the Skills section. Basic Healing had been unlocked, but I needed to understand more about what my Necromancer class entailed. I tapped on the skill list and expanded the options.
Basic Healing: [Rank 1] – Restores minor injuries.
Raise Shadow: [SSS] – Raises the shadows of people you slay.
The Raise Shadow skill caught my attention. It was ranked SSS, a rarity, and seemed to hint at some dark, potentially powerful abilities. The idea of raising shadows from those I defeated was both fascinating and unsettling. It was a stark departure from the healing powers I had just used, and it was clear that my role as a necromancer could involve more than just simple recovery or restoration.
I scrolled through the list, hoping for more details or additional skills. The screen offered a tantalizing glimpse into what my new abilities might include, but much remained unexplored. What other powers did this class offer? How would I harness them, and more importantly, how would they impact my quest for understanding and survival?
I knew I needed to rest, but the drive to explore this new world and its rules was too strong to ignore. The more I understood about my necromancer abilities, the better equipped I would be to navigate this harsh new reality and possibly find a way to make sense of the chaos that had consumed my life.
[PING!]
[Daily Mission: Complete 100 sit-ups, push-ups, and squats before the end of the day]
[Penalty for Failure: ???]
[15:00 Left]
"Daily mission, 100 sit-ups, push-ups, and squats?" I read aloud; my voice tinged with disbelief. The timer counted down ominously, and my eyes fell on the bandages that covered my still-healing body. I was bedridden, far too weak and exhausted to even attempt a fraction of those exercises.
"There's no way I can do this right now," I muttered, feeling a wave of frustration. "I'll have to tackle this tomorrow."
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Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein