Chapitre 6: Tutorial 5
-ˋˏ [Bambinosaur just subscribed for 1 month!] ˎˊ
Bambinosaur: Add more to your harem!
The young man's eyes lit up as he glanced at the chat window. His female avatar, still in the bloodstained black PRT uniform, was petting his new dog companion, its tail wagging furiously.
"Thanks for the sub Bambinosaur! I-I'll try my, err, best," he said, smiling.
A light, joking laugh escaped his lips.
Ever since he started playing around with the relationship mechanic of the game, his viewers had taken an avid interest in charming and seducing all manners of NPCs. From casual encounters with random passersby to flirting with shopkeepers and even mobs he was about to engage in a fight with, they clamoured for him to explore the vast potential of romance in-game.
Of course, it often didn't work out since NPCs usually ran away screaming when they saw his character. Still, it was a harmless little bit that kept the stream interesting.
There were times when the suggestions got a little... too much though. That had him handing out his first few bans to viewers.
He refocused on his game screen. Currently, he was on a 'date' with Rachel, the dog-girl NPC, somewhere on the outskirts of a forest. Tall trees, dense shrubbery, and a carpet of thick, lush grass created an idyllic backdrop.
Rachel had been the most convenient choice after hitting a wall with Alec. No matter what he did, Alec's affection rating stubbornly refused to go past 75 points. And not wanting any spoilers, all his viewers said was that he needed to try harder.
"Alright, chat, I should have Rachel's affection maxed out soon. Hopefully she, uhm, gives a good perk or reward…"
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Haru: whos the next target?
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Sniperv: do lisa next lisa lisa lisa
Miss Sugar: brian
Masteroid: go get arrested and seduce the prt director lol
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Sassassin: romance the heroes!!!
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Surprisingly, it hadn't taken long to get this far. All those dog-rescue quests and extra healing had significantly boosted Rachel's affection. If he hadn't been forced to stop in-game hitting all those dog fighting pits because of the 'heat from the gangs', he'd probably have done it a lot faster.
"Lisa's that blonde girl, right? The one that's been, umm… giving me all those fetch quests recently? And Brian's the other guy in the... uhh, what was the name again? Under... Undersiders?" He nodded to himself, thinking, "Yeah, I guess I could give it a try. Maybe the, err, heroes too actually."
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< HELPFUL TIPS! >
Resting or interacting with a bed allows you to pass time quickly. Use this feature strategically to wait for specific events, improve character conditions, or advance to a certain time of day. Be mindful, however, as this may expose you to unexpected encounters. The world doesn't stop moving just because you do, so plan your rest wisely to avoid surprises.
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[CHAPTER SIX]
「Derek Smith」
Flashes of light and shadow, flickering flames of orange and gold. The scent of smoke and ash, a hint of burnt flesh in the air. A voice, echoing, distant, called his name over and over: "Derek. Derek. Derek." He reached out, his hands trembling, trying to follow the sound, but the darkness surged forward, engulfing him, wrapping around him like a smothering blanket.
It was hard to breathe.
Blood? Blood on his hands, on his clothes, staining the ground beneath him. He could taste it, the metallic tang on his tongue.
Was he bleeding? Where did the blood come from?
He looked down.
There were bodies. A grotesque pile of bodies, some still moving, some dead, their eyes open and staring.
He stumbled backward, horrified.
A scream, jagged and raw, ripped through the heavy silence, a sound so visceral it seemed to tear at his very soul. He spun around, eyes wide, scanning the shadows. Nothing but darkness met his gaze, yet he could feel it—an ominous presence lurking nearby, something malevolent and dangerous. It crept along his spine, cold and insidious, like icy fingers trailing up his back. He had to escape, had to find a way out before it was too late.
Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, echoed through the darkness with a dreadful certainty.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Each step grew louder, more insistent.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
They were getting closer.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
He spun around again, desperate to pinpoint the source, but it was futile. The sound seemed to come from everywhere, surrounding him, closing in.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
He held his breath, muscles tensing as he willed himself to remain still. If he didn't move, if he made no sound, maybe—just maybe—the danger would pass him by.
Thud.
Thud.
Hidden in the shadows, he clung to the fragile hope of survival, praying that the darkness would conceal him. Shadows twisted around him, playing tricks on his eyes.
Thud—
The footsteps stopped. Silence fell once more, a suffocating veil that hung in the air like a funeral shroud. Derek strained his ears, desperate to hear any sound that might give away the stalker's location. But there was nothing. It was as if the whole world had fallen silent, holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.
Seconds stretched into an eternity, each moment filled with a mounting terror that all but threatened to overwhelm him. Sweat beaded on his forehead, mingling with the blood and grime that coated his skin. His hands trembled, clenched into fists so tight his nails bit into the palms of his hands, drawing blood. His heart pounded, a frantic throbbing that echoed in his ears, deafening in the oppressive stillness.
And then, out of the darkness, a voice—soft, yet oh-so-dangerous. A whisper, a warning, a threat. "I know you're here, Derek." The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and a chill ran down his spine.
It wanted him to run, wanted him to make a mistake, wanted him to try to escape.
"You can't hide from me."
The voice was closer now; there was no emotion, just a calm, steady assurance. A promise. It knew that he was trapped, and it was enjoying the fear that was coursing through his veins. He could almost feel it, the cruel amusement from the faceless stranger in the darkness. It was playing with him, toying with him like a cat would toy with a mouse, before going in for the kill.
A flash of steel and a blade slashed through the air, inches from his face. He jumped back, stumbling, almost losing his balance as he tried to avoid the deadly weapon. Blue eyes, all-knowing, piercing, and cold, stared back at him from the depths of the shadows. A grin spread across the lips of the petite, doll-like figure standing there, the corners of its mouth tugging upwards into a vicious, taunting smile.
"Are you afraid?" it whispered, taking a step forward. Derek took a step back, trying to keep the distance between them. It took another step, inching its way toward him. Then another.
Closer, closer. Never rushing, never hesitating, simply walking forward, relentless and inevitable.
He could feel the terror growing, a rising sense of dread, clawing at his chest and threatening to choke the air from his lungs.
It was enjoying this, he knew. Taking its time, savouring the moment. It wanted him to suffer. Wanted him to beg. Wanted him to plead for mercy that would never come. It wanted to watch him break.
"There's nowhere to run," it said, voice low and raspy, like sandpaper against metal.
He felt cornered. Trapped. A hunted animal with no escape. The walls were closing in, and the shadows were growing deeper, darker, more menacing. A blink and there were a trail of bodies behind the figure, a crimson river of gore seeping through the cracks in the pavement.
Huh? That wasn't there a second ago.
He felt the urge to vomit: a hot, sour bile burning his throat, his mouth filling with saliva. He swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to retch. Familiar faces stared up at him with dead, glassy eyes, their features twisted into masks of horror and agony. He recognized them, even in death.
Frank. His hair was matted with blood, skull caved in on one side.
Jasper. He was missing an arm, his throat slashed.
Kurt. A stab wound to the gut, a knife sticking out of his chest.
Cullen. Burn marks covered his body, his eyes boiled out of their sockets.
Laurie. She was missing her head, her neck a bloody stump.
And so, so… so much more.
"They were fun. Like little playthings, so full of life one moment and so delightfully easy to crush the next. Their screams, their pleas for mercy—so delightful." The monster's grin widened, an impossible, nightmarish smile that stretched from ear to ear.
"I'll make it quick," it said, tone sickeningly sweet, almost a mockery of compassion. "I promise."
A lie.
No mercy, only pain. Derek had seen what the creature had done to the others. Seen their corpses, their mutilated remains. It would not make his death quick.
The doll-faced thing lunged, and he was not fast enough. It slashed out, knife cutting deep into his chest. Derek Smith screamed—
He woke, sitting upright, clutching his chest. Cold sweat dripped down his face, mingling with tears as he gasped for breath. It was dark, too dark.
Where was he?
Where had the monster gone?
His heart was pounding, and his breath came in ragged, painful gasps.
For a moment, the echoes of the nightmare still lingered, clinging to his consciousness like a bad smell. The pain in his chest, the stench of blood and death, the feeling of helplessness and despair. He half-expected the oppressive darkness to swallow him again: to find himself back in the nightmare, staring into those cold, blue eyes, and see that cruel, mocking smile. But it was not real, not anymore. It was just a dream.
"Just a dream," he whispered to himself, trying to convince himself it was true.
His throat was dry, parched and aching. He could still taste the blood and ashes, feel the grit of dust and dirt on his tongue. He wiped the tears from his face, blinking away the blurriness, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. The room was small, sparsely furnished, but familiar. It was his childhood bedroom. He was home.
He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself, trying to focus on his breathing.
It was just a nightmare, a dream.
Derek fumbled in the dark for his bedside lamp, fingers trembling. With a click, warm, soft light flooded the room. The cream-coloured walls, the wooden furniture, a desk and a chair, the pictures on the dresser—it was all still there, unchanged, unthreatening. Nothing dangerous.
There was no monster. There was no blood.
He exhaled, a sigh of relief, and sank back onto the pillows. He was safe, in his own bed, in his parent's house. There were no monsters here.
Again and again, the mantra played through his head, a reassuring refrain that soothed his fears and chased away the last dregs of his nightmare. He was safe and everything was okay. His large hands dropped to the sheets, feeling the familiar cotton weave. The fabric was cool and smooth against his fingers, and he took another deep breath.
It was just a nightmare. It wasn't real.
It wasn't real.
It wasn't real.
His heart pounded, the dull thudding echoing in his ears.
She's not here. He's safe now.
Another breath.
Shuddering, Derek stared up at the ceiling, listening to the sound of his own breathing. The warmth of the blanket, the softness of the sheets, the smell of laundry detergent—he focused on these sensations, letting them ground him, anchoring him in reality.
"It's not real. It's over," he whispered.
In his mind's eye, he could still see those familiar, haunted faces, twisted in horror and agony, their voices echoing in his head. The memory of the incident a few days ago, the smell of blood and smoke, the screams and cries, and the sight of his brothers and sisters in arms being slaughtered—it was seared into his brain, like a brand on his very soul. The attack had been brutal, and the scars—both physical and mental—were still fresh.
He clenched his hands into fists, gripping the sheets tightly, the fabric bunching beneath his fingers. He had survived, somehow, miraculously, while his comrades had fallen. The guilt and shame of it gnawed at him, a festering wound that refused to heal.
It wasn't his fault, Derek told himself. There was nothing he could've done. They were outmatched, outgunned.
The words rang hollow; a feeble excuse, a pathetic justification.
He'd survived. That was the simple, harsh truth.
He'd survived when so many others hadn't.
He'd watched them die.
Derek shook his head, as if trying to dislodge the memory.
It didn't help.
The images were still there, burned into his mind, playing over and over like some gruesome movie reel. Their screams still rang in his ears. The sight of their dying faces still haunted his dreams.
Again, he squeezed his eyes shut, pushing the images of blood and the doll-faced thing from his mind.
A soft knock at the door broke the silence. "Derek? Are you okay?" his mother's voice came through, gentle and concerned. He opened his eyes and turned his head, his gaze falling on the clock on his bedside table. 3:24 AM. He'd woken her.
Fuck.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
"Yeah. I'm fine, Ma," Derek lied, forcing his voice to sound calm.
There was a pause, then his mother spoke again, her voice quiet and tentative. "I heard you scream. Is everything alright?"
Derek swallowed. "It was just a nightmare. Go back to bed, Ma. I'm fine. I promise."
Another pause. He could imagine her standing on the other side of the door, brow furrowed with worry, eyes full of concern. Guilt twisted in his gut. His father being hospitalised for a heart attack was a burden enough without his nightmares adding to her stress.
"Are you sure? You don't sound okay, Derek."
He closed his eyes, running a hand over his face, fingers brushing against the rough stubble on his jaw. He hadn't shaved since the incident.
"I'm fine, Ma. Really. Just go back to sleep. I'm sorry I woke you."
Derek forced himself to smile, as if that would carry through in his voice. He tried to sound cheerful, unconcerned. The last thing he wanted was for her to worry any more than she already did.
A soft sigh came from the other side of the door. Derek pictured his mother shaking her head, shoulders slumped, a worried frown creasing her face. He knew she was still there, standing in the hallway, her ear pressed to the door, listening. Waiting for any sound that might prove him wrong.
"It's not a bother. You know I worry."
"I know."
"Will you be alright?"
He stopped. "I'll be fine." The answer felt weak, hollow, but it was all he could manage.
"You sure?"
"Yeah. I'm sure. Thanks, Ma."
"Okay. Goodnight, honey." There was a pause. "I love you."
"Goodnight, Ma. And I love you too."
Derek waited, eyes on the door, until he heard his mother's footsteps moving away. Then, slowly, he let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding.
He cursed softly. She'd probably spend the next hour or so tossing and turning, unable to sleep, fretting about him. Another thing he'd be responsible for, another way he'd upset his mother. Just like the last few days since he'd returned home, where she'd been fussing over him, trying to take care of him, to make him feel better.
It almost made him wish he'd put up more of a fight when he was discharged from the hospital. Not that he wasn't glad to be home; Derek appreciated the chance to recover in familiar surroundings. But every moment he was here, he could feel the weight of his mother's unspoken fears and worries, and he couldn't help but feel like he was just another burden for her to bear.
Even though she'd never once said as much, it wasn't hard to feel like an inconvenience, a weight around his mother's neck, after everything she'd already endured.
"Fuck," Derek swore under his breath. His thoughts were circling again, a vicious spiral that dragged him deeper and deeper into his own misery and guilt.
He rolled onto his side, staring at the wall.
How was he ever supposed to tell her he'd gained powers? That the only reason he survived, gave him enough time to be healed by Panacea, was because he supposedly Triggered? How was he supposed to tell her that despite her wanting him to leave the police force, she wouldn't be getting her wish, and now, he was looking to join the Protectorate—an arguably even more dangerous line of work?
He sighed.
Deep down, it would be a lie if Derek didn't admit that he was scared, that the idea of becoming a Cape—a hero—terrified him. The mere thought of putting on a mask and fighting monsters like the girl who'd massacred his team made his blood run cold.
But he knew it was something he had to do.
If not for himself, then for his fallen comrades, his fellow officers.
He owed them that.
No matter how much he wanted to take the easy way out, pretend none of this had ever happened, ignore the powers he'd been granted, and return to his old life, Derek knew he couldn't. He'd never be able to live with himself. He'd never be able to look himself in the mirror or stand by his family, knowing he'd turned his back on the people who'd died trying to protect the city.
And… selfishly, he also wanted to prove to himself that he wasn't the useless coward he'd become.
The Derek who'd woken up in the hospital, who'd come home and hid in his room, who'd screamed in the night and made his mother worry—he was a far cry from the confident, strong man Derek used to be. The kind of man who stood up for what was right and didn't hide behind excuses.
It was a foolish, naive ideal. He knew that. But he clung to it, desperate to reclaim a part of his old self.
He tossed and turned, his body restless. Despite his exhaustion, sleep eluded him. Images of the girl's face—those blue, depthless eyes, those emotionless features—kept flashing through his mind. Her expression was carved into his memory, a ghost that haunted him.
Rumours abound that the PRT and BBPD were bleeding officers. Silver— he reminded himself, don't be afraid of her name —had left the city reeling with her ongoing massacre. Constant lethal clashes pushed officers to their limits. Some retired, others thought of transferring... even quitting was becoming an increasingly attractive option. Engaging the psychotic Cape had become a near death sentence: you either died or were the lucky few left severely wounded and traumatised.
In Derek's mind, no other villain in the Bay could even approach Silver's level of threat, not even the Empire Eighty-Eight and the Azn Bad Boys together. Her appearance, her behaviour, the sheer level of violence and brutality she inflicted on all comers, had everyone on edge.
It was almost laughable how one little girl was terrorising an entire city. Was this what it was like being hit by the Slaughterhouse Nine?
He didn't know where it started, but even the news reported BBPD's hesitance in responding to crime calls. A high number of cases went unanswered as the force grappled with Silver's reign of terror in just a few days. It seemed engaging the murderous criminal was a risk they no longer dared to take.
Could he really stand up and try to make a difference when so many were turning their backs on the cause?
Of course, Derek didn't—couldn't—blame them; not one bit. Not when they were fighting an immortal killer who seemed incapable of dying or resting. Not when comrades fell beside you, their blood literally on your hands with each encounter. Not when there were so many casualties.
How could anyone deal with that?
More tossing and turning.
Sleep remained elusive.
Idly, Derek wondered when backup would arrive. How long would the National Guard stay on the sidelines, unwilling to intervene? How long before heroes from across the country stepped in to halt the murderous rampage of this monster?
Before that unfortunate night, he had heard of polite refusals to aid the city, to aid Brockton Bay. Apparently, there were other cities... more places that needed saving. They just weren't important enough. Was the rest of the country that blind, that ignorant to the plight of its own citizens? Did not enough people die yet for them to be considered worthy of attention?
How many more lives needed to be lost, for things to change?
The thought made him sick.
Derek had no idea how long he lay there, awake, staring at the ceiling, his mind filled with the images of his fallen comrades. The fucked-up reality of their situation circled in his mind like a carousel on a broken track. It hadn't fully sunk in before, but the heroes were in a losing battle. If other cities really did need saving… if Brockton Bay's troubles weren't enough to warrant the presence of outside help (yet)… how many more places were going through the same thing?
How many more cities were in the grip of their own villains?
It wasn't fair.
They didn't deserve this.
None of them did.
All Derek could do was hope that somehow, someway, he could make a difference. To fight back not just for his city, but for the men and women who'd sacrificed their lives. To stand up and fulfil his duty, even if it meant sacrificing his own comfort, his own safety.
Pushing the thoughts aside, Derek closed his eyes and tried to relax, letting his mind drift, hoping sleep would finally claim him. It didn't—wouldn't—and he remained alone in the silence, unable to find the respite he desperately needed.
Round and round, the questions spun. Round and round, his thoughts circled, relentless and unyielding.
Minutes turned into hours, and morning arrived.
Sunlight filtered through the slats in the blinds, painting the walls in a faint, warm glow. The chirping of birds drifted through the open window, mingling with distant sounds of cars and sirens. Derek groaned, rolling onto his side, his tired eyes fixing on the clock.
6:00 AM.
He sighed heavily, burying his face into his pillow.
After a few moments, Derek pushed himself upright, the bed sheet slipping to his waist. He rubbed his bleary, sleep-deprived eyes, the lack of rest etched into his haggard, unshaven face. Dark circles and heavy bags made his bloodshot eyes appear even more puffy, as if he'd been on a week-long bender.
And that was probably a pretty accurate description, all things considered.
Slowly, he swung his feet over the edge of the bed, feeling the cool carpet against his toes. With a yawn, Derek stood up, scratching the back of his head as his stomach growled in protest. He stretched his arms overhead, joints popping and muscles protesting against the sudden movement.
He shuffled out of his bedroom, making a quick stop by the bathroom before continuing down the hallway. The house was still and quiet, the only sound was the soft creak of the floorboards beneath his feet.
In the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator, pulling out a carton of eggs, milk, butter, and bacon. He set a skillet on the stove, letting it heat up as he cracked the eggs into a bowl, adding a dash of milk and a pinch of salt and pepper.
He whisked the mixture, then added butter to the skillet, watching as it melted, sizzling in the pan. Satisfied, Derek turned his attention to the TV mounted on the wall, flicking it on and lowering the volume.
He listened as he poured the eggs into the pan, stirring them slowly to fluff them. It was a local news broadcast, the anchor droning on about some local politician or another. Derek wasn't paying much attention, his focus instead on his cooking. He added the bacon to the skillet, letting it cook alongside the eggs, the smell making his mouth water.
He flipped the bacon and turned his attention back to the TV, the words of the anchors finally registering in his mind.
"—tinue to standby while the threat level remains high."
Derek's ears perked up, his hand pausing mid-stir. The tune of the early morning broadcast had changed and his heart sunk. He knew what was coming next. Recently, any sort of breaking news in the Bay was usually one regarding Silver: a new attack, another incident, another act of destruction.
"We have just received word of an incident involving the parahuman criminal known as Silver. Reports have surfaced that the notorious Cape has been sighted on the premises of the Brockton Bay General Hospital. Authorities are currently en route, but are urging civilians to remain calm and to stay away from the area. The situation is currently unfolding, and there is no confirmation at this time as to whether or not Silver is acting alone."
His stomach knotted itself, a pit forming in his gut.
No.
No.
Oh, god. Please no.
That's where his father was.
Derek's heart pounded, the spatula slipping from his fingers and clattering onto the stove. His mind raced. No. Not now. Not him.
"Eyewitnesses have reported seeing Silver entering the building just moments before the alarms sounded. The hospital is on lockdown, and there are unconfirmed reports of hostages being taken. At this time, we are unsure as to whether or not anyone has been injured or killed."
There was a dull ringing in his ears.
No.
The TV screen showed chaotic scenes outside the hospital—panicked civilians, shouting, screaming. He watched, numb, as a swarm of emergency vehicles appeared on the scene. Derek's vision blurred as the news anchor continued to speak, their words blending into an indistinct hum.
He couldn't breathe, the room closing in on him. The kitchen's comforting smells now felt nauseating, the reality of the situation crashing over him. His mind was reeling, trying to process everything.
"Morning, hon."
Derek looked back, his mother appeared in the doorway, still dressed in her nightgown. She frowned. "What's the matter? What happened?"
He didn't need to say anything. She must have caught the tail end of the broadcast, the news sinking in almost immediately. Her eyes widened, her gaze flicking back and forth between Derek and the television. "Is that—"
"Yeah."
Her face paled, a hand flying to her mouth. "Is he—"
"I don't know."
His voice cracked.
She swallowed hard, her hands trembling. Derek watched as she struggled to remain calm, her face twisting into a pained grimace. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she shook her head, the realisation of what might be happening dawning on her.
He knew the feeling.
"I-It'll be okay," Derek said, trying to keep his own voice steady. "They'll... they'll be able to handle this. It'll be okay."
It had to be okay.
She nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks, and he moved toward her, pulling her into a tight hug. He held her as she sobbed, her entire body shaking. He didn't want to cry, he couldn't cry, but he could feel his own tears begin to well up.
Derek bit his lip, blinking them away. He couldn't break down, not now. Not when his mother was already falling apart. He needed to be strong. For her.
He hugged her tighter, his own tears silently rolling down his cheeks.
"It'll be okay," he repeated. "I promise."
But he wasn't sure if he believed it.
The scent of burnt eggs permeated the air.
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< HELPFUL TIPS! >
Assign frequently used items and Skills to quick slots for instant access. This can make the difference between victory and defeat in fast-paced battles.
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He couldn't help but laugh; it was just so absurd. The moment his character appeared in one of the city's hospitals, the previously calm NPCs erupted into a frenzy. Screams filled the air, gasps echoed through the halls, and shouts bounced off the walls as everyone scrambled to get away from him. Chaos reigned as people knocked over chairs, upended tables, and collided with each other in their haste.
A few mobs—security guards, he realised—tried to hold him back, but he quickly dispatched them with a few taps of a button.
They didn't even give good XP.
"Wow, m-my, uhm, reputation really is terrible, huh?" He chuckled to himself, adjusting his glasses. "Maybe healing a bunch of people might be harder than I first thought."
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Nyabot: lol
Sinner6969: lol lol just kill them all
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Furry_Cow: what did u expect after ur previous stunts lollll
Sharcade: 10 gems for every person you heal before you get killed by the heroes again lol
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"Ugh," he groaned, controlling his avatar through the hospital halls. "Th-this is going to be like a timed quest, isn't it? Heal as many people as I can before the heroes show up and attack me."
Lisa had given him a simple quest: go and heal people. No more information, no more details, no nothing. Hopefully this was going to be enough to count.
Honestly, it was a welcome change of pace considering all the other quests he'd gotten from her previously. Fetch this, fetch that. Collect some items from an old, abandoned building. All the tasks he'd done before were menial—and frankly, boring. They gave good XP, but they were so mind-numbingly simple and repetitive.
The only reason he hadn't given up was that it was very clear it was all leading up to something big. It was plainly a series of mini-quests that were prerequisites for something much more important, and he'd finally been able to advance further down that road. He had originally been worried about how long it'd take him to fulfil whatever requirement he needed; getting his first quest from the blonde NPC had already taken quite a while.
He did wonder why healing people though. Considering she was apparently a 'villain', he half-expected an assassination mission or something, not helping a hospital.
"Did anyone else get this, um, quest too? A-anyone know why healing?"
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KiwiKiller: i started in a different area :((((((
Sharcade: mine was sort of similar when i tried her quest line, i think shes just trying to confuse the whitehats. npcs have crazy freedom
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Sinner6969: i nvr got to do anything for her quest line cause i killed her lol
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Nyabot: i think it got triggered bc u showed healing skills, mine was different but i also had to do a bunch of fetch quests first
Furry_Cow: add her to ur harem, she's obviously trying to make ur rep better!!!
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"U-um, right. I guess after this, we'll find out if she gives me another quest or not."
***
[CHARACTER UPGRADES LOG]
NEW TALENTS!
✦ ESSENCE FLUX ✦
Awash in primordial energy, you surge with the ebb and flow of the cosmos, a pulsing entity of infinite possibility. Gain an additional 150 Focus Points (FP) per Level.
[LEVEL]: 5 → 7
[SKILL POINTS]: 0 → 2
ATTRIBUTE SCORES
[CON]: 10
[STR]: 10
[DEX]: 10
[INT]: 10 → 11
[WIS]: 10
[CHA]: 14 → 15
SKILLS UPGRADES!
✦ SHUKUCHI ✦
RANK: 1 → 2
TYPE: Active
RANGE: Self
FP COST: 28
DURATION: 5 seconds
COOLDOWN: 14 seconds
EFFECT: Tap into fabrics of creation to temporarily shift out of visibility, gaining 1250% bonus movement speed and a minor form of intangibility. Passing through living beings inflicts 20 damage. Attacking immediately cancels this Skill.
✦ MAGIC MISSILE ✦
RANK: 1 → 2
TYPE: Active
RANGE: 120
FP COST: 46
COOLDOWN: 5 seconds
EFFECT: Unleash two shimmering darts of concussive, arcane energy towards a target within range. Each missile inflicts 20-50 damage upon impact and has a 8% chance of becoming stunned for 1.5 seconds. This skill unfailingly strikes its target.
[SKILL POINTS]: 2 → 0
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone