┌───────────── STATUS ─────────────┐
Name : Victor
Title : X
Class : X
Level : 8
Free Points : 30
STR 18 | AGI 19 | END 17
PER 12 | SPI 28 | MAG 17
[Skills] :
[???] - [???] - [Child of the Swarm]
└──────────────────────────────────┘
If he could have smiled, Victor certainly would have upon seeing his level rise so much in just a few hours, even if it wasn't quite as high as he had hoped.
He suspected that the fallen only gave him minimal experience, which explained why he didn't have a higher level after spending several hours exclusively eliminating those monstrosities.
Had he been alone, he probably would have leveled up faster. However, it was far too risky—if he got injured or fainted for any reason while alone, no one would be there to help. Any passerby would only find a corpse.
The urge to spend the points he had accumulated itched at him.
He wanted to feel that sensation of power coursing through his body; it was intoxicating, but also insidious. Little by little, the desire to feel it again took precedence over every other wish, much like a drug.
But unlike a drug, it would only make him stronger. It wouldn't harm him in any way.
The only risk was a change in behavior and mentality.
But if that was the price for freedom—the price to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted—then Victor was more than willing to pay it.
Even at the cost of his mental health.
He was aware of it; since the end of that strange vision, he had begun to change.
Even without mentioning the fact that he had witnessed the genesis of Beelzebuth.
It was as if something had embedded itself deep in his mind and was slowly spreading its roots.
Something that gave him an insatiable hunger for power.
He knew that, if it were the old him, he wouldn't even have attempted to fight. He would have simply waited for his destiny, as the true nihilist he had been.
Part of him still was, in a way—the irritating little voice whispering about the futility of life hadn't disappeared. However, its volume had clearly been lowered in favor of another small voice, one whispering to become strong enough to crush anyone who annoyed him.
This situation split his mind in two extremes: one seeing no point in fighting the inevitable, the other wanting nothing more than to devour the world and everything in it.
Victor sighed heavily.
« Exhausting… »
He decided to think about something else, particularly his stat points.
He needed to assign them now, just in case the night brought unwelcome surprises, and besides, it would help him stay on his feet.
Originally, he had thought of balancing them all out, but after a brief conversation with the girl resting against his shoulder, he quickly realized that it wasn't a great idea. It was better to master one area than be mediocre at everything.
At least, that was their hypothesis.
He decided to allocate his points to Perception and Strength.
Perception, because the idea of a creature he couldn't see due to extreme speed terrified him.
Strength, because he liked ending fights as quickly as possible with overwhelming force.
Honestly, he would have preferred to use Magic, but he had no idea how.
Victor silently cursed Beelzebuth for only giving him simple information.
The moment he allocated the stat points, a blissful warmth spread throughout his entire body, relaxing his shoulders for the first time in hours.
It felt as though all his problems had vanished; he thought of nothing, silently enjoying the sensation.
But that was the trap.
The comedown was even more abrupt than the rise, dopamine evaporating as if it had been nothing but a fleeting dream.
It was maddening. It only left Victor with one desire.
To stand up and continue killing without pause.
However, he kept his emotions in check, silently hoping it wouldn't get harder over time.
For now, speculating served no purpose.
Once calm, he felt the changes brought by his stats, especially his perception.
He had become almost night-vision capable, able to see several meters ahead in total darkness, where before he could only see a meter ahead.
His sense of smell had also sharpened, to his dismay. After spending so much time around countless corpses, he could now detect the stench better than ever—but he didn't worry too much.
He would get used to it sooner or later.
He had no real choice anyway.
The most remarkable change was his hearing. He could now perceive previously imperceptible sounds, the breathing of monsters on the lower floor, the sobs of useless students still alive on their floor, even Lucie's heartbeat beside him—which was… irregular?
« Don't fake it. We can't afford that. I'm sleeping, it's your turn to watch. »
The green-eyed blonde suddenly opened her eyes, her heart racing like a child caught in the act.
She straightened, lifting her head off the boy's shoulder.
He was so thin that Lucie could feel his bones through his sweater—but she didn't comment on it.
She knew how exhausted Victor was.
Lucie crossed her arms, scanning the darkness as if her life depended on it.
And in a way… it did.
Seeing this, Victor didn't hesitate. Following her example, he used her shoulder as a pillow, leaning his back against the wall.
Lucie's heart skipped a beat as the unexpected contact of the boy's jet-black hair brushed against her neck.
It brought her a strange sense of comfort.
*
Humans are wired so that physical contact between two non-hostile people always provides warmth and reassurance.
This sensation of comfort is unmatched, unique in the world.
It's why most men and women desperately seek a partner, whether for a night or a lifetime—not out of lust, procreation, or societal pressure.
It's for this incredible, inexplicable feeling, closeness to another human being.
Knowing you're not alone in the world.
That warmth radiating from someone nearby acts like a soft light in an infinite expanse of darkness.
No matter why you feel bad, no matter the miseries of the day, no matter the troubles or tragic events of the past.
This sensation has the power to make it all vanish, even if only for a moment.
And sometimes, a moment is all you need.
So despite herself, Lucie rested her head on his, joining Victor in the arms of Morpheus.
**
A small boy of about ten with raven hair and obsidian eyes sat on a sofa, staring blankly ahead, dazed.
The couch reeked of alcohol, foam spilling from multiple tears in the fabric.
The apartment itself was in a pitiful state, mold crept across walls yellowed by tobacco and neglect, tiles were fragmented in several places, sharp edges exposed and painful, which the boy knew all too well.
He had lost count of how many times he had scraped himself, leaving streaks of blood that earned him reprimands from his mother.
Unlike his father, who only cared about alcohol and treated him as if he didn't exist, his mother was the opposite.
She monitored his every move, every word, every glance.
Any misstep was punished, and good behavior was never rewarded.
Sometimes, when the boy suffered too much, he would retreat into a small hidden corner of his mind, far away from his body.
At times, he felt outside himself, observing from a third-person perspective.
It didn't prevent him from seeing everything his mother did, but at least he felt no pain.
It was one of the only moments when he felt nothing.
Thus, to escape this place he was forced to call 'home,' the boy learned to enter and exit his body at will, leaving all his problems and suffering behind.
Anyway.
Today was special.
It was what the students at school called his birthday.
When he first heard this, he found it strange and asked his teacher what it meant and why people celebrated such a thing.
So today, he would ask the entity he called his mother why he couldn't have a normal birthday.
He had prepared, rehearsing the exact phrase thousands of times in his head just for this moment.
With a bit of luck, today he might eat something other than bland pasta, perhaps even have a plush other than the dreadful yellow rag he carried everywhere, or better yet, maybe sleep in a bed for the first time! The stone floor of the basement was starting to hurt his back.
So he waited for her to return from work.
When the recognizable sound of a key turning in the lock echoed, his heart pounded as if it would leap out of his chest. It wasn't a new reaction, he felt it every time he knew his mother was near.
A tall woman with a hunched back and pronounced dark circles crossed the threshold. Her jet-black hair was tied in a messy bun, revealing her questionable hygiene. Her brown eyes scanned the room, searching for something, anything, on which she could project the rage of her day.
To her dismay, she found nothing of substance.
But to her dark delight, her son moved toward her of his own accord, his eyes already nearly as dull as hers, fixed on her with a faint determination she rarely saw in him.
She hoped he would tell her he had done something wrong.
Even the smallest misstep would have allowed her to vent her frustration on the poor child.
« It's my birthday. »
He had never called her "mom" or "mother." In fact, he hadn't called her anything at all. He merely stated what he wanted—or stayed silent.
Her voice rasped, almost masculine, probably from the phenomenal number of cigarettes she smoked daily.
« So what? »
The little monster lowered his head, as if searching for words.
In reality, he wasn't searching for words at all—just the courage to speak to his tormentor.
« Hurry up. »
The woman's nerves were fraying, she had already been magnanimous in granting the kid a few minutes of her precious time.
« I want a present. »
« Pfft… »
Despite her heart as black as coal, the woman couldn't help letting out a low, muffled laugh.
The thing she had given birth to dared ask for a gift? Wasn't giving him life enough? And now he demanded more?
This was the opportunity she had been waiting for—the chance to finally relax a little after being yelled at like a dog by her jerk of a boss.
A dark, chilling, almost sinister smile spread across her pale, cracked lips.
« Don't move. I know exactly the kind of gift you need. »