[31:02:55]

  Buck awoke to find William’s wisp hovering like a fading candlelight beside his bedroll. His friend remained unresponsive, but Buck shoved down the feeling of creeping dread—William just needed to rest. He didn’t know how long it would take him to return to normal, but it didn’t do anyone any good to just lay around and wait.

  Buck, on the other hand, was cooked. Twelve hours of a coma-like sleep, and his body still protested every movement. He hadn’t slept that long the entire time since entering the Cracked Kingdoms. Using The Gray had hollowed him out more thoroughly than any battle. Bev may be doing everything in her power to manipulate the Root in Buck’s favor, but he was still mortal. He could still get knocked on his ass.

  Gods, he was sore. If he wasn’t going to be able to move for a while, he might as well take a moment to check on his gains. During the fight with Flint and the subsequent healing of William, Buck had been swarmed with notifications. One by one, they had ticked by in his interface, but to ensure his own survival, he’d swiped them away the moment they appeared. Now, exploring them, he noticed a couple of interesting gains.

  (Punch - Common)

  Your hands are your Weapons.

  Active: Add your Strength Modifier to your Hand-to-Hand Attacks.

  (Step Forward - Common)

  You’re attacks are useless, unless you’re in their face

  Active: Dash forward an equal amount of steps, up to or equal to your Dexterity Modifier.

  (Gray Mist - Common)

  You are one with the Gray. You are the fog that devours.

  Active: Become The Gray

  For the first time since entering the Cracked Kingdoms, a set of Buck’s [Abilities] had ranked up. It made sense. Those three [Abilities] were his go-to moves. If he wanted his [Guard] ability to rank up, he’d need to start using it. He never really thought about that shield, and even when he did, it crumbled under a single blow. Maybe if he ranked it up, it would become better.

  His [Punch] now specified “all hand-to-hand attacks,” likely from his brutal decapitations. [Step Forward] now offered tactical precision, a necessity after Flint had predicted his movements. But [Gray Mist] ’s description twisted his stomach. Yesterday it had saved William. Today, it read like a predator’s manifesto.

  His musings shattered as the memory of Flint’s words resurfaced: “I did not think the Whisper of Death would be… a human.”

  That single sentence changed everything. The jackalope hadn’t just recognized Buck as human; he’d expected something else. Something worse. And if Flint knew, others would too.

  Wincing, Buck rolled onto his side. Time to find Evander. Clearly, he didn’t fully understand everything about the Cracked Kingdoms.

  Stepping through the stone doors to the Apothecary, he was assaulted by what could only be described as “Eau de Rotting Roadkill.” Evander stood elbow-deep in a coyote carcass, looking for the entire world like a furry little coroner at a crime scene.

  “Evander!” Buck gagged. “I…appreciate you watching over William.” He paused. “Are you making soup there or what?”

  The hamster didn’t even look up. “Merely ensuring our next meal doesn’t walk away on its own.” His paws made wet, squelching sounds as he worked. “Though I should be apologizing to you. We were woefully unprepared for that assault. I hadn’t anticipated the Root would populate such a backwater Kingdom with actual Citizens. My oversight nearly got us all killed.”

  “I wanted to ask about that,” Buck said.

  Buck moved to an embalming table and summoned Flint’s corpse with a meaty thud from his [Inventory]. Now that he wasn’t fighting for his life, he could properly examine the jackalope.

  It really was a jackalope, complete with rabbit ears and antlers that spread out like the branches of a tree. It was strange, Buck was sure that jackalopes were some jack-rabbit antelope hybrid, but Flint’s antlers looked more like an elk. Maybe the Root hadn’t studied up on its Cryptozoology.

  What really surprised Buck was how human it looked. While his feet were the standard paws of a rabbit, his hands were 100% human. Five fingers and everything.

  The jackalope lay sprawled in full barbarian regalia—a leather battle skirt crusted with dried blood, his single fur-line pauldron secured by a diagonal chest strap that accentuated his broad shoulders. Sections of tanned hide armor showed tufts of tawny fur still clinging to the inner lining, giving off a musky wilderness scent that almost—but not quite—overpowered the death stench. To complete the look, a tomahawk sat in his waist loop, looking well-worn, its handle smoothed by countless battles.

  “This isn’t some wilderness survival outfit,” Buck muttered, tracing a finger along the jagged runes. “This is professional-grade murderwear.”

  Evander waddled over, leaving bloody paw prints on the stone floor. “Fascinating,” he said, examining the inscriptions. “These enchantments require specialized knowledge. Our antlered friend here didn’t scribble these during arts and crafts time. Gaining a class that would allow him to summon those axes would require a level of specialization that would lock him out of Inscription, at least at this level.”

  A cold realization settled in Buck’s stomach. “So when he mentioned another human…”

  Buck couldn’t help but feel torn. The thought of seeing another human was exciting, to say the least. Seeing someone else who had been thrown into this madhouse. But had this mysterious figure sent someone to kill him? And if they had, why?

  Evander’s nose twitched. “Don’t make that constipated face, Blackwood. You look like a bulldog chewing a wasp.”

  Buck blinked. “How do you know what a bulldog is?”

  Evander ignored him, continuing to speak, “This level of Inscription requires a learned knowledge of the Cracked Kingdoms. Look, the runes have integrated some sort of primal or nature-based Attunement into the armor. This has to be a Citizen, not unlike myself, who was provided by the Root.”

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “So some other human, along with their Citizen, is leading these jackalopes?” Buck gestured at Flint’s corpse. “And apparently telling them I’m the damn Whisper of Death?”

  Evander’s whiskers twitched. “Well, you do have a certain…murderous air of death about you lately.”

  The weight of the revelations pressed down on him like a physical force. Someone out there was leading these barbarians—someone who had marked him for death. The bitter irony wasn’t lost on him; they were probably just following their own [Quest], same as him. But that still didn’t explain the jackalope lying before them.

  “Fine, let’s assume another human is calling the shots,” Buck said, staring at the corpse. “That doesn’t help me understand what this thing is.”

  “Ah, yes.” Evander’s nose twitched as he adopted his lecturing pose. “The Root is a fickle mistress. As you know, it thrives on the strife of others and feeds off the Source we create. Think of it as a cruel game of recycling, it can craft bodies but needs souls to animate them. This fellow is a…refurbished model.”

  Buck watched as the hamster paced across the worktable, tiny paws gesturing wildly. “When life ends, its soul returns to the Root like a drop in the ocean. Then comes Integration day—the Root pours that mixed soul-soup into new vessels.” He tapped Flint’s antler. “They wake up knowing the rules of this world, but none of their past lives. Just shiny new instincts and beliefs baked into their meat. In a way, it’s reincarnation. The unification of the soul with the spirit of a new body. They know that their life is new, but their beliefs are built on the body that was created for them.”

  “So this…thing,” Buck said, voice tight, “used to be some poor schmuck like me? Forced to fight until he became fodder for the next round?”

  “Don’t get sentimental. It is the way of life within the Cracked Kingdoms,” Evander sniffed, standing at parade rest like a four-inch Napoleon. “You never know what to expect from the convergence of body and soul. New histories, new religions, and new experiences are born. They will be just as lost in this new world as you were. But unlike you, they will have had a society to grow with, and they will most likely have received a Citizen from that human or humans like you did. And unlike us, they will do everything in their power to prove themselves to the Viewers and, in turn, the Factions.”

  Dumbfounded, Buck stood in silence. He would never have called himself a religious man before the integration. However, it seemed not only were souls real, he was now trapped within a never-ending cycle of reincarnation. No matter how hard he struggled, he would be thrown back into this cruel game. Even if he didn’t make it back to his family alive, he would be turned into some new monster. Placed in front of new Citizens as some obstacle to prove themselves against.

  “So…this thing,” Buck said, gesturing before him. “Used to be just like me? Some guy forced to fight for the entertainment of the Factions?”

  “I wouldn’t think about it like that,” Evander continued, “I know it is hard for someone who has lived such a sheltered life to grasp this concept. No longer is your life singular. This creation in front of us used to be someone different. His previous life, or lives, cannot affect this one. The Root absorbed all his memories and Source as fuel to continue expanding.”

  Buck studied the hamster’s beady eyes. “And you? Where do you fit in this cosmic recycling program?”

  Evander froze like a hamster caught mid-heist. His tiny face contorted through emotions Buck couldn’t name before settling on regal disdain.

  “Blackwood,” he squeaked out with forced dignity, “I require you to procure an item of considerable importance.” The subject change was as subtle as a flaming tomahawk to the face.

  Buck blinked.”...Is this your way of saying you don’t want to talk about it?”

  “Immediately, if not sooner.” Evander’s whiskers twitched as he leaned forward “[Gray Pants]. They’re in the Nexus Shop.”

  “[Gray Pants]?” Buck repeated, his voice flat. “You’re kidding, right? If I get them, will you…”

  “I do not jest,” Evander hissed, though the effect was ruined by how his tiny paws clutched his robe like an offended grandmother. “They are vital to my designs. Procure them. Immediately…if it’s not too much trouble.” The last word dripped with forced courtesy.

  Buck opened his mouth to argue, but Evander had already turned, his robe billowing like a villain’s cape in a toddler’s tantrum. The hamster ascended a stack of books, radiating dismissal like a furry lighthouse.

  As Buck stepped into camp, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had crossed some invisible line. A month together had forged something like friendship, but every conversation with Evander felt like navigating a minefield with clown shoes. William had been different, the ghost cowboy treated their undead bonding like a damn church social. But Evander? The hamster hoarded respect like gold.

  In a way, he had asked the hamster to do this. Asking permission before purchasing items from the Nexus Shop. But hells, he could have a better attitude about it. Pushing the thought aside, Buck stepped toward his father’s crypt. If he got to the shop and those [Gray Pants] were something worthless to him, he could just not buy them. Fortunately for everyone, they were far from useless.

  [Gray Pants-Uncommon]

  Attuned: The Gray

  Upgradable

  Repairable

  Effect: +10% Effect to Abilities Attuned to The Gray

  Buck whistled. A percentage boost? Those were rarer than Evander’s moments of humility. A flat increase to all [Abilities] attuned to the Gray was phenomenal. Especially considering that Evander had mentioned that he could attune old [Abilities] to the Gray in the future. But why would the hamster—

  [Notification! Gray Pants acquired. Would you like to know how many life choices led to this moment? …Too late now!]

  The fanfare over his father’s crypt was downright mocking. Horns trumpeted, and golden sparks coalesced into…

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Gray denim jorts floated before him, pristine as an aging man’s midlife crisis. Buck grabbed them with the enthusiasm of someone handing radioactive waste. The fabric slithered onto his hips with unnatural ease, fitting like they’d been tailored by Satan’s personal stylist.

  Was he meant to spend his whole time within the Cracked Kingdoms like some Renaissance fair wannabe? Cosplaying a half-ranger half-redneck? It seemed he needed to get used to not having a choice in his attire.

  Buck trudged back into the Apothecary. His new jorts, as with every item he purchased from the Nexus Shop, sat comfortably around his hips. It almost made him angrier. The least Bev could do was make them fit poorly, then it would give him something to complain about.

  In the Apothecary, Evander stoops atop Flint’s corpse like a furry dark messiah. “Ah, Blackwood, “He purred without turning. “I can feel the Source flowing through you more freely. Your willingness to purchase the item will not go unnoticed.”

  “You failed to mention that they were jorts,” Buck deadpanned.

  “The Root provides all that is needed, Blackwood.” Evander sniffed. “Now come over here. You are key to the success of this revival.”

  Revival? Buck looked down at the jackalope, its head sitting lopsided where he’d cut its spinal cord. He couldn’t possibly mean…? “We’re going to make this thing a Minion? I’m not sure that’s such a great idea. He and his friend were already pretty peeved.”

  “Oh no, Blackwood,” Evander said, a sly grin spreading across his furry face. “I have a much better idea for this one.”

  Buck rolled his eyes, stepping forward. Whatever Evander had in store, it was better to follow along than get in his way.

  “Your Attunement.” Evander began, positioning himself atop Flint’s corpse, “Functions as a transference conduit, yes? You siphoned your strength into William?”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Buck replied. “It’s something called The Gray. The Root says it’s Unique.”

  “Naturally,” Evander’s eye-roll could’ve powered a windmill. “Bev hands you reality-warping gifts like carnival prizes. Why am I surprised?” He jabbed a tiny paw at Buck. “What matters is this: you didn’t heal William. You wouldn’t be able to do that without mana. You turned him into a siphon, a parasite feeding on your attributes. I need you to do that to me.”

  What? Why? Buck had literally just awoken from his near coma. The after-effects of using The Gray were monumental. He really didn’t feel like heading back to bed just yet.

  “Why the hell would I—”

  “Because!” Evander’s squeak echoed off the Apothecary walls. He composed himself with visible effort. “We have an opportunity here. My [Animate] spell lacks…finesse. But combined with your Charisma and The Gray’s transference properties?” His beady eyes gleamed. “We could bind an actual soul to this corpse. Not some shambling Minion, a thinking, fighting Citizen.”

  “You want to play Frankenstein with a jackalope?”

  “I want to forge an ally!” Evander snapped. “Or would you prefer to face the rest of Flint’s pack alone?”

  Oh.

  Buck exhaled. The hamster had a point, one he couldn’t argue with unless he fancied becoming jackalope chow.

  “Fine,” he growled. “But if this backfires, I’m telling William it was your idea.”