Dan lay in the mansion’s kitchen, exhausted while the nanites worked on repairing his damaged legs. After the fight, there had been a brief moment of panic when he realized that he was trapped alone on the mansion’s porch without the materials he needed to fix his severed hamstrings. For a couple seconds, he even contemplated eating Daeson’s corpse to get the nutrients. Then the panic subsided enough for him to remember the Gravitational Easing spell and the mansion’s kitchen. The crawl through the hallways, dragging his useless and still-aching legs after him, was bad enough, but the staircase was a fresh brand of hell. He wasn’t entirely sure he would have made it without the spell reducing his weight or the nanites shutting off the blood flow to the severed vessels in his legs, but eventually he reached the kitchen. There, he ate almost two entire haunches of monster meat raw, counting on the System to protect him from food poisoning and disease.
Finally, after collapsing against the wall, he took stock of his situation. It had taken him almost almost an hour after the fight to come down from the mana euphoria. Already, a rather insidious craving for more had blossomed in its wake. It wasn’t all-consuming, but every time Dan found himself slightly distracted or lacking focus, it would creep back and whisper to him. Usually, it took the form of logical excuses: “You can better help Earth if you are more powerful.” “Twilight is a dangerous world, and you need to protect yourself,” and “Think of the spells and runes you will be able to develop if you have just a little more power.” Sometimes, it was much simpler. A brief feeling of longing, a shudder down his spine when he thought of killing something.
Now that he knew what to look for, Dan could see a worrying pattern of behavior over the last year. He had always been quiet and reserved. Upon reflection, he was probably too reserved. That said, there had to be a better middle ground between not standing up for himself and actively seeking out fatal confrontations. He did need to grow as a mage, and mana was an essential part of that growth, but he was acting like an idiot. No one in their right mind would have attacked Daeson when Dan did, even if the elf was drunk. There were a hundred and one better ways he could have done the careless elf in, if he actually put his mind to it. Instead, he let his desire to acquire more mana get the better of him.
“No,” Dan mumbled to himself, frowning slightly. “I should call it what it is. Addiction. I’m acting like a junkie. Throwing morality and reason out the window to get my next fix.”
He paused. Morality. Up until now, he hadn’t even thought about the “why” of killing Daeson, just the “how.” For whatever reason, he’d never questioned that the elf needed to die, but really he couldn’t determine how much of that was his addiction talking.
Daeson was a pompous asshole, but he’d saved Dan’s life. If the elf hadn’t rescued him from that first night, even a normal predator would have been enough to finish him off, let alone one of the many stalkers prowling the area.
Almost as importantly, Daeson had been his only companion and mentor for almost a year. He hesitated to call the elf a friend. The man was drunk, used Dan for his own ends, and put him at risk almost as often as he protected him from harm. Still, over their time together, they’d grown comfortable. Near the end, he was like a mostly pleasant, but occasionally erratic and violent roommate.
Dan’s knowledge of magic and runecrafting he almost entirely owed to the elf’s inebriated tutelage. As much as he might want to deny Daeson’s words, almost everything that Dan had learned before was nothing more than skillful fumbling. Daeson actually taught him how to systematically develop, improve, and mix his spells.
Dan sighed. Almost worse, now that he actually thought of it, the elf had been something akin to a friend. True, his relationship with the elf wasn’t anything that he would call healthy, but it was distressingly normal for him. His mother, ex-girlfriend, college friends, Sam, and Nora, all of them used him to some extent.
They had their reasons, but every real relationship he’d had seemed to involve the other side taking more than they gave. Any time he tried to speak up, they would just raise their voices and speak over him. Before too long, he learned to stop speaking up and became an emotional punching bag. At the time, he had convinced himself that conceding to stronger personalities was better than being alone, but as he sat in the kitchen covered in blood, he couldn’t help but wonder why he had to settle.
Dan thought back to the resolve he’d felt when Nora had betrayed him. He deserved better than this. It didn’t mean that he shouldn’t feel down about killing Daeson. Their friendship was real despite all of its dysfunction, but in the future, he would avoid that kind of toxicity. Speaking up for himself didn’t mean being an obnoxious boor, but if he just let people tell him what to do forever, nothing would change. One person after another would send him into danger for their own gain until eventually his luck gave out and he didn’t make it back. Danger wasn’t something to avoid either, but there needed to be a purpose for it.
He reached down and scratched the newly pink scar tissue on his thighs. The nanites were knitting his skin and muscle back together at a slow, but visible rate. He sighed and mentally indicated to the System that it should leave the scar behind. Let it be a reminder of his addictions, both physical and emotional. It’s true that he never would have gotten injured without the mana impairing his judgement, but he also wouldn’t be on Twilight risking himself without Sam and Henry pushing him. He wouldn’t have met either of them if he hadn’t been working a dead-end job in the army to get away from his mother, and he wouldn’t have been in constant danger on Twilight without Nora pushing him beyond his limits.
Up until now, he hadn’t really taken agency over his life. Everything was one excuse or another as to why he had to do something. He had to work for the government in a dead-end job to pay off student loans, he had to go to Twilight to save Earth, he had to cooperate with Nora because he needed a local guide, he had to cooperate with Daeson or the elf would leave him to die.
His mind strayed back to his undergraduate general education philosophy class. The teaching assistant would never shut up about a French philosopher named Jean-Paul Sartre. Sartre believed in something called radical freedom, the belief that you are never without a choice. You might dismiss some of those choices as unpalatable or impractical, but through everything, Dan had always had the power to say no. There were a thousand times when he should have told the people in his life “no.” It would have upset them, but ultimately that was their problem, not his. He couldn’t afford to live his life paralyzed by a fear of interpersonal conflict any more than he could afford to let himself be shackled by an addiction.
Dan closed his eyes to meditate. He was hardly in the proper lotus position, instead slumped against the wall with his useless legs splayed out in front of him. Still, he remembered that Daeson had always emphasized the importance of meditation. The elf had never explained why until minutes before his death, but it would make sense that emotional stability and equilibrium would be a useful tool against the sudden urges and intrusive thoughts that originated from the addiction.
All it would take is a sudden flash of temper for him to lose himself in his need to acquire more mana. Becoming a mage would be walking a tightrope of self control as he tried to gain enough mana to truly matter, without turning into an uncontrolled mass of bloodlust with super powers.
As his senses began to fade, Dan smiled to himself. It was worth it, though. Already, he could do things that he had only seen in movies. Soon, he would be able to return home, and this time he would have the leverage to stand up for himself. He still wanted to work with Sam and Henry, but this time it would be on his terms. With that thought, time became meaningless as he slipped fully into a meditative state.
Some time later, Dan blinked his eyes open. His thoughts had a clarity of purpose to them that they had been missing for years. He tested his legs briefly and then, noting that they were healed, stood up. Even his body felt more focused. Smiling, he called up his status to assess his gains from the previous night.
<USER> Status
Rank 5
Body 6(8)
Agility 7 (9)
Mind 8
Perception 7
Spirit 43
Skills
Swords 8, Brawling 4, Archery 2, Runecrafting 5
Affinity
Space 12, Lightning 10, Fire 10, Gravity 6, Force 6
Enhancements
Armor Rune V, Strength Rune +2, Agility Rune +2
Runes+
Spells
Shocking Fist 9, Spark Field 2, Lightning Stroke 9, Spatial Shield 7, Flame Jet 4, Gravitational Easing 6, Fireball 8, Force Bubble 6
Dan blinked. That was… that was a lot more than he had expected. He had even made gains in mind and perception, stats that had remained static for the last two years. Maybe it was his recent epiphany and focus on meditation, maybe it was making it past the rank 5 milestone. Either way, it bore further watching. Still, he had cleared rank 5, and it was time to return home.
Dan searched the mansion and found himself a much better sword made of tungsten/mythril and covered in runes, as well as a new backpack. Then, with a slight pang of guilt toward Daeson, he began looting the mansion in earnest. Before long, he identified his biggest problem. Weight. He found a map that pointed his way back to Morganville, the nearest village with a teleportation rune, but it would be at least a two-day hike to get there. That meant sanctuary runes and no multiple trips. He tried to focus on lightweight, but valuable materials. Over the course of a couple hours, he packed enough gold to bribe his way into the village, a small amount of food, a selection of Daeson’s most valuable books/scrolls, and all of the runecrafting supplies he could find. He wasn’t sure if Earth would be able to duplicate the complex inscription pens in the near future, and it certainly wouldn’t have the monster essences he would need.
Finally, Dan exited the mansion. After walking for about ten minutes, he paused and looked back at it. A small wave of sadness and nostalgia washed over him. As awful as Daeson had been, the elf had been his only companion, and the mansion had been his only home for almost a year. It never would have worked out in the long run, the elf was too self-interested and his plans a bit too distressing for Dan to go along with them indefinitely, but a small, possibly Stockholm-Syndrome-affiliated portion of himself regretted how things had ended.
Shrugging, Dan adjusted the straps on his new backpack and resumed his march. Morganville was a long way away, and he wanted to make good time before nightfall.
