Flakes of icy-cold snow precipitated down to the pillar-top, where they settled, coating the rocky surface in a film of pale dust. The cloud it poured from had arrived under cover of night, obscuring the sky—along with the moon and stars—behind their vast grey masses of cotton candy water.
It was dark out, but I could still see remarkably well. This must've been the effects of the six points I added to the senses attribute.
The snow-coated roc corpse laid split open by a gaping chest wound. From the opening, warm blood still puddled out onto the ground. And from the puddle, misty steam arose, evaporating back into the atmosphere.
I was covered from head to toe in the dreadful burgundy liquid. Iron permeated my taste buds, and my skin had become encrusted with dried black globules of coagulated blood.
I could only imagine how I would've looked had I only seen myself in a mirror.
My hands clutched tightly around a transparent crystal. It was virtually crystal clear in appearance and not too dissimilar to a large chunk of polished quartz. It was asymmetrical and imperfect like most naturally formed crystals were, but it also had enough refinement to look like a lapidarist had spent a few hours on it.
Lifting my fingers off the middle portion of crystal revealed a beaming gold number twelve printed in a font relatively comparable to a digital clock or a microwave timer. It was like those examples, in how it displayed every number with the same interchangeable parts composing it.
The glowing golden alarm clock number twelve floated in the center of the crystal, turning to face and leveling out at my eyes as I rotated it. It intrigued me deeply how the golden numbers floated to meet my eyes like they were the north-pole and it was a compass.
I struggled to tell whether the glowing golden digits were real or immaterial, manifesting in a fashion relative to my sight alone—kind of like how the system menus were.
"What does this number mean, system?"
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[Help: The numbers in experience crystals represent the level of the creature in which the crystal developed. The higher the creature's level, the higher its stats and the higher experience it yields by its crystal's absorption into the user. The yielded experience per level is calculated by a factor of 1/20 of the experience required to reach the creature's level. For example, whereas the requirement for reaching level 1 is 100 experience, killing a level 1 creature only nets 5 experience.]
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"I probably should've guessed the number meant that." I mused at the cliché-ness.
With that in consideration, it meant if I were to absorb the crystal, I would gain a twentieth of the experience required to reach level twelve. I didn't know how much that was, but it was reasonable to assume it would make me jump up at least a few levels.
"How do you even absorb this thing anyway."
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[Help: Experience crystals are placed in the mouth where they are then safely de-crystalized into raw liquid experience. Once ingested, the liquid is quickly absorbed into the bloodstream and can then be directed toward attribute upgrades.]
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I remembered reading from the stats menu that my class couldn't level attributes this way. Was leveling an utterly useless function for me then? I had to know to make an informed decision.
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[Help: On leveling up the user will be prompted to invest their points into either the Body, Mental, Senses, or Magic attribute. Each attribute can be increased indefinitely as long as the user has the points to spend into it. Also, any points not spent will be reserved for later usage at the will of the user.]
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I let out a disheartened sigh. That was the worst-case scenario for me, but more or less what I expected.
"So then, I guess it really is pointless for me to level up. Damn."
I was hoping that something else came with leveling up—like maybe extra abilities—but since there evidently wasn't, I couldn't see any compelling reason to ingest the crystal.
I knew what I had to do with it, as much as I didn't want to. If I gave Charlotte the crystal, she would most likely become many times stronger than me. It was, by all means, an objectively good thing, but I still couldn't shake the feeling of hesitation.
I wanted to be stronger than her. It was a selfish and ugly desire—I understood that well—but I still felt that way regardless. I could've tried to forswear those feelings and internalize my denial, but I didn't want to lie to myself. If there was one thing I knew, it was that owning up to one's faults was the quickest way to overcome them.
I lowered the hand, clutching the crystal back down to my side as I let out a deep and calming sigh. My fears of inadequacy subsided for the moment, receding to the back of my subconscious mind.
Stepping back, I headed around to the front of the roc's corpse. Peeking in, I saw the faintest silhouette of Charlotte laying in her sleeping bag beside the heater.
I heard a low hissing sound as the propane tank expelled a pilot light, heating up the metal plate to a molten orange. The soft light exuding from the plate in combination with my improved eyesight was enough to illuminate the visage of Charlottes sleeping face.
She rested quite peacefully, undisturbed by the odorous stench exuding from the beast's cavernous maw. I chalked it up to familiarity with the stench. After you smell something for a prolonged amount of time, it eventually becomes faint or even imperceptible.
Hell, the only reason I could still smell it was because my sense of smell had improved with the six points to senses.
I considered trying to sleep but recognized that I didn't feel tired in the slightest. In fact, I perpetually alert. I wondered whether my new body even needed any sleep at all. I couldn't remember a point where I had felt sleepy since this all began. I had fallen unconscious a few times, but I wasn't sure that counted.
"Heh. Whatever," I whispered as to not wake the sleeping Charlotte.
Turning back to the outside, I began the process of picking up the loot and carrying it inside the roc's mouth to avoid it from getting covered under the ceaseless snowfall. Then grabbing a flashlight, I organized the haul into three separate piles.
The first of the piles I sorted were weapons and miscellaneous equipment. Unsurprisingly, many of the people I looted were carrying firearms. It was to be expected of Americans during the apocalypse. There were also other things like rope, rock-climbing gear, hiking bags, flashlights, first-aid kits, blades, a compass, a small tent, and even a propane-fueled stove.
In the second pile were fresh pairs of clothing. None of it would fit Charlotte, and I wasn't particularly in a hurry to change mine either. However, I did wet some of the fabric to wipe my body down, hoping to clear as much blood off myself as I could—to mild success.
The third pile and final pile was an assortment of camping foods and drink—these being dehydrated survival rations, bottled water, trail mix, and many granola bars. I could've eaten some, but I thought it best to reserve them solely for Charlotte. After all, I would soon be eating more than my fill.
Unsheathing the bowie knife, I stabbed deep into the beast's fleshy tongue and started slicing off a large chunk. It was spongey and hard to cut, but once I got a sizable portion off, I stuck it in my mouth and started chewing.
It took a few minutes, but I managed to stuff down the disgusting-tasting meat.
I wasn't too worried about the prospects of eating raw and potentially disease-ridden meat because of my abilities, although for two different reasons with two different interpretations of the presupposition.
Cutting off another large chunk, I began chewing. I was going to keep at it until either dawn broke or I became full off roc tongue—If it was even possible for me to get full anymore.