It was almost noon. Took a while to get my luscious hair done perfectly, but I'd finally got it done.
There was only one problem.
Your old Pal Weldone now found his head was missing that comfy set of hair.
It was off my head...!
AAARGH!!!
"Calm down."
Yeah, right…
"Like hell I can calm the fuck down! And how dare you say it's a good thing?!" I glared at the man.
His face was blurry. In front of it being a question mark that was hovering in front of his empty face.
Well, guess we both had our share of problems.
"I said nothing like that." George, my bro, was looking at me while raising his hands in defeat.
Deescalating the situation calmly.
It was thanks to him that I was able to hold onto my sanity. This, even though all had already gone mad.
...I wasn't sure what to do.
We were just having a drink at the pub. Patting each other on the back about our famous novel.
We gathered a large following.
With that, we could use our newfound writing careers as a springboard for the things we wanted.
I was planning my MMA debut for a while, and George even started a business with his name on it.
But now... everything was out of order.
"Pal... Pal!" George shook me awake, saying: "I know how you feel, but we have to keep it together."
Seeing how calm and collected he looked, I felt like his composure was infecting me as well. I sighed...
Nothing here made sense.
Forget our faceless figures. Why was I currently holding something like 'this'? A scary tool of war.
In my hands was a firearm. A rifle.
Never in my life had I seen a thing like this in reality.
We weren't living in America. Firearms were strictly managed by law and people shouldn't be holding-
"Yep. I know where we are now." George didn't even care about what I was holding and looked over a nearby railing. It looked like we were in some mall that looked a bit futuristic in terms of design.
There were a lot more TVs showing ads everywhere.
But that wasn't what caught George's attention.
When I looked over the railing to see what the fuss was about, I could see a scene straight from a novel.
There were a dozen or so men cloaked in black. A few of them holding guns. Only one of them didn't.
Looking like a typical villain.
"Do you remember anything?" George spoke to me. And honestly, I had no idea what he was talking about when asked this. There was no reason I'd remember some terrorist attack.
"Nope." My response was straightforward.
"...Pal, you should read what you write more." The moment George said this, I grew an inkling of doubt.
That couldn't be it, right...?
"That's right. This is a major point in the novel we wrote: 'Pride of the Inept Knight'." His words finally allowed me to put the pieces together. I started to remember this scene while watching it unfold below.
The main characters of our novel were were simply a group of friends and their daily lives fighting evil.
In this world filled with monsters and demons, it was impossible to live a life free of tragedies.
One such misfortune was this particular scene.
A man in black and a ruffian with a scar on his face we're looking towards the princess with wicked eyes.
By 'Princess', we described the heiress to the Phoenix Corporation and future companion of 'The Hero'. At least, this was before that guy would kick her out for being the weakest of their group.
Weak... That was something people rarely called her.
I looked at the black haired woman covered in blazing hot flames. Fire was focusing around her feat.
In the midst of the crowd gathered behind her, there was another main character readying a barrier skill.
So long as the fiery woman bought enough time, a barrier could be created to protect the civilians.
The only problem was that the heiress was alone.
And nobody could act until the barrier was made.
"Oh yeah... Early on you wrote something completely tasteless and rude." I started to remember it now.
The Heiress, Janette Rayleigh, was a rare beauty that you'd hardly find anywhere. Her strength was great.
One you'd call a strong independent woman.
But to show her heroism and ability to sacrifice for her own justice, George added this weird scene.
One where she'd be humiliated for a moment.
.....
....
...
..
,
It was a normal date. Janette had prepared to make this the best outing for the guy who pined for.
Harold Driftwood was an orphan with no backing or talent for Mana, but she acknowledged his strength even if he wasn't The Hero that would take on future calamities. To her, Harold was much more than that.
She blushed, waiting for him to get back from the washroom so they could continue their 'date'.
However, things immediately went wrong.
People screamed. Gunshots riddled the air as a group of terrorists had taken control of the mall.
Locking the doors and frying the place with an EMP.
What did they want?
She exchanged secret glances with her friend, Agatha Pond, and allowed herself to be captured willingly.
Letting herself be brought to where the people were.
The terrorists tied their hands, and a man who seemed to be leading them came out to preach.
"Welcome, everyone. I see many of you are ignorant to reality. Have worries no more. Your life shall be filled with boundless fortune now we have met." A voice filled with passion resounded from the man.
His cloak swayed while revealing a bible given to only the most devout members of the Dragon Cult.
"Mom, I'm scared... I'm scared!" All the gunshots had caused enough noise to cause children to cry.
Not even their parents shushing could stop them.
The vice-captain of the group looked coldly at the children and touched his scar. A joyful look grew.
"Shut up! How dare you speak over Priest Lark?!" A threatening look appeared on the man's face.
But he still seemed to enjoy this scene anyway.
One brave mother in the crowd take it anymore.
"They are just children...!" That's all she said, but the vice captain seemed to be waiting for a response.
"How dare you interrupt our priest's sermon?! You heretic!" He made an angry face, but licked his lips.
Priest Lark did nothing as his subordinate was about to pull the trigger. Fear arose in the woman's eyes.
"NO!" She screamed while shielding her little boy from the bullets. Laughter echoing in her ears.
BANG BANG BANG BANG.
Consecutive bullets were shot. The faces of the remaining citizens became pale while looking down.
Clang!
Only to hear something other than metal piercing through flesh. They looked up to see a fiery princess.
A woman with the flames of a phoenix.
Those bullets shot had hit her body, but they barely managed to make a dent in her powerful physique.
Despite looking a bit thin, the density and durability of her body reached levels beyond human capability.
"An 'Awakened'?" The priest was surprised, but he immediately saw this as an opportunity instead.
The flames gathered around Janette's feet. She had no choice but to take on everyone in the vicinity.
'Deadly Feathers!' She kicked her feet, and feather bullets of flames struck many of their firearms.
"Bring out a believer candidate." Priest Lark pointed at the men behind him. It caused Janette to stop.
She realised it after seeing them bring a woman with a bag over her head. They had come prepared.
But she wasn't about to give up just yet.
'Jet Stream!' With an explosive first step, she flew while her feet were still touching the ground.
Her body appeared in front of the terrorist; then struck the man holding the hostage flying into the air.
A figure was thrown high into the mall's ceiling...
His body planted into the concrete.
Anyone who saw the strike could feel the bone-snapping pain of the 'victim'. It was game over.
For Janette, at least.
Click.
The heroine turned around to see the vice-captain pointing a gun he hid on him towards the mother.
"That's enough." It was too late now. Priest Lark looked smug about how he caught her in his trap.
He licked his lips wickedly.
.....
....
...
..
.
"And how are we supposed to stop what happens next?" We both knew what would happen next.
All those questions we had were put aside. Accepting we were in our novel and this was now our reality.
What would happen was simple.
Priest Lark was your standard evil cult member that was perverted in nature. He also had a Innate Gift.
A power that defied logic.
From what I remember, this guy was given the Innate Gift: 'Overbearing Voice'. A debuff type Gift that made anyone who listened to him for too long have their mental state deteriorate. Harming reason.
With it, he was able to bring people below their breaking point through combining words and actions. You could say that he was pretty good at recruiting new members for that villain organisation.
The dreadful 'Dragon Cult'.
I wanted to do something. I wanted to act.
Maybe these sort of things were fine in a novel, but in my eyes now... it was simply a really bad reality.
There was no way I'd let this happen.
As if responding to me, a message window popped up in front of me. It gave off a light only I could see.
Crackle... Crackle...
I turned my head to see that the blurry mask on George's face cracked. It revealed a tired look.
This was definitely my friend's original face.
[Name: Pal Welcome]
[Please choose your Job Class.]
[Power: D (Average)
Agility: B (Rare)
Speed: D (Average)
Defence: E (Common)
Magic: Unawakened]
I looked at the stats Awakeners usually got and realised that I'd also became part of this story.
But whether I'd stay an 'Extra' was up to me.
D Rank was perfectly average among Awakeners. It wasn't odd that Defence was E Rank whatsoever.
People couldn't simply train to have durable bodies that could take on bullets. Still, E Rank was beyond human enough to take on a bat or car crash. Not enough to do what Janette did, but was still good.
I wasn't about the put myself down for not reaching the strength of a main character. This was my fault.
I'd created a 'Magic System' that weaker people found hard to cheat. Now I also had to play by my own rules. Unable to 'cheat' simply because I was the one who thought up patches to fix any loopholes.
"Pal, I think I've awakened a Gift."
"WHAT?!" I turned to see George looking giddy.
Lucky guy...
"We have to be quick. What's your Gift like?" It was common sense in this world not to answer, but we were close enough that the 'common sense' of this world had no meaning. He looked at his screen.
"It says I can switch between Job Classes. And this is only the first benefit. And... it's also giving me a 'Story Quest' to save the civilians." George gave me a look after reading it, then smiled in apology:
"Jealous?" He gave a shit-eating grin like usual.
Not jealous. I totally wasn't jealous here.
"Choose 'Warrior'." As the one who was in-charge of writing the battles and stuff, I gave him my wisdom.
"Not 'Gunner'?" George looked a bit confused.
Choosing a 'Job Class' meant acquiring a Passive Skill and Active Skill related to the Class chosen.
For those who awakened with an Innate Gift, they were easily able to pick a job amongst 13 created.
The reason why it worked like that will have to be reserved for later. Right now we needed firepower.
"'Warrior' gives you Weapon Healing and Power Sharpening. 'Gunner' gives you Mechanic Functionality and Bullet Moulding." I spoke while handing him my gun. He chose his Class as I said.
Trusting my decision here.
"I remember 'Gunners' were good at shooting." He shill didn't understand why I made him choose that.
"'Bullet Moulding' is good for getting extra bullets. It is pretty strong, but needs time to master. We don't have that time. Instead, the Passive Skill 'Weapon Healing' will keep you from running out of ammo automatically. 'Power Sharpening' is an Active Skill but easy to master. You just have to infuse it onto a bullet, then shoot." I gave him a brief rundown.
"...You really thought it through." George checked out the weapon and checked if he could wield it.
"How good is your shot?" We never had gun training before, so I had to rely on whether he had any talent.
"My Gift is giving me aim assistance. Err... I feels like I can shoot pretty well." I felt like his body was moving around weirdly after he said that. He took a shooting stance and wouldn't get out of it at all.
Must've had something to do with his Gift.
Since he was ready, I got ready too.
Those without Gifts could only choose the thirteenth Class 'Jobless'. They had one benefit others didn't.
[You have chosen the Class: 'Jobless'.]
[Passive Skill: 'Flexible Affinity' has degenerated into a characteristic. The trait will not reflect in status.]
[Active Skill: 'Skill Learning' has been activated on the spot. You can replace this Skill with two others.]
Unlike others, Jobless could evolve into a customised Class by learning the abilities of others.
I could only choose two special Skills among the myriad Classes. Each one having their own use.
In this novel we made, the Classes were as follows:
1. Gunner
2. Druid
3. Dragoon
4. Monk
5. Warrior
6. Fighter
7. Rogue
8. Wizard
9. Cleric
10. Synergist
11. Necromancer
12. Bard
Each Class had two dedicated Skills to them that would attach to the user's Gift and evolve over time.
In terms of practicality, Active Skills we're easy to bring a person's strength up a notch. Most with the Jobless Class usually chose two Active Skills which they'd need. Like a Cleric's 'Dynamic Heal' or a Warrior's 'Power Sharpening'. Each had good use.
However, the protagonist of our novel was different.
He chose the 'Survival Reinforcement' Passive Skill of a Monk, and the 'Arcane Intellect' of a Wizard.
Over time, he synergised these abilities to create his own Innate Gift. It worked backwards from usual.
Mastering his Skills to obtain a Gift of his own.
I couldn't choose the same path of our protagonist due to the lack of time. I'd never be able to catch up.
But there was another path I'd thought about creating another character for but eventually didn't.
Choosing to end the story rather than continue it.
If we were still authors, there'd be a hundred percent chance this would work. But now... it was all wrong.
I had no idea if my choice would be good or not.
The only thing I could do was gamble.
I didn't have the first requirement, an 'Amount Converter', in order to use anything beyond Skills.
If I didn't choose this, then there was no options.
Copying the protagonist would get me nowhere.
[You have chosen your Skills. A new title will be given. 'Jobless' has been changed to 'UnLife Rioter'.]
"Are we ready to go?" George, who now looked better at using a gun than the armed forces, was ready to get things going. Even though this was my selfishness, he simply backed me up like a brother.
A true friends in life.
"Live forever, or die together." I reached my fist.
"Brothers forever, or friends together." He bumped my fist while repeating our 'family' motto in life.
It had been a long time since we spoke these words in our youth. The times we had a blast fighting.
Now we said these words while knowing we were about to ruin our future knowledge to save people.
A big decision we both made in a hurry.
Only time would tell if it was the right thing to do.
Rather than standing around, I moved back and was ready to run down before the protagonist arrived.
Before something bad happened to Janette and someone died to prove how evil Priest Lark was.
…..
….
…
..
.
Down below, the vice captain of their little elite squad kept his eyes on the scared mother earlier.
Ready to pull the trigger if the Priest commanded it.
Just as he was about to fire a bullet off on his own, a loud noise could be heard from above momentarily.
When he looked at his arm, he saw a row of crimson.
His wrist had a hole shot through it.
By who?!
Why?!
"Aaargh!!! What are you doing?!" He screamed while holding his bloodied hand that had dropped the gun.
Looking up because only his people had guns.
"Sorry... There was a fly!" A kind voice jested without caring of the man's condition. The tone was lifeless.
As if bloodying a man's wrist was nothing to him.
Priest Lark turned his head to look above. He had no idea there was a traitor amongst his ranks, or…
…was it simply one of them acting crazy?
His team was so twisted that this was possible.
A silver coin dropped into his hands shortly after.
"Sorry, I'll pay for the injuries." The voice echoed and the firearm that shot was nowhere to be seen.
Something else fell with the coin and into his hand.
"What's this?!" It took three seconds for him to catch and have a good look at what was thrown down.
For some odd reason, Janette moved away from him. The injured man with a scar looked in horror.
"Lark!!" It was only then he realised what he'd caught in his hands. It was too late to throw.
A familiar voice entered his ear: "There's still a fly!"
The grenade in his head lit up and blasted him onto a wall. Blood went everywhere after the explosion.
And Pal continued descending from the third floor.