The sun was up, casting a pale light over the neighborhood. Stores were opening, their signs flickering to life, and neighbors were trickling out of their apartment buildings, yawning and stretching as they started their day. Malcolm Heart was among them, already running. Three days of rest had been enough to get him back on his feet. The recovery quest was done.
A notification flashed in his vision:
[Quest Completed: Recovery is for the Weak
Objective: Recover from your fever within allotted time (7 days)
Rewards: 1,500 XP, +8 VIT Stat]
[Bonus Rewards for completing the quest with half the time remaining
Rewards: +5 END Stat, +5 AGI Stat, +5 STR Stat
Fever is indeed for the weak.]
Malcolm hadn't expected the bonus rewards, but he wasn't complaining. He could feel the effects of the stat boosts—his body felt lighter, stronger, more resilient. He finished his run and moved on to his final task: pull-ups.
The bar was cold in his hands. He pulled himself up, counting under his breath. "97… 98… 99… 100." He dropped to the ground, breathing hard but satisfied. Another notification appeared:
[Daily Quest Completed: Spark's Trial 8/100
Prove your strength, endurance, and determination by completing the following tasks in one session:
Run 4 Miles
Complete 100 Push-ups
Complete 100 Pull-ups
Complete 100 Curl-ups
Rewards: 500 XP, +5 Mag Stat]
"Woooh!" Malcolm exhaled, a grin spreading across his face. The stats really did help. He wiped the sweat from his brow and headed back to his apartment.
Inside, the kitchen was a hive of activity. Veyl, his floating notebook, hovered in the air, its pages fluttering as it directed the chaos. King Leonidas and his stickman legion were stacking pots and pans, while Lieutenant Winters and his stickman platoon argued over seasoning.
"You know, Leo, your cooking skills are still quite primitive," Winters muttered, arms crossed. "Why don't you let me handle the seasoning?"
Leonidas shot him a glare. "I'm telling you, taste isn't important. What matters is nourishment. Your ingredients may be sensational, but they're full of chemicals. The body needs raw, unprocessed nutrients."
Veyl's pages rustled sharply, cutting them off. "Enough. Both of you, follow my instructions. No more arguing."
Malcolm leaned against the doorway, watching the scene with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "For the last three days, this kitchen's been a war zone. It's awesome to see fireworks, but let's try to keep it under control next time, yeah?"
Veyl turned to him, its pages bowing slightly. "Of course, my lord. I'll ensure they behave."
After the meal, Malcolm called Veyl over. The notebook floated to his lap, its pages flipping to the sections where the stickman legion and platoon were stored. Malcolm's fingers brushed the next page, revealing a sketch of a knight—rough, unfinished, but drawn with pride. It was one of his earliest creations, back when he was still learning.
In his mindscape, the knight stood tall, steady and calm. Unlike the stickmen, he didn't flinch or move. His focus was unwavering, his presence commanding. Malcolm felt a surge of respect as the knight dropped to one knee, drawing his sword and thrusting it into the ground.
"I am honored by your presence, my lord," the knight said, his voice deep and resonant.
[Sir Aldric, The Stalwart Blade (Bounded)
Mana Cost: 120
Class: Knight
Race: Human
Alignment: Lawful Good
Primary Archetype: Defender of the Realm
Secondary Archetype: Honorable Duelist]
Sir Aldric was born the third son of a minor noble house in the kingdom of Elyndor. Lacking a claim to his family's lands, he was sent to squire for a prominent knight at the royal court. There, he absorbed the ideals of chivalry, justice, and loyalty. Aldric's natural talent with the blade and unwavering dedication to protecting the innocent earned him his knighthood at the age of 20.
Stats (Bounded)
STR 20 (212)
AGI 14 (195)
END 18 (152)
VIT 12 (138)
INT 16 (173)
Malcolm scanned the details. Sir Aldric was the third son of a minor noble house, a knight-errant who upheld justice and protected the innocent. His stats were impressive, even in their bounded state.
Next to Aldric's page was another sketch—a butler, poised and elegant. In the mindscape, the butler stood still, nodding gracefully when Malcolm's gaze fell on him.
[Victor D'Avenant, The Phantom Butler
Mana Cost: 150
Class: Shadowblade Retainer
Race: Human
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Primary Archetype: Elite Assassin
Secondary Archetype: Tactical Genius]
Victor D'Avenant was born into servitude, raised in the shadow of the noble Avicier family. Recognized for his sharp intellect and physical aptitude, he was trained from a young age in the arts of combat, subterfuge, and etiquette. By day, he serves as the perfect butler—efficient, composed, and unflinchingly loyal. By night, he becomes the Phantom Butler, an assassin whose precision and cunning are unmatched.
Stats (Bounded)
STR 19 (191)
AGI 39 (399)
END 21 (212)
VIT 22 (230)
INT 32 (340)
MAG 9 (93)
Victor's stats were even more staggering. His agility and intelligence were off the charts. Malcolm's jaw dropped as he read through the details.
"Dayum," Malcolm muttered under his breath. If these two were ever unbound, their stats would skyrocket. But there was a catch—once freed, they'd be beyond his control. They could go anywhere, do anything. And if they died, they'd be gone for good.
"Not yet," Malcolm said to himself, closing the notebook. "They're too strong to let loose. Not yet."
Malcolm flipped the next page, revealing an elder female elf—an archmage. She was engrossed in her studies, surrounded by floating tomes and glowing runes. She didn't even glance up when Malcolm's gaze fell on her. He checked her stats:
[Aeloria Veyran, The Eternal Flame
Mana Cost: 190
Class: Archmage
Race: Elf
Alignment: Neutral Good
Primary Archetype: Elemental Master
Secondary Archetype: Arcane Scholar]
Aeloria was born in the ancient city of Astoria, hidden deep within the Evermist Forest. Her affinity for magic was unparalleled, and she had spent centuries honing her craft. Even now, in her bounded state, she radiated an aura of wisdom and power.
[Stats (Bounded)
STR: 10 (104)
AGI: 14 (145)
END: 16 (167)
VIT: 22 (225)
INT: 28 (286)
MAG: 50 (504)]
Malcolm whistled softly. Her magic stat was insane, even bounded. No wonder she was so mana-intensive. But with her wide range of spells and abilities, she'd be a force to reckon with once unbound.
Next to Aeloria's page was a dual magic swordsman. In his mindscape, he greeted Malcolm with a graceful bow and a charming smile.
"It is with utmost pleasure to meet you, your highness," he said, his voice smooth and confident.
Malcolm couldn't help but smile back. "It's also a pleasure to meet you, Kaelith."
[Kaelith Shadowblade, The Twin Seraphs
Mana Cost: 140
Class: Dual Sword Magic Swordmaster
Race: Half-Elf
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Primary Archetype: Swordmaster
Secondary Archetype: Spellblade]
Kaelith was born under a blood moon, the son of an elven mage and a human warrior. His dual heritage gave him a unique blend of combat prowess and magical talent.
[Stats (Bounded)
STR: 18 (188)
AGI: 25 (257)
END: 20 (212)
VIT: 22 (219)
INT: 18 (178)
MAG: 15 (163)]
Though his stats were lower than Victor's, they were more balanced and versatile. A good all-rounder, Malcolm thought. Kaelith's charm and skill made him a natural leader, and Malcolm could easily imagine him surrounded by admirers.
As for Aeloria, her high mana cost made sense. Her abilities were vast, and her restricted stats likely kept her busy figuring out how to be of service. Malcolm could almost see her mind working, calculating and planning.
Malcolm was now fully engrossed, his curiosity burning as he wondered what had become of the rest of his creations. He flipped through the pages of the notebook, skipping past sketches and notes, until he landed on one that made his hand pause.
Suddenly, a wave of stress and pain crashed over him. His vision blurred, and he was thrust into his mindscape. The scene was chaotic—a mountain range battered by a violent thunderstorm. Lightning split the sky, illuminating a figure standing at the peak.
Long white hair whipped in the wind, and glowing blue eyes pierced through the storm. In his hands, he held a lightning rod, crackling with raw power. Malcolm didn't need an introduction. He knew exactly who this was.
Zeus.
The figure didn't move, didn't flinch. He simply spoke, his voice booming like thunder. "I suggest you not linger here any longer. And I most certainly not recommend fulfilling your curiosities any longer."
Though the words were vague, Malcolm understood their weight. Just being in Zeus's presence in the mindscape was overwhelming—a literal headache, a crushing sense of stress. Malcolm gritted his teeth, forcing himself to focus. He needed to level up his Mindscape trait or the Talent itself. This was beyond his current capabilities.
But before he closed the page, he quickly checked Zeus's stats.
[Zeus, The Supreme Storm King
Mana Cost: 4,500
Class: Primordial God of Thunder and Sky
Race: Olympian God
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Primary Archetype: Supreme Thunderlord
Secondary Archetype: Sky Sovereign]
Zeus's rise to supremacy began with the overthrow of his tyrannical father, Cronus. As the ruler of Olympus, he wielded absolute control over the heavens, commanding respect—and fear—among gods and mortals alike. His temper and insatiable desires had shaped the fate of countless worlds.
[Stats (Bounded)
STR: 5,000 (51,031)
AGI: 4,000 (42,304)
END: 6,000 (62,670)
VIT: 7,500 (76,903)
INT: 6,500 (65,803)
MAG: 10,000 (102,340)]
Malcolm's eyes widened. "What the actual fuck?" he muttered under his breath. He'd expected the stats to be high—this was Zeus, after all—but seeing the numbers in front of him was jaw-dropping. Even bounded, Zeus was a monstrosity, a force of nature that defied comprehension.
Malcolm slammed the notebook shut, his heart racing. The strain on his mind was unbearable, and he could feel a headache building behind his eyes. Opening more pages wasn't an option—not now, maybe not ever. He couldn't afford the mental toll, and he didn't want to find out what other horrors lay hidden in the deeper pages.
"Okay," he said to himself, taking a deep breath. "That's enough for today."
He set the notebook aside, rubbing his temples. The encounter with Zeus had been a stark reminder of the power he was dealing with—and the risks. These weren't just characters in a sketchbook anymore. They were forces beyond his control, and he needed to tread carefully.