Mark of a Formidable Foe (1)

"Hah?!"

A blond man opened his eyes in a bed.

He was powerfully built, all solid muscle, and he ran a hand over his neck, which was slick with cold sweat.

"Whew... thought I was dead for sure... wait. Where am I?"

The relief that his throat was still intact lasted only a moment before panic set in — he was somewhere unfamiliar.

Or so it seemed at first. The room resolved into details. Posters plastered the walls: a famous heavy metal band, and a stack of character posters from Japanese anime Blu-ray collector's bonuses.

On the desk beneath them sat an expensive computer and a black headgear unit.

The moment he saw the sleek, futuristic black headgear, he understood where he was.

"Home. I'm— I'm home! I made it back home!"

The blond white man — no, Jason Turningham — let out a whoop of joy.

It was his childhood home. He had finally returned to reality.

H-how long has it been? Ten years? No. Wasn't it fifteen?

Jason looked down at his own hands. Instead of the bone-white skin unique to the Cult, he saw dark-toned palms and shaggy hair around his wrists.

It was unquestionably his own body, and yet it felt foreign. Maybe that was only natural for someone who had spent more than half his life inside a game.

He pushed aside the blanket — it even smelled familiar — and climbed out of bed. A height that had once brushed two meters now stopped at a mere 180 centimeters.

Just as he was thinking that he'd woken up a dwarf overnight, a voice came from outside.

"Jason! How long are you gonna sleep your life away!"

Mom!

He had lived a life more blessed than anyone else's in the world of Space Survival — but there had been exactly one thing he regretted.

The memory of his parents.

Jason hurriedly pulled on the clothes he'd discarded and headed out the door. The scent of his mother's meatloaf hung thick in the air all the way to his second-floor bedroom.

He practically tumbled down the stairs. In the living room that opened onto the kitchen, he called out in a great booming voice.

"Mom!"

His mother was setting the table. She should have jumped in fright and started scolding him — what was with all the racket first thing in the morning? — muttering and grumbling as she told him to hurry up and eat.

That was the mother Jason remembered.

That was how it was supposed to be.

What met his eyes was nothing like what he had hoped.

The once-tidy kitchen was dyed red, like undercooked meatloaf. The liquid soaking into the wallpaper reeked of thick, metallic blood.

"Huh?"

Jason stared blankly at the blood-drenched kitchen.

There, a thing that had no business existing was holding what had been his 'mother.'

"A-aaaah..."

A monster cloaked in dark violet carapace, with the characteristically elongated rear shell, six arms, two legs, and a tail as long as its body.

An Amorph from Space Survival.

It was in the middle of chewing up Jason's mother in the kitchen.

"AAAAAAAAGH!"

Jason screamed and screwed his eyes shut.

Please, please let all of this be a dream.

And then—

As if by magic, he opened his eyes on the bed once more.

"A d-dream?"

The metal band poster, the anime character posters, the computer — the same scene he'd woken to minutes ago.

He was in his own room, not inside the game world.

"Jason! How long are you gonna sleep your life away!"

Mom!

With no time to rejoice at having made it back, Jason bolted upright and rushed out of the room. He half-flew down the stairs and swiftly swept the kitchen with his eyes.

"Jason, I told you not to run in the house."

Heard his mother's voice — the voice he'd longed for all this time — and Jason's breath caught. He couldn't breathe at all.

Out of joy? No.

His mother was in no condition to be speaking. And no wonder — a corpse with only its head left can't talk.

"......"

"Jason, come and eat."

The Amorph, holding his mother's head in its grip, chattered along in his mother's voice.

"Jason? What are you dawdling for?"

"Jason?"

"Jason."

"Jason. Jason. Jason. Jason. Jason. Jason. Jason. Jason. Jason. Jason. Jason. Jason. Jason. Jason. Jason. Jason. Jason. Jason. Jason..."

"AAAAAAAAGH!"

In that living room ringing with his mother's voice, he clamped his hands over his ears. Without his noticing, tears of blood had begun to stream from his eyes.

When the blood-tears blurred his vision, he opened his eyes again.

"A-aaaah..."

The poster printed with a metal band's name in rough lettering on a black background. The poster of a moe character. He stared at the familiar scenery, and he understood.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

Cursing, he yanked the blanket over his head.

Now he remembered.

On the day he had entered Space Survival, he hadn't been at his childhood home. His last memory was strapping a VR rig onto his head in a cramped studio apartment, streaming for his broadcast.

This situation he was living through now was astonishingly realistic — but it was never 'reality.'

Then someone knocked on the door.

"Jason! How long are you gonna sleep your life away!"

"......"

"Jason, I always tell you— KYAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

"Mom?"

The sound of a tearing scream from outside the door made him flinch, staring at the doorframe.

A moment later, a red liquid came seeping slowly under the door.

"N-nooo! AAAAAAAGH!"

Crushed by the guilt of losing his mother, Jason clawed wildly at his own head.

Then the doorknob of the firmly shut door began to turn, slowly.

"Hah—!"

Opening his eyes on the bed in the exact same posture yet again, Jason understood.

Where he was didn't matter anymore.

What mattered was this: he had become the prisoner of this nightmare of a world.

"Jason! How long are you gonna sleep your life away!"

The voice from outside.

The voice he had yearned for all this time — now it only filled him with dread.

Thanks to devouring the Green Galagon, the most urgent fire had been put out.

No. 26, the most seriously wounded among us, ate a far larger meal than usual — she polished off both of the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wings, each nearly ten meters long, entirely on her own.

With her belly stuffed full, she swelled her body and promptly fell asleep. Thanks to that, we were able to inject enough psychic power to wake PS-111 from her dormant state.

To the newly awakened PS-111 I handed over some of the Screamer wreckage. The biological tissue would have been useful, but the metal components did nothing for her energy recharging.

As for me, I was still holding the Clever Underdog form, so a modest supply of food was more than enough to recover my energy. The puncture wound in my throat had all but healed, and the side effects of the Paragon of the Hunt had faded as well.

Having caught our breath, we settled in for the night inside the pit I had dug.

I quietly rose from beside the sleeping No. 26 and PS-111.

It was time to examine, in detail, the perk I had freshly acquired by devouring Jason.

Checking it here would make too much of a commotion.

My plan was to summon Jason through the Human-Faced Beast and interrogate him. Given his personality, I expected he'd be fairly noisy even as a face on my back.

As I slipped out of the pit and moved between the trees, I heard footsteps behind me.

It was Mother of the Sky, the griffin whose beak had yet to fully heal.

｢You're going to check out that perk, right?｣

[Zzz (Yes)]

｢Then I'm coming too.｣

I started to tell her there was no need — then caught her eye and stopped.

The chaos of the day had let it slide, but Jason was one of her sworn enemies. It was he who had ordered Muriel to slaughter her family.

The Human-Faced Beast inherits part of the original's memories. Recent experiences and the things the original considered important remain even after transformation.

Jason's face almost certainly still remembers everything about Muriel.

She probably has more than a few things she wants to say to it.

Compared to Muriel, Jason had died a relatively merciful death. He'd been trying to flee using some means we couldn't see, so there had been no choice.

But she had gone so far as to bury a parasite in her own ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠head to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠avenge her family. For someone like that, telling her to simply forget what happened would be a cruel thing to ask.

Besides, I need intel on his other associates anyway. Having her listen in won't hurt.

[Zzzz Zzzz Zzzzz (If that puts your heart at ease)]

｢Thanks.｣

Mother of the Sky and I moved to a spot a short distance from the pit.

The dark forest had an unsettling air thanks to the ceaseless roar of the snowstorm, but none of us was the type to be frightened by a little weather.

This should be far enough.

Having chosen our ground, I crouched low and activated the Human-Faced Beast trait. One of the faces hidden beneath my fur was drawn inward, swallowed into my body.

Then a new face, slick with viscous fluid, rose to the surface. Its skin was as smooth as a newborn's — and it belonged to the Cult priest Jason.

A moment later, Jason's eyes snapped open.

"U-UWAAAAAAGH!"

[Zzz (Quiet)]

When I pressed a finger to where my mouth would be, Jason shut his mouth at once.

The Human-Faced Beast is one of my body parts. Every one of his movements lies under my control.

[Zzzz Zzz Zzzzz (Answer what you are asked)]

"......"

Jason blinked rapidly, dazed, and answered. I granted him permission to speak.

"I-I'll tell you anything! S-so please, please don't send me back to that hell, that hell!"

Ordinarily, those made into Human-Faced Beasts assume they've lost all control of their bodies, so they tend to obey me well. And for reasons unknown, the longer time passes, the more they come to prefer being used as a face rather than left to sleep.

For all that, he's remarkably obedient.

It was hard to square this cooperative posture with the arrogant swagger he'd worn in life. Even Mother of the Sky looked mildly disgusted watching from the side.

Not my problem.

As long as he behaved, that suited me fine. I began my questioning.

What perks he possessed. Details on his faction, his companions' identities, and so on.

The conversation with the Human-Faced Beast lasted only about an hour, but the volume of intelligence we extracted was anything but small. I couldn't recall the last time I'd obtained information this high-quality.

That part can wait. What matters right now is the perk.

Jason had held three perks in total. One was the innate ability he'd gained upon arriving in this world; the other two had been stolen from players he'd killed.

Psychic Technique Synthesis. The particulate-organism control ability taken from a Coldblood. The warp ability taken from a Metallic Gremlin.

The second ability had manifested as the golden shapes that had ridden on his back, and the third was the power he'd tried to use to escape.

...And somehow, we still beat him.

The decisive reason for Jason's defeat was that he had wielded power far beyond what he deserved. If he hadn't gotten careless, we would have lost.

I need to be careful too.

Losing Adhai to Ham Ort had ultimately been my own carelessness. After killing Jason, I'd let urgency push me into a reckless call.

The me of now has a great deal to lose. It's nothing like the game, where all I had to do was look after my own single life.

And in the game, dying just meant coming back to life. Not here. Not me — not No. 26, Adhai, Mother of the Sky, or PS-111. If they die, that's the end.

It's not that I have no resurrection trait...

But it's utterly out of reach for the present me. It's a trait I'd have to risk my life for even after reaching adulthood — faster to write it off as something I don't have.

If I want to protect them, I have to be that much more careful.

Steeling my resolve once more, I reactivated the text box I had reviewed earlier that day.

So this one is tied to Jason's second perk.

The ability that had governed those golden shapes he commanded — in other words, the particulate-organism control power he'd taken from a Coldblood.

The other two perks stayed locked because I possessed no traits suitable to serve as their materials. Even Jason doesn't know which traits might be compatible; that part will take experimenting as I gather more traits.

If I had to guess, it would need to be a trait related to the perk's nature.

When I killed Muriel before and gained the perk Mark of a Formidable Foe — Plunderer's Amorphous Polyhedron — I had used Metal Absorption as the material. Perhaps because of that, the resulting power let me devour a weapon and convert that weapon's unique properties into a trait.

If that's the pattern, the particulate-organism control power will likely behave similarly.

The only difference is that this time I have two candidate materials.

One was Space Bacteria, an infection-related trait. The other was Flames of Hallucination, a psychic-related trait. Two traits with utterly different characters had both been selected as fusion candidates.

It's not a total mystery, though.

Looking at a perk's character, the compatible traits are never wholly unrelated to it.

Take Space Bacteria first: it shares a clear point of commonality in that both it and the perk involve producing and managing tiny particles.

According to Jason, the particulate-organism control ability works by freely commanding the golden particulate organisms through a special organ located between the spinal cord and the brain. The reason it depends so heavily on the host's senses is that the organisms are bound to that special organ.

Simply put, you could think of it as growing brand-new arms and legs on demand.

If I fuse it with Space Bacteria, I'll probably end up with something close to what Jason could do.

Not that I can be certain.

Anyway, setting that branch aside.

Next, the Flames of Hallucination.

You could call it a downgraded version of the Purple Spray Gun. Just as the name suggests, it's a trait that breathes psychic fire.

If only the raw firepower were a little stronger. That would've been lovely.

The firepower of Flames of Hallucination was, frankly, pathetic. It earned the nickname "purple piss" in the game, and it earned it.

Still, it can later serve as material for powerful fusion traits, so with the future in mind it was worth acquiring. On top of that, here it can even be fed into the Transcendence System to forge high-tier traits.

I had a fair guess as to why a trait with nothing to recommend it but potential would be offered as a Mark of a Formidable Foe material.

This part has to be tied to the trait's original owner.

The original owner of the particulate-organism control power was a Coldblood player.

In the lore, the Coldblood made a disastrous contract with the Vortex Ones, and as a result their entire species was mortgaged away — a race cursed by fate.

Because of that, Coldblood players make heavy use of abilities derived from the Vortex Ones. In fact, depending on player choices, there was even an event that let you borrow Abyssal Power, an ability unique to the Vortex Ones.

Working from that, one plausible theory is that using psychic-related skills as fusion material stems from the Coldblood's core lore.

The Vortex Ones are the most powerful psychic beings in the setting, after all.

According to Jason, the Coldblood player who originally held this perk had walked the Vortex One cult route.

In other words, if I fused it with a psychic-type trait, the result could manifest as something resembling the Vortex One abilities that original owner had used.

Let me lay it all out again.

If I use Space Bacteria as the material, there's a decent chance I'll get a trait resembling the golden shapes Jason commanded.

If I use Flames of Hallucination instead, it will likely manifest as something resembling the abilities the Coldblood original had wielded.

...Tch. And even with all that, it's still just guesswork.

The world ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of Space Survival never taught players a single thing straight. Everything, always, had to be dug up by the players themselves.

Should I put it off?

Thirteen hours remained. If I committed the perk to a trait and it turned out to be a landmine, the blow would sting badly.

After a few minutes of deliberation, I shook my head.

No. I choose now.

Thirteen more hours of agonizing wouldn't produce an answer. It was right to resolve to act cautiously — but that didn't mean putting off every decision, at every moment.

Whatever trait came out of it, identifying its characteristics quickly and studying how to put it to use would be far more productive.

Mind made up, I selected the trait I would offer as material for the Mark of a Formidable Foe.