Level-Up Apocalypse: Surviving With The Assimilation System

"What about you? From how you talk, you encountered something before the First Impact. I thought all of this crazy stuff came from that," Finn asked.

The strange man didn't hold any emotion on his face, even more apparent when posed with the question, "There's so much you just don't understand yet."

"That's why I'm asking," Finn clarified.

"None of this started with what happened to your world. This is the way it's all been since the beginning of time, and before that," the man told him, pushing the smoke out from between his lips.

"My world…You said something like that when we first met. You said this was your world–this city we're in. It's the same," Finn pointed out, unable to recognize anything that was displayed on the billboards.

"Don't think too much about it. Just think of your world as a city, and mine as another–not too close, not too far from one another," the Evanescent explained.

"But, what happened to you–how did you become like this?" Finn questioned, though finding himself becoming lightheaded.

The greyscale man moved the cigarette from his lips with a quiet puff, "You've spent long enough here already. Before you wring your brain, get some rest."

"Hold on, I still have questions–" Finn pressed.

"Goodnight, Finn."

Everything went black before any further answers could be given to him. As he parted his eyelids, the warm feeling he felt as he found himself laying in bed was a dearly missed feeling: he had proper rest.

Sitting up, he felt fine; not a headache or dizziness as he yawned, letting himself slip out of bed, though not finding any of his friends in the room.

'Don't think too hard about it. That's what he said, right? Maybe I'll take that advice,' he thought as he walked over to the window at the end of the room.

Waking up in a different world was still a concept he wasn't quite used to every time. As he turned around, he found footsteps ascending the stairs, entering the guest room.

"Ah, you're awake. I hope you found proper rest."

It was the old elf that greeted him, holding a tray with a container of what smelled to be freshly brewed tea and a cup.

"Yeah, I did. Thanks again for letting us stay here," Finn said, watching the elven elder pour a cup of tea.

"Don't mention it. I'm happy to lend my home to you all," Gurmo assured him, handing over the warm mug.

While he felt he had drank more than enough tea for a year in recent times, he accepted the cup before sitting down on the bedside chair, "Thanks."

Sipping the beverage greeted his tongue with a more herbal, subdued flavor; a welcome change from the overly sweetened brew he had from the Hatter. Each sip brought a rejuvenating warmth to his body as he watched the old elf make the beds, straightening the disheveled sheets.

"I hear your group vanquished Fafnir…I am also aware one of you was lost in the battle. You have my sincerest condolences," Gurmo said, glancing over with a solemn nod while tidying up.

It wasn't a topic he expected to be brought up as he fiddled with the cup while sitting there, looking down as he recalled that bitter experience.

"Yeah," Finn nodded quietly. "Magnus didn't make it."

"It's a miracle any of you made it out. An even greater miracle that you slew it," Gurmo told him, adjusting his round-rimmed glasses before sitting on a chair across the room. "I mean that not to insult your strength, but you must understand Fafnir was a great plague on this world, at a time."

"I can see why," Finn responded, taking another sip before leaning his chin against his hand, though choosing to listen to what the wizened elf had to say.

"Oh, what you saw was merely the remnants of that foul beast. In its age, Fafnir rained fire upon kingdoms. It brought fear to the world of man. Blade nor arrow could even fathom its scales," Gurmo spoke with true fear in his voice, recalling the might of the dragon.

"Did you experience it?" Finn asked.

The small-statured elf nodded his head, tapping a leg against the root-built floorboards of the guest room, "I remember that day clearly still. I was just a lad, watching as my village was turned to a pit of fire. My kin screamed and cried, drowning in flames all while that beast loomed, unflinching as our magic did nothing but shine its hide."

"How was it brought down? The creature we fought–it was just a rotten mess," Finn asked.

"The Storm King, Sirius–the only force in the entire world that could peel those scales were his lightning bolts," Gurmo recalled.

"If this Storm King is that powerful, why didn't he take Fafnir out completely?" Finn asked, feeling contempt at the fact the beast was even there in the first place.

"I don't think anybody knows for sure besides the King himself. Some say he wanted a guard dragon, some believe he was simply merciful to the beast," Gurmo said, getting back up as began waddling away. "All I can say is, I am thankful that dread is dead now. You have my thanks."

"Yeah, sure," Finn said, watching the elf ascend the steps, likely leading to his own room. "Where are the others? Still here?"

"Ah, they went out to hunt some nearby monsters at my request. I believe the young lady is still downstairs, though," Gurmo informed him. "Speaking of which…May I request a favor?"

"Sure," Finn said, seeing as the old man gave him a place to stay and good food.

The old elf leaned against the leaf-enveloped railing of the staircase, adjusting his glasses, "Your friends went towards the north to deal with a pack of wolves that have been digging up my crops. Across the river just a short walk westway, something lurking in the cave has been stalking this forest–something particularly dreadful. It's why I don't venture out at night."

"And you want me to deal with it? Do you know what it is?" Finn asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm afraid not. I only got a look at it once, but it looked like a tall man with odd skin, smelling of blood and coal. The fiend took my livestock…" Gurmo regretfully recalled.

Finn tightened his shoes and slid his gloves on with a quick exhale, "Alright, gramps. I'll take a shot at it. I'm not dying for some sheep thief, though."

"I wouldn't ask you too. I doubt the mighty hero who slew Fafnir would fall to such a fiend, though," Gurmo told him with a smile.

"Right," Finn brushed off the remark.

It seemed as though he had missed a few hours, Finn realized as he decided to venture downward to the base of the abode, finding it completely quiet. Stepping outside, the chirping of birds that perched themselves in the forest greeted him.

A breath of fresh air immediately felt as though it rejuvenated him, taking himself down the westward path towards the river. He used his dagger to cut down any low-hanging vines or tall bushes that impeded his way, finding a massive centipede crawling on the tree to his right.

Despite the uniquely large insects, he was delighted at the prospect of going on a simple excursion by himself, given time to think and go at his own pace.

'I guess I can't be surprised the old man has some tasks for us. We did eat…way too much of his food, I almost feel bad,' he thought, stepping over an ant hole.

It was surprisingly warm in the forest at that hour, in fact, it became hot enough that he decided to take off his coat entirely. He simply relinquished it to his "inventory", feeling the air against his bare arms as he let out a sigh.

'That's better,' he thought.

He pushed through a bundle of foliage while hearing a gentle flow of water. Stepping out the other side, he found himself at the edge of the flowing river, though it hardly seemed to be in motion.

Clear enough to see the rocks at the floor, he knelt by the crisp water, dipping his hands in. It felt cold, but refreshing against his skin.

As he dragged his fingers through the water, he noticed how callused his hands had become. Living a life mostly as a recluse, whether it was by studying or gaming, his sedentary lifestyle led to his skin being soft to the touch, like a baby's own, though not anymore.

'Guess I shouldn't be surprised,' he thought, feeling the calluses that were as tough as stone. Explore uncharted tales at m-vlem|p-yr

He dried off his hands on the legs of his pants as he stood up, looking for a clear way to cross the narrow river. A quick glance around found a row of rocks that seemed so perfectly to create a bridge that their placement couldn't be natural.