"Come on!"
With grit teeth and a frown, Viscus roused the Mana from his heart, pumping it directly into his hand and out. Slowly, the energy coalesced into form, and his tight lips mildly stretched upward into a weak smirk, uncaring of the sweat running down his face.
Like silk woven into shape, the Mana clambered on top of itself, but his smirk turned into a grimace as the Mana deviated. His mind demanded a stick, straight and orderly, but he was instead granted a branch not unlike that of one fallen from a tree. As it was spindly and unwieldy for further building, he closed his hand into a fist and with it willed the Mana away - an act born out of frustration.
His act was rewarded as he felt the Mana break away from him, his dwindling reserves now measuring no more than a handful of points. His [Mana Heart] was at one point growing brightly, and his circuit was strong and full, but like a drought, the barest hints were only circulating inside of him, but that was only natural.
Since coming back from the waste of time and energy, the so-called "Big Project," he paced around the hotel room, fear coursing through his veins, and it reached a point where his granted skill had to intervene. It whisked the feeling away, allowing him to sit still for a few minutes, but that was as much peace as it could grant.
The fear could go away, but not the facts - never the facts. He was weak, terribly weak, but he was doing his best to fix it. He sought help to utilize a skill he deemed way too important to ignore, he ran at night, seeking unfortunate souls to prey on, and he trained as much as he could in-between that he didn't know what more he could do.
Viscus asked himself what more he could improve on, and the first obvious answer was his level. He was close, so very close. Level 8 and still going up, soon a 10 and with it his semblance, but he simply couldn't rush it any more. As soon as the clock ticked midnight, he was out of the hotel room, and he was only back when the bright star began peering over the horizon, never before.
To seek fights throughout the day gave him yet another fear entirely. He was a murderer, a serial killer, and not one who was stopping any time soon. His face - no, his mask was becoming even more well known by the day if the reactions of the thugs were of any value, and if he was seen in broad daylight by someone like a huntsman?
After clicking his tongue, he rubbed his hair with a groan. It wasn't even huntsmen that were his biggest danger. If he met someone with mastery of Aura more than the rabble he had the pleasure of meeting, then he was quite sure his demise was set in stone - but that was why he was being careful, wasn't it?
Even at night, the only times he'd be fighting someone wielding Aura were when they just came out of nowhere. His [Stealth] skill was growing each day, and that gave him the chance to "Observe" on his targets. It wasn't often that he saw an Aura user, but it was always a dangerous fight when they noticed him.
Of course, his [Stealth] was only at level 10, near 11, and thus giving bonuses of 10% to his actions, which weren't that much in the grand scheme, but he wasn't simply relying on it. To think about standing on the opposite side of the street and imagine that they couldn't notice him when he was in direct sight, such was a thought of fools, and he saw himself as no fool.
The blond stood up and went to the kitchen, eager to prepare himself anything. His mind, on the other hand, was still busy, and that was with what to do. Levels, he couldn't do much more with than he already was, and so was the same with his stats. He was constantly training: after returning from the junkyard till he left the hotel for his nightly hunt, then once he was back to the hotel, until he was back in the junkyard.
It was an incredibly boring cycle, but what was boring when his life was on the line? He was reminded every night why he was training, why he needed to keep going, why not to become complacent. The world wasn't even giving him a chance to become complacent, not when every other fight introduced him to an Aura user one after the other.
And that left his final option for training: his skills. Where he could, he was always looking to further heighten his power through them, but he was severely limited. He had two active Mana-related skills, excluding that of using Mana to strengthen his physical capabilities. [Mana Shield] and [Mana Bomb], one defensive and one offensive, and those were all he had.
And so he sat, now huffing and on the verge of throwing his half-drank cup of tea at the nearest wall. Like always, he failed to manipulate his Mana to do anything more than it already was. Meditation would top him up within seconds, so that was never the issue, but the fact that he had been going at it for nearly an hour with no clear end in sight.
For that, he had to ask himself how he was able to bring those two skills to life. In regards to [Mana Shield], he remembered sitting just as he was in this moment, and it came to him just as easy as [Mana Bomb] did, though he was confused how he managed to get that other skill in the heat of battle.
Taking a few deep breaths, Viscus sat on his bed and closed his eyes for meditation and another round with trying to get a new skill. One more hour was all he was giving it. After that, training his physical stats. They weren't showing signs of stagnating anymore, not after his recent level ups.
Then he would be back in the less savory parts of the city for the night. Back for more blood.
But at this point, what else could he have done?
Nothing.
-CEM-
The Gamer prowled, his steps echoing under the flickering street lights. Buildings were unlit, seemingly abandoned, and the streets were empty save for the occasional blast of sand, the grains slipping into his clothes.
The sand would not break his focus, not when he was on the outskirts of danger. Like the nights before, he had to dig deeper, move closer, and hug the boundaries owned by the city's darkest hearts - darker than even the Grimm's.
The boundaries were his hunting grounds, where the least amount of men were stationed, and where the opportunity arose. The Gamer knew for certain that had he ventured further, he would have been shut down within moments, and that was if he was even allowed to go further. He once tried to poke, to explore further, and it was only a handful of blocks away did he see a massive increase in body count.
They weren't obvious, not as the ones skulking in the alleyways and patrolling the outside in full view, but he could see signs of life, and the System's observations warned him. Levels were higher, and so was the risk. Risk and reward, but no reward he received could justify the risk of punching higher than his weight class. It wasn't as if he gained an explosive amount of levels, not in the slightest. It felt like more of the same, yet with added difficulty on top.
The blond wanted to click his tongue, but he was close. He didn't want to alert anyone nearby. His steps were near silent, as much as his skill would allow as he moved with intent. His eyes scanned the inventory, making sure everything was ready for him to grab at a moment's notice, then he stopped.
Halted in place, for the map showed him standing within the boundary he manually marked. His breath quickened, and he hurriedly hid behind a wall as the boundary he once considered relatively safe was no longer so. The silence was broken, and with it a hope in the blond's heart.
A gang had expanded outwards and taken the territory where there was once dispute. Most of their men were just standing around, seemingly aimlessly. Disproven quickly was that as the blond's gaze was caught on the shine on the thugs' hips, and the way the men seemingly flinched at the faintest of sounds.
He made his best attempt to scan each and every one standing with the System, and the fear that gripped his heart loosened as the numbers reassured him. Nearly 20 men, standing in groups of 3 to 5, and none with Aura. He gulped, then flinched as he heard a loud rumble come from a street parallel to the one he was in.
Two semi trucks rolled in, and the men didn't react aggressively, clearly expecting the vehicles. A handful of people left their posts and rushed to the trucks before leaving with cargo in hand. Casings and crates to be deposited in one of the buildings, and from said building nearly 10 more people streaming out.
Where once there was confidence came hesitance. Thirty guns versus one was no odds he liked, and they moved too quick for him to evaluate their threat level. He couldn't measure all of them, but he didn't expect a gang leader or someone close to be walking among the lower ranks and hauling cargo off a truck.
Taking a deep breath, the Gamer closed his eyes and warred with himself. He had two choices, one more viable than the other, but one more rewarding and desirable.
He could take his leave and look into another area. In his time hunting, he had explored a multitude of places, and he was in no way forced to use this one. The night was still young, barely half an hour after midnight, and such was the safest option, and the most logical one.
But the levels he would reach. The power he would gain. He was pressed for time, and he had to take the chance. He had already fought over 10 people one after the other, with one even having Aura. He was stronger than then, significantly so with the addition of [Mana Bomb] and his improved stats, and with the way the thugs were standing in groups?
Wetting his lips, he reassessed his situation. He had an advantage in being able to stealth attack, and if he chucked a few bombs in succession, he could more than halve their numbers. Though, if he did so, he wanted to be careful with the trucks. His eyes glimmered as greed shone through. If this was a newly expanded base, then the vehicles and the base more than likely housed armaments and objects that might assist him in the future.
'But my safety,' a statement his mind no longer crossed. He was convinced, and his memory of yesterday's morning in the junkyard further emboldened him, and angered him. Every time he remembered the waste of time, the lack of reward, their lackadaisical treatment of his desire, he fumed.
More than fumed, but [Gamer's Mind] quickly rectified that.
He leaned back to check on the gang's progress in moving items, and his gaze was met with a wall. A wall that, once his eyes wandered upward, held two gleaming beads, and an open hole. Two eyes and a gaping mouth, a mouth that began taking shape for sound.
Sound that only escaped as a yelp before being drowned by a loud crash, also hiding a sickening crunch.
Grimacing, the blond felt the air shift, no doubt the men's eyes all directed toward where he stood. His element of surprise was on the verge, so he had to make his final decision. If he popped his head out this instant, no doubt they would pepper him till he had more holes than a fishing net.
"Check the sound," the Gamer heard someone demand, and footsteps echoed closer. He warred with himself no longer as his hands glowed blue, and he appeared only momentarily from behind the wall, startling the men.
The brief freeze from his sudden appearance took away any chance for the group of three approaching from dodging the blue ball of death. One, the quickest of them, yelled out "Shit!" before the bomb came in contact, and only a second after did the System notify him thrice of gained EXP.
The boom resounded in the street, and more than likely alerted any hiding members within the buildings, but the men were still startled - some of them, at least. The blond had wasted no time in gathering yet another bomb while the first was flying, and thusly hurled it at another unfortunate group, this time farther away than the first, giving the four men a chance at running.
Only two reacted accordingly, the rest staring in horror as the ball approached, but the Gamer had no more time to stare at his handiwork as he felt the first bullet strike him. One turned into many while the second bomb exploded, and that was as much as he could afford for the moment.
Hurriedly, he hopped behind the building, the wall chipping and cracking as bullets relentlessly torpedoed toward him. His Aura was untouched, or it would have been had one bullet not decided to grace itself straight through the corner, flinging off his shoulder. He sucked in his breath and took two more steps away, the bullets having less chance of penetrating and reaching his skin.
The gangsters were not keen on wasting bullets, however, or it was the need to reload that led the hail to stop. Regardless of the reason, the Gamer huffed and gathered Mana within his hand. He knew he had little time to act, so he dashed out of hiding, but his eyes widened as he saw the thugs.
Rather, it was the lack of thugs standing in plain sight that caused him to pause. The blue bomb in his hand was shivering, eagerly waiting for its purpose, but he couldn't throw it, not when he saw a dozen feet behind the semi-trucks, or the looming barrel staring at him from the entrance of some building.
The metal struck him before he could act, and the Mana vibrated wildly in his hand, threatening to blow. With barely any time left, he grit his teeth and threw the bomb at the building where the gun peeked, taking a few more bullets in quick succession from other places. It was then he went back into hiding, counting the number of experience notifications.
Before he could consider the final notification, he heard a metallic ring close in on his place, and his eyes registered a shining ball down by his feet. Half a second was all he needed to curse out loud and kick the ground running, but his three steps weren't enough to escape the inferno.
The ground screeched as he fell, his face dragging till he flipped and found himself sat. Disoriented and confused, he shook his head and stood up, his legs shivering. He nearly tripped two times on his own, and the third time came as he felt a barrage strike his unstable body.
From just around the corner, two guns lit up one after the other, as if synchronised, and his Aura pinged while his body groaned. Mana took the role of protecting after his Aura flashed in danger, and his eye regained clarity. The two men shot at his defenseless body until their magazines held no more, but he wasn't standing still.
Their eyes widened as the Gamer pounced on the two with a snarl, dagger in hand. Quickly turning tail was not going to help, not when the blond held a gun in his other hand and began shooting wantonly. They had taken too many steps away from the turn, from where their comrades were waiting, and they were going to pay for it.
Although unsteady and with the barest hints of an act called aiming, five of eight shots met their mark. The two thugs fell to the ground with either a scream or a thud, one of them completely still as his gun clattered down the street. The other one screamed as blood spurted out of his legs, his back turning crimson.
The Gamer fell on that man before he could turn his body to face him, and the first act wasn't to stab, but to grip the man by the hair, lifting his face up as he spluttered. The blond couldn't see his prey's expression, not from his angle, but that mattered not. Face met ground three times with more force being added till the experience notification sounded.
As he counted eight, he heard more footsteps approaching. He was standing out in the open, but that wouldn't hold him back from tearing into them. The Gamer was going to get what he needed, and they held what he desired.
Taking a page out of the entertainment industry, the blond hauled the man he'd just beaten and held his corpse in a meatshield position. It was easy given his enhanced strength, but the blood sliding down his arm caused him to shiver for a moment before his body tightened.
More thugs graced the Gamer, and he took no time pulling the trigger on the first one to enter the gun barrel's line of sight, the gunfire lighting the dark street, and with it widening the blond's eyes, and startling the target.
The bullet whizzed right above the thug's head, shearing off a clean line in the man's hair. "Shit!" was all he heard before yet another shiny grenade flew toward him, but he wasn't taken by surprise, not this time. Ditching the meatshield, the blond kicked the ground and took off to the nearest hiding spot, but that wouldn't stop the thug from blasting his back with more firepower than he had ever felt before.
The bullets seemingly spun on top of his Aura before deflecting off of it, and the force nearly knocked him off his feet. The reprieve came from when the grenade exploded, this time only blasting hot air toward him. He found an alley and hid in it, his breaths quick and deep, and his ears noting every sound.
Nothing but his own noise was heard, but he knew the thugs were still waiting. Waiting for him to waltz out into the open before shredding him to pieces. Huffing, he shut his eyes for a moment, taking the time to reflect on the attack.
Or so he would have liked had he not heard a shout from the street. "Aura or not, you're fucking dead! Find him!"
The footsteps were too many to count, and his resources had barely regenerated any. He couldn't blow them up with any [Mana Bomb], not when his Mana was running on life support, and his Aura had dropped past 40%. He hated how he could barely sustain himself in a prolonged fight, how his resources were so easily expended and hardly restored.
Glaring outside the alley, he found shadows slowly coming into view. Five men, all in a line, and he didn't know if he could take them on in a rush. Hurriedly, he looked at the alley, finding it ending in a deep end with no place to hide, and certainly nowhere to avoid a bombardment of grenades. Then he looked up, and found salvation.
The shadows were approaching, and his time was running out. The element of surprise was his ally, and he had to regain it, and he knew that up was his choice.
At first, he imagined there would be fire escapes or something to latch onto, but the lack of them wouldn't hold him back. Rather, he stored his weapons and grit his teeth before gathering his strength and jumping, weightlessness taking over. With a flash of Mana, the Gamer dug his hand into a wall, the crushing sound echoing loudly, but he had to move higher before they could spot him.
The walls crumbled before his Mana-empowered fingers, and his muscles strained as he stopped just three stories up. It was enough, he hoped, since there was no light to reflect off of him. Nevertheless, he hugged the wall tighter, praying they wouldn't spot him, and tried to use [Meditation], but his palpitating heart wouldn't slow him down, even if he only needed to use the skill for seconds.
Clenching his teeth, he moved his gaze back to the street, and the shadows appeared closer, but more wary. Their slow movements already came to a crawl, then a full stop. Rather than try and fight him directly, he heard a pin clatter to the street before yet another grenade flew deeper into the alley, as if to flush him. They didn't wait for it to explode before the five men trained their guns, their rifles, straight into the street, and he saw their eyes widen.
When the grenade exploded and they were distracted, he took the chance and broke off the wall. He descended on them with glowing fists, and one of them strained their eye up a second too late. The Gamer smashed into the group, flinging them all in different directions, but his fist found a mark. A thug slammed into the street, head first, and the blond didn't follow up when he heard the experience notification.
The other four were still reeling from the surprise attack, and he was about to pounce on them before he felt bullets grind on his Aura, destabilizing him. His gaze found 5 more men who were seemingly waiting for him to make his appearance, all with rifles in their hands. Cursing, he decided to abandon ship and leg it, using whatever remained of his Mana to block as many shots as he could.
The air whistled around him, and so did the rain of bullets until he was at a turn. Safety gave him the opportunity to take a deep, calm breath, but he didn't stop until he was far, far away from the base, and he eventually stopped when his mind finally decided it was time.
He was safe, with no one in sight, so he looked at his trembling arms. The blond slowed his breaths and counted the notifications, just in case, then his fist met an innocent wall.
"Fuck!"
-CEM-
The birds were singing and soaring as Viscus stepped into the hotel, the sun retrieving its job from the half lit moon as the latter sank into the horizon. Like always, the receptionist, despite being a person different to the one the blond had first met, was still acting in a manner too similar to not be counted as the same guy with a different face.
Sighing, Viscus entered his now all-too-familiar room, then sank into the bed not unlike the moon, face first. At least, that's what he thought he was doing, but a mistake in controlling his strength saw him flung a bit too far off course, and he landed on the carpeted ground, face first, with his legs dangling on top of the mattress.
He didn't move - didn't want to. His breath flowed directly into the floor, exhaustion seeping with it. Coughing had him off the floor within moments, however, as the dust did what dust always would, and he was back on the bed, this time securely. The TV held no appeal, and neither did anything but screaming and kicking.
"I hate this."
Yelling into the pillow helped, but only momentarily. The System didn't consider his current state an issue, so he was left with frustration, and a lot of it. How was he to progress when there was absolutely no one in the streets to satiate the System's hunger?
He yelled twice more into the pillow. Viscus couldn't understand how a part of Vacuo, one not abandoned, was exactly that. Days prior, it was not. Men and women stood in the streets, within the alleys, and everywhere possible, but tonight was as if they had been whisked away by the wind, or a System of their own. All of them, apparently.
The gang that had just expanded was an outlier because he simply couldn't spot another. He contemplated just going back and trying his hand at fighting them again with full Aura and Mana, but when his mind touched on the fact that he had rifles and grenades in-mass, he tucked that thought away into the "Bad Ideas" corner.
The Gamer had only taken nine lives that night, and no more. Nine experience notifications, not even close to propelling him past level 8. His brain couldn't comprehend how unlucky he was that night. What was he even to do when his source of progress was non-existent?
Clicking his tongue, he lifted his face off the pillow and glanced at the clock. He had a few hours before his time with the junkyard guys, time where he would train, and maybe reflect further on his fight with the gang.
Except, he didn't know what else he could have done beside not engaging with them. He had two chances to just leave, and he took neither. The first was as he was still checking them out, all the while they were hauling supplies. The other was when he was unfortunately caught peeking by a guy who decided now was the best time to pass by him, and no one still knew he was here, even if him smashing the guy into the wall announced his presence quite clearly.
Maybe he should have taken a less loud response, but he was as startled as the man he encountered. The blond hadn't had much more opportunity to act after he threw his mana around. It was his best chance to eliminate as many people as possible, and he took it.
If anything, his mistake was not having more Mana to throw around, otherwise he could have tanked more hits while they were still gathering their wits, and blown more of them up before his Mana bottomed.
There was nothing more he could have done, he concluded. Maybe he would try his best to find a more reliable way to increase his Mana-related stats, or forcefully increase them through leveling up, but otherwise the best he could do is simply avoid fighting in such a massive numbers disadvantage.
He was at his best when fighting less people in a tighter space. A wide open street was no place for such a fight, not when every thug had a clear shot on him.
Regardless, he had no more time to wallow. Time was passing, and the digital clock ticking a few minutes further only served to push him off his bed to start his physical training.
Except, his frustration wouldn't go away. Wouldn't disappear or even decrease, somehow rising, bubbling slowly but evidently as time passed and the clock ticked closer to his designated period for the junkyard.
He took a quick shower and left the hotel with a handful more stats than he'd entered with, but nothing considerable - nothing enough to ease off the way his heart hammered in his chest.
The streets were still filling up with people, some of which, the older, he'd noticed, giving him some stares as if he was a menace walking beside them. He wanted to say that it didn't bother him, that their irrational fear and anger toward him was of no matter, but it made him want to be home even more.
No memory came to mind of someone, anyone, looking at him in the same way back home. People were kind, they always looked at him with smiles, and he was ready to reciprocate, but Vacuo didn't even give him a chance.
The System didn't give him a chance.
His eyes didn't wander, and his steps quickened. The junkyard came into view after 20 minutes of walking, and he pushed through its maze till he was face to face with the warehouse, and a few people who were standing outside, chatting.
Their conversation paused when they noticed him, one narrowing his eyes but making no further move. They stared at him as he walked inside and met gazes of a similar nature, but he eventually stuck himself inside Tricky's room, the orange haired guy still not present, or busy for the meantime.
Rather than wait, Viscus took a meditative breath before grabbing tools from his inventory and working on one of his older projects in an attempt to repair where he failed to reassemble.
He was slightly more proficient in the art of whatever he was doing at the moment, and he didn't exactly bring junk with him, at least if he didn't count the number of empty guns in his inventory, and those he couldn't exactly work on in the building, and especially not with Tricky around.
Nevertheless, the process began and he worked, the pieces unscrewed one by one, and the wires carefully left untouched. Minutes passed in concentration until he flinched - the door behind him closing. Someone had entered, a pile covering their face, but Tricky was quickly identified when he turned his back to place the pile in a corner of the room.
"Oh, hey V!" the man grinned while grabbing something from the top of the pile. He grabbed his chair and dragged it near Viscus, sitting next to him while glancing at the blond and the half-disassembled junk he was working on.
"Haven't been away for long. You did this quicker than before, nice," he gave a thumbs up, and Viscus's brow rose.
The silence ensued, and the mechanic's cyan eyes stared for a while before they looked away. "W-well, not even a hi back?"
Blinking, the blond put down his equipment and sighed, "Yeah, my bad. Good morning to you too, Tricky."
"'Morning. So.. Do you need any help?" With some more confidence, he inched his chair closer.
Viscus bit off what he was about to say, "Not right now, no. Thanks, Tricky."
"Okay, well," he glanced back at his own desk before pointing at it with his thumb. "I guess I'll be working there, call when needed, alright, V?"
After the blond nodded, the mechanic took his chair over and busied himself, so he followed in his footsteps. There was still much to be applied from the mechanic's teachings, so Viscus had no issue taking the time to work on them. If only it wasn't so slow.
The blond felt sweat slide down his brows, the fan at the side of the room barely doing anything to combat the heat. But he wouldn't give up for just a bit of heat. The water bottle in his inventory became half empty when he tapped on it, the feeling of the liquid sliding down his throat giving him shivers, but not stopping his work.
He only paused when he heard the mechanic clear his throat, so he glanced at him only to find the man focused on his own work. "So, uh, I noticed you haven't messaged or responded to any of my messages."
Viscus was nonplussed, "What messages?"
That made the mechanic pause, and he looked at him with confusion of his own, "On the scroll I gave you?"
The Gamer didn't know how to respond to that. He didn't take the scroll out of his inventory since Tricky had given him it, and he only used the looted scrolls whenever he needed to search for something.
Finding the mechanic's gaze a bit too strong, the blond responded, "I didn't have time to use the scroll, sorry. I've been very busy lately."
"Busy enough to not even be able to unlock the scroll for a few minutes?"
"Y-yeah?"
"I see.."
Viscus waited for Tricky to add more, but he went back to his work, so the blond did as well, albeit reluctantly. The atmosphere was different, and he didn't know why.
"You know, V, the guys are kinda mad at what you did yesterday," he mumbled, but it was loud enough. "Some even noticed your beef with the Blues, and it made some people even more mad."
The blond felt his brows twitch, "And? I didn't mean to hurt the guy, and my issues with the Blues shouldn't concern anyone here."
"But they do!" The mechanic slapped his equipment on the desk, startling the blond. "The Blues are some of our most valued friends and customers. I'm pretty sure they wouldn't be happy if someone glared at them throughout their entire stay here. Would you like that?"
Viscus took a deep breath, feeling some anger bubble within him, "Tricky, I don't understand what you want me to do. Not glare at them, is that it?"
Clicking his tongue, the mechanic glared at Viscus, "I don't want you to do anything!"
He huffed, and fully turned his chair toward the blond, "You look to be perpetually mad or something, you just don't even try to clarify anything, you don't talk to people, and then people look at me wrong when I try to tell them you're alright. You haven't even looked at the scroll! We could have discussed it, but I guess you're always busy.."
The Gamer didn't know what they wanted from him. He didn't need to talk to them, and he wasn't making any trouble, "If it was the glaring with the Blues, or my throwing the guy, then I'm sorry, alright?"
"It's not just about you, alright? I'm also getting in trouble here for more than one reason, so, just listen-"
"No, you listen!" The chair fell to the ground and the blond stood, fuming. "I've done my best to not be an issue. I haven't tried to make trouble with anyone here, and I've come to this stupid 'big project' where we work on vans for the Blues when I could have used my time for something fucking better!"
The mechanic tried to say something, but Viscus continued, "I'm.. You know what, it's okay."
"Okay?"
The blond quickly manipulated his inventory, "Yeah, it's alright. Thanks, Tricky, for letting me know. I won't waste any more of your time, or mine. Good day."
"Wait, V-"
The blond was out of the room in a flash, leaving the mechanic with his arm stretched, flabbergasted. He grit his teeth as he saw Viscus's desk empty save for the torn down junk, and an untouched, bulky scroll.
Bonjour, Mon Amour!
Pasta has returned from a multi-dimensional adventure that saw a month and a half of exams (of which I only promised one, that's on me), another month (where I was practically dead inside), and the final bit where I finally gathered the energy to write Dragged Along (and realized halfway through the adventure that a full-on chapter I'd prepared while studying for the exams wasn't going to fit, not yet).
Pasta is glad to be back, very much so. Dragged Along would never be abandoned unless I deem it so, and you better realize I will post "I quit" with what I recall of my plan for this story, but that isn't anywhere close to today, or this year. Possibly not the next, either. Never is most likely.
I'd really like to thank you, whoever you are, for constantly checking on the story. It does make me realize more that there are meatballs that do anticipate Viscus's misadventure, and it makes my plate warm.
Now, the good stuff:
This chapter is nearly 6k words. 6 Flippin' thousand, and that makes my mushy brain go wild. See, the typical chapter I write would be within the range of 3k, give or take, and mostly aiming for more if possible. Within the adventure, I decided that Dragged Along gets an upgrade, from a 3k-per-chapter story to 4k-per-chapter, with the hopes of making it both more satisfying to read, and making Pasta more.. proud?
I do tend to love longer length chapters in other stories, so I assume you would, too?
Now, let's be clear. 4k per chapter is the target, and this is the exception. A good exception, mind you, as both Maakl2001 and I love it, but exceeding the target by quite a bit.
Pasta hopes that this chapter does still apply to the Dragged Along experience, and that you would trust that I have a plan. A plan so devious, so evil, so..
..I'm getting ahead of myself. Just know that if you do have any complaints, I'd love if you would lodge them in my inbox, or in the reviews if you do so wish, but respectfully, yeah? Dragged Along isn't quite.. mainstream in its approach, I think, but there is a method to the madness, and there is an end goal.
To release mid-week is an exception and not the norm. I had finished exactly yesterday morning, and finished grilling Maakl2001 and whatever remained of my mind-thinky-cells on every single part till we deemed it actually one of our better chapters. Would have released today about two hours earlier but Pasta was in a bit of a snooze. Anyhow.
Thank you for your patience, for enjoying the chapter, and potentially indulging me in your thoughts.
I'm sorry I can't promise a more concrete schedule, but I hope the upgrade of chapters being 4k rather than 3k from now on would make it somewhat better. (No forks pls)
Take care, and Pasta wishes you a great day/night.