Euphoric Bliss
This…
This is exhilarating.
He moves like a specter—slow yet sinuous—each step a measured glide of shadow and steel. His bladed fingers hum through the air, slicing the mist, carving ribbons through the orange tint of morning that filters through the thick canopy above. He is deliberate, a predator poised in the stillness between each strike.
And I…
I am chaos incarnate. A wildfire given form. My body thrums with an intoxicating heat, every motion a violent sonnet of untamed fury. My daggers carve jagged arcs, my breath rushes ragged through parted lips, and my laughter—sharp, wild—rings through the hollowed hush of the enchanted forest.
Yet…
Amidst the relentless clash of metal and the crackling discharge of dark energy, an alien presence intrudes upon my senses. A whisper of something unnatural, something unseen yet insistent, hovers above his head.
[HP: 2178/3000]
[MP: 2195/3000]
[SP: ???/???]
[EP: ???/???]
My gaze flickers, drawn as if by invisible threads, to the shimmering script etched into the air. Not words. Not runes. Something else. Something invasive. And there—lurking at the edge of my vision, half-forgotten yet impossible to ignore—another string of cryptic text lingers.
[Sweet Nibble: Cooldown 0:03]
What is this sorcery?
The numbers, the words—they are parasites clinging to my sight, ghostly etchings upon the edges of my awareness. They hover, persistent, insidious, disrupting the primal rhythm of battle with their sterile, mechanical presence.
What is a Cooldown?
What unseen force governs this arcane tempo, this ebb and flow of my strength?
Is it a curse, shackling me in ways I do not yet understand?
Or…
Is it a gift?
Something distracts him.
He unleashes a fireball—a swirling sphere of violet-ebon flames. Heat warps the air as it hurtles toward my father. The dark fire crackles and shrieks, a chorus of a thousand wailing voices.
A part of me tenses, muscles coiling, instinct screaming to intercept.
Yet…
Another part remains still, an unfamiliar weight pressing against my chest. I… I love him, don’t I? Then why does hesitation cling to my limbs like a phantom’s grip?
As if plucking the thought straight from my mind, Twitch moves before I can. A streak of motion, a flicker of will made flesh—then, a muted as the fireball collides against his form.
Ah… so that’s the whispering I hear.
The pulse beneath my skin, the sensation of a hundred silent voices curling through my mind—it is not merely instinct, nor simple intuition. It is We are bound, our thoughts threading together like strands of a living tapestry. Their emotions ripple through me, and mine through them.
We are one.
The words aren’t spoken, yet they ring clear in my mind—sharp, urgent. My father’s tactical analysis, delivered straight into my consciousness.
The so-called Broker is distracted. His guard falters—a fraction of a second, the barest lapse, but enough.
My daggers find purchase.
The sensation is exquisite—the give of flesh, the warmth blooming across my knuckles, the sharp intake of his breath. Each detail thrums through my senses in crystalline clarity.
[Critical Hit]
Numbers flicker into existence, ghostly against the chaos.
[HP: 2000/3000]
[MP: 2000/3000]
[SP: 1000/3000]
[EP: ???/???]
[Buffs: ???/???/???]
[Debuffs: ???/???/???]
And there, lingering in the corner of my vision—
[Sweet Nibble: Cooldown 0:03]
I flick my gaze toward it, watching the countdown tick away.
[0:02… 0:01…]
I strike again. The blade carves through unarmored flesh, slipping between ribs with practiced ease.
[Critical Hit]
A pulse—lightning crackling through my veins, knowledge searing itself into my bones. The system responds, whispering its strange, insidious gifts.
[Congratulations]
[Your Sweet Nibble has ranked up to Level 3]
Then—
A flood.
A deluge of information crashes into me, raw and unfiltered, peeling back the layers of my opponent’s being and laying them bare before me.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
[Target: PVP]
The Broker (Human/Blood Troll – Soul-bound Variant)
[HP: 1900/3000]
[MP: 1900/3000]
[SP: 970/3000]
[EP: 1900/3000]
[Buffs: ???/???/???]
[Debuffs: ???/???/???]
[Abilities]
Shadow Strike
Blood Surge
Slaver’s Aura
[Weakness]
Light Magic
Fire Magic
Blessed Iron
I inhale sharply.
It is as though the fabric of his existence has unraveled before me, every thread laid bare, every strength and weakness cataloged in a language of numbers and arcane precision.
The Broker finally reacts, his hesitation shattering like glass beneath the weight of urgency. His blades flashe, a silver arc carving through the air with deadly intent. He strikes fast, relentless, a flurry of calculated brutality. Each swing is a whisper of death, the sharp whistle of steel slicing through the night.
I meet his assault with my own, daggers dancing in a delicate, deadly rhythm. Each parry rings out like chimes caught in a storm. Sparks explode where metal collides, embers flickering and swallowed by the dark. His blade scrapes against mine, the screech of it like nails on slate—sharp, grating, hungry. A promise of pain if I falter.
I don’t falter.
Instead, I answer with Sweet Nibble.
A pulse of magic surges from within, tendrils of my essence uncoiling, slithering through the space between us. It brushes against him—tasting, savoring, devouring knowledge like a feast too rich to resist.
The air thickens. A shiver of energy trembles between us, unseen but so real, like static before a storm. A scent drifts through it—sweet, cloying, intoxicating—clinging to my tongue like nectar.
Heat coils at my fingertips. A tingling sensation prickles my skin, electric, effervescent, creeping up my arms in lazy waves. My lips part, a slight curl forming, the pleasure of it too strange to ignore. Without thinking, I bite down, sharp teeth pressing into my lower lip.
And then—
[Target: PVP]
Broker
[Debuffs]
Sweet Nibble: Active (60 seconds)
The numbers bloom across my vision, cascading into intricate patterns, each a thread in the great tapestry of the Broker’s existence.
But…
Something new hums beneath my skin.
[Personal]
[Buffs]
Blissful Bloom: Active (60 seconds)
My wounds, raw and stinging just moments ago, begin to heal. A soft warmth spreads through my veins, slow and smooth, a quiet restoration that sings through my muscles, knitting flesh and soothing fatigue.
“Blissful Bloom…?” I murmur, rolling the words over my tongue like a fine wine. I drag the tip of my tongue along my lips, savoring the faint taste of magic.
“I don’t know what sorcery this is,” I hiss, my voice a tangled thread of awe and hunger. “These pop-ups, these cooldowns—I could do without them. But the names?” A shudder rolls through me, electric and dizzying. “They are euphoric.”
The Broker grins—sharp, knowing. His ember-lit eyes drink me in, reading me like a half-finished story.
"Bloody hell! You some sort of a bleedin' Twin-Soul user, are ya?"
I frown. "A what?"
“Oh…” His grin widens, teeth flashing like moonlit steel. “You're havin' a laugh at me, yeah? A nipper with a rare gift, and the daft sod doesn’t even know? This is a right load of bollocks, innit?”
Questions claw at my thoughts, but I shove them aside. I don’t have time for this. Numbers spill across my vision, data rearranging itself like a shifting constellation.
We lock eyes. A silent battle before the real one.
He’s hiding it well—the slight tremor in his stance, the way his breath drags a fraction too long. But I see it. He’s tiring.
My lips curl into a slow, mocking smirk. I purse them, then—with deliberate playfulness—blow him a kiss.
He balks. "What… you fallin' for me now, are ya, ya daft co—”
Idiot.
I move. Faster than thought.
My daggers slip through the thinning space between us—silver light flashing, impact sinking deep. There’s a moment of resistance, that wet, yielding give of steel meeting flesh. His body jerks—
[Critical Hit!]
[Caution!]
[Target: PVP]
The Broker
[Shadow Strike: Damage increased by 5%]
[Blood Surge: Active (Regeneration)]
A pulse of crimson light ripples across his form. I watch, almost spellbound, as his wounds seal themselves shut. Flesh knits, muscle reforms—seamless, effortless.
He’s healing.
No—he’s feeding.
Then pain. Sudden, brutal. A solid force slams into my stomach—his heel, driving up like a piston. The impact rips the air from my lungs. The world blurs, colors smearing into meaningless streaks as I crash back.
I roll with the momentum, landing in a crouch—three points of contact, steady, poised. My head snaps up just in time—
His next attack barrels toward me.
I twist. Too slow. The edge of his strike grazes my ribs—a shallow, burning bite. Not deep. Not deadly. A sliver of my health vanishes—negative twenty.
I exhale, centering myself, watching as he licks the blood from his fingers—my blood. His body shudders, drinking in the essence like a starving beast. Above him, the numbers shift.
[HP: 3000/3000] [MP: 1000/3000] [SP: 800/3000] [EP: 900/3000]
A low chuckle rumbles from his throat, thick and dark as spilled ink.
"You," I murmur, curiosity laced with something sharp, something dangerous. "You let me believe I was winning."
His laughter slices through the space between us, jagged and guttural. "You're a quick learner, ain't ya, love? But your nosiness’ll be the death of ya."
His fingers flex, shifting from flesh to blades, and he rolls his shoulders like a predator stretching free of its restraints.
“Listen up, love—'ere’s a bit of advice.”
He lunges. A blur of motion. Bladed fingers gleaming.
I meet him head-on. Fire surges through me, hot and exhilarating. The numbers spiral in my vision, a shifting mosaic of potential. The duel is no longer just a battle—it’s a revelation.
And him?
He is endless.
"You need constant fire and light, yeah?" His grin is all teeth, feral and gluttonous. "Keeps us blood trolls from regrowin’ instantly. EP, SP, MP… we don't need all that bollocks, see? Just a taste of your sweet claret, and I'll keep goin' forever."