While helping others learn to call up their status and use their skills for the first time, Jose realized that he had been neglecting his newest skill.
[Orb - Conjure an orb of lightning that will attack for three seconds by discharging bolts at enemies within a ten-foot radius.]
The skill seemed perfect for him. He currently had the Strike skill, which was great in close quarters, but he had been thinking he needed something for distance.
Something to mitigate the dangers he would surely face while fighting bigger, stronger enemies.
This new ability was intriguing. The first time he used it, a red plasma orb floated over his hand.
It hummed with power, crackled, but despite the description it did nothing else. No lightning, no explosion. It didn't even disappear.
He tried everything. Willed it to fire. Whispered commands. Swung his arm like a wand. The orb remained idle.
Finally, frustrated, he let it hover beside him while he paced and pondered. That's when he noticed that moving more than five feet away from it would cause it to begin following him.
Then an epiphany struck.
He glared at a nearby tree. For a second, he imagined it was a Tainted. An enemy. The orb pulsed.
Then—CRACK!
Lightning arced from the orb to the tree, peppering it with bolts for three seconds before the orb vanished.
"Huh," Jose muttered. "So that's how it works."
It wasn't about voice or motion. It was about intent. If he thought something was an enemy, the orb would attack. A skill like this could be used among allies without fear of friendly fire, so long as he was in control.
After some practice, he resumed his journey north, back on his family-driven path. By mid-afternoon, the environment had shifted to something familiar—dense foliage and worn architecture of the Northeastern U.S.
The distant skyline suggested he'd reached New York.
Then came the roar.
A roar so loud and powerful that it made lions sound like kittens.
It was followed by the crumbling of buildings and the crunching of cars. A sound that froze the blood and tied the stomach into nots.
He ducked into a nearby building, found a window, and watched. Around the corner thundered two massive beasts—lions the size of city buses, engaged in brutal combat.
They were magnificent. And terrifying. Their manes shimmered like braided wires of steel, their bellies covered in scale-like armor. Each claw strike gouged trenches in the pavement.
Jose watched from afar, awe-struck—and immediately understood: at his current level, he stood no chance in direct battle.
But there was an opportunity here.
He followed them from a distance, weaving through alleyways, staying low and alert. For hours the titans clashed, wearing each other down until their movements became sluggish.
Finally, they collapsed. One lion chomped down on the other's throat, refusing to let go. The loser thrashed weakly before going still.
Jose waited. When the victor barely stirred, he sprinted forward, sword in hand, fear sharpening his resolve. He activated Strike and stabbed the lion's eye again and again, each time digging deeper.
His blade sank into the skull on the last hit reaching the sponginess he'd come to recognize as gray matter.
[You have received nourishment for defeating an Iron Lion.]
[You have leveled up.]
For good measure, he stabbed the other one too. Surprisingly, a second message appeared.
[You have received nourishment for defeating an Iron Lion.]
[You have leveled up.]
He backed off and scanned the surroundings. The chaos and blood would attract attention.
For a few minutes he waited, ready to fight, or flee if need be.
Nothing came looking for the spoils. They were his to claim.
Time to harvest.
The lions were immense, his current weapons—already warped and chipped—were no match for their hides. The claws, he guessed, could cut it. If only he could get one off.
He tried brute force, Strike-enhanced punches, even pulling. Nothing worked. Finally, he took his ninjato and began chiseling at the mantle. It was slow, excruciating work, but eventually, a massive claw came free.
Then he began cutting the hide. Tough, rubbery, scaled—it resisted his every stroke. Hours passed. No one disturbed him.
When he finally removed the hide, he moved on to opening the chest cavitie.
He had to use the nail like pick axe, stitching down the chest before finally braking it open, their he searched for his prize—nothing.
He removed organs, cutting them open, sifting through them. Finally, he cut the heart open and found the core he'd been looking for.
It was like a large marble filled with swirling iron-colored liquid. He removed the second one and into the backpack they went.
As night fell, Jose found an abandoned apartment, barricaded the windows, and collapsed inside.
There was running water, ice cold water. The weather was warm and he figured—a cold shower in a warm day never killed anyone—before jumping in.
He filled the tub and dropped in the hide for tanning afterward.
He studied the weapons he carried. The ninjato was nearly broken. The club was bent. He needed new weapons. Stronger ones. The claws would do nicely—if he could shape them.
***
That night, sleep eluded him.
The faces of his family haunted him. But not just his siblings. A smaller face. A child's.
His.
Or rather—who he thought was his.
He had been seventeen when his girlfriend told him she was pregnant. He was scared but excited.
They had broken up during the pregnancy, but were able to co-parent well after the birth. For the first year, at least.
Until his ex and her sister had a falling out. Angry and vengeful, the sister spilled the beans.
The child wasn't his.
The DNA test confirmed it. The fallout was immense. The betrayal—worse. She had slept with his best friend, Carlos, while they were still together.
What was even worse, others new from the start. Others who were supposedly his friends, who treated him like family, meahnwhile carrying a devestating secret.
The heartbreak crippled him. He had planned his whole life around that child. Took several jobs. Night classes after high school graduation. Dreamed of watching him grow up.
But the child wasn't his.
Adding insult to injury—Jose later discovered he was sterile. He would never father children of his own.
***
Jose awoke the next morning, mind cycling through his life.
At some point he'd become a counselor of sorts for his siblings. As they began having children, he cut those ties and picked up a sudo-parenting role for them, replacing his lost child.
Like it or not this new world had changed it all for them.
Jose came to a bitter realization.
He felt… relieved to some extent.
No more pretending to be a hero for his nieces and nephews. No more shouldering burdens that weren't his. The new world had broken that chain.
It gave him space, perspective.
That didn't mean he wouldn't look for them. Just that it wouldn't be his only purpose for moving forward and gaining power in this perilous new world.
Pulling himself together, he bent his mind to the system. It would obviously be of monumental importance in this new life.
He opened his status, fiddled with the menus till he found what he was looking for. Adjusted notification settings—important events only.
Then he got to work.
It took some time, but he scavenged solar generators and built a crude workshop. He tanned the lion hide using old methods he'd studied years ago.
He ground claws into knives, fangs into twin daggers. He fashioned kunai, shears, and needles from other claws.
Even the bones were carved into pommels and scabbards.
He removed cartilage from the bones and dried it, to be used as string for sewing.
He cut the tanned hide, styled it, sewed it into protective armor. A cuirass, some bracers, a belt, and shin guards. All styled in a simple triangular shape, three layers overlapping each other.
Weeks passed. The work was long, but methodical. Meditative.
Finally, a notification appeared.
[You have unlocked a skill: Crafting (Beginner).
Crafting (Beginner): Use mundane methods to craft normal items.]
[You have crafted: Cuirass (normal); Bracers (normal); Shin-Guards (normal); Knives (normal); Daggers (normal); Needles (normal); Shears (normal).]
His new gear was tough—resistant to damage from all but his new weapons. And his new blades? Razor-sharp. Ready for whatever came next.