4. Moon Fruit

It felt like biting into a juicy peach—he felt all the fluid sensations, the sweet flavor, but there was nothing solid in his mouth, feelings without substance. Instead there was a burst of warm energy, and he gulped it down greedily. He felt it spreading down his neck, filling his chest, flowing to his arms, his legs... He took another bite, then another; his whole body tingled warm. It felt tremendously pleasurable, almost like a drug.

It took him five bites to finish the thing. On the last bite—

𝕃𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝 𝕌𝕡!

𝔼𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕃𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝 𝟠 -> 𝟡

How many more fruit are on this tree? He walked around the back of it, counting. Nine in total. Was he about to level up nine times? He felt a little lightheaded at the thought.

Then he picked them one by one and bit in. They were cool and delicious, and they didn't fill him up at all—he could eat them endlessly. It took him hardly 10 minutes to swallow them all, and his view was speckled with status boxes.

There weren't nine boxes. Just four. Essence gained to level gain, he'd realized, wasn't one to one; it was still pretty insane.

When he downed the last fruit, and saw his level rise to 13, he got another pop-up.

ℂ𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕤 𝕊𝕜𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕃𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕕!

𝕋𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕟'𝕤 𝔽𝕚𝕤𝕥 𝕀

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕝𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕦𝕝𝕜 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕘𝕥𝕙 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕒 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕦𝕝𝕒𝕣 𝕡𝕦𝕟𝕔𝕙. 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕒𝕔𝕦𝕥𝕖𝕝𝕪 𝕗𝕠𝕔𝕦𝕤𝕖𝕤 𝕣𝕒𝕨 𝕡𝕠𝕨𝕖𝕣. 𝔸 𝕤𝕚𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖 𝕪𝕖𝕥 𝕕𝕖𝕧𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕚𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕨.

He blinked, and it was all there. The mechanism of learning was totally different from what he was used to. It was as though some ancient master had told him what the skill was, drilled him in it move by move, made him practice for years on end—and then wiped his memory, so all he had left was his knowledge, his ability. The process was skipped.

He could do it instantaneously.

That pleased him more than all the essence level-ups combined—a new toy. And he'd been wondering what he had all that essence for. By now he'd gathered it was something like mana; it should be used somehow, channeled. Finally, he'd picked up an active Skill.

He checked his stats:

ℤ𝕒𝕟𝕖 𝕎𝕒𝕝𝕜𝕖𝕣

ℂ𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕤: 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕚𝕠𝕣 (𝕀)

𝕊𝕡𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕥 𝕋𝕠𝕠𝕝: ℕ/𝔸

𝕋𝕚𝕥𝕝𝕖𝕤: ℕ/𝔸

𝕃𝕒𝕨𝕤: ℕ/𝔸

𝔼𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕃𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝 𝟙𝟛

𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕥𝕤:

𝕍𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝟡.𝟟

ℝ𝕖𝕘𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟: 𝟛.𝟡

𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕘𝕥𝕙: 𝟡.𝟝

𝔻𝕖𝕩𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝟛.𝟜

𝕊𝕡𝕖𝕖𝕕: 𝟚.𝟝

He had been loading points into vitality and strength, letting his class upgrades take care of dexterity and speed, but he was getting to the point of unwieldiness, he felt. That last fight, the hobgoblin had skirted him too easily—he'd had to grope around for it before he got his hands on it; it was over then, of course, but he could do with a little foot speed for balance. The point went there.

Then he stalked out to a nearby clearing where he wasn't likely to be disturbed and flexed his hand. He mimed the movement in his head. In real life—in his prior life, he corrected himself—all these skills were concerned with the external, the movements of the flesh and the muscle. But Skills here needed the internal too. To throw the Skill, his essence had to flow through his hands, there and back—for this Skill, it went in winding loops. At the same time, he had to move his fist. That sync had to be perfect.

When he mimed it, they were. He tried again, stopping halfway—the essence rushed up, faded back, like a wave crashing on shore. Then he breathed deep, dug into his body, and threw.

His arm burned white-hot, his fist steaming with essence. Here goes nothing. His arm moved, and the world erupted in blinding white light. For a second, that was all he saw: the arm in motion, carving a crescent moon in the air, moving inexorably, brutally, to touch down on solid ground. The ground erupted; a shockwave spasmed through it; little fissures tore open, coughing up mounds of dirt; flocks of birds were scared into flight.

Then silence. Zane knelt in the middle of a smoking crater, panting heavily, and puked blood.

He looked down at his trembling hand—what used to be his trembling hand. This was some mangled clump of crushed bone and steaming flesh. He kept puking.

When he ran out, he dry-heaved. His head felt like it was being squeezed in a vise, his body scraped raw from the inside. So much essence had rushed out of him all at once. The dizziness was crippling. He tried standing, then wobbled to his knees instantly.

Okay. So when it said it was a finishing technique, it meant it. Holy fuck. He was pretty sure this would finish nearly any opponent with his strength. The problem was, it also finished himself. He thought his vitality was pretty damn high. Still, not high enough, apparently.

It took nearly half an hour before he felt like himself again.

***

He headed off to the deeper woods, to parts trapped in perpetual twilight. He felt no hunger, though he hadn't eaten in a full day; it seemed essence was enough to sustain him. Not sleep-wise, though—he still felt he needed about the same amount of sleep.

On his way there, he came across a scattering of goblins. He didn't bother picking them off. He met a hobgoblin, level 9, which might have made for an interesting fight a few hours ago, but now it seemed pathetically fragile to him. There was no need to use his ace. He waded into range, tapped it once to the belly, and then almost gently to the nose, and it pretty much exploded.

This deep in, his mini-map looked like a night sky, but instead of stars there were red monster dots—a buffet of challenges. He took his time sampling them; most were disappointments, little level 4 and 5 goblins, but there were a few hobgoblins tossed in there, though none that gave him more than a flesh wound. He wound his way slowly toward a cluster—a mass of red dotted around one yellow—and sure enough, it was another moon fruit tree.

This one's boughs were even thicker, and its trunk fatter too. Even from afar, he could see moon fruit glistening against the red. He had a suspicion there were far more than nine of them.

But it had more protection too. Ranged around its space was a hoard of goblins. And not just any goblins, but at the head of the pack, 3 hobgoblins: level 12, 10, and 10.

Finally. A real challenge!

He dashed out of the treeline and was among them before half of them could even react. A few wild swings mowed down a line of goblins, then the hobgoblins screeched and leapt for him. Spears flew, claws scratched. There were so many of them he wasn't even sure what he was hitting; he just made sure his fists found flesh every swing. He felt a spear split him up the side, then another nick him in the eye—way too close for comfort. He grabbed it as it went back and fed its base to the stunned hobgoblin who had thrust it. His health dropped past 75%, but the goblins' health, he guessed, was dropping far faster than that.

Then a hobgoblin drove a spear clean into his thigh; the head went so deep when he looked down he only saw the shaft.

He was almost glad of it. He was starting to think this would be no challenge at all. Then he felt a harsh lurch of nausea, looked down at his thigh, and saw a creeping blackness visibly spreading.

Ah, shit.

He stumbled back, and their spears came flashing at him again. He batted one aside, slapped at another, missed—luckily, ended up accidentally punching a goblin coming up behind.

Then another spear caught him in the arm, opening up a deep wound.

All this wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for the lesser goblins.

He hadn't realized until he was among them just how many of the little fuckers there were. He was focused on the hobgoblins, but the little ones could carve up their gashes too. They were gnawing at him, clinging to his legs…just the sheer heft of them weighing him down made him unwieldy.

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘! ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕥𝕙 𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝟝𝟘%

The poison was quickly blackening his left thigh; it was hard to put weight on the leg. And though he had downed one of the hobgoblins and maybe half the goblins, the rest just poured in. He flailed against the wall of flesh, smashing, crushing, managing to shuck a few stragglers off him. But his wounds were fast adding up. From up ahead, the hobgoblins pincered in; from behind, goblins clung so tight to him he was reduced to waddling. All the while they let out a chorus of glass-shattering screeches. He could hardly hear himself think.

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘! ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕥𝕙 𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝟚𝟝%

If he wasn't careful here, they might actually kill him, he was realizing.

Okay, change of plans.

He gasped; he stumbled forward. His blackened leg gave out on him; his head drooped. The goblins smelled blood. The little ones all pounced for him at once; the big ones came rushing in front. He waited until he felt the pain.

Then he did—a lance of pain up his back, another down his head. Underneath his bowed head, he smiled a vicious little smile.

If they could touch him, that meant he could touch them too.

How nice of them to put their bodies at arm's length.

His arm glowed white-hot. He wound it back for the widest arc he could manage and pitched it like a baseball.

He couldn't tell what he hit; it didn't really matter. The force was so huge; every body part he touched shattered, and every body part that touched that part shattered too. A brutal chain reaction.

His fist drew a blinding crescent in the air. CRACK-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!

There was something satisfying about it. Like popping bubble wrap, but with bodies. Flesh blew out behind him, flesh burst to the side, blood balloons popping. He caught the first hobgoblin clean on the chin, and his fist passed through it like it didn't exist. His fist went through the second one's chest. It stared dumbly. Then it, too, exploded.

The neat thing about this world was all the bodies dissolved when they died, including the fluids. There was no need to clean all that blood off him; it took care of itself.

He collapsed to a knee, coughing his own blood, feeling the warmth of their essences stream into him.

Then he heard a shuffling sound and craned his head back.

He'd missed one—a Level 3 Goblin. Imagine that.

This was rather awkward, since he'd put every last drop of his powers into that one shot. He wasn't sure he could throw a punch if he wanted to. He could barely close his trembling hands in a fist. The thing could probably run in and poke him in the neck a few times, and he'd keel over.

He raised a brow at it. …Well?

It looked at him with such pure horror that, between the two of them, you would've thought he was the monster. It ran screeching. He giggled a little. He felt delirious.

Warning! Critical health!

Right, right, the bleeding and the poison—he should probably get on that. Haltingly, he dragged himself over to the tree, picked off the nearest fruit and ate.

He could sense when he was near a level-up; his body felt full, almost bloated with tingly warmth. So he expected what came next when he bit down—

𝕃𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝-𝕦𝕡!

𝔼𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕃𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝 𝟙𝟛 -> 𝟙𝟜

There was a brilliant white flash, and like that, he was fully healed.

He took stock of the rest of the tree. The boughs were heaving with Moon Fruit; there must have been more than a dozen of them, glistening, swollen with essence. Time for lunch.