Level-Up Apocalypse: Surviving With The Assimilation System

With the cold water pressing against his body, he looked down, seeing the hands that had held his legs, getting a glimpse of the face of the man that brought him there.

Down there, he heard the voice of [Nameless], not spoken in the ocean without oxygen, but as though that sinister voice transmitted right to his mind–

["When I'm finished with you, I'll pay a visit to your friends next. I can see what you fear most, what unsettles you the deepest. Killing you isn't enough–no, you don't care enough about your own life. But, the others–oh, if I play with them, your soul will twist and agonize."]

Hearing that threat, it drove a rise in heat through his body; a bubbling anger that made his heartbeat spike. He kicked his legs loose, delivering a sharp boot right to the nose of the man who attempted to drown him.

Against the bottom of his shoe, he felt the crunch of the figure's nose, though only saw an expression of twisted entertainment stretch across the [Nameless] lips.

["I was right. You got real excited when I told you that."]

With only a single arm, he swam downward, not caring for the capacity of his own lungs as he grabbed a hold of the man who played as the Devil. He wanted to end it right there, even if it cost him dearly.

In the unforgiving, dark depths of the abyss, he plunged his dagger down, while the knife went up. Right into the side of the man's head, his blade sank, and into his chest, the gesture was returned.

["Dreamwalking activated."]

Once more, as death trickled along the edge, it was sidestepped by an unforeseen shift.

It was that sickening feeling, like enduring a rapid roller coaster. The scenery warped again, taking him away from the breathless depths of the abyss.

'Where is it taking me this time?' He questioned.

There was no feasible way for him to discover where he'd end up, though upon blinking through the kaleidoscope, the sight he found before his eyes was one he could've never predicted–

"Ah."

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A dreary warehouse, deprived of any light with dust coating the air. Being back in the gloomy interior, it felt as though he'd simply woken up from an awful dream, resuming the terror unfolding before him.

It was that same sight, that same agonizing feeling in his chest–

The man in heavy-set armor with shaggy, black-and-white hair stumbling from the darkness before him, dragging an axe along the ground.

"Damian…" Finn weakly uttered the name of his friend with a smile that was conflicted between happiness and agony.

All of the pain he felt was numbed as he forgot about everything for just a moment, taking a step forward. As he approached, he was greeted by the massive axe being lifted as its wielder reared it back before swinging it.

Before it could meet the side of his head, time came to a crawl; everything froze in that moment as he stood there, looking at the friend of his that intended to take his life. That look in Damian's eyes, as though staring at a horrific monster; he remembered it from that night.

Standing there with the frozen edge of the axe inches from his skull, the depraved, nameless voice resounded through the warehouse–

["You didn't let that axe split your head open that night. It wasn't an easy choice though, was it? Still, you decided to kill your one and only friend–a man you considered a brother. It wasn't because you valued your life more than his though, was it?

Right, you decided to plunge your dagger into his heart because you believed you could handle the guilt. You chose to live because your heart is just black enough to live with what you had to do. But, he wouldn't be able to."]

All of it was true; the undeniable truth that he'd never discussed with anybody else, yet [Nameless] spoke of it as though he had read an entire novel on his memories.

["I wonder, after all that's happened, would you still choose to live over him? Do you think you've handled it better? Do you believe you are getting more value out of living than he would have? Would you still move out of the way of that axe?"]

The question delivered to his ears brought him to pause. He pondered it; the choice that needed to be made on that night.

Damian or himself; that was the decision he needed to make. Staring at the frozen image of his lost friend, who wore an expression twisted by anger and desperation, he felt his heart twist with emotions.

"I wouldn't change it," Finn admitted.

In dire circumstances, presented with his most sharply etched trauma, he found himself able to hold the faintest smile.

"The life I've led since then…It's been hard, but I wouldn't give it up. I made my choice," he cemented, pushing the axe away from his head.

As soon as he admitted his heartfelt truth, the scenery flickered with a static disruption. A single blink changed the sight of the enraged warrior to him being laid on his back, lifeless in a puddle of his own blood.

"Damian…" Finn said, looking at the sight of his friend's body.

["You did this. Mourning the lost of your friend as though it wasn't your blade that ran through his chest. It doesn't matter what choice was made or why—at the end of the day, you killed him."]

He could feel himself being pulled into that dark headspace; the air felt thin, tasting like plastic against his tongue.

Shaking his head, he dispersed the negative thoughts that gnawed at his self-perception.

"This crap isn't going to work—you're just trying to wear me down. I'm not budging," Finn claimed as his voice was carried through the dark vastness of the warehouse.

As the answer was given, darkness settled further into the interior as the wind whispered. That presence; he felt it in the shadows across from him.

All he could make out was the vague outline of [Nameless], standing there with slumped shoulders.

Veiled in the darkness, all he could see was a single eye of [Nameless]; that black pearl, steeped in malice.

"Why're we only visiting my past, huh? What about you? I'm curious what the hell led to you becoming this—something inhuman," Finn questioned.

["Shadow Grafting"]

It was a desperate gamble to believe it'd work, but luck finally struck. A shadow extended from his shoulder, expanding and compressing itself to the shape of his lost arm.

While it couldn't compare to the feeling of his flesh-and-blood limb, it was far better than fighting with one arm.

"You were talkative for a bit, now you're quiet on the topic of your memories?" Finn pressed further, staring at the figure shrouded in the darkness of the warehouse.

["—"]

There was nothing said, back to silence from [Nameless] as Finn held his ground.

'Seems I struck a chord. Good—he's off his game then,' he thought.

Flipping his dagger into his ethereal arm, the silhouette in the darkness vanished. He immediately turned himself, feeling the presence sharply coming from his left.

Sure enough, the sinister man was there, already swinging his knife for his neck. Finn met him halfway, swiping his dagger for his head—

["Dreamwalking Initiated."]

Reality warped, stretching and mending itself as the two men were brought to a new realm once again.

He was beginning to understand the complicated skill, though it was still one with vague control:

It required him to focus his thoughts, warping himself to where his mind considered. Precisely, it was not a teleportation ability; the places he could travel were not present on the same physical realm, instead abstract realities.

'Let's see what made you into the devil you are,' he thought.

The influx of bursting colors vanished from around him, quickly replacing the humming with silence—

A dull, dark wooden interior surrounded him now. The walls were caked in dust, with cobwebs claiming the ceiling.

Something about it all felt wrong; a repulsive atmosphere that made him sick. It was an air he had become accustomed to sniffing out; the scent of death–overwhelmingly grim. A single door sat at the end of the dim corridor, waiting there with a foreboding presence.

It both repulsed him and allured him; a horrific discovery at the end for sure, but a curiosity that must be satiated.

'This feels like…I'm approaching one of humanity's deepest mysteries. Like something that nobody should get close to—to touch,' he thought with slow steps down the hall.

Everything about it felt off; the way the aged floorboards seemed to sink just slightly each time his boots set down; the utter silence of it.

Finding the black door at the end of the hall, he stood before it. The handle stared at him, as though asking why he would not yet turn it.

'What's this feeling in my chest? I don't even understand…what could I even find that could be that bad? I've seen it all already—nothing should shock me. Yet, my heart is racing,' he questioned.