Rise of a monster a mons.., p.1
Rise of a Monster: A Monster Evolution LitRPG Adventure, page 1
RISE OF A MONSTER
KAMITOAN
Contents
Prologue: A Great Day to Die
1. Summoned
2. A New Life(?)
3. I’m a… What?
4. Appetites
5. Oh, Fuck
6. Level Up
7. Mechanics
8. Mumbles
9. Don’t Be Shellfish
10. Om Nom Nom
11. You’ve Got an Ooze in Me
12. The Arms Cellar
13. The Great Escape
14. Stable Memories
15. Interruptions
16. On the Run
17. A Sharp(?) Surprise
18. Evolution
19. Bloodbaths and Blood Baths
20. Not Quite as Nature Intended
21. Moonlit Fury
22. Memories
23. The Spice of Slime
24. Ghosts Are Just Cheating
25. Wrothfur
26. Lootin’ the Farm
27. Fireside Chef
28. Tri-Level Up
29. Raising the Stakes
30. Unexpected Complications
31. A Glimpse Beyond
32. Just Our Profane Luck
33. Into the Horror-Filled Desert
34. Fun in the Sun
35. Practical Magic
36. Ready to Rock
37. Just Doing My Civic Looting
38. Waste Not
39. Colony Ant-ics
40. To Eat or To Aid?
41. Clearing Out
42. Kicking the Ants’ Nest, Part 1
43. Gearing Up and Going Out
44. Kicking the Ants’ Nest, Part 2
45. Kicking the Ants’ Nest, Part 3
46. Why You Don’t Play With Explosives
47. Titles and Trades
48. You Can Never Have Too Many Options
49. Down, Down to Fungus Town
50. Never Miss a Chance to Cannonball
51. A Royal Banquet
52. Good Samari-ton
53. The Enemy of My Frenemy
54. Spore’s a Crowd
55. Surpassing Rarity
56. A Necromancer’s Cruelty
57. Unexpected Insight
58. Final Rest
59. What Has Been Given…
Epilogue
Bloopers
Sean & Gel’s Monstrous Recipes
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Prologue: A Great Day to Die
Sean woke up at 0600, right on time. It had been years since he had left the military, but deeply ingrained instincts had a way of sticking around long after they had become unnecessary. Reaching over, he grabbed his phone before the alarm could go off and casually reset it with a few practiced flicks of his thumb.
Meeting isn’t for another few hours, ten more minutes won’t hurt anybody, Sean thought with the sort of true contentment and general lack of concern only felt by those settling back into a pile of warm, comfy blankets on a brisk morning. Just ten… more… minutes…
When his alarm finally gave out thirty-something minutes later, Sean reluctantly crawled out of bed. He slid into his spiritual sanctuary – otherwise known as the blisteringly hot shower – and eventually emerged from its scalding embrace ready to face the one actual day each week where he had to pretend to be a normal, professional human being.
He threw some gel in his hair, selected a suit that was half working-class businessman and half who-let-you-buy-that-tie-with-fireballs-on-it, and slid on some polished black shoes that his tailor had assured him matched well with his tie.
Before walking out the door, Sean picked up his keys and flashed a goofy grin at his snazzy reflection in the mirror. He knew his appearance held nothing remarkable about it – Sean wasn’t under any illusions there – but properly cut clothes went a long way toward making someone presentable.
“Oh yeah,” Sean said out loud, gaining the rapt attention of absolutely nobody in the house as he currently lived alone. “I’ve got this.”
Outside, Sean was immediately greeted by the brisk temperatures and biting wind of what amounted to late fall weather these days in the Northeastern US. His eyes burned a bit as the wind stung them, and the sudden drop to near-freezing temperatures threatened his extremities with shrinkage. At least, it might have if it hadn’t been for the copious layers of self-preservation the local mom-and-pop cuisine places kept wrapping around his belly. Seeing as Sean really wasn’t about the whole ‘frosted beard’ look, though, he made sure to tap the dash and pop on his heated seats as he slid into the car.
“Yup,” Sean told his electric vehicle as he pulled out of the driveway, the heated steering wheel reminding his already chilled fingers that ‘superfluous’ features really did make the difference you paid for some days. “What today needs right now… is to start out with the right breakfast.”
Fifteen minutes of light traffic and even lighter snowfall later, Sean pulled into the Hoppin’ Egg. Now, some people may have judged the place harshly for its dilapidated sign out front, its proximity to downtown’s less aggressively policed areas, or the threateningly cheery egg-man mascot with chipped paint and too-wide eyes that stood five feet tall at the entrance. But in Sean’s opinion, those people were missing out. There was a reason the Washington Host magazine had once run an article specifically comparing the Hoppin’ Egg’s criminally delicious waffles to pyramid schemes on the stock market.
That reason was simple and twofold. Their in-house, locally sourced, and never authentically recreated waffle recipe… and their actual-family-secret, proprietary maple syrup. In Sean’s opinion, each of them was worth fighting over separately, but together, they made the Hoppin’ Egg’s admittedly steep pricing far more palatable to the working man.
Frozen waffles may have their place, but in his firm opinion, that place was not in his belly.
Sean walked through the Hoppin’ Egg’s double doors, doing his best not to let any more of the weather outside in than he had to. To his inner delight, Sean soon found himself face to face with the other reason he frequented this particular establishment. The reason that had actually brought him 15 minutes in the opposite direction of where he normally went for work. The one that had nothing at all to do with food.
“Hey, hot stuff, table for one?” Sarah asked with her usual bright smile, already grabbing a menu and silverware as if his answer was a foregone conclusion.
“You know it,” Sean replied, unable to keep a smile of his own off his face in light of hers. Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he added, “Actually, I’ll take two… assuming you’re interested in the other seat?”
Sarah froze in place for half a beat, her smile faltering as she met his eyes, and Sean’s heart froze right along with her. Then it began pounding as he struggled to keep the confidence he’d had all morning on his face. They’d been flirting back and forth for weeks now, in small interactions here and there, but…
Maybe she was just being polite? This is her job, you idiot. Maybe she—
“You know, I was hoping you’d ask,” Sarah said, her expression smoothly recovering into the coy grin she usually saved for when they were alone at his table. “They don’t usually let me sit with customers, though…”
“How about dinner, then?” Sean blurted out, possibly too quickly. His mind raced into overdrive as he went down the extensive list of evening eateries in his head.
She mentioned liking Korean food once, maybe ‘KIMMM Bap’? No, that might be too spicy… Maybe we could do that new Korean barbecue place, ‘Surprise! Chicken’? Their house sauce is amazing. Ooh, or we could try that other one downtown… ‘Bull Go Git’? ‘Bull Go Sit’? Shit. What was its name?
Unable to decide and unwilling to let the pause in conversation stretch out any further just because he couldn’t remember which terrible pun had been used in a restaurant’s name, Sean extended a different offer in what he hoped was a casual tone.
“How about I just pick you up here, and we’ll go from there?”
Her answering smile washed over Sean’s nerves like a gentle rain.
“Done,” Sarah said, and the two of them just stood there in the relatively empty lobby for a second.
Since no other customers were waiting, the moment stretched into one of those pleasantly awkward situations. The type where both parties would happily have broken the silence but were too busy enjoying the moment and each other’s company to figure out a tactful way to do so. In the end, Sean’s stomach broke it for him.
A gurgle like the waking of some great beast erupted from the pit of his stomach, and Sean’s capacity for embarrassment suddenly reached new heights. He laughed to cover the reddening of his cheeks, clutching his stomach with one hand.
Thankfully, Sarah laughed along with him, partially covering her face with his menu in a manner that was far too cute to be fair.
“I, uh, haven’t eaten yet,” Sean admitted, as if that weren’t already obvious.
Sarah’s eyes twinkled. “Clearly. Let’s go take care of that, shall we?”
Turning smartly on one heel and swirling her long red hair behind her, Sarah led the way through the floor to his seat. Sean followed, doing his gentlemanly
best to keep his eyes on only the most socially appropriate of places. He… mostly succeeded.
“Triple stack with eggs benedict, coffee, and fresh-squeezed on the side?” Sarah asked after Sean had taken his seat. She held the menu halfway toward him in a playful fashion, though she knew he wouldn’t take it.
“You’re too good to me, Sarah,” Sean said, waving the menu away and pulling the house-special maple syrup bottle over to his side of the table.
His tastebuds were already in the process of switching his mental gears over from ‘possible date’ to ‘culinary delight imminent’ when she leaned over surreptitiously.
“Not yet I’m not,” Sarah said in a low, breathy voice that sent electricity racing through him.
With that little comment, Sean’s mind refocused entirely on watching the feisty little waitress sashay away from his table.
Yeah… Sean had a feeling today was going to be a very good day.
Checking his watch before his daydreaming could get away from him, Sean noted that he still had plenty of time to make it to the office. Rubbing his hands together, he stared out the window at the rush of morning traffic and watched a man half his size shiver in the cold and pull a heavy raincoat closer as he pressed on against the wind. He marveled, not for the first time, at how lucky he was to have landed a work-from-home job.
“Yep,” Sean said out loud, taking a sip of the hot coffee Sarah had somehow left at his table without him even noticing. Pleased with the brew’s sharp flavors, he raised it, saluting the man’s resilience, and took another sip. “I do not miss that.”
The rest of Sean’s morning went remarkably well. Breakfast was every bit as delicious as it always was. The myriad flavors of the house syrup made his taste buds sing cheery praises of the Hoppin’ Egg yet again, and the woman he’d been interested in for weeks had left her phone number on his receipt before happily sashaying away again.
Somehow, that last detail had ended up a better cherry topping to his morning than the actual maraschino they had put on his waffles.
At work, Sean’s meeting went off without a hitch, and his boss, Ebony, was so impressed with Sean’s latest code commits that he was granted the rest of the day off. Effectively freed from being a functioning member of society for a few hours, at least until he had to start getting ready for his date, Sean went home to engage in his favorite pastime: watching Mark Ruben’s Mighty Meals.
It was a cooking show that pitted bodybuilders from all over the world into a competition to make the healthiest – and most massive – dishes they could whip up in under two hours. Given access to no less than four massive fridges with ingredients Sean could only dream of, the winner was judged not only on the overall taste but also by the meal’s sheer calorie count. Last season, they had even introduced a new scoring category based on how effective the dish was at increasing the weight the bodybuilders could lift before and after its consumption.
Sean was no bodybuilder, but, like all men, he shared a universal love for gorging oneself on immense amounts of food guilt-free. As an admittedly amateur foodie, he liked to think of it as his ‘niche’. A niche that may or may not have contributed to the expansion of his waist size by an inch or two, but hey, some prices were worth paying.
Slipping out of his suit and into his favorite mid-day robe, Sean popped on the TV and settled in to catch up on this week’s latest episode, accompanied by a family-size bag of Macho Cheese Chips and a whole bottle of Fury Fruitasm soda. Sean’s absolute favorite, if indulgent, lunchtime snack.
In short, it was a perfect start to what he could only hope would end up being a perfect day. Or evening. However long he and Sarah decided to stay out… or in.
As the show’s intro music began to play, Sean allowed his thoughts to drift off. To daydream about all the interesting ways his night might or might not end. To wonder what his life might be like if he had another person around to bring more adventure to it. Who knew? Maybe Sarah was looking for some, too.
Just as his imagination really began to take off, he thought he heard a faint crackling between him and the TV. A second later, the crackling was followed by the power in his entire building going out, interrupting Mark Ruben right as he was introducing this episode’s mandatory ingredient.
Before Sean could rise from the couch to diagnose or process what had just happened, a pitch-black hand shot out from a swirling circle of nothing directly in front of him…
…and, just like that, Sean died.
ONE
Summoned
Bancroft stared down at his latest experiment in disgust. Another failure. Again. The sight of it alone was enough to make him want to pull out his own hair, but there were servants nearby, and such displays were beneath a man of his power. Not that most of them would likely say anything – the undead weren’t usually talkative.
Which is exactly the problem, Bancroft thought, carefully restraining his frustration down to a single stroke of his magnificently long, silver beard. What am I missing?
Peering again at the worthless, blood-soaked mess of flesh and bones resting on his moonwood-carved summoning table, Bancroft considered the problem. The corpse itself was fresh enough, that much was obvious. Death mana practically poured out of it, consuming the lingering traces of life mana as his magic converted the remnants of whoever this had been into an undead servant. One who would be at Bancroft’s every beck and call.
That much was fine. The easy part, really. A necromancer who couldn’t turn the living into the unliving wasn’t worth the bones in his own body, after all. However, the step after that, creating the specific undead one desired rather than one that was just a simple extract of its corpse, was, admittedly, incredibly tricky.
But not usually for him. And yet, maddeningly, it was that very step that continued to fail him. Day after wasted day, experiment after wasted experiment.
“Useless,” Bancroft muttered, his eyes tracing over the unmoving form of the dead woman before him as if she were nothing more than scraps served off another’s already discarded plate.
Her eyes were every bit as lifeless as one might expect, already cloudy and fogged over. Though Bancroft could feel she was fully his at this point, a minion who could act under his command, she still did not move without permission. The corpse simply lay there, obediently awaiting the receipt of its first orders. Devoid of personality. Devoid of thoughts or intelligence… and, most damning of all, devoid of any of the abilities the corpse had held in its past life.
“Useless,” Bancroft growled once more in disgust, a bit louder this time.
He wanted to blast this insolent waste of time and materials all over the walls. To have his minions that were actually worth something tear this miserable failure limb from ragged limb and somehow extract his squandered efforts from the swiftly rotting viscera within. Seeing as such things were blatantly impossible, however, the necromancer did the next best thing.
He reached over and pulled a nearby lever. If he did so with enough force to make the wooden handle creak and nearly break, none in the room dared comment on it.
With a squawk of rusty protest, the trapdoor behind the table opened, revealing a dark chute. Bancroft gestured dismissively at the corpse as if its very presence offended him – which, of course, it now did. Then, turning on one heel in a whirl of black robes, he strode back over to the books scattered across his work desk and began to study them furiously once more. Muttering followed.
Behind the necromancer, a squat yet powerfully built old man lumbered forward. He was much older than Bancroft, with gray hair and a horrendously disfigured nose that twisted in on itself toward the end. His dark, patchy robe was decorated with various multicolored symbols at odd intervals, symbols the old man was careful not to let any of the corpse’s blood or ichor touch as he unceremoniously shoved it down the trapdoor with his bare hands.
Brushing his scarred hands clean with a rag he swiped off a nearby table, the old man moved over to the lever. He grunted as he shoved the rusted thing back into place, causing the trapdoor to slide closed once more. Dabbing his sweaty brow with the same rag, the old man stared over at his young master from halfway across the room. The young master who was still grumbling angrily to himself as he flipped rapidly through pages far too old and worn for such treatment.
