"Shö'Thöm".
The blue bolt of energy shoots out from N'Ïrk's fist, flying through the living room and striking a blue forcefield made with two narrow hexagons that come from a pair of heavy armored gauntlets.
The immaterial barrier flickers, absorbing the hit, turning red with the next «Shö'Thöm» that crashes against it.
N'Ïrk, a 19 year old young man lowers his arms and walks to the table, grabbing a translucent tablet and aiming it to the gauntlets.
Armored Mittens
Exoticness • ★★★↑ 99.97%
Forcefield • 19%
*Tch*. "Almost four Novas. Nice!".
The item is N'Ïrk's second best, and favorite object of his entire combat outfit, the first would be the reinforced underwear that protects his not so little brother.
When N'Ïrk turned 18, his long wait was less apparent, just two years more to reach his longed goal.
In the meantime, to win Units and Experience in the field. He joined the Guild of Porters, the assistants of Awakened and Enrouted, but wrongly mistaken as simple lackeys.
Together, they delve into Zones, like if it were a videogame, fighting monsters, obtaining equipment, meeting new allies, and saving the day.
Nothing could be further apart from the truth, Zones are not your average playground, a sole misstep can end a person's life.
Yet, wielding Empiric Energy, it is not mandatory to enter in the Zones and fight the aberrations lurking inside. Of course, most people wouldn't dare to do such insanity.
*Argh!*. "The wait is killing me!".
N'Ïrk is not impatient, at least for a young man of his age, but his almost 20 years of wait are not different than seeing a 99% in a download bar, and the damn think just stays still, freezed for an entire minute that seems eternal.
*Sigh*. "The old man said i was born at eight o'clock". N'Ïrk turns his wrist and sees the hour on his smartwatch. "Six minutes have pass already!".
Another groan scapes his mouth, leaving the Scanner in the table and almost throwing a butthead to the wall out of annoyance.
"Not only that old man disappeared after the fire that took my parent's lives. He lied to me about my birthday!. How he pulled that of?!. The record is quite clear!".
Opening a drawer, N'Ïrk grabs a folder with the physical copies of his records, checking the content.
Now days, everything is made digitally. But he had the misfortune of his Grandfather loving the «Old ways».
"That doesn't look like a speck". Scratching the paper sheet, is evident that an imprinting error occured. Ink being more unreliable than laser, or an holographic document. *Oh!*. "Perhaps it is not 8:00 if not 8:08".
A stingy pain is felt by N'Ïrk, his eyes scorching like plasma poured into his sockets. Simultaneously, a thick layer of multicolored light is hovering in front of his face, expanding quickly and enveloping his silhouette with precision.
He leaves the folder on the table, and the glow around him starts to diminish. The pressure increases, like if gravity itself was turned on by several folds. N'Ïrk's resilient body and constant training to the point of being called «Vigorexic», are utterly meaningless against the brutal assault of nothingness.
Then, as it were a bad dream, calmness, absolute tranquility, no pain, no dizziness, and no melting eyes.
On the contrary, N'Ïrk feels nimble, focused and brimming with Empiric Energy like never before in his 20 years of life.
This is in great part due to his Grandfather. While the old man had weird hobbies, he wasn't mad as everyone else claimed. And the only advice he left for N'Ïrk, was «Always be truthful to yourself, regardless of the consequences». A mantra the young man truly takes at heart.
Blinking, N'Ïrk's eyesight adapts to the new resolution in which he can observe everything, even zooming a bit if he focuses his gaze on a single point.
"Wow!. Is like being born again!".
Slowly, he seats on the table, finally paying attention to the floating screen he has dreamed to see since he opened his eyes for the first time, to see the world of Dhägna'Hür.
N'Ïrk Ignay'Thus
Empiric Energy • [ 385 / 455 ]
Class • Kinkcer
Level 0 • Growth • [ 0 / 50 ]
Knotted • [ 0 / 15 ]
Boned • [ 0 / 5 ]
Mined • [ 0 / 3 ]
"What in the heck is a «Kinkcer»?!. Though i wasn't expecting my Storage Capacity of Empiric Energy to be this high. 175 is already top notch. Hell yeah!. Training is going to go even harder now!".
Not knowing or caring about what the others words mean. And seeing the forcefield in the gauntlets already returning to it's green shade. N'Ïrk turns to his smartwatch. "Holy shit!. Is 9:40 already!".
Standing up from his idle state, he resumes with his previously interrupted training session. Sending «Shö'Thöms» to the gauntlet's forcefield with a constant tempo for almost two straight hours.
The item start to release particles of light, demanding Entropy Cores to fulfill its next stage of Exoticness.
A pouch with sixteen multicolored, but tiny icosahedrons is grabbed by N'Ïrk, placing eight Entropy Cores on each of the gauntlet's palms.
With no medium to continue with his Shö'Thöm training, N'Ïrk takes a shower, cleaning his toned body with a nigh perfect musculature. No excessive mass, just right on the spot to have potency and strength without sacrificing speed and flexibility.
He sees his reflection on the mirror, removing the growing facial hair and shaving the sides of his metalized maroon hair, weirdly, he has white hair underneath, along a lock of the same shade in the middle of his pompadour.
"That is new!. Like my eyes. Neat!".
His green irises are more bright, but his eyeballs are no longer white, if not black.
Suiting up with boxers and a t-shirt. He goes to the fridge, and prepares a simple but healthy breakfast.
Once more, waiting, yet, he is searching in the net, for any piece of information about a Kinkcer, but with no luck whatsoever.
*Sigh*. "That was to be expected, the Enrouted have to discover almost everything on their own".
* Toc - Toc *
Going to the door, the intercom shows a mature woman with gorgeous curves that are accentuated with a tight black combat outfit that has a lot of cleavage. Her skin is slightly lilac, with a purple long wavy hair that is easily recognizable, almost as much as her green piercing eyes.
N'Ïrk opens the door. "Madame Lamar. What brings the Leader of the «Purple Bitch Squad» at the front of my apartment?".
The woman rises an eyebrow. "Aren't you going to invite me in?".
"Didn't you read the article". N'Ïrk points to his right and left. Two posters with the same series of five instructions in them.
1.- Women are allowed to enter only after they invite me (N'Ïrk) a drink. Or they kissed me (N'Ïrk) on the lips.
2.- Men can enter after they introduce me (N'Ïrk) to a hot chick.
3.- Business are not discussed inside if not on a date. (If you are a man better have a nice chick to mellow my mood or a good looking Femboy).
4.- Make an appointment with a week of anticipation.
5.- Exceptions can be accepted depending on the situation.
"As i said, Madame Lamar. What brings you here. My time is precious, and you are wasting it with your silence".
The woman's jaw crunch, displeased with the treatment, but she has no time to waste neither. "A Zone appear in the next block. The Agents are not letting us in unless we have a group of five. As you may know, we are a team of four".
"This building is cheap and has a lot of Porters and low level Awakeners. Why are you coming to me?".
"They refused. Is a Tier 4 Zone".
*Hahaha*. "What a bunch of cowards. I will be ready in three minutes". N'Ïrk closes the door of his apartment, and as he stated, a couple of minutes later, he goes out, fully geared and ready to fight. "Madame Lamar, show me the way"…