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Eldritch Horror? No, I'm A Doctor
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Ren leaned back in his chair behind the reception desk, the leather creaking softly under his weight. He stared at the notification that had just appeared in his vision, the blue text floating there like it was mocking him. His eyes felt dry from staring at it, and he blinked a few times to clear them.
[Successfully cured first batch of patients]
[New Skill Unlocked]
"What the fuck?" Ren said out loud to the empty clinic. His voice echoed slightly in the quiet waiting room. His fingers drummed against the black desk surface, a nervous rhythm he didn't consciously choose.
"Aren't I getting too many skills lately? The readers didn't even get the chance to see them all yet."
The System's response appeared in his mind, the text feeling different from the notification. More casual, almost conversational. It felt less like reading and more like hearing someone speak directly into his thoughts.
Or do you not want it?
"If you give it to me, I'll gladly accept," Ren replied, crossing his arms over his chest. He shifted in the chair, trying to find a comfortable position.
Maybe I should not give it to you.
The System's tone carried a smirk, if text could smirk. Ren could feel the smugness radiating through the mental connection, like someone was grinning at him from inside his own head.
"If you don't give it to me, I'm going to close the clinic and sleep my ass off for a month," Ren threatened. He meant it too. His body was exhausted from the surgeries, muscles aching from the tension of holding still during delicate procedures. His stomach still felt queasy from all the blood and gore, a constant low grade nausea that never quite went away.
Fuck you. Here's your fucking skill.
"That's more like it." Ren sat up straighter, uncrossing his arms. He placed both hands flat on the desk surface, feeling the cool smoothness of the black material under his palms. The skill information began to populate in his vision, this time in a different format. More structured, like an official System interface rather than the casual text messages.
[SKILL ACQUIRED: GROTESQUE GOSPEL OF GRAFTED EVOLUTION]
═══════════════════════════════════════════
RANK: EX
CLASS: Embodiment of Horror (Absolute Horror Domain)
TYPE: Grafting / Forced Evolution / Eldritch Reconstruction
═══════════════════════════════════════════
A forbidden doctrine of flesh and evolution,
allows you to implant, fuse, or reconstruct a conscious,
willing target using living, spiritual, mechanical, or
conceptual material. All successful grafts trigger an
evolutionary transformation determined by you.
These are not words.
They are sutures written in reverse along the spine of the world,
inked in anesthesia and quiet screams,
recited only when the veins start to listen.
You raise your hand, and muscle remembers shapes
it was never meant to hold.
Bone learns new angles of obedience,
organs twitch toward unfamiliar prayers,
and a heart that once knew only blood
begins pumping things that should not have names.
A forbidden doctrine of flesh and evolution—
each syllable a scalpel,
each pause a clamp,
each breath the slow tightening of a cosmic tourniquet
around the throat of normality.
You implant a monster's hunger in a soldier's chest,
and call it courage.
You fuse a dying saint with a cursed machine,
and call it hope.
You reconstruct a ruined limb with a fragment of nightmare,
and call it healing.
Living, spiritual, mechanical, conceptual—
you do not choose between them.
You fold them together
like layers of skin, shadow, metal, and memory,
until the body stops knowing where it ends
and the graft begins.
All successful grafts trigger an evolutionary transformation—
spines straighten under unseen gravity,
eyes open in places that were not faces,
voices grow where no throat exists,
and the soul, bewildered,
finds itself standing in a corridor of new doors
with only your hand on the handle.
Determined by you.
Not by gods.
Not by fate.
Not by the timid laws of what should or should not live.
You, who read the terror in their pupils
like a consent form already signed.
You, who hold the Gospel in your steady hands
and write a new definition of "human"
every time your scalpel touches skin.
A forbidden doctrine of flesh and evolution—
and every patient that survives your table
walks away as living scripture,
a walking verse of your grotesque psalm,
proof that fear can be rewritten
into something far, far worse
and somehow
still called a miracle.
DESCRIPTION:
A forbidden doctrine of flesh and evolution.
Allows you to implant, fuse, or reconstruct a conscious,
willing target using living, spiritual, mechanical, or
conceptual material. All successful grafts trigger an
evolutionary transformation determined by you.
───────────────────────────────────────────
ACTIVATION REQUIREMENTS:
───────────────────────────────────────────
Consent: Target must willingly accept graftingConsciousness: Target must remain fully awareEmotional Catalyst: Target must be in Awe, Fear, or AngerFailure to meet all conditions terminates the Gospel
───────────────────────────────────────────
GRAFTABLE MATERIAL:
───────────────────────────────────────────
[ALLOWED]
▸ Monster organs / eldritch tissue
▸ Spirits, souls, curses
▸ Divine remnants
▸ Bio-alchemical bodies
▸ Concepts bound to life or aura
▸ Items: weapons, relics, cores, mechanical parts, prosthetics
[REJECTED]
▸ Materials that provide no functional enhancement
▸ Cosmetic-only grafts
───────────────────────────────────────────
RANK COMPATIBILITY:
───────────────────────────────────────────
Grafts may exceed the target's rank.
Higher gaps increase failure rate and death risk.
Equal Rank: Success 100%
+1 Rank: Success 80–90%
+2 Ranks: Success 40–60%
+3 Ranks: Success 5–10%
+4 Ranks: Success 0.1% (Survival 0.1%)
⚠️ WARNING: Evolution beyond four ranks approaches absolute failure.
───────────────────────────────────────────
EFFECTS OF SUCCESSFUL GRAFT:
───────────────────────────────────────────
[1] MUTATION ABILITY CREATION
Target gains new ability based on graft material.
Power depends on graft rank and stability.
[2] FORCED EVOLUTION
You may restructure:
Skeletal and muscular systemsMana and aura circuitsNervous and sensory networksSpiritual foundationInstinct pathways
[3] FORM CONTROL
Choose the target's final appearance:
GrotesqueSeamlessSymbolicTransformable
───────────────────────────────────────────
LIMITATIONS:
───────────────────────────────────────────
✗ Requires voluntary acceptance
✗ Requires consciousness
✗ Requires emotional activation
✗ Unstable beyond +2 ranks
✗ Catastrophic at +4 ranks
✓ Domain greatly increases success rate
═══════════════════════════════════════════
Ren finished reading the entire skill description and just sat there, staring at the floating interface. His mouth hung open slightly as his brain tried to process all the information. The implications were staggering. He could graft monster parts onto people. Turn them into hybrids. Restructure their entire bodies from the inside out.
"What the fuck is this?" He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk and resting his chin on his interlaced fingers.
"Is this cyberpunk body modification but the deranged version?"
The word 'deranged' seems to suit you better, doesn't it?
The System's smug tone was unmistakable now. Ren could practically see it grinning, if the System had a face to grin with. The mental image of some cosmic entity smirking at him from beyond reality was both absurd and somehow fitting.
"Yeah, sure, sure. You're the one to say, you horror System," Ren shot back. He waved his hand at the air dismissively, as if the System was physically present in the room. The gesture was meaningless but made him feel better.
And whose fault is that?
"Blah blah blah, I don't understand Eldritch language." Ren stood up from the chair, unable to sit still anymore. He started pacing behind the desk, his footsteps creating a steady rhythm against the white tile floor with its black grout. The sound echoed slightly in the empty waiting room, bouncing off the black walls.
What are you, six?
"Yes, I'm six feet tall." Ren couldn't keep the grin off his face despite the exhaustion weighing on him. The banter was stupid and childish, but it helped deal with the stress.
That's not what I mean!!!
The triple exclamation marks in the System's text made Ren laugh out loud.
"I know what you meant." He rubbed his face with his free hand, feeling the tiredness in his bones. His skin felt clammy, and he could smell the faint scent of antiseptic that clung to everything in the clinic.
"But seriously, this skill is insane. I can graft monster parts onto people. Turn them into chimeras."
He paused, a thought suddenly occurring to him. His hand dropped from his face and he straightened up slightly.
"Wait, if it's this skill, can I use this to modify myself?"
The question hung in the air for a moment. Ren's mind was already racing through possibilities. He could fix his own weaknesses. Add combat abilities so he didn't have to rely solely on his tentacles and CPR. Maybe graft something that would help with his hemophobia, make the surgeries less nauseating.
You can do it, but I don't recommend it.
Ren's eyebrows raised. "Why is that?"
Well, because you have a System, your potential is already limitless.
The System's response felt measured, like it was choosing its words carefully. Ren could sense there was more coming.
And aren't you looking like a freak already? Do you want to look more like a freak with monster parts grafted in your body?
Ren stared at his reflection. On the surface, he looked normal. But he knew what lurked beneath. The tentacles that could erupt from his splitting neck. The mouth in his palm with its needle-thin tongues. The ability to transform into something that made even experienced hunters scream in terror.
He thought about Jack's reaction earlier. The screaming during the surgery. The haunted look in his eyes afterward. That was just from seeing Ren's medical procedures. Imagine if he permanently looked like that.
"Fair point," Ren admitted quietly. His voice was softer now, the humor draining out of it. He touched the mirror's surface with one finger, tracing the outline of his reflected face.
"I'm already enough of a monster without adding extra parts."
Glad you see reason.
"Don't get used to it." Ren turned away from the mirror and walked back toward the reception desk. The clinic felt too quiet, too empty. The black walls seemed to press in slightly, making the space feel smaller than it actually was.
He sat back down in the chair and pulled open one of the desk drawers. Empty, of course. The System had furnished the clinic but hadn't bothered with supplies for the desk itself. Ren closed it again and leaned back, letting his head rest against the high back of the chair.
The skill notification was still floating in his vision, waiting to be dismissed. He stared at it, reading through the information again more carefully this time.
The consent requirement was interesting. He couldn't force this on anyone. They had to willingly accept having monster parts grafted into their body. And they had to be conscious during the procedure, experiencing the transformation while awake and aware.
That alone would generate massive amounts of fear. Which meant massive amounts of Fear Points.
Ren's stomach did an uncomfortable flip at the thought. He was already making people terrified during regular healing. This skill would take that to an entirely new level.
"This is going to traumatize so many people," he muttered.
That's the point.
"I hate that you're right." Ren rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. The fatigue was catching up with him now that the adrenaline from the earlier surgeries had worn off. His body felt heavy, like gravity had increased slightly.
He thought about the implications of this skill. Monster organs could give people enhanced abilities. Divine remnants could grant them powers beyond normal human limits. Weapon grafting could turn someone into a living arsenal.
But at what cost?
The rank compatibility section was brutal. Grafting something four ranks higher than the patient had a 0.1 percent success rate. That meant 99.9 percent chance of death. Even three ranks higher was only 5 to 10 percent success. Those were terrible odds.
"Who would be desperate enough to take those odds?" Ren wondered aloud.
Someone who has nothing left to lose.
The System's response was quiet, almost somber. It made Ren think about the patients he'd already seen today. Jack, who'd been dying with his intestines hanging out. The Colonel, who'd sacrificed his body to save his soldiers. People who faced death and chose to fight anyway.
Maybe someone like that would risk everything for a chance at power.
Ren dismissed the skill notification with a thought. The interface vanished, leaving just his normal vision. The clinic looked the same as before. Black walls, white tile, empty waiting room. Professional and sterile and vaguely threatening.
He wondered if he should change the decor. Maybe add some plants to make it less intimidating. Then again, the whole building was indestructible and designed to look like a horror movie set. Plants probably wouldn't help.
"At least business is good," Ren said to himself. He pulled out his phone and checked his bank account. The transfers from his first three patients had all cleared. Over a million dollars sitting in his account. More money than he'd ever seen in his life, earned in just a few hours.
The price of using his horrifying healing methods. The price of making people scream.
He pocketed the phone and stared at the door. Any moment now, more patients could walk through. More injuries to fix. More blood and gore to wade through. More vomiting in the bathroom afterward.
This was his life now. The Eldritch Doctor. The one who healed through horror.
Before he could sink too deep into his thoughts, he heard shouting from outside the clinic.
"Doctor! Are you here?"
Ren's head snapped toward the door. He recognized that voice immediately. Jack, the hunter he'd just finished treating less than an hour ago. The one whose arms and intestines he'd regrown while the man screamed the entire time.
"What?" Ren muttered, standing up quickly. His chair scraped against the tile floor with a harsh sound. "Why are those idiot trio back?"
Maybe something had gone wrong with the healing. Maybe Jack's arms weren't working properly. Maybe the intestines had ruptured. Ren's mind immediately jumped to worst-case scenarios, his medical training kicking in automatically.
"We have a patient!" The voice came again, louder and more urgent this time.
Relief and dread mixed together in Ren's chest. Not Jack, then. Someone else. Another emergency patient. More surgery. More blood. More screaming.
His stomach protested at the thought, but he ignored it. Professional standards. He was a doctor. This was his job.
"Okay! Coming!" Ren shouted back toward the door. His voice carried through the clinic, bouncing off the black walls.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself. Then another. His hands went to his suit, straightening it even though it was already perfect. The Umbral Gentleman's Attire maintained itself, but the gesture helped calm his nerves.
Whatever was coming through that door, he'd handle it. Just like he'd handled everything else today. With tentacles, chainsaws, and absolute terror.
But first, he'd see what fresh hell had arrived at his clinic.