Chương 17: Chapter Sixteen

Prepared as he was for a sudden frenzy of fish concentrated on his location, Bob felt himself become oddly embarrassed when he wasn't immediately torn to shreds. Before then becoming concerned when he noticed he didn't seem to be garnering any outside attention at all. A glance out into open water showed that there was no lack of fish. There were even a fair number slowly swimming around his building, sticking their noses into the occasional pile of garbage in an attempt to scare up a meal.

They just weren't paying any attention to him. It was such a reversal of fortune from his previous uses of the skill, that it actually took him a moment to realize what the problem was. Effort and Intention. With the small fish, he'd gone out of his way to mimic luring tactics in order to draw them in; his intention being to trap and kill them. The slime had already noticed him, was already attacking him.

His intent then was to make it less careful in its attacks; so focused and obsessed with his destruction that it became a liability to itself. Here, he was doing nothing. Still and unmoving amongst the tangled branches as he watched the fish slowly glide by. His intent not at all to inspire the large, hulking beasts to make their way over and gobble him up; despite his best efforts otherwise. Frankly, he should probably be grateful it gave him the level up.

Realizing he really didn't have any other options; Bob reluctantly stretched his eye and its tassel out of the castoff briar he was trapped in. As he began trying to twitch it temptingly through the water, he focused his mind as much as possible on luring the fish to his location. Trying desperately to exude deliciousness. A small part of him mentally waving a teary goodbye to the wonderful gift of sight. Ding! Taunt (E) has leveled up!

4 – 5 The effect was far more noticeable this time, his tassel beginning to swim worm-like through the water while his gem somehow became dozens of times more reflective, seeming to almost glow with an internal light. The change in the fish was also apparent. It looked almost as if a bell had been rung inside the ruined building, every fish in sight seeming to turn its head towards his location; searching for something.

Most lost interest almost immediately, those furthest away barely even twitching their heads towards him before going back to what they were doing. For those nearby, however, the situation was different. Whatever energy his skill had put out into the world, it appeared to grow stronger the closer one got to the source. It was as if he'd chummed the waters or set out some sort of pheromone; the fish beginning to circle ever closer to his location, following some illusive scent or sensation.

As they continued to swim nearer, Bob had to force himself not to pull his eye back to safety. The fish he was surrounded by looked like some alien-world species of grouper; each one easily large enough to swallow him whole without concern. He probably wasn't even sturdy enough to give them digestive issues on the way through.' This really is a horrible, terrible idea.' Bob thought, watching as a medium-sized member of the search party finally noticed the mildly glowing gem swishing through the waters.

Were he hoping for an instantaneous reaction, Bob would have been left wanting. Instead, if anything, the fish seemed almost disappointed by its prize. Which was fair, given that six or so inches of braided cord probably wasn't a standard item on its daily menu. Unfortunately, this left Bob in the unenviable, near hysteria-inducing state of having to do something he really, really didn't want to do. That being attempting to further entice a giant fish to eat him.

Staring straight down the barrel as it were made it nearly impossible. Even continuing to twitch his gem about felt like a herculean task with those deep black eyes staring soulfully back into it; much less reactivating the skill which would almost certainly see him consumed. In the end, he nearly didn't do it. It took the grouper-look-alike beginning to lose interest and swim away before he could actually force himself into following through.

And even then, he did it in a panicked rush, focusing less on generally enticing creatures towards him and more in a desperate grab at the attention of That Fish in Particular. Later, he would consider this instance a fantastic example of the varied usage of skills and their inherent flexibility. It was, unfortunately, something he was unable to appreciate in the moment. Ding! Taunt (E) has leveled up! 5 – 6 The skill's effect appeared to almost physically impact the fish.

Its muscles spasmed as it ripped its way through the water in order to turn and face him. He only had an instant to marvel at the power hidden inside the grouper's clumsy frame before it impacted; tearing through his wooden prison like it was tissue paper. He immediately found himself inside the fish's mouth. Not just him, in fact, but a good deal of the surrounding brush he was tangled in. He felt the debris mash and grind against him, tearing at his already ragged form.

Him somehow managing to avoid the fish's teeth, yet still ending up chewed apart anyway. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings. Alert! - 1 Health! He quickly tried to wrap himself around what appeared to be its tongue – or at least some vaguely tongue-like nodule fastened to the bottom of its mouth – avoiding its crushing jaws as he could feel the fish thrash violently through the wooden branches he'd previously been stuck in.

It occasionally opened its mouth wide, spitting out chunks of wood and other unidentifiable garbage. Bob was tempted to make a lunge towards freedom, but the constant snapping of razor-sharp teeth dissuaded him. He tried numerous times to turn the skill off, but he quickly came to the conclusion that it didn't work that way; being less of an 'ongoing effect' than a one-and-done action which would slowly fade over a period.

This left him clinging with everything he had to the only surface which wasn't currently trying to bisect him or swallow him down. His mouth was still desperately clutching at his two remaining coins, so his tassel and eye were doing most of the heavy lifting; almost tying itself into knots in an attempt not to slide directly down his new friend's gullet. As he desperately held on, he felt the grouper's motions begin to slow. Eventually the biting also ceased.

The constant chomping replaced by the awkward gagging motions of a creature trying to throw up without the proper anatomy. During a particularly aggressive one of these attempts, Bob finally let himself slip free. He was almost anticipating one final goodbye-bite from his erstwhile rescuer, but it never came. Instead, the fish simply seemed grateful to be rid of him; swimming off in a near panic once he'd finally been dislodged from its throat.

As Bob slowly started the long float down to the debris-ridden sand below, he couldn't even spare the energy to twitch. Which was probably for the best, given the chances of another fish confusing him for dinner. He was utterly exhausted. Apparently finally reaching the limits of his previously vaunted inhuman anatomy. He couldn't even be bothered to observe his landing spot, simply allowing himself to blindly fall where he may. Only barely managing to keep hold of his coins as he impacted.

For a moment he almost considered letting them go. All of his stubborn enthusiasm and will to survive felt burnt out of him. He wasn't even sure he'd be able to hold any new coins even if he found them, he was in such bad shape. He lay there for some time. Utterly disinterested in even observing his surroundings as he briefly allowed himself to disassociate from the situation entirely, staring emptily up towards the cavernous ceiling above him.

The crystal-clear waters here still feeling alien after all his time in the lake. Eventually however, he was interrupted by a voice whispering to him within his head. He was mildly surprised to find it was his own.

'I need to move. I need to get to someplace safe before the next flood happens. Maybe in one of the buildings.' He desperately wished he was able to groan out a complaint at the self-command, but instead simply shrugged his way to his 'feet', preparing to get a move on. As he did so, he finally gave a look to the blue window which had been trying to get his attention ever since he'd fallen out of the faux-grouper's mouth. Ding! New Class Available!

Class: Bait Rank: E Whether forced by societal evils and inequities or simply the madness dwelling within; you live not as a man, but rather as a greater being's next meal Class Focus Provocation Attributes Dexterity, Endurance, Willpower Requirements: Repeated taunting of a creature of higher rank until the point of attack Possession of a 'Provocation' Path Skill Enable Class?' Yeah, that's about what I expected.' At least this one seemed almost like a real class.

Most of the dialogue making up Bottom Feeder's description had felt like a personal attack. This simply felt like, unfortunately, the kind of results his actions were pushing him towards. Not that it made him any more likely to choose it, of course. But it was still nice to see. Though not quite as nice as the window which surprisingly appeared next. Ding! New Title Earned! Title: Hard to Swallow Rank: D Who wants to swallow what others have already spat out?

Feat: Resistance to 'Consumption' abilities Requirement: Survive multiple attempts at 'Consumption' by higher ranked beings Equip Title? Bob didn't hesitate for a moment before mentally spamming the 'equip' button. He was becoming quite tired of almost being eaten alive, thank you very much. Anything which helped prevent it from happening again was good in his books; even if he was becoming a bit concerned with the general theme of his acquisitions. The sensation as the title settled on to him was… odd.

He felt a strange sort of confidence fill him, a sense a safety and security which chipped away at the fear he didn't realize had settled down like a vice around his non-existent shoulders. The very specific fear of being eaten by giant fish. He couldn't help but wonder if the effect would work in reverse order should he ever unequip it. Admittedly, the fact that there seemed to be some sort of mentally altering aspect to the title left him a bit uneasy.

But, given everything else that had happened to him over the course of his stay in this universe, he really couldn't get up the energy to feel that bothered. He had very little of it to waste, after all. And what little he had would be better used in attempting to get himself to someplace he could safely recover. If recovery was even an option for him. Looking around himself, he discovered that he was still likely in the middle of the debris field; large piles of rotting timber and shattered rock surrounding him.

Having abandoned his previously elevated view from what was probably the area's largest pile of detritus, Bob now found himself lost among the dunes. Only able to see the tops of the giant spires on his horizon. Still, with no better prospects, Bob pointed himself towards what was obviously the nearest one – it rising quite menacingly through the waters – and slowly began to drag himself towards potential shelter. His pace was beyond slow.

While post-injury pain didn't seem to linger much in this form, he couldn't say the same about lost functionality. The bottom half of his 'body' was essentially destroyed. Mere tatters of leather which now trailed sadly behind him. The sole saving grace to his situation was that, when not being taunted, the local fish didn't seem to have any interest in him at all.

He got the impression that they were almost disinterested in fact; though perhaps the routine flooding had simply inured them to the sight of migrating piles of garbage. It took almost an hour to crest one of the hills of sand, as well as an amount of effort he was genuinely concerned came close to finishing off his last few hit points. The view didn't make up for it. There were at least half a dozen similarly sized hills between him and the spire.

And he did mean 'at least', given that his vision of anything beyond that was blocked by an absolutely massive pile of sand located perhaps halfway along the distance. A brief glance towards the far more distant spires showing similarly intimidating journeys. A soft, weak voice suggested quitting again, but it was almost casually ignored. Quitting didn't feel all that different than continuing on at this point. Moving forward was at least something to do.

It beat out crawling into a hole and waiting to die, at any rate. So, Bob pushed forward. Enjoying the comparably easy downhill stretch before he'd be forced to kill himself once again in the ascent. Hopefully things would level out past that last huge hill.