system overload, a litrpg

I sit on the damp ground, watching mana swirl through the fog.

Distant booms and roars echo through the air.

The sounds of battle.

I activate the skill.

A sharp pop rings out, bouncing off the buildings.

The sting crawls across my skin, but it's nothing like the first time.

"Is there a way to make this less dangerous?"

I stretch my fingers, feeling the stinging itch roll across my skin.

"I don't like the idea of blowing up every time I use my skills."

Level 100?

I'm struggling just to get to level 10.

"How long will that take?"

I sigh.

If I had to sit here for years, I'd probably die of boredom before anything else.

A roar rips through the distance.

Low. Furious.

"What do you think is happening over there?"

Helpful as always.

I exhale through my nose and activate it.

Immediately—

The range feels bigger.

Even though I can't see the buildings, I can see the mana.

Sparks, blowing in the breeze.

They twist through the air, brushing against the walls, the fog, me.

Some of them—

Flow into me.

Like they're being drawn in.

I yawn.

Another roar echoes—straining this time.

Like something exerting itself.

"What do you think that is?"

I just want to pass the time.

I roll my eyes.

Of course.

I focus on the sparks again.

Above me, the mana thickens.

Denser.

Flowing in currents.

Some race in one direction, others swirl in chaotic bursts.

Almost like…

Wind.

Minutes pass.

Nothing but the swaying mana and distant echoes.

I trigger the skill again.

Another pop.

This time, the sting barely registers.

Was I getting stronger?

Or just getting used to the pain?

I pull up my stat screen while waiting for my mana to recover.

CLASS: ERROR

HP: [1.4]

MANA [2.3]

MAX HP 2

MAX MANA 50>200

MANA REGENERATION 0.5

STRENGTH 5

DURABILITY 10>14

AGILITY 5

LUCK 1

ACTIVE SKILLS [2/10]

TIER 1

MANA GEYSER [7/100]

CAUSES A MAGICAL EXPLOSION USING PURE MANA.

DAMAGE: 1 per MANA USED × SKILL LEVEL [7-]

RANGE: 1ft × SKILL LEVEL [7ft]

COST: 100% CURRENT MANA

MANA SENSE [9/100]

ALLOWS THE USER TO SENSE ALL SOURCES OF MANA WITHIN RANGE.

EFFECT: SENSE MANA UP TO 90FT [10×SKILL LEVEL] AWAY.

COST: UP TO 9 [1×10ft] MANA PER SECOND.

PASSIVE SKILLS [2/10]

TIER 1

MANA VAULT [4/100]: MULTIPLIES MAX MANA BY 1 × SKILL LEVEL. [50×4]

MANA CONVERSION [6/100] WHEN MANA POOL IS FULL COVERTS 6% MANA REGENERATION INTO HP.

I stare at my stats.

Pride settles in my chest.

I'm so close to completing my quest.

Then—

I pause.

Something's off.

"Why did my Durability go up?"

I blink.

I grin.

So, that's how it works.

"How would I increase those?"

Excitement builds in my chest.

I frown at the screen.

It makes sense, but still…

Then, a different question worms its way into my mind.

"What do the stats actually do?"

I nod.

Most of those make sense.

But Luck…

That felt a little vague.

I inhale deeply.

The questions can wait.

I activate Mana Sense.

----

Vorondil sits, cleaning the blood from his blade.

Sweat drips down his brow—

Sizzles as it hits the scales beneath him.

Drazuul pants heavily.

The bastard elf sits atop his back—gloating in victory.

Again.

"Have you tried not moving so damn much?"

Drazuul grumbles between labored breaths.

He hates speaking Elvish.

But Vorondil won.

So he'll grant him this.

Vorondil remains seated.

Movements slow. Methodical.

He wipes his blade clean, unbothered.

There is no gloating.

Only routine.

"Have you tried actually hitting your target?"

His voice is even. Calm.

Untouched by exhaustion.

He tilts his sword, inspecting the edge against the dying embers around them.

Satisfied, he sheathes it with practiced ease.

Then—

A slow exhale.

He rises.

Stepping off Drazuul's back with the same indifference one might show stepping over a fallen log.

Drazuul huffs unsteadily.

Breath ragged. Heavy.

He would never tolerate such disrespect from another.

But this elf…

They had fought many times.

Drazuul had only bested him a handful.

Once, he had convinced himself they were equals.

But now—

The truth was undeniable.

It just stepped off his back.

Vorondil turned to leave, vanishing into the fog.

"Wait…"

The word escaped before he could stop it.

Weak.

Almost reluctant.

Vorondil stopped.

But he did not turn.

Did not respond.

Drazuul swallowed the taste of blood in his mouth.

His claws dug into the scorched earth.

"You had the scent of human on you."

His voice was low.

A growl lurking beneath the words.

"Have you seen one?"

Silence.

Then—

Vorondil turned.

His green eyes met Drazuul's.

Cold. Measured.

A stare that froze Drazuul in place.

For the first time in a long time—

He felt fear.

Drazuul shook his head.

No.

Not fear.

It had been too long since he'd felt that.

He forced himself to speak.

"How strong are they?"

A flicker of emotion crosses Vorondil's face.

For the first time—

Confusion.

"He's weaker than the carrion here."

Vorondil's hand shifts to his sword.

Not as a threat.

But as a promise.

Drazuul exhales slowly.

Carefully choosing his next words.

Treading a razor's edge.

"We both know how powerful they can become."

He swallows down the knot of resentment.

It tastes bitter. Like ash.

"We could use him to get past the Gatekeeper."

He hates the idea.

He hates needing a human.

But—

If he can't beat the elf…

Then he'll never get past the Gatekeeper alone.

Vorondil's eyes narrow.

"What are you saying?"

His voice sharpens.

Like a drawn blade.

He won't allow the boy to be sacrificed.

Drazuul's teeth clench.

A flare of irritation.

"We could train him."

The words taste vile.

"Make him powerful."

The idea is disgusting.

But—

"Then the three of us could fight together."

He shudders.

At the thought.

At the humiliation.

At the reality.

Vorondil's jaw tightens.

His eyes lock onto Drazuul.

Hate.

Pain.

Acceptance.

The dragon knew what this meant.

Vorondil nods.

Then turns to leave.

But—

He pauses.

"If he dies…"

His voice is steady. Cold. Absolute.

"You'll join him."

He steps into the fog.

Doesn't look back.

Doesn't wait for an answer.

Drazuul's fangs grind against each other.

A low, rumbling growl vibrates in his throat.

But—

He exhales.

And follows.