Chapter 27: Random Cards Aren’t So Bad
David sat there a moment longer, still turning the claw over in the low light, still a little stunned that something like this had just landed in his lap without a fight, without a grind, without any of the cost it clearly would have carried if he’d had to earn it the hard way. If he ever wanted to sell this thing, he had no doubt it would fetch a small fortune.
’How do I actually use this?’
[Command activation. Speak or think the skill’s name to summon.]
He almost laughed at how simple that sounded. "Dragon Claw," he said, testing the words out loud.
The air shifted.
It happened fast — faster than he expected — a blade materializing into his open palm like it had always belonged there. He turned it slightly, catching the light, and took in the details he hadn’t been able to see through the system’s description alone.
The hilt was finely worked, wrapped in something that caught the light like scale, and at the base sat a small sculpted dragon, coiled and watchful, its detail so fine he almost missed it at first glance. The blade itself was clean, unadorned, and sharp enough that just looking at the edge made something in his gut tighten.
"Whoa."
He turned it over in his hand, weight settling into his palm like it had been made specifically for him — because, in a sense, it had.
He stood, pulse still a little too fast, and let out a short laugh he didn’t entirely mean to make. First skill. His first actual, honest-to-god skill. He shoved the coffee table aside to clear some room, boots scuffing against the floor, some part of him already itching to test it out.
’If everything works by command...’
"Extend," he said.
The blade lengthened in his grip, the edge sharpening as it grew, and he barked out a startled "Whoa — whoa, okay —" as he adjusted his stance around the sudden change in reach. He swung it once, testing the arc, feeling the air split cleanly around the blade’s path.
[Dragon Claw — Category: Blood. Skill level increases through combat kills, whether human or magical beast.]
He lowered the blade slightly.
’...Isn’t that kind of depressing?’
[This is simply the category’s function. Blood-type skills grow through combat application. This does not reflect a moral judgment — only a mechanic.]
David exhaled slowly, processing that.
[There are three known categories: Aid, Blood, and Shield.]
[Aid tools are rare and typically govern healing or crafting. Shield tools govern defensive capability. Blood tools govern offensive capability. Growth within any category is achieved through repeated application of that category’s function — similarly to how physical stats increase through use.]
He sat with that for a second, and it made a kind of sense, cold as it was. Straightforward, even. But underneath the logic of it sat something heavier — the plain fact that leveling this skill meant killing. Not hypothetically. Not in some distant, someday sense he could put off thinking about.
He’d known, in the abstract way anyone in this world knew, that hunters sometimes ended up in situations where it was them or someone — something — else.
He’d accepted that risk the way you accept any danger you don’t expect to actually face. But there was a wide, uncrossable gap between knowing that in theory and standing here, blade in hand, being told point-blank that this was the mechanism by which he’d grow stronger.
He wasn’t sure, if it actually came down to it, whether he’d be able to go through with it.
David immediately shook off the thought, jaw tight, and said, "Retract," in a flat, even voice.
The blade dissolved back into nothing, fading out of his grip like it had never been there at all. He flexed his fingers once, hand curling and uncurling against the empty air where the hilt had been, and let out a slow breath.
It wasn’t that he doubted the value of what he’d gotten — objectively, this was a good pull, and he knew it. It was everything sitting underneath the excitement that had him tight in the chest. Everything this skill was going to eventually ask of him.
He was still turning it over when a notification blinked into the corner of his vision, cutting cleanly through the dim light of the apartment.
[Name:Holly Houston ]
[Temptation Level: 32 -> 33%]
David went still.
’How is it climbing? I haven’t done anything.’
That was the part that didn’t track. No conversation, no run-in, nothing that should’ve moved a number like that on its own.
Which meant either the system was measuring something happening entirely on her end — something he had no visibility into — or there was some mechanic here he hadn’t figured out yet. Neither option made him feel better.
Before he could sit with it any longer, his phone buzzed against the couch cushion, screen lighting up. He reached over and picked it up — the screen cracked in a fine spiderweb pattern he still hadn’t gotten around to fixing, which made it a little harder to read at first glance. He angled it toward the light and squinted until the text resolved.
Holly.
~Holly: hey. we need to talk
He stared at the message for a long moment, thumb hovering over the screen, doing absolutely nothing.
He wasn’t exactly sure what he was even supposed to do at that point. He already had a decent guess what the "talk" was going to be about — but at least she hadn’t gone straight to accusations. That was something. Small, but something.
He sat with the phone a moment longer, thumb hovering, before he finally typed back.
David: Hey...what do you wanna talk about?
He hit send before he could second-guess the wording, and set the phone face-up on his knee, watching the screen for the three dots that would mean she was already typing back.
Nothing yet.
He exhaled as he moved, throwing his weight against the couch and leaned his head back against the couch, waiting.
