While the highest charisma Numbers in legends always belong to the most physically attractive of beings, such as the goddess aphrodite and the mythical sirens, the reality of this Number is not as straightforward. While the voted “Sexiest Man/Woman Alive” awards almost always go to those with charisma Numbers above 700, the highest charisma values throughout history have primarily belonged to prominent politicians and businessmen. While the all-time highest charisma Number is a hotly contested subject that doesn’t have substantiated proof of victory for any of the contenders, one of the most controversial candidates is Adolf Hitler, with a reported charisma Number of 1165.

- Excerpt from “Extreme Numbers: Fact and Fiction”

I lie on the ground, weakly coughing. Every part of my body feels like it is in pain. I've been scratched, bruised, and burned. My head throbs from where I must have hit it somewhere in the fall. My body is completely exhausted from the combined stress, day-long escape, and battle.

I'm not sure if I can take much more of this. I'm not sure anyone could take much more of this. I'm a student. I enjoy puzzles, dramatic comeback stories, and good pranks. I have no idea what I want to do with my life, but at this point I'm not even sure if there's going to be a later in life for me.

My coughs turn to sobs, and I curl up into a ball, hugging my arms to my chest. "I can't do this," I mumble to myself in between sobs as I shake my head back and forth. "I can't do this."

Over and over I say this, as tears drip down my cheeks. I need my parents. I need my friends. I need anyone. I can't do this by myself anymore. I'm so lost, and I feel so alone, more than I've ever felt before, even during the loneliest of days when I first came to this school.

Slowly though, my weeping slows. That type of crying takes more energy than I have left to expend, and I end up curled into a ball with small tears seeping through my shut eyelids. I'm about twenty feet away from where the tree monster finally stopped moving. The fire is now only smoldering with a disgusting stench coming from the remains. While some part of me tells me to get up and make sure the flames don't spread to the entire forest, another larger part of me tells me to just lie there and rest.

And so that is what I do, enjoying the self-pity and escape from the stress and struggle of the last few days. I likely would have laid there until morning too, if my arm hadn't started to tingle.

At first I think nothing of it, as it is only one more sensation among the mountain of other injuries I'm already struggling through. But as the tingling increases, I finally start to take notice and look at that arm. It is my right arm, and pulling up the sleeves of the shirt, I don't see anything out of the ordinary. My fingers are still able to move without issue (with the exception of the ring finger on that hand, which I must have jammed at some point), and there are no markings on the skin that I can see. Although it's now dark enough that I'm not sure I would be able to see anything even if there is something there.

At first, I try to ignore it and lay back down. But after another thirty seconds, the tingling increases to the point that it starts to itch. I roll to my feet and start to limp to where I hid the wheelbarrow before the ambush.

"If only I had kept the flashlight with me..." I think to myself as I stumble over another root, unseen in the darkness. My arm is really starting to feel weird at this point, almost as if I had slept on top of it all night: tingly and slow to respond to any of my mental commands. Could I have been poisoned by that tree monster thing? But that doesn't make sense, why would my right arm be having the issues? It barely came into contact with the tree monster, and definitely not more than my left arm which I used to hold on while stabbing it with the spade in my right.

It would be just my luck to have crawled through some patch of poison ivy or other nasty plant after defeating the tree monster. The revenge of the forest is what I would call it.

Finally, I find the area where I hid the wheelbarrow and start to dig through my supplies, my right hand barely helping as it feels like it's moving in slow motion compared to my left. With a triumphant grunt I find the handle of the flashlight and pull it out, taking an extra ten seconds to find the “on” button in the dark. With a click the light flashes on and I'm able to see again, and I look to my right arm.

On the back of my forearm, nothing seems to be different, but when I flip my arm over to the front, I can see some faint red lines, twisting and turning into strange, almost alien patterns over the skin. The lines aren't luminescent, but as I look closer they seem to grow more clear and distinct with every passing second -- almost as if the lines are red threads floating up to the surface of murky water.

I stare in horror at the growing lines until, with a small flash of red light, they solidify and my arm starts to feel normal again. My heart is pounding in my chest, and I know that the lines can't be all there is to this. I wait with baited breath for the other shoe to drop.

And finally, it does. With a sudden, but momentary, spike of pain in my head, I can read what the alien pattern of lines on my right forearm says: "Adjust: Self".

More than that though, I can UNDERSTAND what those lines do, what they mean, and most importantly -- how I can use them.

It's extremely disconcerting, to have a sudden well of knowledge to draw from that has no other memories associated with it. There's no basis for how I learned the knowledge I now have, no context on how that knowledge was gained, or any understanding of how to further increase that knowledge. Despite this, and despite having no objective reason to trust the foreign knowledge I've gained, I'm excited. Beyond excited.

If what my new understanding of those markings is telling me is true -- and for some reason, I find it extremely difficult to distrust the implanted knowledge -- then this is magic. One-hundred percent, unable to be explained by science, see actual results in the physical realm, magic. And it is magic that I can now do, with simply a thought and a little bit of effort.

My earlier exhaustion, while still there, has momentarily been banished from my mind as I pour through what I now know, and how I can implement that knowledge.

The tattooed writing on my arm is a skill. A skill that the monster used to have, but which now belongs to me. The skill feels to me like a third arm -- something that's definitely never been a part of my body before, but now that it is there I can't imagine NOT knowing how to use it.

I turn my arm over, and look closely at the back of my hand. With a thought, and a surprising amount of effort, I flex my new third arm and activate the skill.

Before my very eyes I see the skin, in a small round patch on the back of my hand, get just a little darker, now the color of a birthmark. The change isn't drastic, but in comparison to my normally pale complexion, I can clearly see the difference even in the dark.

I can feel a slight strain in my chest as my mark appears, but nothing worse than the strain that I might have when lifting a twenty pound weight. After the circular marking has formed, I rub it with my finger.

It doesn't feel any different to me, and the feedback from the skin being touched feels exactly the same as well. Now that I've stopped actively changing my skin, I can feel that there's still a small amount of strain in my chest, although significantly less than before -- if I had to make an analogy, this strain feels more like I'm carrying one of those two-pound weights my mother is always so fond of exercising with.

With a sigh, I "let go" of the skill, and feel the strain disappear, at the same time that my skin fades back into my normal pasty complexion. It appears that even after making a change to myself using the skill it takes effort to maintain that change, and once I quit providing that effort I will revert back to normal.

I spend the next five minutes messing with different patterns on my arms, changing to different colors, adding freckles, even making a small purple smiley face on the palm of my left hand. I quickly erase that though, as the coloring reminds me of what half of my body will likely look like tomorrow, based on how bruised I'm feeling now.

Eventually, I decide to step the experimentation up a notch: I want to see if I can grow a sixth finger. My skill seems to easily follow my will, and I almost see a small bump begin to form to the outside of my pinkie finger. I grin in excitement, before almost collapsing to the ground as I feel a HEAVY weight settle into my chest. For a second, I feel like Atlas, with all the weight of the world pressing down on me before I release the skill and the weight drains away.

I guess the skill isn't made for major body changes. Or maybe I just need to practice more before I get to that point? If this new skill is similar to a "third arm" that I've never had until now, maybe exercising that new arm will eventually lead to it growing stronger?

Either way, that sudden weight has reminded me once again of my exhaustion and injuries. Practicing more can wait until tomorrow. I tear off a strip of cloth, wet it in one of my jugs of water, and proceed to clean up the bloodiest of my scratches along my face, arms, and legs, before taking a long swig from the jug myself, coughing some more after a few seconds of drinking.

Satisfied that I'm at least a bit cleaner than before and with my thirst now slaked and my throat less sore than it previously was, I roll myself into a blanket and curl up on the cold ground, falling asleep almost immediately.

S: 82

D: 31

W: 37

I: 28

C: 25

67

Skills: Adjust:Self