Harvey liked knives.

He had always liked knives. He loved them when he was a child, the sharp danger they represented. At the time, this wasn’t too unusual -- after all, what kid didn’t idolize the green ranger or whatever other sword-bearing hero that was popular at the moment?

Once he grew into an adult, his love of knives was a little more strange, his fondness only growing where most others’ faded with maturity. But still, with the presence of renaissance fairs and comic conventions, his appreciation of knives was only unusual: something to be noted, but not actually be concerned over.

Of course, his appreciation of knives had nothing to do with heroism, physical fitness, or ‘simpler times.’ There was just something glorious about the way they cut, the sharp contrast to the frailty of flesh. Nothing was as beautiful to him as a freshly bloodied knife.

Obviously, he never told anyone about the true source of his interests. He knew he wasn’t normal, that his thoughts would not be welcomed by the public -- and so he kept them to himself, hidden deep down, buried under the facade of a normal, functioning member of society.

And then the world ended.

Suddenly, society wasn’t there anymore to judge him. And those who remained were guilty of crimes just as heinous, trapped with him in a glass house filled with knife-shaped stones. Suddenly, knives were cool again.

Harvey liked knives. And so far, Harvey liked the apocalypse.

- Harvey, Inclusion +6 days 12:02 hours

“Do you think there’s a chance of you being able to modify your skill to hurt only enemies?” I ask Melete as Pallas gingerly dabs clean Styx’s shoulder, conserving as much water as possible.

“Um...maybe? How were you able to know how to modify your skill, Styx?” she replies.

“I’m not--” She winces as Pallas applies some antibacterial ointment to her wound. “--entirely sure. I knew it was possible from the start, since we saw the trolls using it that way. I just pushed...and it happened.”

Luckily, the wound in Styx’s shoulder isn’t too deep. There was a lot of blood, and in any other situation I would have expected a hospital visit and stitches, but it actually is much better than it could have been. It stopped bleeding after a few minutes of applying pressure and she retains the full range of motion in that arm. Compared to my initial terrified thoughts after seeing the spray of blood, it’s barely a scratch.

“I’ve been trying to use my skill in a wider area for a while now,” Styx continues, “but only when we were facing the Mind Spirits was I successful. I’m not sure if it was just the stress, or if I just needed to first practice my skill more...I have a few other ideas of how I might be able to modify my skill in the future. I don’t know if they’re possible, but I’m going to keep trying.”

Pallas finishes wrapping up her wound with her torn up armband, and she hesitantly swings her arm around to see how it feels.

“If you can, Melete, see if you can try to modify your skill,” I say as I nod my head in Sam’s direction. “We’re lucky that Sam was able to get up into the trees, far enough away to endure your skill while still close enough to use its illusions. I don’t want to try to fight without one of your abilities.”

Melete has a distasteful look on her face when she glances in Sam’s direction, but gives a begrudging nod. Sam is the only one in our group who doesn’t have a way of escaping her singing. It's shown us the tiny holes in the side of its body it uses for hearing, but short of taping a few layers over the holes, I’m not sure how we can protect Sam from Melete’s skill if she can’t develop it in some way.

“Ready to go?” Styx asks, content with Pallas’ patch-up job. I stare longingly as Pallas screws the cap back onto one of our few remaining water bottles. I’ve reverted my claw-like nails back to their normal form, but the blood of the punch point I killed still stains my hands. I’ve wiped as much as I am able onto leaves, but our water is too precious to waste on simple cleanliness. I resist the urge to reach for the bottle or dirty my shirt to remove the drying red stain and nod.

Melete picks up Styx’s pack as I pick up my own, and we move out.

We continue our march through the woods for another two hours without incident as I practice my skill and struggle to keep the pace without shoes. I’m currently bonded with Melete, who, as usual, is humming a recognizable ditty under her breath.

It’s strange, listening to her voice from her perspective. I can barely hear her song from where I am marching a few feet away, but through the bond I can clearly make out the tune. I’ve started to become accustomed to processing different visual perspectives, but despite assuming it would be easier to integrate, the contrasting auditory perspectives still throw me off. It doesn’t help that Melete’s voice sounds different to her own ears than it does to mine, so through the bond she sounds completely foreign. I keep catching myself looking around for the source of the strange new voice.

It is lucky, though, that I am bonded with her. Despite the distraction of her song through the bond, I react instantly when she goes down.

In my mind, her perspective suddenly shifts, eyes closed as she faceplants the ground from the unexpected impact against her back. I feel a twinge on the back of her neck, somehow distant and much more disconnected compared to the normally sharp senses the bond sends me, but by this point I’m already reacting. I turn and swing out with my hand at the monster that crouches on her back.

At first, I think it is another dog-monster, identical to that first creature I defeated. But almost immediately I notice the differences. While the shape is similar and the fur is still a mottled grey, the snout on this monster is shorter, bearing a greater resemblance to a large cat than a dog, and it must be at least fifty pounds larger.

My punch connects weakly against the back of the monster, doing little more than distracting it from its current target, and I curse my decision to get rid of my claw-like nails. I see one of the eyes of the monster roll in its socket to meet my gaze, appraising me as a threat. It is not impressed, and resumes its attack on Melete, attempting to grab hold of the back of her throat with its teeth.

For her part, Melete struggles under the weight of the creature. She tries to roll away, but the monster boasts at least as much mass as Melete’s small frame, easily holding her in place. She reaches behind her with her hands to cover her neck while ducking her head and pulling up the backpack, offering just a little more protection from the monster’s teeth. A ragged scream comes from Melete, weaker than her usual songs but still powerful enough to cause her attacker to flinch back in surprised pain.

I kick out with my bare, but hardened, feet, to about as much effect as my weak punches. The side of the beast feels like a solid wall of muscle, unyielding to the force of my attacks. I aim my next kick at its head.

But before I have a chance to bring my foot down, Styx and Pallas are there. Styx strikes out with her walking stick, about as useful as my own attacks, but Pallas’ swing of the axe has a much larger effect. Aimed high to ensure he doesn’t hit Melete, the axe head barely grazes the back of the cat, glancing off of its strange dark fur. But the glancing blow has much more force behind it than any of our other attacks, and the cat responds instantly. It jumps off of Melete and backs away from our group, hissing.

Pallas steps forward, interposing himself between us and the monster. Styx and I check on Melete, who pulls a bloody hand away from the back of her neck. There’s a moment of panic, until I catch sight of her eyes, turned to glare at the attacking monster: she’s far from out of this fight.

The cat is pacing sideways, glaring at Pallas, when it jumps backwards in alarm. It slashes forward with a paw into empty air, eyes wide. Pallas takes a step closer with his axe, taking advantage of the opening Sam’s illusions provide. But before he can bring down the axe, the cat turns and runs into the foliage, swiftly disappearing between the trees.

A tense pause follows as we wait with bated breath for it to return, on guard for its approach from any direction. But as the seconds turn into minutes, I start to believe that this monster has done something we’ve seen no other monster do: retreat.

“What was that thing?” Styx finally asks Sam after fifteen minutes without sight of the monster.

“Night Cat,” Sam responds. “A creature that hunts alone, it stalks its prey from shadows using a natural ability to blend into the surroundings, especially when in darkness. They kill their prey via physical attacks, but they typically only attack those they perceive as significantly weaker than themselves. For this reason, once they have lost the element of surprise they often will flee, at least temporarily.”

“So we should be good for now, but we need to be extra vigilant from here on out,” I say before turning to Melete. “How are you feeling? You good to keep going today?”

Styx lifts Melete’s ponytail to examine her wounds, tearing off a piece of her shirt to dab away the blood from the cuts. “It doesn’t look too bad. Seems like the backpack got in the way of most of it,” Styx says. She pulls one of the bottles from the backpack and proceeds to gently wash the wound.

I wince at the use of our dwindling water supply but don’t complain. With Clayton so close, infection is a lot more dangerous than dehydration.

Melete’s eyes are closed and face is screwed up in a grimace as she murmurs under her breath. She still hasn’t responded, and I glance at Pallas worriedly.

“You okay, Melete?” I ask, keeping my tone reassuring.

She opens her eyes and glares at me angrily. “I’m fine.”

Styx pauses her ministrations to pat Melete on the shoulder. “It’s okay. The monster just attacked you because you were walking at the back and it was hoping we wouldn’t notice. We know you’re strong.”

Melete begrudgingly nods in response, but her lip still sticks out in an angry pout. I turn away to hide my suddenly uncontrollable grin.

A few minutes later we resume our trek, more alert than ever.

We manage to hike for another three hours before stopping for the evening and setting up makeshift beds in the roots and leaves. There’s still some light in the sky, but the small clearing we’ve found is perfect for a temporary camp. And with the constant threat of the Night Cat reappearing I’d like to have two people always on watch through the night, so an earlier bedtime is required to get close to a reasonable amount of sleep.

Despite my fears, the Night Cat never reemerges. Instead, I’m woken by the pain of Melete’s skill as she sings in the direction of a strange neon-colored snake monster. Luckily, with Sam’s illusions and Pallas’ axe, it’s killed before I even have a chance to activate my skill, and I sleepily help Pallas drag the python-sized beast away from our camp before returning to my pile of leaves, its slimy skin adding another layer of filth to my disgusting hands.

The next morning, we share a meager breakfast, washed down with an even smaller amount of water. Each of the bottles barely has a swallow left, but I’m hopeful we’ll be able to refill them in a few hours. If we don’t encounter any more monsters, I expect we’ll reach Clayton before noon.

Unfortunately, we do encounter monsters. Only an hour after leaving camp, I spy the forms of two dog monsters eyeing us through the trees. After the repeated battles against strange, new creatures, it’s almost a relief to see a creature we know and have already defeated.

Unquestionably, these dog monsters are much stronger than the ones I killed when I was still alone. If the Atlas of a month ago had faced these creatures, weak and confused from the recent loss of Numbers, I can’t imagine any scenario that I would have ended the victor. But despite their increased speed and strength, the simple tactic of Sam’s illusions, coupled with Pallas’ strength and axe, makes the battle trivial.

Unfortunately, the Numbers gained from these most recent monsters are less than ever before. Pallas gets more than the rest of us from his finishing swings, but even his gains are smaller than our first encounters with the dog monsters. I still occasionally feel small rushes as the Numbers on my palm increase from the fire far behind us, but the frequency and amount of each increase has slowed dramatically since yesterday. Even the sky has cleared some, a fresh breeze from the west giving us a reprieve from the hazy air.

I split my gains between intelligence and wisdom. I resolve to once again invest some into my strength and dexterity Numbers once the other two reach four-hundred, but it’s hard to justify spending the Numbers in any other way when I can feel my skills growing more powerful with each increase to the related attribute.

I’m now able to maintain two bonds simultaneously without any significant loss to my understanding of the different perspectives, although every fifteen minutes I have to release one of the bonds to alleviate the slowly building headache. I’m not sure how much of my increased capability is from my growing intelligence Number and how much is from the constant practice of the skill, but I don’t worry too much about it. For the first time, I notice that the now-orange skill tattoo is different from the original shade of red, proof that my practice is bearing fruit.

With the awareness that comes from monitoring three different perspectives, it’s almost inevitable that I’d be the first to notice the house in the distance. I let out a shout of exclamation and raise my hand, pointing it out for my companions.

Finally, we’ve reached Clayton.

S: 153

D: 144

W: 389 (+19)

I: 352 (+40)

C: 100

0 (+22)(-59)

Skills: Adjust:Self, Bond:Mental