Siren’s Cry [A LITRPG Adventure]

Chapter 43 (IM NOT DEAD! :D)

A/N: Hey all! I'm not dead! So, so sorry about the sudden and extended hiatus! So much shit just keeps coming up, and burnout hit much harder than expected. Anyway, getting back in the swing of things one word at a time, so here's the next chapter!

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There's a long moment of silence as I simply stand there and stare at Grief, still processing the fact that I'm standing here in front of something higher than a god and getting a literal lore dump about how the world came to be. It's… a bit much, even for my unusually high tolerance for random things happening. Pushing it away for later processing, I decide to go ahead and ask the handful of questions that immediately rise to mind - the non-horny ones, that is.

“Ok. That's… a lot. I have a ton of questions, if you don't mind me asking?”

She smiles, the expression somehow natural despite her having a goat head.

“Of course, but do keep in mind we don't have unlimited time here. Your mind will need to recover from being in a Primordial's domain for so long, so I can answer a few, but we simply don't have enough time to answer all of your questions. Some will have to wait for next time, my child.”

I nod, organizing my thoughts before beginning the interrogation of an eldritch goat-milf.

“So first of all, you said that all the sirens were killed off, and there was apparently seals put in place that hinged on us not returning. Then how am I here?”

“Simple. You are not a true siren. That body you wear is at best a mockery of a true siren, and the System is merely marking you as the closest possible thing to your true race, which would probably be a chimera. Your body is similar, yes, but not exact. My children were… much more natural, shall we say. Vibrant scales instead of pale and fragile skin, colorful plumage instead of hair, powerful webbed limbs to propel them through the seas, amphibian lungs so they may enjoy the splendor of the deep sea, and more. You are, at best, a half-breed if you forgive my terminology. Made by a goddess who, despite her best efforts, could not recreate a Primordial's work.”

There's some amount of pride in her tone, but it quickly fades as she grows serious once more.

“If you wish, I can impart a small bit of my own blood to you, which will slowly finish the work and make you a siren in truth. I know it may be difficult to abandon your last remaining humanity-”

I can't help it; I snort. Grief pauses, eyebrow raising in question as all of her eyes blink at once.

“Well that's just a lie. Being a human sucks. Honestly and genuinely, there is no advantage to being human that relates to my body. I asked for a human-ish body when I first reincarnated because I didn't want to have to have special equipment just to sit down or open a door or something. As long as I keep having hands and my… ehem… parts, I'm perfectly fine getting rid of the skin and hair. It's probably a direct upgrade from what I am currently, if I'm understanding all of this properly.”

Grief laughs a bit, a musical sound almost akin to wind chimes in a breeze before shaking her head.

“Most in your position would be horrified, but you simply take it in stride, don't you? Yes, it would retain all of your… ‘parts’, as you said. Sirens can be male, female, or hermaphrodite, so it is no issue. Their organs do look rather different from a humans, but I assume you won't have much issue with that either.”

At a quick shake of the head from me and a flashback to my… collection of toys back on Earth, she brings her palm to her mouth, opening wide to reveal very un-goat-like fangs before biting into her own hand. A single drop of glistening black blood emerges from the oddly tiny wound that forms, and she steps forward, clearing the distance between us with a single step.

I know I mentioned it before, but she is very, very tall. I stand at a comfortable seven or so feet, and she towers over me by more than a head. She grabs my cheek, not even giving time for the dirty thoughts to form before leaning my head back as she drips the blood into my mouth.

And it burns.

Like a drop of boiling chili oil, it sears a path down my tongue and throat, lighting flesh ablaze with agony as I feel my biology reshaping in real time, only for it to stop as she taps my forehead with a black nail. The heat coalesces in my heart, but isn't painful anymore. More soothing than anything, like turning down from a bonfire to a cozy hearth. Shuddering from the whiplash of pain and then sudden relief, I glance down to see - yep, I have proper claws now. The same storm-gray scales that cover my tail have covered my hands in armored gauntlets, palms covered in three flexible and larger plates instead, sharp black claws tipping each finger but leaving plenty of dexterity for all the things that make having hands worthwhile.

Another change is my tail and wings, and as I bring both around in front of me I can see some more minor changes. A few small fins have begun to sprout across my tail, a larger one at the end and a few auxiliary ones on either side along with the beginnings of a dorsal fin. My feathers have darkened considerably, now a beautiful shade of blueish-black instead of the same lighter color as my scales.

For now, nothing else seems to have changed, but I can guess that probably whenever I go to sleep it'll progress further.

“There. It should finish itself over the next week or so, so be prepared for some changes. Now, is there anything else you wish to ask of me before I return you to your body? You cannot stay here much longer, much to my regret.”

She isn't lying; I can feel the strain at the edge of my mind slowly beginning to mount, like holding a heavy weight over my head. Thinking for a moment, I snap my claws - a different sound than normal, but still manageable by clicking two claws together sharply in the same motion as usual - as I remember the description change on Nesuskape.

“Yeah, I do. Any way you could return the shapeshifting properties to Nesuskape? You kinda removed them when you blessed it.”

A slightly guilty expression flashes across her inhuman face before she shakes her head.

“Unfortunately, no. I cannot control what was sacrificed as fuel for the blessing to take hold on the item, nor can it withstand more of my power. I will, in compensation, grant you my true blessing instead of the minor connection I made in that brief moment you were close enough to me that I finally noticed you.”

More warmth spreads from my heart, this time settling into my very bones and soul as the blessing grows more powerful than even those given by the gods who sent me here. Something shifts within me, and it's only then that I notice the complete lack of any system connection or interface. At my look of puzzlement and awkward tapping at the air, Grief laughs once more.

“Worry not; the system will reconnect with you when you leave. Seeing as you are currently little but a soul projection here without true physical form, it cannot form a true connection for a proper interface, though your abilities are bound to your soul and as such you still have them regardless.”

Testing that theory, I conjure a familiar shape; one of the little arrowheads that have served me so well until now. The construct burns into existence with an intensity that shocks me for a moment before I remember the new unique skill I have.

“Yes, it is rather disheartening to see you earn a fragment of Creation before one of myself, but I suppose that will simply come in time.”

Before I can even try to ask about that cryptic comment, she waves a hand as her body fades into nothingness and eyes, voice once more echoing from the void.

“Now time to go, little one. You cannot remain here any longer.”

With a sharp tug, I find myself being launched back between the prison of a Primordial and my physical body, the sensation of slipping between worlds just as disconcerting as before as I slam back into my body with a gasp. Sitting up, the first thing I notice is a very concerned felian a foot away from me. The second thing I notice is all of the blood and torn skin covering my arms.

Ah. Yeah, I did grow scales and claws, didn't I?

A bubble of swirling water forms in front of me as I use it to scrub away the bits of skin and a shocking amount of blood from my new scales, admiring the gleam from the dim torchlight across my claws as a quick Purify cleans the sphere of water before I toss it aside to disperse into mana. I do pause to wonder why exactly I bothered to clean the water before shrugging and deciding it's not something to be bothered with.

I feel… oddly carefree as my interface pops into view, now containing my rather hefty level ups from the dungeon. Four from… something? And another twenty from the Deceiver himself, leaving me at a grand total of fourty-six. Only four away from my class upgrade, if the books I found in Carata are to be believed about upgrades being given every 50 levels. At least, that's what I think before I'm bombarded by a wave of notifications that make my good mood only soar even higher, a grin creeping onto my face.

/==÷==\

Trait Upgraded: Lesser Blessing of Grief – > Champion of Grief

Effects: Grants alternate skill evolution options. Unlocks alternate classes. Upgrades Racial skills. Reduces Class Tier threshold by 5 levels.

Skill: Siren's Cry (Racial) has evolved into Skill: Song of Grief (Unique)

Song of Grief (Unique Active): Sing with the voice of the Primordial of Grief, imbuing emotion into your voice to grant various effects depending on what emotion is used. Can be targeted at either allies or enemies for differing effects.

-CLASS THRESHOLD REACHED-

EXCESS EXPERIENCE BANKED

SELECT TIER 2 CLASS?

Y/N

\==÷==/

Smiling widely, I accept the prompt… only to pass out mid-step as a dark room forms around me, statues of myself in various poses and with various equipment standing on pedestals around me.

/==÷==\

SELECTION HAS BEGUN

CHOOSE YOUR PATH

\==÷==/