18: Well Sh*t.

Of the few remaining Players that hold the patron of Jörmungandr, a handful of individuals that had the highest compatibility towards Jörmungandr, were given a certain extra buff from the System due to their Patron in questions... well... negligence.

The ones with less compatibility still got something of course—Regeneration, Search, etc...

But the compatible ones were given something far greater: Soul.

>[Soul]

[For millennia, the great World Serpent slept at the bottom of the ocean; during this rest, a certain enlightenment was reached, and his shackled power only grew more and more... Those who hold Patronage of Jörmungandr are capable of attaining this enlightenment while sleeping.]

"Well, if this isn't some of the finest bullsh!t I've ever seen..."

"Oh, calm down Dare—we at least have something right? Did you see what those other Players were packing? Knives, scimitars, lances, spears—sure this means our current insomnia is no longer a viable option, but we already knew that!"

"Fuxx off Truth—you know it's bullsh!t too, you're just not saying anything! AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN INSOMNIA IS NO LONGER AN OPTION—IT'S ALWAYS AN OPTION!"

"Night owls..."

"Say that again, you fuxxing—"

"Alright, alright," a tall, thin girl with an icy but neutral countenance intervened, stepping in and parting the obnoxious twins.

"Shut up and count your blessings. If we can get stronger by just sleeping, then that sounds like a damn good ability to have."

"Oh yeah?" snarked Dare, a stockier man with rugged looks and an irritated scowl, "Did you forget that those Fuxx Pies over there ain't letting us sleep??!"

"You're right," Truth, a slimmer, taller boy who was a bit tidier than his brother intervened, his peridot eyes glistening with contempt, "So we take turns; you volunteered for night watch, so watch, Mr. Night Owl."

"This b*st*rd—"

Right when Dare started reaching for his hammer and Truth his knife, Laura bonked both of their heads, her furious dark eyes saying more than her words did as she hissed, "Shut up!"

"Yes ma'am."

"Sorry ma'am."

Laura wrung her calloused hand through her ratty blond hair, stalking away to rest with a sigh before she snapped one last time, making the twins jump.

"And Dare, I know you dislike looking like Truth but stop your disguise—it only wastes mana, especially since Truth doesn't sense them looking at us."

"...[Mirage] down..."

Immediately, a man that looked identical to Truth save for harsher eyes rippled into existence, his stance uncomfortable; despite his coarser nature, he was actually quite thankful for choosing Jörmungandr—he didn't do sh!t for him in the beginning, but hey, he was able to gain this ability due to the guy's bloodline.

Win-win he guessed, but it still pissed him off immensely.

Laura rubbed at the bridge of her nose, a habit formed from her always wearing glasses in the physical world, and mumbled, "I'm meditating now—keep watch, alright Truth. Dare, make a small mirage for us, will you?"

"Save mana, don't save mana—choose one woman," complained Dare, but he did it anyways; it took less mana to change the look of a stationary object than to actively mold to his body, but whatever.

She simply rolled her dark eyes, plopping down on the ground with crossed legs, her posture relaxing and straightening as she breathed in deeply, held it for a moment, and breathed out, her muscles both loose yet ready for action. It wasn't long until she was in a trance-like state, before she called upon her skill silently:

'[Link]'

[Skill [Link] activating...]

[Establishing connection with Patron...]

[Connection established.]

Almost instantly, a foreign yet almost achingly familiar presence filled her up, her chest burning with an unknown emotion that she learned to identify as uniquely Jörmungandr's.

Was it fear, awe?

Respect, fury?

Longing, apathy?

She didn't know—she just knew that the Patron they were trailing after was actually the closest he'd ever been near their little band of three, and his presence was only growing; did he sense her too?

Her shoulders tightened, the image of the serpent she'd seen on the card haunting her; was he going to be like that? Maybe she shouldn't have chosen him—but she couldn't help it at the time. She felt like she had to, as if not choosing that card would be a grave mistake.

Well, she knew it was since in the beginning it was absolute Hell, but still, that strange conviction held on.

"Oh, holy—the fuxx?!"

Laura's trance broke, her dark amber eyes swerving to take in Truth's bewildered and panicked expression as she sprang to her feet and grabbed a bow from her [Inventory], as well as some arrows she'd scavenged.

Rushing, she activated [Farsight] to see what made Truth so shocked, only for her blood to run cold from the scene.

"What?!" demanded Dare with his axe equipped, his silvery eyes wide with anxiety, as he lacked any skills that let him see a great distance.

"What the fuxx is going on?! Is someone there?"

"Someone's..." mumbled Truth, his glowing white eyes shaking with fear and awe, "someone's taking on those Odin B!tches and... holy sh!t. Is- is that even allowed?"

A tall, pale figure dressed in all white save for a black robe was slaughtering the Odin Players; at every strike, blood spurted from their orifices' and cuts, and even when blood stained their fists and the Players begged for mercy, the figure kept bashing in their skulls till they went limp.

Blood pooled thick and red on the ground, staining the stones and soaking into the greedy ground, but the figure still fought—no, massacred, the Players.

Of course, they tried to fight back, using knives, spears and even tridents to attempt to at least nick the man, but he was like a shadow; one second, he was disarming a knife fighter and snapping their neck, and then he was twisting his body in inhumane angles, curling and striking like a serpent.

He danced among the midst of them, evading the attacks in a way that could only be called serpentine before ending them as swiftly as a vipers strike, decimating the twenty into one.

The leader, a one-eyed man who had always managed to see through their [Mirage] was on his knees, his face swollen and blood dripping from his nose, his eye red from burst blood vessels and the trauma from the blows; purple, black, blue and yellow decorated his face colorfully, and he looked just one punch away from being knocked into oblivion and getting his skull smashed in.

"P-pleabe," his swollen and bleeding lips whimpered towards the figure who raised his fist once again, clutching the collar of his shirt; an eerie yellow color glowed from the hood of his cloak, the pupils slit like they were prepared to swallow him whole.

"Weabe me awone. I-I'll go abay, sho pwease—"

*Crack*

A sound like a stick snapping resounded, and the leaders head snapped back before hanging limply, his body relaxing into a mush; he was dead.

Satisfied at the death of Odin's brood, the figure turned his eerie yellow gaze to the curious eyes that had followed him, calmly dropping the corpse next to the others, and sauntered towards them, his bloody hands relaxed, as if he hadn't just murdered people.

The trios faces paled at his approach.

Well sh!t.