The Chameleon Loop

Homo Venatorus Definition Act of 2165

Supreme court ruling concerning Venatorus v. The People, 513 U.S. 109 132 (2165).

–Concerning the removal of constitutional protections from Homo Venatorus–

We unanimously agree that the United States Constitution was never intended to cope with the evolution of mankind. Thus the duty of establishing a new set of laws for these unique humans falls to Congress. Who have already established a universal conscription.

Nox dry heaved, crumpling to the floor as the minotaur’s bellow shook stone, causing reverberations in the labyrinth’s walls. That beat against his skull and made his eyes bugged out of his face. Bulging as his lungs screamed in protest of the sudden inhalation of mana-damp air. Power filled his lungs, augmented by the rich mana. Gaseous power entered every hunter in the trademark gasp of stepping into a dungeon that was beyond your ability.

Unsteadied by the gate’s sudden migration Ashley collapsed beside him, accidentally bowling over Zoe and Lala, throwing the three women to the floor. Irritated griping over bruises rose into shouts of alarm as the gate faded from view, vanishing into nothing. Nox wretched, spraying sick across a rough cave wall. His body was attempting to reject the expired therapy and instead feeling like thirty angry dildoes were punching his lungs.

Most of the kill team landed upright, raising shields and mana infused swords to defend against an ambush. Blood hunters always handled the breach more easily than therapy hunters, one more mark of their supremacy. Taylor sneered at Nox, opening his mouth to mock the only hunter weaker than himself. Yet, as he inhaled the humid air Taylor blanched. All thoughts of mocking Nox’s sickness were slapped out of his smooth brain by the taste of mana dense air. So much raw power lingered around them, like a thick, invisible fog.

“The gate faded?”

“It closed?”

“That’s not how dungeons work!”

“Cállense ya! Quiet! All of you!” Shouted Jesus Garcia, switching from his native Spanish into english. “This room only has one door. Melee up front! Jamal take center. Diviners, figure out where we are.”

At his command the kill team remembered they had a job to do. Cal commands sent them skittering across the irregular floor tiles to form a defensive line with supporting mages behind. Nox remained on the floor, muscles spasming as mana rewrote his body, conflicting with the expired gene therapy to cause a fatal reaction. With every segment of mRNA that duplicated his latent hunter gene, more mana entered his body. Raw power flowed into his cells, until they could no longer contain the gathering energy. Spontaneously combusting Nox from the inside out.

‘Oh, that’s unexpected… How delightful.’ Said the voice that mocked his previous death.

Hands pressed against Nox’s chest, warm healing magic flowed into him. He should have been thankful, but healing magic was still comprised of mana. Instead of healing him, it only succeeded in pouring gasoline onto his cellular inferno. Cells died by the thousands, burst into flame as excess mana forcibly escaped. His skin combusted, along with his clothes and organs.

Nox died screaming.

The next sensation Nox felt was that of being a passenger in his own body. Able to see through his own eyes, hear with his body’s ears, taste, touch, and feel; but entirely unable to act on his own volition. His body was running alongside Jesus, fleeing down a familiar corridor–

No. The rock trap is just ahead, I’m going to trip and fall in a second–

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the fattest drop of blood drip down Jesus’ breastplate, disappearing from his peripheral vision. His foot found the blood, lubricating the polished marble floor and sending him sprawling. Nox felt the impact as his jaw slammed into the floor, driving teeth into his tongue. Warm blood filled his mouth, bitter with the taste of defeat.

Jesus took another step, triggering the rock trap. Dazed by the fall, Nox’s body could only lay in the hallway, flat on his back as boulders appeared above him, falling with a force ten times greater than gravity. They missiled into Jesus’ skull, crushing the life out of him.

No! This can’t be happening again! Voice! Miasma Man! You said you would start me in the dungeon again! Liar! Aw hell! This is what I deserve for trusting a demon!

His time was up. The minotaur placed one hoof against his back, casually pulling off both arms, as easily as one would separate chicken wings. Nox heard himself screaming, mentally echoing the noise as he felt tendons, ligaments, muscle, and flesh stretch past their limits and snap. Then the bull-man took his leg as it had before, lifting him into the air and severing the limb, pausing to lick his bloody hand.

Miasma man appeared, repeating their exchange perfectly. When the Miasma covered his world Nox felt the pain recede. Finding himself being vomited out of the devouring E gate once more.

‘Oh my! How fascinating, though did you really think you could borrow enough drugs to overpower me? Ha! The others died because they gave up. A wise action, since only suffering lies in your path. Why don’t you give up now, save yourself the pain of perseverance. Maybe then you’ll learn to think and not blindly challenge powers you cannot hope to fathom.’ Miasma man said with a childish glee in his voice.

And so, Nox burned three more times, regressing through the pain of each additional death. Pain beyond comprehension filled his mind, breaking the natural progression of forming memories. Existence became a blur, the pain of constant immolation and dismemberment distorting his mind.

‘Had enough? I take no pleasure in pain, admit you were a fool and I’ll find the magnanimity to end your suffering.’ Said the voice, earning Nox’s undying focus.

Every slight, every insult, every moment of pain he had ever felt congealed into a single spike of hatred for the being who was toying with him.

This is cheating! You’re killing me for your own pleasure you sick bast–

Death interrupted his thoughts, plunging Nox’s consciousness into fire once more.

—

The labyrinth’s true master watched Nox’s best impression of a human torch, immolating for the fourth iteration. A dozen identical deaths were becoming stale. He sighed, nothing in the labyrinth ever truly changed. Yes, he could shift walls, adjust traps, kill monsters, or replicate them, but they were too stupid to understand fear. No matter how many times he tore them apart or remade them, they never learned to excite him.

These humans were little different, eleven had succumbed almost instantly, barely giving him a few tears before their expirations. Except for one. This “Nox” creature. Clearly the weakest one with no intrinsic mana and wholly reliant on some kind of ritualistic potion for his powers. He alone felt the manner of fear of oblivion that Loki craved. Yet it was suppressed by something Loki couldn’t comprehend. A tingling in the back of his mind that was totally foreign. Uniquely human. Disgustingly persistent, like a stain he couldn’t remove from Mia’s dresses. A stubborn inkling that things would improve if Nox continued to strive.

With the demon’s ageless intelligence failing to grasp Nox’s ‘hope’, he settled on torturing the answer out of Nox, cursing him to experience all previous deaths each time he died. Every iteration would stack. Otherwise there would be no price of failure. So after four immolationing iterations Nox had experienced fifteen deaths. A hell of living death for Nox, but the demon was growing bored and was no closer to understanding this ‘hope’ ideal. In an effort to comprehend the sensation, he perused Nox’s mind, familiarizing himself with modern humans.

From CRISPR babies to gene therapy to Homo Venatorus, Loki began to understand Nox’s world, reviewing his entire life experience in a few seconds. Yet Nox endured, never surrendering that lilliputian sensation nagging at the back of their shared mind. Which inexplicably entrenched itself with each death, growing ever more solid until Nox himself lost conscious understanding of what drove him. Coincidentally locking Nox’s mind. If Loki wanted to identify what it was, he would have to release the juvenile hunter. A bothersome respite in his endless games.

‘Oh my, you seem to be having difficulty. I had no idea that your expired “therapy” would conflict so vigorously with my mana, so I'll compromise with you.’ Said the demon speaking into Nox’s mind.

‘Awaken hunter, teach me what hope is, then I shall deliver the world to you… Besides, leaving you in this state robs you of choice and denies me entertainment so...’ Loki said, extending his influence through each of Nox’s cells.

—

An average adult human male has roughly 36 trillion cells in their body. Whereas Nox was slightly above average in height, weight, and physical activity, Nox had closer to 50 trillion cells. Miniscule fractions of his being that felt an unfathomable force enter and twist. Throughout his entire being something shifted, fundamentally altered, as if his DNA had become a three fluted helix.

Then he slammed back into his body, leaning against the labyrinth’s atrium with an M-barTM knife in hand. The blade was a mana crystal reinforced successor to the infamous KA-BAR. Standard issue for anyone in the Hunter Corps and the only weapon Nox’s E ranked stipend covered. His heart palpitated, racing across galaxies for no apparent reason. Strength surged through his body, evidence of the expired gene therapy or Miasma’s power. While mRNA swam through veins to reach waiting cells. His pupils dilated, mouth hanging open to swallow painful breaths.

Nox’s senses sharpened, tasting week-old goblin refuse, the aftermath of a goblin’s hunt. Dilated pupils pierced the abyssal darkness above the labyrinth’s walls, detecting two winged serpents, though their hind legs and bulbous tailes corrected them as wyverns. Potentially miles away. Yet it was the musk of unwashed animals that grounded Nox, tethering him to the drumming of flesh against stone.

Footsteps.

Five pairs of barefoot feet pitter pattered across marble tiles, growing louder with each passing instant. Nox had no way of guessing whether they were running to kill him, or fleeing from something nastier. One pair of feet snagged on a tripwire.

crreeaakkkk—

BAM

The sound of a stale trapdoor falling open echoed through the labyrinth’s corridors, followed by pugilistic screaming. Only to be cut off when the monster landed. Its lungs pierced by a rotten pungi spike.

Nox held up four fingers, “Four incoming!” He choked out, hawking a wad of bile onto the stone.

Muscle spasms tried to keep him down, but an engine awakened within his soul, pushing him onward, fighting his pain, bludgeoning his confusion, and finding his feet. Two staggering steps later he pressed himself against the wall. Jesus caught his eye and gave a nod of approval. If Jesus is giving me encouragement just for standing, I must look like a hot mess. Thought Nox. Maybe even hotter than Mary-sue.

“Form a shield wall!” Shouted Jesus.

Jamal, Jesus, Taylor, and Jon –all the men except for Nox– overlapped their round shields. If Alexander the Great had seen their pathetic display, he would have wept for a second time. Such was the extent of their haphazard formation. Jamal lowered his spear to goblin-throat level (dick height really). As his spear was the only appropriate weapon, while the other three raised swords.

Sensing their disunion, four goblins rushed into the room eager for combat. Why dungeon creatures fought was something Nox never understood, and doubted anyone would ever discover why the clearly sentient races were so antagonistic. All attempts at communication had been rebuffed, or even mocked by dungeon bosses. Talking was pointless, in a dungeon the law of the jungle ruled, kill or be killed.

The lead goblin saw Jamal’s spear in the nick of time, skidding to a stop as he narrowly avoided being impaled by leaping sideways. The number two goblin wasn’t as lucky and charged –Adam's apple first– into the couched spear. Throat encountered mana reinforced steel and opened like a wet letter, splurting viscera across the air.

Nox lunged as the last goblin entered the room, thrusting his Mbar into the goblin’s unarmored armpit. It tried to howl. But instead coughing blood all over Taylor’s shield. Malicious to the end, the goblin summoned its last breath to pin Nox’s hand under its arm. Then it jabbed backwards with its free hand, wildly stabbing his shortsword in an attempt to slay his murderer.

Grabbing a fistfull of the savage’s loincloth Nox hoisted it into the air. Surprised by the sudden flight the green midget jerked oddly, cartwheeling its arms in an attempt to regain balance and unintentionally releasing Nox’s dagger hand. Freed from the trap his Mbar came loose, shifting the goblin’s weight forward. Out of Nox’s grasp.

Red blood sprayed the other goblins as their fourth member flew through the air, catching a shield bash from Jesus. Bones cracked as the goblin folded backwards, spine and neck broken.

“Nice catch.” Jamal mocked.

“Hey crack hunter, you’re supposed to kill them, not throw them at your allies.” Grumbled Taylor, facing Nox to avoid being overheard.

Goblin corpses stained the floor around them, exactly what Nox had come to expect. While he struggled to slay a single measly goblin the others had finished theirs in a single strike. His incompetence made Taylor’s insult cut to his core, Nox was weak. Not just slightly weak, but so weak he doubted if he was even an E ranked hunter. Knuckles tightened around the Mbar, turning white from as he understood no amount of gene therapy would allow him to keep pace with blood hunters. A syringe could never inject enough mRNA to rival the production of 50 trillion cells. Motion in his stomach distracted him, rumbling violently in an involuntary fart. Another side effect of expired gene therapy. Thought Nox, silently cursing his fortune and ignoring Taylor’s snicker.

Thankfully Jesus’ orders were louder.

“Sound off if you’re wounded. Otherwise, bag the loot.” Jesus ordered. Naturally falling into the role he had always performed for this kill team of lost children.

Since kill teams were temporary constructions it was hunting Corps protocol to elect the most experienced hunter as the squad leader, with the second deciding factor being their raw strength or ranking. A protocol that only entrenched their faith in Jesus.

Unlike the other draftees, Jesus Garcia –pronounced the latino way as ‘hey-zeus’– seemed to enjoy raiding, growing more chipper the longer a raid went. Especially when completing lower ranked gates, which was strange, since one earned points in accordance to a gate’s mana level. Higher ranked gates earned more dungeon clear points, so raiding lower ranked gates would require more raids to meet the quotas. In addition, dungeon clear points could be redeemed for gear or enhanced weaponry back on base, or banked up and redeemed to fulfill future quotas. Nox clutched his stomach, grimacing as the excessive therapy wrought havoc throughout his organs. Thanks for taking charge, Jesus. Thought Nox, cleaning his dagger on the goblin’s loincloth before sheathing it in favor of the creature’s short sword.

“Hey bait! Don’t break the loot.” Snapped Taylor, leveling his naked sword at Nox’s throat.

Nox sighed, hefting the shortsword experimentally, rust speckled the blade and the hilt was coming loose, but it positively stank of mana. Whatever ore the goblins used to manufacture weaponry was of a higher grade than the mana crystal infused alloys the Corps had cooked up. Still, it wouldn’t be enough to kill the minotaur, the sword might be able to penetrate an eyeball, or an anus… Taylor’s sword luminesced softly, a side effect of enriched steel. Rich kid with no talent or luck, well, other than being born. Thought Nox.

“Taylor, why are you busting my balls? This obviously isn’t an E gate, just look behind you. The gate is gone, we’re trapped in here until we kill the boss or solve the dungeon’s core.” Said Nox, struggling to keep his tone even.

Wondering why he was the only one Taylor ever talked down to. Probably because I'm the only one weaker, and he needs someone to stand on so he can show off to Mary-sue. Taylor was shorter than Nox, but his therapy had successfully activated his nascent Venatorus gene cluster, christening him as a blood hunter. A Homo Venatorus whose every cell could process mana. Not just the ones that therapy had injected mRna into.

I bet he’s never missed a quota, damnitall! If only there was a cure for mom’s mana cancer, we would have so much less to worry about! Thought Nox.

“We’ve all got quotas to meet, don’t break the loot!” Shouted Taylor.

Quotas? What–? Taylor had arrived in a brand new lifted F450. He was filthy rich, the glowing longsword and fitted breastplate were evidence of that, probably costing a few million dollars each. In fact, it was surprising to Nox to hear Taylor speak of quotas. Taylor looked down his nose at Nox, as if being an E ranked blood hunter was really something special compared to an E ranked therapy hunter. And knew it was. Nox coveted the extra power on his worst days. When Ashley got hurt, or he got stuck carrying bags…

The two men glared daggers at each other, a thousand thoughts running through Nox’s mind. Why should he get the power, his dad’s a plastic surgeon! I doubt Taylor has ever spent a minute worrying about money. Little Tay-tay doesn’t even need to be here, probably already reached his quota for this month and is working on next month’s, maybe even next year’s quota. Spoiled rich kid.

Nox rubbed his eyes, reigning in his temper. No, I need everyone for the minotaur fight. And a brat can still be useful. He doesn’t deserve to die for being born rich, he didn’t get to choose his life, nor did I… We are in the same sinking boat. Thought Nox, unsuccessfully talking himself down.

“You blind? The portal closed! This ain't a loot run anymore Tay-tay.” Snapped Nox, regretting the words as they left his mouth. True or not, he was being a douchebag.

Taylor grimaced, baring his teeth at Nox in an open display of dominance.

“What did you just call me you sack of –”

“Enough!” Snapped Jesus, “You’re acting like children who need a spanking. Knock it off! E gates don’t have enough mana to pull people in, that means this is at least a C gate, if not higher.” Shouted Jesus, knocking aside Taylor’s sword hand and physically interrupting them.

That ended their squabble, silencing half the hunters for good measure. The other half echoed his words, stunned by the realization of being trapped in a C gate, cold reality slapped their cerebrums, each hunter recalling how gates were ranked and arriving at the answer with the speed of their varied intellects. Rankings were exponential, cooked up following an abstract measurement some sapien quacks correlated to dungeon power. With the accuracy of their calculations being dubious at best, though it seemed like the only quantifiable metric until new developments were invented.

Mana affected certain wavelengths of light, extending or shortening their wavelengths in a linear fashion depending on how much or how little mana infused an area. This caused scientists to grade the gates according to the wavelength distortion. Roughly equating that distortion to units of ‘mana’.

0 mana = No gate

1-4 mana = E Gate

4-16 mana = D Gate

17-32 mana = C Gate

33-64 mana = B Gate

65-128 mana = A Gate

129+ mana = S Gate or immeasurable

Nox arrived at the conclusion before most of the kill team, the weakest E gate should have been a 1, this gate was at least a 17 on the quackery scale. Units weren’t important, but seventeen times the mana turned this dungeon into an alien realm.

“We’re all gonna die.” Whispered Ashley.