Oz

Once again, Oz found his mind circling back to how he could possibly ever handle more threatening mobs if he managed to crawl his way out of the lower floors. These guys were nothing. They were stationary. They were no more durable than a wet paper bag. Yet, even with all the preparation he had made prior to leaving the Town of Beginnings, he just couldn't reliably take them out quickly. He could defeat them, yes, but he was concerned by just how much effort and time he had to invest into each and every kill. It was something that he tried not to worry himself with. Something he assumed j

How did he never run out knives, anyways? In most games you would have a finite quantity that you could toss out before you ran dry and had to resort to other methods. In Aincrad, they just seemed to populate almost as though by will. It wasn't that Oz was complaining, just that he found it odd. Was there a mechanic that he was missing? It would really suck to be in the middle of combat one day and find that he was suddenly out of ammo. Especially if he kept missing like this. The fact that the plants were so much closer to him this time when compared to previous instance had spooked him

When he turned around to return to the crop of Rotfiends, he was surprised to find that they had spread. They were now so close to the pond that they could probably hit him from where they were rooted. Was this Cardinal recognizing his 'exploit' and putting more pressure on the area so as to disincentivize him from continuing along his path of killing mobs and then returning to fishing? Why? Or was this a natural consequence of the Rotfiends that had noticed him extending their influence in an effort to 'give chase?' He was sure that he hadn't garnered the attention of any more before he

True to his earlier inner monologue, Oz had found great pleasure and satisfaction in having finally gotten the opportunity to open a treasure chest in Aincrad. He'd even enunciated a little jingle, though he admittedly found the practice to be a bit cringey, and so decided he probably wouldn't be doing that again. Probably. To his shock, this cast also snagged. Two treasure chests in a row? Certainly not. And so he struggled and reeled against the snag until, sure enough, another treasure chest came ashore. He opened this one to find it a bit more full of stuff, albeit nothing that r

His first attempt at casting his line out into the water actually managed to piss him off a bit. Not exactly the sort of emotion anyone seeks out while participating in a supposedly relaxing endeavor such as fishing. The hook had snagged something that almost seemed unmoving. Perhaps a submerged branch? At any rate, he strained his feeble muscles against the snag, pulling and reeling in vain, until... A treasure chest. "Woah," Oz remarking in awe as the vessel was dragged ashore, digging into the sand and muck which lined the pond's perimeter. It turned out the rumors had been true a

He truly was starting to get better at this. All three of the remaining Rotfiends combusted in short order, leaving Oz with only two Energy remaining. One more round of combat, and it was safe to say that he may have found himself yet again cooked, forced to resort to basic attacks that were in no way supported by the system. He wondered if, for just such occasions, it would behoove him to look into a short-ranged weapon such as a sword that could more reliably hit the little assholes. He thought it would probably be harder to miss with a weapon he held firm in his grasp versus something he lo

So as to avoid a predicament like the one he'd found himself in with the last cropping of mobs, this time Oz deigned to play it smarter and not draw more of the plants into battle once he saw that his Energy was starting to run low. If he mathed everything out correctly (unlikely, seeing as he'd never really been any good at math), he could fell the remaining goons and see himself back to that pond for one more crack at getting some more fish. Or, perhaps, additional loot, if there were any to be had from fishing. He honestly didn't know, because he hadn't been doing it for long. But he had he

Come to think of it, did he already qualify as a hoarder? His home was practically filled to the brim with useless knick-knacks and stuff, some of it belonging to him while other portions of the mess were the fault of the man who'd owned the property before him. Even then, when he'd moved in, everything had been quite a bit more neat and orderly. Everything had its place. Oz had forgotten those places long ago. For a brief moment, imagery of his house being featured on an episode of Hoarders flashed before his mind's eye. He stifled a snicker, knowing that it would almost certainly qualif

It truly was amazing just how much more fun fighting mobs was when you had the system on your side. He charged up a Sword Art with his newly replenished Energy and let the blade fly, each and every one of them finding their mark. A couple of the plants coughed up some of their putrid bile and triggered Thorns, which prompted them to spontaneously combust. Fractal shards littered the battlefield as another loot window populated and revealed his spoils. What was he going to do with all of this stuff, anyways? If he gained too many more levels, it was likely he'd find himself outpacing the q

It also gave him a chance to take inventory of what was going on within his tiny sphere of influence. The minuscule things that, for better or worse, rested within his locus of control. There were a few informants he hadn't heard from in quite a while. Lots of loose ends that weren't quite easy to tie up right then and there. It was admittedly a bit stressful to think about it all, likely defeating the point of fishing entirely. But something about the soothing waves, the chirping birds, the comfortable weather, all of it melded together to clear his head and make thinking about his next steps

Fishing was a simple pleasure, when compared to other more exciting things like slaying mobs. It wasn't glamorous, and it wasn't exciting, but it was a good opportunity to slow down and take it all in. For all its fault, the lands of Aincrad were indeed beautiful, particularly on the first floor. There was a bit of everything. Rolling hills, quaint villages, ponds and lakes, towering mountains. And that was just this floor. The rest were filled to the brim with unbelievable vistas, the sorts you could only imagine seeing on alien worlds. It would be hard to get bored of the scenery. Fishi

He'd try again, this time with a bit more focus fueling his actions. He couldn't let himself get trapped in an endless parade of basic attacks between him and this singular mob. The sun was still high in the sky, but he had visions of still somehow fighting the same creature deep into the night. It wasn't that the prospect of getting hurt disturbed him, he had nothing to fear from mobs so weak as this. But he was bored fighting this thing. Sword Arts made everything a little more dazzling and entertaining and, admittedly, he found the basic attacks to be droll by comparison. Just another thing

He went to use a Sword Art, and found that it fizzled. It seemed that, while being lost in thoughts away from the task at hand, he'd run himself into a situation where he no longer had enough Energy to execute any Sword Arts which would boost his damage. It was unfortunate, but there was always the old fashioned way. He readied another knife, held it by the blade, hoisted it above his head... And missed spectacularly. He'd really underestimated the extent to which the system was guiding his actions, and aim. If he couldn't hit a single, immobile mob without the system having his back

These were the thoughts that, shamefully, kept him up at night. There was no way he'd ever be able to crawl himself out of such a financial hole, not with a feeble, emaciated body in its sixties. He just wouldn't be able to do that. This, coupled with the reality that they'd likely be spending at least another decade or two trapped in the game, had led him to start seriously considering the prospect of treating Aincrad as his new, permanent home. At least here, he didn't have the same worries as out in the real world. A whole host of other issues, sure, but by and large it was... easier. In a

Sometimes, when he was deep in his own thoughts, he couldn't help what was happening with is own body, in the real world. They'd been trapped in this death game for almost a decade, now. Had a similar amount of time passed in the real world? Or was there some time dilation fuckery afoot? Even if there was, Oz was nearly certain he wouldn't be able to wrap his head around it. Was his body sitting there in a hospital bed, withered away due to a lack of any real nutrition, approaching its forties? Could a human body even last that long without real food? How long did coma patients last? He'd

But killing the mobs was admittedly repetitive. Oz had gotten the satisfaction he'd sought earlier after dealing with Evangeline the Idiot. His mind drifted once more. He couldn't believe he'd felt any sort of attraction to that thing. Not only was she not even a real woman, but she was just dumb. Like, really dumb. Like, pile of rocks dumb. Like, "Wow, how did you make it this far in life," sort of dumb. The advantages to being made of pixels, he supposed. Though, was he really much different? Sure, he had a real brain piloting his pixel suit, but he presumed he was just as hollow o

He tossed out his knives, this time managing to score a hit against all of the mobs in attendance once again. It was a small joy, seeing his aim get better, seeing the numbers he scored against the mobs get higher. And, if his suspicions were correct, a whopping three out of those four hits had been major criticals. He watched as the Frostbite from the knives sank into the plant matter, rendering their 'movements' stiffer and slower. It was so weird to imagine that he was in possession of what essentially boiled down to magical needles that could freeze an enemy with just a touch. He couldn't

As fortunate as his first attempt had been, it seemed that that luck was indeed very hit or miss - not completely unlike his first attempts at fishing. But at least, now, with each attempt he could see an EXP ticker gradually clicking upward. The second time he cast out his line, he waited for a while, and nothing seemed to materialize. No bite, no ripples in the tepid water, nothing. With a resigned sigh, he reeled in the line and was surprised to find that he still got EXP anyway. Seemed even just attempting the feat led to gradual EXP gain. He'd have to keep that in mind. At any rate,

Not twenty paces from the shaded grove where he smashed in the metaphorical skulls of the Rotfiends he'd been felling, there existed a small pond. Nothing too glamorous, but it didn't need to be. Oz had known the limitations of being a low level and not having a particularly high level of Energy, so he'd chosen a locale where he could practice something else as well. Something that, evidently, needed lots and lots of practice to get anywhere near something useful. He cast a line into the water - with a real fishing pole this time! It still beguiled him that Himbo Supreme had failed to pro

With all that being said, a cursory glance to his HUD would reveal that he was beginning to run critically low on the Energy he used to deploy the Sword Arts he was using to extinguish these mobs. The Thorns he sported in his equipment certainly pulled their own weight when it came to dispatching the mobs but, just as he'd feared, he was fast approaching a juncture wherein he wouldn't be able to reliable handle the mobs that his level demanded he fight. I mean, these were just plants, for fuck's sake. Without the Thorns, it seemed he'd need a bare minimum of three hits to dispatch even a singl

Who was to say they wouldn't still scratch that itch? Who was to say that they couldn't be equally satisfying, in their own right? Who was to say that Oz couldn't hum his own little jingle for the kicks? Nobody. Or, at least, nobody he knew. And he didn't need to surround himself with that sort of negativity, anyway. It went without saying that he himself had more than enough to go around. He'd gotten himself so distracted he'd barely been paying any attention to the mobs he was supposed to be killing. Not that they were particularly threatening, anyway. They couldn't move. Couldn't chase

"Fine. We can team up." Success. He was in. Morningstar's revulsion was no surprise. It wasn't as if Oz had gone out of his way to make the man comfortable. But, like most of the Players which riddled this floating castle, he was a pushover. Oz had, on more than one occasion, borne witness to Players at one another's throats team up to take on quests. It must have been the impending doom which stirred the more cooperative elements within each of them, a desire to lift up together in face of their seemingly unattainable common goal. Quests, unsurprisingly, struck many people as the ob

So this is how I die. The phrase echoed endlessly, a record on loop occupying every corner of thought. He could hardly believe it. He'd known the risks associated with coming to such a high floor just to chase down a rumor, but he'd thought he came prepared. He was nimble, stealthy. He'd retrieved the chalk from the creepy old man. He'd taken every precaution to ensure he wouldn't end up just another name on that damned Monument. But when the river came, and he'd revealed his hand, he'd been dealt three of a kind. The Maze had ended up with a straight flush. A spider found him. A sma

Perhaps that had been what had inspired another handful of the early levelers. How many gamblers had made their way into Aincrad on launch day? There were no slots here, no roulette. All they would have had to scratch that itch would have been looting mobs or finding treasure chests. That or, as it turned out, trying their hand at the crafting system. The treasure chests were, admittedly, something that interested Oz. He'd played his fair share of Legend of Zelda games, and opening the treasure chests had been his favorite part. There were countless criticism written online regarding the

He wasn't the sort for combat. He never would be. He could never see himself as the sort who dealt explosive damage and felled Floor Bosses with ease, like the animals on the Frontlines. But what he could do was beat these plants to a pulp, if that would make him feel a little better. Perhaps this is what all of those Frontliners had invested their time into when the game had first launched. Frustrated with their collective situation, they set out to deal punishment to the residents of the game that kept them trapped. It was sad, but at the same time, Oz could understand. He'd been actively av