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Chapter 118: The Gene Harvest
🕑 Added 2025-08-12 08:16:15 +0000 UTCThe two hikers hadn't stopped trembling since Russell had revealed himself. Even after he'd assured them—multiple times—that he wasn't planning to eat them ("usually" probably hadn't been the most reassuring addition), they remained frozen in place like deer caught in particularly terrifying headlights.
"Look," Russell said, the dual-voice effect of Arrogance making even casual conversation sound like a demonic business proposal, "I can either leave you here to find your own way out, or I can give you a lift to civilization. Your choice."
Evan found his voice first, though it came out as more of a squeak. "A... a lift?"
"Unless you'd prefer to keep wandering around until something actually dangerous finds you." Russell gestured at the dark forest around them, where unseen things rustled and called in the night. "There are worse things than me out here. Things that don't bother with conversation."
That seemed to break through their paralysis. Steve grabbed Evan's arm with the desperation of a drowning man finding driftwood. "We'll take the lift! Please! We've been lost for three days!"
Russell studied them for a moment, . Pure terror mixed with exhaustion, but no deception. Just two idiots who'd gotten in over their heads—a story as old as humanity itself.
"Fine," he decided. "But if either of you screams while we're flying, I'm dropping you."
"Flying?" Evan's voice cracked on the word.
Instead of answering, Russell dismissed most of Arrogance's mass, keeping just enough to maintain enhanced strength and durability. Then he grabbed both men—one under each arm like particularly awkward luggage—and launched himself skyward.
The screams started immediately.
"What did I just say about screaming?" Russell growled, though he didn't actually drop them. Their terror was understandable—few people experienced flight via being carried like a sack of potatoes by a monster jumping through treetops.
The journey to the nearest town took fifteen minutes of hell for the hikers and mild amusement for Russell. He bounded from peak to peak, each leap covering hundreds of meters, the two men clutched against his sides alternating between prayers, profanity, and promises to never leave their homes again.
The small county town at the foot of the Gray Ridge Mountains appeared like an oasis of electric lights against the darkness. Russell aimed for the outskirts, landing in an empty lot behind a closed shopping complex with enough force to crack the pavement. He set the two men down, where they immediately collapsed to their knees and kissed the ground.
"Drama queens," Russell muttered, though only the Arrogance voice carried, making it sound more amused than annoyed.
After giving them a moment to recover—and for Steve to finish dry heaving into a nearby bush—Russell considered his options. He could leave them here to make their own way, but they'd probably end up having to explain their condition to local authorities. Without proof of what had happened, they'd likely be dismissed as drunks or worse, bringing unwanted attention to the area's supernatural activity.
"Come on," he sighed, the human voice becoming more prominent as he pulled Arrogance back to a less obviously monstrous form. "There's an Association base nearby. They'll get you sorted out."
"Association?" Evan asked weakly, still looking green around the gills.
"Cardmaker Association. Russell started walking, not bothering to check if they were following. After a moment, he heard their stumbling footsteps behind him.
The town was nearly deserted at this hour—a few late-night delivery drivers, a street cleaner mechanically pushing his cart, a cat that hissed at Russell before recognizing a superior predator and fleeing. The Association base was tucked between a noodle shop and a hardware store, its facade deliberately mundane except for the small bronze plaque that marked it as official.
Russell pushed through the door, setting off a chime that sounded too cheerful for the pre-dawn hour. The interior was government-bland—beige walls, uncomfortable plastic chairs, posters about cardmaker safety that no one ever read. Behind a reinforced glass window, a middle-aged woman dozed at her desk, chin propped on one hand.
The chime hadn't woken her, so Russell rapped his knuckles on the counter. The sharp sound made her jerk upright, eyes wide and unfocused before settling on him with professional assessment.
"Young man, what do you need so late at night?" Her voice carried the particular weariness of someone who'd drawn the worst shift too many times.
Russell pulled out his official ID, sliding it across the counter while gesturing at Evan and Steve, who huddled near the door like lost puppies. "Found these two wandering around the Gray Ridge Mountains. They've been lost for three days. Figured I'd drop them somewhere safe."
The woman's expression shifted as she listened, morphing from tired indifference to disapproval. She snatched the ID and ran it through her scanner with practiced motions, barely glancing at it before turning her glare on the hikers.
"You two have some nerve!" Her voice could have stripped paint. "Wandering into the mountains without proper preparation or guides! If you hadn't met this young man, you would have been in great danger. Do you have any idea what lurks in those forests?"
Evan and Steve seemed to shrink under her scolding, heads bowed like children caught stealing cookies. Russell almost felt bad for them—almost. They had been monumentally stupid, after all.
"You're lucky you only got lost," the woman continued, warming to her theme. "We get reports every month of hikers who disappear entirely. Sometimes we find bodies. Sometimes we don't find anything at all."
She turned back to her computer, fingers flying across the keyboard. "Young man, although you only rescued ordinary people this time, the Association will still reward you. You should still be studying, right? The Association will give you some points, which you can exchange for materials."
Russell blinked in surprise. "Points?" No one had mentioned anything about a reward system for civilian rescue. Then again, his interactions with the Association had been limited to high-level meetings and dimensional access—mundane procedures hadn't exactly come up.
"Yes, it's standard protocol for—" The woman's words cut off mid-sentence as her eyes fixed on her computer screen. Her mouth fell open, face cycling through several shades of pale before landing on something between awe and panic.
"S-s-silver-level cardmaker?" Her voice climbed an octave with each word. "And... and you're... oh my god."
Russell had a sinking feeling he knew what she'd just seen. His official ID would show more than just his cardmaker level—it would show his registered master.
"Wait here!" The woman practically shrieked. "Don't move! I need to inform the base leader!"
"That's really not necessary," Russell tried, but she was already frantically typing on her phone.
"It is necessary! It is absolutely necessary!" Her thumbs moved in a blur. "We have protocols! Important visitor protocols!"
Russell could only imagine what she was texting. 'MASTER CARDMAKER'S DISCIPLE HERE. SILVER LEVEL. ONLY TEENAGER. WHAT DO I DO???'
Sure enough, less than five minutes later, the base's front door burst open hard enough to rattle the frame. A bald, middle-aged man rushed in, still buttoning his uniform jacket, hair askew from what had clearly been a very rapid departure from bed.
His eyes swept the room and locked onto Russell with the intensity of a targeting system. "You must be Mr. Russell, right?" He crossed the distance in three quick strides, hand extended. "Hello, hello, my last name is Barron. Just call me President Barron. Or just Barron! Whatever you prefer!"
The enthusiasm was overwhelming. Russell shook the offered hand, noting how Barron's grip was just firm enough to be respectful without challenging. "I wonder what President Barron wants to talk to me about?"
The question seemed to short-circuit Barron's brain. He stood there, mouth open, clearly having rushed over without actually planning what to say. The silence stretched awkwardly before his political instincts kicked in.
"Our small county town doesn't usually have many people coming in and out," he said, recovering with practiced smoothness. "Now that this has happened, I had to come and take a look. Make sure everything is handled properly. Can't have distinguished visitors thinking we run a sloppy operation!"
Russell's eyes showed helplessness at the transparent excuse. "Then President Barron should be able to confirm that there is no problem now, right?"
"No problem, of course not!" Sweat beaded on Barron's forehead despite the cool night air. He produced a handkerchief and dabbed at it while maintaining his smile. "How could there be any problem with you, Mr. Russell? Everything is perfectly in order!"
"In that case, I'll take my leave first."
Russell moved toward the door, noting how Barron's relief was almost palpable. The man had clearly been terrified of somehow offending Blake Whitmore's disciple—probably imagining his career evaporating if he said the wrong thing.
Outside, Russell summoned Pidgeot again, the symbiote-enhanced bird materializing in a burst of black and red that made Barron gasp. Without looking back, Russell mounted and took off, leaving the small county town's drama behind.
Through the window, he could hear Barron addressing the receptionist: "You did a good job this time. I'll make sure you get a bonus at the end of the month."
Then, to the still-shaken hikers: "You're lucky boys. I'll arrange transportation back to your registered addresses. And maybe think twice before going hiking without proper preparation next time."
The eastern sky was beginning to lighten as Russell returned to the Gray Ridge Mountains, painting the peaks in shades of purple and gold. The nocturnal creatures were returning to their dens while the day shift emerged—a changing of the guard as old as life itself.
"Time to start working," Russell said to himself, dismissing Pidgeot and letting Arrogance flow back to full coverage. He had no specific requirements for the gene modules to extract this time—quantity over quality for now. He could sort through them later and identify the truly useful ones.
His enhanced vision caught movement near a fallen log—a column of ants marching with military precision, carrying fragments of leaves and dead insects back to their colony. Russell smiled behind Arrogance's mask.
"Let's start with you."
Common knowledge said ants could lift objects dozens of times their own weight, leading to myths about super-strength. The reality was more interesting—they achieved these feats through incredible efficiency in their muscle usage, not raw power. Their bodies were masterpieces of biological engineering, every fiber optimized for its purpose.
Russell extended Arrogance toward the ant column. The symbiote flowed over dozens of insects simultaneously, analyzing their biological structures with frightening speed. The ants, for their part, seemed more confused than alarmed—their simple nervous systems couldn't process what was happening.
Information flooded Russell's consciousness:
[Pheromone Communication] - Useless for his purposes [Compound Eyes] - Inferior to what he already had [Exoskeleton Structure] - Interesting but incompatible [Hive Mind Connection] - Definitely not [Leg Muscle Cluster] - Now this had potential
The last module stood out—a fundamental reimagining of how leg muscles could work, trading raw power for incredible efficiency. An ant's muscles fired in perfect sequence, wasting no energy, achieving maximum output from minimal input.
Russell released the ants, who continued their march as if nothing had happened. Their simple minds had already forgotten the strange interruption. He pulled up Arrogance's status and swapped [Iron Kidney] for the new module, trying not to think too hard about what he was giving up.
The change was immediate. His legs felt... different. Not stronger exactly, but more responsive, as if someone had upgraded his nervous system's connection to his muscles. Time to test it.
Russell spotted a promising boulder nearby—roughly the size of a small car, worn smooth by centuries of weather. He cocked his leg back and kicked with what felt like moderate force.
His foot sank into the stone like it was made of pudding.
"..."
The forest fell silent except for the distant call of a bird that sounded suspiciously like laughter. Russell stood there, one leg extended, foot firmly embedded in solid granite, looking like the world's most embarrassing statue.
"Let me do it," Arrogance's voice rumbled with what might have been amusement.
Russell surrendered control without argument, feeling the symbiote's consciousness slide into the driver's seat. The same kick, but executed with perfect technique. His foot withdrew from the stone, then struck again with explosive force.
The boulder didn't just break—it launched like a cannonball, smashing through the treeline with a series of thunderous crashes. Trees fell like dominoes in its wake, birds erupting from the canopy in panicked clouds.
"Sure enough," Russell thought as Arrogance returned control, "physical combat is still difficult for me."
The gap between having power and knowing how to use it remained vast. Fortunately, Arrogance's [Battle Master] trait bridged that gap when needed. In a real fight, the symbiote could take control of combat while Russell handled strategy.
"Next, let's look for some birds." He gazed up at the brightening sky where early risers were already circling on morning thermals.
Russell bent his legs, feeling the new muscle module engage. The efficiency was remarkable—energy that would normally dissipate concentrated perfectly, potential energy building like a compressed spring.
He jumped.
The ground cracked beneath him as he rocketed skyward, acceleration crushing him against Arrogance's protective embrace. Trees shrank below, the forest becoming a green carpet, then a textured painting. For a moment at the apex of his leap, Russell hung suspended between earth and sky, the mountains spread beneath him like a map.
Then gravity reasserted its claim.
The descent was less graceful than the ascent. Russell had achieved fantastic height and speed but had no way to control his trajectory. He was a ballistic missile with eyes, able to see his landing zone but powerless to adjust it.
He crashed back to earth like a meteorite, impact crater spreading from the landing point. Arrogance absorbed the shock, but Russell still felt his teeth rattle.
"Note to self," he muttered, spitting out dirt, "jumping is not flying."
He thought of Superman's early days in Man of Steel, leaping tall buildings before learning true flight. The comparison was apt—Russell had the power but lacked control. Maybe with further advancement, Arrogance could develop actual flight capabilities. For now...
Russell summoned Pidgeot again, the loyal mount appearing despite its exhaustion. He really needed to find a better transportation solution, but that was tomorrow's problem.
"Next," he said, patting Pidgeot's enhanced neck, "it's hunting time."
The sky called, full of genetic potential just waiting to be harvested. Russell smiled—a expression that looked thoroughly disturbing on Arrogance's alien features—and took flight.
The day was young, and he had evolution to steal.
(End of Chapter 118)
Comments
Raphael Espinoza Angulo
Didn't he already have wings?
