Hecatonchires
Just an H-class cyborg with an octopus brain stem
- Location
- The Gong, NSW, Australia
There's a Will cost for running? Surely that should be stamina?
Greg Veder vs The World (Worm x The Gamer)
- Thread starter ZFighter18
- Start date
- Crossover
-
- Tags
- worm greg veder gamer (litrpg)
There's a Will cost for running? Surely that should be stamina?
ZFighter18
I'm not a god. I AM WHAT A GOD PRAYS TO.
- Location
- Maryland
Will is a measure of his "stamina." Severe physical exertion of any kind drains Will.
Hecatonchires
Just an H-class cyborg with an octopus brain stem
- Location
- The Gong, NSW, Australia
I'm used to Will being a mental stat, not a physical one
ZFighter18
I'm not a god. I AM WHAT A GOD PRAYS TO.
- Location
- Maryland
I designed it as more of a reference to Ki, a sort of vague physical energy that strictly refers to the limits of his body, based off his mind pushing him forward (INT) and his body pushing it's physical limits (VIT).
- Location
- Earth Prime
In reality, human bodies can go about twice as far as we tend to think they can before collapse. It really is a mental block. One meant to help keep us from actually doing permanent damage by genuinely burning so much energy that we collapse and can't maintain vital involuntarily functions.
Buff 3.2
ZFighter18
I'm not a god. I AM WHAT A GOD PRAYS TO.
- Location
- Maryland
Buff 3.2
As he ran several blocks past the Boardwalk, Greg began to enter a neighborhood that was as destitute as the Boardwalk was wealthy. The north part of the old ferry.
While he had heard of this place, he had never actually been here before, no one really having a business with the ferry anymore leaving the place to become abandoned by the general population of the city apart from those desperate enough for a roof over their heads to sleep in the decrepit buildings that lined the area.
That, and the Merchants.
The gang of homeless, drug dealers and assorted thugs that didn't fit in with the Empire or the ABB but wanted more legitimacy than any of the tiny street gangs that populated the city could provide had pounced on the place, quickly ensuring all knew that it was their territory.
As the Merchants tended to be scattered, rarely having too large a large group of them in one place, all this meant to Greg was that he was bound to find a few here.
Greg skidded to a stop near a bunch of half-demolished brownstones, a flickering orange light shining from outside of an alleyway catching his attention. As the yellow glow Creeping up against the wall, Greg slowly made his way around the building, creeping closer to the alley itself. As he reached the mouth of the alley, he poked his head in, blue eyes widening behind his mask as he spotted what exactly was making the flickering light.
A fire? Greg raised an eyebrow.
It actually was a fire. One that someone had lit inside of a tall metal trash can. It stood far from where Greg was, in the center of several alley paths, but just close enough that the light could reflect on this outer alley wall.
Before Greg could ask himself who could possibly have lit it, several figures stepped into view.
Eight of them, to be exact.
Even without being too close to them, Greg could tell they were Merchants and they, without a doubt, were Merchants. Compared to the normal homeless people you saw around Brockton Bay, and there were plenty, members of the Archer's Bridge Merchants had a particular style of hobo-chic that was very… distinct from most others.
Sparky told him something once, something he drew back up now. Homeless people don't like being dirty. They'd take better if they could. Merchants, though, those fucks love looking like trash.
"[Observe.]" The word fell from Greg's mouth almost instinctively, eight pop-ups appearing simultaneously in his field of vision, his mind somehow connecting the names to the bodies nearly half a block away.
Greg found himself smirking. "Easy as cake."
"Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit-shit!"
Greg's feet pounded against the concrete, garbage and random plastic bags flying through the air as he rushed past them. His legs moved on automatic as his neck swiveled from side to side, frantically searching the dreary alleyways north of the Boardwalk for an alternate path.
Anything.
Anywhere.
Just something he could use to get away.
Or at the very least, hide and recover all his health.
Seriously, where were all the waist-high fences, hiding spots or conveniently available handholds to climb buildings with? All Greg could think of, as he ran past another cutoff leading to a dead end, was that Brockton Bay needed to invest in better city planning.
Or a renovation.
Can you renovate a city? The idle thought passed through Greg's head as he continued running away from his attackers, waiting for the protein bar he just ingested to work him all the way back to full health.
"Fucking piece of shit!" "Skin the lil' fuck!" "Cut his dick off!" "Fuckin' catch the lil' faggot first!"
The sound of their angered shouts lit a fire under Greg and he kept moving, evading dumpsters and knocking over boxes to buy himself some much needed time.
Casting a glance behind him, he saw the glint of a long, sharp weapon and he gulped nervously before facing forward again, sweat beginning to form on his brow. How in the frick did this happen?
After observing all of the Merchants and noting that none of them were over Level 6 and their HP seemed low enough - considering only one of them had anything above 200 - that they wouldn't be much trouble, Greg had put together a simple yet kickass plan.
1. Surprise attack one of them with an [Angry Straight] for that sweet, sweet [Critical Hit].
2. Hit a few others while they were confused and send the rest running.
3. [Dash Straight] into them when they turn to run for more Crits.
4. Repeat Step 3 as needed.
In hindsight, maybe jumping a bunch of Merchants at once wasn't the best idea, after all. Although, he did use a surprise attack and surprise attacks were a pretty smart tactic to use, right? Of course, they are. That's like Strategy 101.
Surprise attacks were smart and a glowing yellow fist out of nowhere was kick-ass enough to ruin anyone's day. It was a simple plan.
Simple but effective.
And it was, actually. Well… kinda.
The first guy went down in a spectacular [Critical Hit]. So did the second, third and fourth Merchant in his sights, none of them prepared for a shining fist to the face.
Problem was, their buddies didn't run.
Second problem, they all had knives.
Third problem, one had a giant fucking machete.
Fourth and biggest fucking problem, they wouldn't give him a second to let his HP regen get back up.
Greg honestly hadn't expected they'd fight back and especially not that hard. I mean, he was a cape, right? They saw his fist go all glowy and everything! They were supposed to run!
This was a reversal of the natural order. He was the parahuman wolf on the hunt and they were the rabbits trying to survive his hunger. Rabbits weren't supposed to fight nature!
Or carry machetes.
Who even carries a freaking machete? Where would you hide that?
Frankly, this whole situation wasn't his fault. It was the Merchants' fault for not doing what they were supposed to do.
- 14 hp
"Motherf-" Greg let out a shout of pain as something hard slammed into the back of his hood-covered skull, the sound of glass raining onto the concrete behind him only confirming what he thought it was.
Stumbling forward, Greg caught himself before he wiped out into the garbage at his feet. He whipped around to face the four approaching thugs, a look of annoyance on his face.
"Good enough." Greg curled his hand into a fist and dipped into a stance. "[Dash Straight!] [Raging Combo!]" In a flash of yellow, he dashed forward ten meters in a literal second, his outstretched fist flying towards the chest of the closest Merchant thug.
With an audible impact, Greg's fist hit home, and he buried punches into the Merchant's open chest, sending him flying back with one final hard strike. The unconscious thug slammed into one of his buddies, his friend catching him as he fell. Another Merchant, a bald black man wearing a shirt so dirty the original color was a mystery, swung at Greg.
From the corner of his eye, Greg caught the flash of metal and jerked to the side, barely avoiding a switchblade to the face as the man's arm passed over his shoulder.
His fist slammed into the side of the thug's jaw with a picture-perfect left hook, the strike staggering the man.
Greg made to press his advantage with a powerful [Angry Straight] only for the words to die on his lips with a cry of pain as something cut into the side of his arm.
-36
Greg snapped his gaze to his side in time to see the Merchant with the machete about to swing his weapon again, trying his hardest to hack off his arm at the shoulder.
Whipping to the side, Greg backpedaled to avoid the bladed weapon coming down on him. "Fuckin' die!"
"Nuh-uh!" Ducking the weapon, Greg struck the machete man in his neck with a wild swing, sending him stumbling back. "You firs- Fuck!"
Greg's taunt was cut short as he took a hard punch to the chest from the Merchant he had staggered earlier with a hook to the jaw. The drug dealer had jumped back into the fight, already recovered and swinging wildly at Greg's chest.
-10
-10
-12
-11
"Shit!" A hand to his nose, Greg swung wildly as he stumbled back into the alley wall only to take another heavy hit to the side of the head, his blind spot continuing to bite him in the butt.
-15
"Goddamnit!" The blonde whirled around with a heavy uppercut, catching the Merchant at his back on the chin. "[Inventory: Bat!]" In Greg's other hand, an aluminum bat appeared in a flash of blue. The Merchant's eyes widened.
Greg swung.
The bat missed his target, the man's chest, and instead clipped his elbow. Despite that, the hit was solid, the crack of metal on bone audible.
"Aaaah!" The man visibly stumbled as he let out a scream, cradling his arm as he backpedaled. Greg took that as a cue to slam the bat hard into the side of his head before the Merchant could recover, sending him to the ground, his HP depleted.
Hearing movement behind him, Greg whipped back around, swinging the bat in a wide arc to dissuade anyone who would try to attack him from behind. Why isn't there a skill for Spidey-Sense or something?
The machete-wielding Merchant had been creeping up behind Greg, not expecting that he would take care of his friend so quickly and, by the wide-eyed-gaze he had as he stared at what was in Greg's hand, certainly not expecting Greg to pull out a bat out of literally nowhere. Next to him, the Merchant with the bald head and switchblade seemed to take a step back.
Under his mask, Greg couldn't hold back a grin as he stepped around the two thugs, both now obviously wary of him. "I'm gonna eat you rabbits like a hungry, hungry wolf."
Their cautious expressions only grew confused at Greg's non-sequitur, the one with the machete screwing up his face before replying, "What?"
Greg blinked as he realized he had said that out loud, his face reddening beneath the mask. "Sh-shut up! Nothing!" Eyes narrowing at the Merchant with the giant knife, Greg screamed out, "[Power Sprint!]"
Body flashing, Greg darted forward. He swung the bat out as hard as he could, slamming it into the thug's chest. The machete flew from his hand as the thug was launched back, the hit sending him into a pile of trash bags, knocking down the entire pile and sending him crashing up against a dumpster. Greg grinned. "That's what I call a grand slam!"
The bald Merchant didn't waste any time to appreciate Greg's humor, instead choosing to lunge with his switchblade. Greg's hand lashed out, the back of his wrist slamming into the thug's leading hand and sending him off-course.
[Moderate Bleeding] debuff removed.
The Merchant's lunge went wide, and Greg twisted, spinning to the side of the criminal and slamming the weapon into his ribs. "[Angry Straight!]"
The bat glowed blue, visibly flashing for an instant, as it slammed into the Merchant's side with an audible crack. Just like that, the last Merchant dropped to the ground.
Greg let out a tired huff as he stared at the four unmoving bodies around him, feeling the drain on his Will for running for so long and using multiple skills one after the other like that. Doesn't matter. Still won.
New skill? Yes! Greg's face lit up with a wide grin behind the mask, shaking his upper body in something of a victory dance. After a moment, he suddenly froze. Wait, seven out of fifteen? But I knocked out eig-
Greg whipped around, glancing at the fallen Merchants around him. From each one, he noted the text above their heads.
Donny Malko
Lv 4 Merchant Blade
0/130
Mike "Mickey" O'Connor
Lv 3 Merchant Blade
0/115
Ricardo Montez
Lv 6 Merchant Hacker
2/160
Jose Villa
Lv 5 Merchant Blade
0/130
Greg's eyes snapped to face the one with the 2/160 over his head. He seemed like all the rest, completely unconscious as his back hugged the graffitied dumpster propping his body up. Greg took a step forward in his direction and he saw the thug twitch, head visibly moving.
Blue eyes widened, and Greg gasped.
The thug scrambled into action as his head snapped up to face Greg. Greg's eyes widened as the Merchant furiously pulled something from the pocket of his jeans.
Gun!
It looked old, that was Greg's second thought, the mix of wood and metal easily visible in the guy's hands. Also, it stood out as being a bit bigger than what he expected a gun to be. A hand cannon more than a gun, really.
Before Greg could so much as even try to dodge, the shaky Merchant raised the revolver.
He didn't see it.
How could he? After all, it was a bullet.
A searing hot hunk of metal moving at Mach oh-my-god that could rip through car doors like scissors through paper.
He heard it, though.
A crack of thunder that made him flinch, the sound echoing off the alley walls as white smoke exploded outwards from the weapon.
Searing pain tore through him as the bullet ripped through his chest, the force of the shot lifting him off his feet as the slug slammed into him.
-120 HP
He felt himself falling back, the world disappearing in front of him as the edges of his vision began to darken.
No. No. Noooo...
Greg Veder hit the floor, eyes shut and and unmoving.
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
As he ran several blocks past the Boardwalk, Greg began to enter a neighborhood that was as destitute as the Boardwalk was wealthy. The north part of the old ferry.
While he had heard of this place, he had never actually been here before, no one really having a business with the ferry anymore leaving the place to become abandoned by the general population of the city apart from those desperate enough for a roof over their heads to sleep in the decrepit buildings that lined the area.
That, and the Merchants.
The gang of homeless, drug dealers and assorted thugs that didn't fit in with the Empire or the ABB but wanted more legitimacy than any of the tiny street gangs that populated the city could provide had pounced on the place, quickly ensuring all knew that it was their territory.
As the Merchants tended to be scattered, rarely having too large a large group of them in one place, all this meant to Greg was that he was bound to find a few here.
Greg skidded to a stop near a bunch of half-demolished brownstones, a flickering orange light shining from outside of an alleyway catching his attention. As the yellow glow Creeping up against the wall, Greg slowly made his way around the building, creeping closer to the alley itself. As he reached the mouth of the alley, he poked his head in, blue eyes widening behind his mask as he spotted what exactly was making the flickering light.
A fire? Greg raised an eyebrow.
It actually was a fire. One that someone had lit inside of a tall metal trash can. It stood far from where Greg was, in the center of several alley paths, but just close enough that the light could reflect on this outer alley wall.
Before Greg could ask himself who could possibly have lit it, several figures stepped into view.
Eight of them, to be exact.
Even without being too close to them, Greg could tell they were Merchants and they, without a doubt, were Merchants. Compared to the normal homeless people you saw around Brockton Bay, and there were plenty, members of the Archer's Bridge Merchants had a particular style of hobo-chic that was very… distinct from most others.
Sparky told him something once, something he drew back up now. Homeless people don't like being dirty. They'd take better if they could. Merchants, though, those fucks love looking like trash.
"[Observe.]" The word fell from Greg's mouth almost instinctively, eight pop-ups appearing simultaneously in his field of vision, his mind somehow connecting the names to the bodies nearly half a block away.
Greg found himself smirking. "Easy as cake."
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
"Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit-shit!"
Greg's feet pounded against the concrete, garbage and random plastic bags flying through the air as he rushed past them. His legs moved on automatic as his neck swiveled from side to side, frantically searching the dreary alleyways north of the Boardwalk for an alternate path.
Anything.
Anywhere.
Just something he could use to get away.
Or at the very least, hide and recover all his health.
Seriously, where were all the waist-high fences, hiding spots or conveniently available handholds to climb buildings with? All Greg could think of, as he ran past another cutoff leading to a dead end, was that Brockton Bay needed to invest in better city planning.
Or a renovation.
Can you renovate a city? The idle thought passed through Greg's head as he continued running away from his attackers, waiting for the protein bar he just ingested to work him all the way back to full health.
"Fucking piece of shit!" "Skin the lil' fuck!" "Cut his dick off!" "Fuckin' catch the lil' faggot first!"
The sound of their angered shouts lit a fire under Greg and he kept moving, evading dumpsters and knocking over boxes to buy himself some much needed time.
Casting a glance behind him, he saw the glint of a long, sharp weapon and he gulped nervously before facing forward again, sweat beginning to form on his brow. How in the frick did this happen?
After observing all of the Merchants and noting that none of them were over Level 6 and their HP seemed low enough - considering only one of them had anything above 200 - that they wouldn't be much trouble, Greg had put together a simple yet kickass plan.
1. Surprise attack one of them with an [Angry Straight] for that sweet, sweet [Critical Hit].
2. Hit a few others while they were confused and send the rest running.
3. [Dash Straight] into them when they turn to run for more Crits.
4. Repeat Step 3 as needed.
In hindsight, maybe jumping a bunch of Merchants at once wasn't the best idea, after all. Although, he did use a surprise attack and surprise attacks were a pretty smart tactic to use, right? Of course, they are. That's like Strategy 101.
Surprise attacks were smart and a glowing yellow fist out of nowhere was kick-ass enough to ruin anyone's day. It was a simple plan.
Simple but effective.
And it was, actually. Well… kinda.
The first guy went down in a spectacular [Critical Hit]. So did the second, third and fourth Merchant in his sights, none of them prepared for a shining fist to the face.
Problem was, their buddies didn't run.
Second problem, they all had knives.
Third problem, one had a giant fucking machete.
Fourth and biggest fucking problem, they wouldn't give him a second to let his HP regen get back up.
Greg honestly hadn't expected they'd fight back and especially not that hard. I mean, he was a cape, right? They saw his fist go all glowy and everything! They were supposed to run!
This was a reversal of the natural order. He was the parahuman wolf on the hunt and they were the rabbits trying to survive his hunger. Rabbits weren't supposed to fight nature!
Or carry machetes.
Who even carries a freaking machete? Where would you hide that?
Frankly, this whole situation wasn't his fault. It was the Merchants' fault for not doing what they were supposed to do.
- 14 hp
"Motherf-" Greg let out a shout of pain as something hard slammed into the back of his hood-covered skull, the sound of glass raining onto the concrete behind him only confirming what he thought it was.
Stumbling forward, Greg caught himself before he wiped out into the garbage at his feet. He whipped around to face the four approaching thugs, a look of annoyance on his face.
"Good enough." Greg curled his hand into a fist and dipped into a stance. "[Dash Straight!] [Raging Combo!]" In a flash of yellow, he dashed forward ten meters in a literal second, his outstretched fist flying towards the chest of the closest Merchant thug.
With an audible impact, Greg's fist hit home, and he buried punches into the Merchant's open chest, sending him flying back with one final hard strike. The unconscious thug slammed into one of his buddies, his friend catching him as he fell. Another Merchant, a bald black man wearing a shirt so dirty the original color was a mystery, swung at Greg.
From the corner of his eye, Greg caught the flash of metal and jerked to the side, barely avoiding a switchblade to the face as the man's arm passed over his shoulder.
His fist slammed into the side of the thug's jaw with a picture-perfect left hook, the strike staggering the man.
Greg made to press his advantage with a powerful [Angry Straight] only for the words to die on his lips with a cry of pain as something cut into the side of his arm.
-36
Greg snapped his gaze to his side in time to see the Merchant with the machete about to swing his weapon again, trying his hardest to hack off his arm at the shoulder.
Whipping to the side, Greg backpedaled to avoid the bladed weapon coming down on him. "Fuckin' die!"
"Nuh-uh!" Ducking the weapon, Greg struck the machete man in his neck with a wild swing, sending him stumbling back. "You firs- Fuck!"
Greg's taunt was cut short as he took a hard punch to the chest from the Merchant he had staggered earlier with a hook to the jaw. The drug dealer had jumped back into the fight, already recovered and swinging wildly at Greg's chest.
-10
-10
-12
-11
"Shit!" A hand to his nose, Greg swung wildly as he stumbled back into the alley wall only to take another heavy hit to the side of the head, his blind spot continuing to bite him in the butt.
-15
"Goddamnit!" The blonde whirled around with a heavy uppercut, catching the Merchant at his back on the chin. "[Inventory: Bat!]" In Greg's other hand, an aluminum bat appeared in a flash of blue. The Merchant's eyes widened.
Greg swung.
The bat missed his target, the man's chest, and instead clipped his elbow. Despite that, the hit was solid, the crack of metal on bone audible.
"Aaaah!" The man visibly stumbled as he let out a scream, cradling his arm as he backpedaled. Greg took that as a cue to slam the bat hard into the side of his head before the Merchant could recover, sending him to the ground, his HP depleted.
Hearing movement behind him, Greg whipped back around, swinging the bat in a wide arc to dissuade anyone who would try to attack him from behind. Why isn't there a skill for Spidey-Sense or something?
The machete-wielding Merchant had been creeping up behind Greg, not expecting that he would take care of his friend so quickly and, by the wide-eyed-gaze he had as he stared at what was in Greg's hand, certainly not expecting Greg to pull out a bat out of literally nowhere. Next to him, the Merchant with the bald head and switchblade seemed to take a step back.
Under his mask, Greg couldn't hold back a grin as he stepped around the two thugs, both now obviously wary of him. "I'm gonna eat you rabbits like a hungry, hungry wolf."
Their cautious expressions only grew confused at Greg's non-sequitur, the one with the machete screwing up his face before replying, "What?"
Greg blinked as he realized he had said that out loud, his face reddening beneath the mask. "Sh-shut up! Nothing!" Eyes narrowing at the Merchant with the giant knife, Greg screamed out, "[Power Sprint!]"
Body flashing, Greg darted forward. He swung the bat out as hard as he could, slamming it into the thug's chest. The machete flew from his hand as the thug was launched back, the hit sending him into a pile of trash bags, knocking down the entire pile and sending him crashing up against a dumpster. Greg grinned. "That's what I call a grand slam!"
The bald Merchant didn't waste any time to appreciate Greg's humor, instead choosing to lunge with his switchblade. Greg's hand lashed out, the back of his wrist slamming into the thug's leading hand and sending him off-course.
[Moderate Bleeding] debuff removed.
The Merchant's lunge went wide, and Greg twisted, spinning to the side of the criminal and slamming the weapon into his ribs. "[Angry Straight!]"
The bat glowed blue, visibly flashing for an instant, as it slammed into the Merchant's side with an audible crack. Just like that, the last Merchant dropped to the ground.
Greg let out a tired huff as he stared at the four unmoving bodies around him, feeling the drain on his Will for running for so long and using multiple skills one after the other like that. Doesn't matter. Still won.
New skill? Yes! Greg's face lit up with a wide grin behind the mask, shaking his upper body in something of a victory dance. After a moment, he suddenly froze. Wait, seven out of fifteen? But I knocked out eig-
Greg whipped around, glancing at the fallen Merchants around him. From each one, he noted the text above their heads.
Donny Malko
Lv 4 Merchant Blade
0/130
Mike "Mickey" O'Connor
Lv 3 Merchant Blade
0/115
Ricardo Montez
Lv 6 Merchant Hacker
2/160
Jose Villa
Lv 5 Merchant Blade
0/130
Greg's eyes snapped to face the one with the 2/160 over his head. He seemed like all the rest, completely unconscious as his back hugged the graffitied dumpster propping his body up. Greg took a step forward in his direction and he saw the thug twitch, head visibly moving.
Blue eyes widened, and Greg gasped.
The thug scrambled into action as his head snapped up to face Greg. Greg's eyes widened as the Merchant furiously pulled something from the pocket of his jeans.
Gun!
It looked old, that was Greg's second thought, the mix of wood and metal easily visible in the guy's hands. Also, it stood out as being a bit bigger than what he expected a gun to be. A hand cannon more than a gun, really.
Before Greg could so much as even try to dodge, the shaky Merchant raised the revolver.
He didn't see it.
How could he? After all, it was a bullet.
A searing hot hunk of metal moving at Mach oh-my-god that could rip through car doors like scissors through paper.
He heard it, though.
A crack of thunder that made him flinch, the sound echoing off the alley walls as white smoke exploded outwards from the weapon.
Searing pain tore through him as the bullet ripped through his chest, the force of the shot lifting him off his feet as the slug slammed into him.
-120 HP
He felt himself falling back, the world disappearing in front of him as the edges of his vision began to darken.
No. No. Noooo...
Greg Veder hit the floor, eyes shut and and unmoving.
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
Greg Lucas Veder
Student
Level 4
XP: 2230/3600
Age: 15 (and three-quarters!)
HP: 0/240
MP: 122/130
Will: 7/108
STR: 16
SPD: 14
VIT: 13
INT: 18
WIS: 8 (-6)
CHA: 2 (+9) (-10)
Unspent Points: 7
Cash: $153.50
Student
Level 4
XP: 2230/3600
Age: 15 (and three-quarters!)
HP: 0/240
MP: 122/130
Will: 7/108
STR: 16
SPD: 14
VIT: 13
INT: 18
WIS: 8 (-6)
CHA: 2 (+9) (-10)
Unspent Points: 7
Cash: $153.50
redzonejoe
Vaguely Pastafarian
- Location
- Canada
O.
Well I guess that answers the question of what happens to this gamer at 0hp. Or it will by next chapter at least.
Well I guess that answers the question of what happens to this gamer at 0hp. Or it will by next chapter at least.
ScottotheUnwise
Verified Crack (fic) Dealer
- Location
- Mulberry, Fl
Debut -5 duration 1 min
Buff +5 duration 5 min
The only real question is whether 0 is unconscious or dead. I'm leaning toward negative of max hp or something like that. It would be pure dumb luck if the gun kick did the wounded guy 2 pts of damage.
Buff +5 duration 5 min
The only real question is whether 0 is unconscious or dead. I'm leaning toward negative of max hp or something like that. It would be pure dumb luck if the gun kick did the wounded guy 2 pts of damage.
Icecoldfunk
Rest in Peace
- Location
- Australia
Well given his power's hostility towards him (sure, it's not L33t's power's level of hostility) there has got to be a stiff penalty.
.....or groundhog day-ing.....
The SAN loss from Greg's repeated "gaming the system" via suicide could potentially work well.
.....or groundhog day-ing.....
The SAN loss from Greg's repeated "gaming the system" via suicide could potentially work well.
ScottotheUnwise
Verified Crack (fic) Dealer
- Location
- Mulberry, Fl
You are right, if he respawned in bed that would be very Minecraft-ish... Now where have I heard that used before ?
Be interesting if they took him to dispose the body and found he wakes up fully healed in a car trunk on the way...
ZFighter18
I'm not a god. I AM WHAT A GOD PRAYS TO.
- Location
- Maryland
- Location
- Earth Prime
Pff, no. Greg is way more savvy and better at judging people and making decisions than Danny "Iron Fist" Rand.
Zfihter18, sorry if i revealed something, Segev while tv ironfist isnt the wisest I still think Greg is worse, and comic ironfist is better than tv version.
- Location
- In my Lair, on my Hoard
Uh, why is Gamer!Greg resembling Netflix!Danny Rand a bad thing? They're very different characters.
Not that Greg learning mystical martial arts would be a bad thing, of course. Just... just not the tv show version, but the more fantastic and badass comic-styles would be better.
'Cause I'll be honest, it'd be cool to see Greg pulling out esoteric, magical chi-techniques that make people go "wait, what!? How?!" and gape in shock. Hell, it might even be a segue into doing some other reality-bending tricks that could be actual magic!
Not that Greg learning mystical martial arts would be a bad thing, of course. Just... just not the tv show version, but the more fantastic and badass comic-styles would be better.
'Cause I'll be honest, it'd be cool to see Greg pulling out esoteric, magical chi-techniques that make people go "wait, what!? How?!" and gape in shock. Hell, it might even be a segue into doing some other reality-bending tricks that could be actual magic!
ZFighter18
I'm not a god. I AM WHAT A GOD PRAYS TO.
- Location
- Maryland
You didn't reveal anything. I just realized that you had a really good point. The only thing is, I hate Netflix Iron Fist with a passion.
I only really liked when he used the Iron Fist to punch something.
I enjoyed Jessica Jones even when she wasn't using her power. Same for Luke Cage, for the most part.
Iron Fist, meh.
Average 40 year old Man (e.g. Danny Hebert)
ZFighter18
I'm not a god. I AM WHAT A GOD PRAYS TO.
- Location
- Maryland
People can't apply or earn stat points through quests and certain people have attributes that enhance or diminish their stats overall. They have to work to earn their stats. While Greg is the only one who the stats actually "apply" to, simply because he is a gamer, I'd say the average for a level 10 adult would be this basically.
That's what you'd be looking at. Keep in mind, this is an average office-drone type of guy who doesn't work out all that much. A more fit man might have different stats. An olympic runner would definitely have different stats.
Edited and Updated the stats after speaking with someone about the numbers.
That's what you'd be looking at. Keep in mind, this is an average office-drone type of guy who doesn't work out all that much. A more fit man might have different stats. An olympic runner would definitely have different stats.
Edited and Updated the stats after speaking with someone about the numbers.
Difference between Skills and Abilities
ZFighter18
I'm not a god. I AM WHAT A GOD PRAYS TO.
- Location
- Maryland
Skills are anything blatantly superhuman. Like, being able to sleep away injuries, doubling your sprinting speed in an instant or punching hard enough to shatter bark off a healthy tree despite not having the muscle mass or training required.
Abilities are things anyone can do, given enough time and effort. Parkour, fighting, lying.
STAT Mechanics/Numbers
ZFighter18
I'm not a god. I AM WHAT A GOD PRAYS TO.
- Location
- Maryland
Stat Sheet Numbers Meaning
STR 1 = 10 KG = 22 lbs
SPD 1 = 2 KPH = 1.25 mph
STR (?) is how much someone could (not comfortably) but be able to easily lift. Like, in their head, they knew they could lift that number of weight. The world's strongest man would have a 40-45 in this stat by itself. Don't dwell on this too much. It's just to give you a ballpark.
SPD (?) is the top speed a person can expect to run at and maintain. Meaning, not running for their life. A speed they can keep up, on average, for 100 Meters. Sophia has a 14 in this stat, for example. The high school girls track 100 m record holder would be at a 16. Usain Bolt would have a 22. Apparently, the hypothetical human maximum would be statted at a 30-32.
Keep in mind that Greg doesn't have any Perks yet or any modifiers that would enhance his stats.
I'm rather iffy about the INT real-life meaning. Personally, I'm of the mind that intelligence doesn't really change your personality, it just lets you know/understand more stuff. I'm also of the same mind that having more WIS changes your personality somewhat but it's really more about applying your INT.
Essentially, I wouldn't quantify INT but my beta wants it to mean 20 IQ points per every INT point. Take his opinion if you want. I'm just gonna ignore it.
Originally, the stats were all in Imperial but my beta friend is originally from England and he convinced me that metric would allow for smoother conversions and easier maths.
STR 1 = 10 KG = 22 lbs
SPD 1 = 2 KPH = 1.25 mph
STR (?) is how much someone could (not comfortably) but be able to easily lift. Like, in their head, they knew they could lift that number of weight. The world's strongest man would have a 40-45 in this stat by itself. Don't dwell on this too much. It's just to give you a ballpark.
SPD (?) is the top speed a person can expect to run at and maintain. Meaning, not running for their life. A speed they can keep up, on average, for 100 Meters. Sophia has a 14 in this stat, for example. The high school girls track 100 m record holder would be at a 16. Usain Bolt would have a 22. Apparently, the hypothetical human maximum would be statted at a 30-32.
Keep in mind that Greg doesn't have any Perks yet or any modifiers that would enhance his stats.
I'm rather iffy about the INT real-life meaning. Personally, I'm of the mind that intelligence doesn't really change your personality, it just lets you know/understand more stuff. I'm also of the same mind that having more WIS changes your personality somewhat but it's really more about applying your INT.
Essentially, I wouldn't quantify INT but my beta wants it to mean 20 IQ points per every INT point. Take his opinion if you want. I'm just gonna ignore it.
Originally, the stats were all in Imperial but my beta friend is originally from England and he convinced me that metric would allow for smoother conversions and easier maths.
More Info on STAT Mechanics
ZFighter18
I'm not a god. I AM WHAT A GOD PRAYS TO.
- Location
- Maryland
VIT increases HP by 10 points for each 1 point. Leveling does the same.
VIT and INT added together, divided by two and multiplied by 3 get added to Greg's original base Will score of 24. Leveling also adds 3 points to his will.
MP increases by 10 points per level but also increases by every 5 points into INT.
WIS and CHA are strictly social and decision-making/problem-solving skills as well as those same Skills.
Cutscene: Ricardo Montez
ZFighter18
I'm not a god. I AM WHAT A GOD PRAYS TO.
- Location
- Maryland
Cutscene: Ricardo Montez
The revolver had fallen from his hand about a minute ago, his wrist too fucked-up to hold on to the pound of metal. The recoil was another bitch and a half to deal with, the sudden force of it making him take a deep breath that hurt like everything in the world at once. It was a vise, gripping his chest and tightening even more with each short, raspy gasp he gave as his body struggled for air.
I shot him.
Despite all that, his hand still shook at his side, his finger twitching uncontrollably as it continued pulling at the trigger that wasn't there. I shot him.
The gun lay at his side, spent.
He only had one shot.
One bullet to make it count.
Yesterday - or maybe two days ago, he didn't fucking remember - he held up a convenience store with that gun... took every damn thing he could. Enough food for him and his boys for a good month and enough money to keep all eight of them in product for a while.
Other than the change you made off dealin', you had to provide for yourself as a Merchant. Skidmark didn't do handouts.
He had used five bullets.
Five out of six of the last bullets he had left.
Shot the clerk. One in the head.
Served him right for trying to pull a gun on him when he thought he wasn't looking.
Shot two cops who showed up, the blue fucks making him waste two shots each before they went down in their own blood.
Down to his last bullet and he uses it to waste some Wards wannabe fuck probably still in middle school.
Ricardo fought to keep his eyes open, his gaze locked on the cape kid's unmoving body. He had to be dead, right? Blinking, the lone conscious Merchant tried desperately to assure himself of that despite so much telling him otherwise. I shot him.
His other hand twitched at his side, remembering how his machete had plunged deep into the boy's shoulder. The kid had screamed as the edge cut into the side of his arm, blood spraying from the jagged wound.
Yeah, the kid had definitely screamed.
Once.
After that, he just went back to the fight, throwing punches like nothing had happened. The kid didn't even try to stop the bleeding. He didn't even pay the wound any attention, using that same injured arm to punch him in the throat a moment later.
He was stronger than he looked. Not too fast, but fast enough to be tricky. They hadn't taken him too seriously at first, even after the kid had taken down four of their group with a surprise attack. The rest of them were surprised too, the young-sounding voice almost as big of a shock as the obvious powers the kid had thrown around.
They almost booked it until they saw the kid, eyes nervous and wide as he waited for them to make their move. When they didn't back down, the cape kid ran and they took off after him, smelling blood in the water. How fucking retarded.
The kid let them chase him for a couple minutes and then jumped back to meet them, not even out of breath after sprinting for so long. That was their first clue something was wrong.
Ricardo shivered, both from the cold of the night air and from remembering how the kid moved, taking a hit and then ignoring it a moment later to launch his own.
It was like fighting a fucking Terminator.
The gun had been his saving grace. He hadn't wanted to really use it. I mean, cape or not, it was a fucking kid he was talking about. He just… he didn't know what else to do.
A single shot, right through the chest, had sent the kid sprawling with blood splatter flying from his chest.
Ricardo was surprised, shock overriding the pained expression on his face as the boy fell to the ground, completely still.
At first, he had thought it hadn't worked. Why would it?
The kid had ignored knives and a machete tearing into him, none of them bothering him for more than a short moment.
What difference would one bullet make?
Yet over a minute later, the cape was as unmoving as he had been since he first fell.
Ricardo had actually let out a relieved sigh, despite how much it hurt, when he realized that it was finally over.
The Merchant took in another shaky breath, his chest screaming as he wheezed. Despite the uncomfortable position he was in, and the disgusting wetness that was liquid garbage seeping into his clothes and skin, he couldn't find it in him to move.
His chest stung with deep welts and bruises, forcing him to take shallow breaths that still managed to almost make him tear up in pain. His eyes slowly began to close, the dark hold of unconsciousness falling over him.
Then, he heard it.
Breathing, slow but steady.
Brown eyes forced themselves open with tremendous effort, locking onto the only one that could have made a noise like that. A rush of panic hit him, the fear itself jolting him back into full consciousness. No. No. I shot him.
The boy's body began to twitch, heavy breathing audible from where he lay just a few meters away.
No. Ricardo tried to stand, his arms trembling like a baby's as he tried to push himself off the ground. The cape's breathing came quicker, speeding up until he sounded like he was having a heart attack on the alley floor.
It was too late, anyway. No. I shot him. I shot him!
As if waking from a nightmare, the cape surged upwards to a sitting position, his body visibly trembling and eyes wide beneath his white mask as he heaved for breath. He gasped, a deep, trembling inhale of oxygen that Ricardo wished he could emulate without pain, and there was silence.
A moment later, the night was filled with a gut-wrenching scream, not of pain but fear as the cape stared at his own bloody hands, his voice a testament to his fear. Frenzied blue eyes snapped to Ricardo's. The Merchant desperately tried to crawl away as those eyes locked on to his, fear mixing in with anger as the cape stared at him.
The kid jumped to his feet as if he hadn't been shot, hand sweeping up the bat at his side without even looking. He rushed forward, still screaming fearfully as he swung the bat back over his head, the weapon gripped in his two gloved hands.
Ricardo trembled in his slumped position, unable to move and unable to breathe.
The Merchant closed his eyes. No.
The bat came down.
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
The revolver had fallen from his hand about a minute ago, his wrist too fucked-up to hold on to the pound of metal. The recoil was another bitch and a half to deal with, the sudden force of it making him take a deep breath that hurt like everything in the world at once. It was a vise, gripping his chest and tightening even more with each short, raspy gasp he gave as his body struggled for air.
I shot him.
Despite all that, his hand still shook at his side, his finger twitching uncontrollably as it continued pulling at the trigger that wasn't there. I shot him.
The gun lay at his side, spent.
He only had one shot.
One bullet to make it count.
Yesterday - or maybe two days ago, he didn't fucking remember - he held up a convenience store with that gun... took every damn thing he could. Enough food for him and his boys for a good month and enough money to keep all eight of them in product for a while.
Other than the change you made off dealin', you had to provide for yourself as a Merchant. Skidmark didn't do handouts.
He had used five bullets.
Five out of six of the last bullets he had left.
Shot the clerk. One in the head.
Served him right for trying to pull a gun on him when he thought he wasn't looking.
Shot two cops who showed up, the blue fucks making him waste two shots each before they went down in their own blood.
Down to his last bullet and he uses it to waste some Wards wannabe fuck probably still in middle school.
Ricardo fought to keep his eyes open, his gaze locked on the cape kid's unmoving body. He had to be dead, right? Blinking, the lone conscious Merchant tried desperately to assure himself of that despite so much telling him otherwise. I shot him.
His other hand twitched at his side, remembering how his machete had plunged deep into the boy's shoulder. The kid had screamed as the edge cut into the side of his arm, blood spraying from the jagged wound.
Yeah, the kid had definitely screamed.
Once.
After that, he just went back to the fight, throwing punches like nothing had happened. The kid didn't even try to stop the bleeding. He didn't even pay the wound any attention, using that same injured arm to punch him in the throat a moment later.
He was stronger than he looked. Not too fast, but fast enough to be tricky. They hadn't taken him too seriously at first, even after the kid had taken down four of their group with a surprise attack. The rest of them were surprised too, the young-sounding voice almost as big of a shock as the obvious powers the kid had thrown around.
They almost booked it until they saw the kid, eyes nervous and wide as he waited for them to make their move. When they didn't back down, the cape kid ran and they took off after him, smelling blood in the water. How fucking retarded.
The kid let them chase him for a couple minutes and then jumped back to meet them, not even out of breath after sprinting for so long. That was their first clue something was wrong.
Ricardo shivered, both from the cold of the night air and from remembering how the kid moved, taking a hit and then ignoring it a moment later to launch his own.
It was like fighting a fucking Terminator.
The gun had been his saving grace. He hadn't wanted to really use it. I mean, cape or not, it was a fucking kid he was talking about. He just… he didn't know what else to do.
A single shot, right through the chest, had sent the kid sprawling with blood splatter flying from his chest.
Ricardo was surprised, shock overriding the pained expression on his face as the boy fell to the ground, completely still.
At first, he had thought it hadn't worked. Why would it?
The kid had ignored knives and a machete tearing into him, none of them bothering him for more than a short moment.
What difference would one bullet make?
Yet over a minute later, the cape was as unmoving as he had been since he first fell.
Ricardo had actually let out a relieved sigh, despite how much it hurt, when he realized that it was finally over.
The Merchant took in another shaky breath, his chest screaming as he wheezed. Despite the uncomfortable position he was in, and the disgusting wetness that was liquid garbage seeping into his clothes and skin, he couldn't find it in him to move.
His chest stung with deep welts and bruises, forcing him to take shallow breaths that still managed to almost make him tear up in pain. His eyes slowly began to close, the dark hold of unconsciousness falling over him.
Then, he heard it.
Breathing, slow but steady.
Brown eyes forced themselves open with tremendous effort, locking onto the only one that could have made a noise like that. A rush of panic hit him, the fear itself jolting him back into full consciousness. No. No. I shot him.
The boy's body began to twitch, heavy breathing audible from where he lay just a few meters away.
No. Ricardo tried to stand, his arms trembling like a baby's as he tried to push himself off the ground. The cape's breathing came quicker, speeding up until he sounded like he was having a heart attack on the alley floor.
It was too late, anyway. No. I shot him. I shot him!
As if waking from a nightmare, the cape surged upwards to a sitting position, his body visibly trembling and eyes wide beneath his white mask as he heaved for breath. He gasped, a deep, trembling inhale of oxygen that Ricardo wished he could emulate without pain, and there was silence.
A moment later, the night was filled with a gut-wrenching scream, not of pain but fear as the cape stared at his own bloody hands, his voice a testament to his fear. Frenzied blue eyes snapped to Ricardo's. The Merchant desperately tried to crawl away as those eyes locked on to his, fear mixing in with anger as the cape stared at him.
The kid jumped to his feet as if he hadn't been shot, hand sweeping up the bat at his side without even looking. He rushed forward, still screaming fearfully as he swung the bat back over his head, the weapon gripped in his two gloved hands.
Ricardo trembled in his slumped position, unable to move and unable to breathe.
The Merchant closed his eyes. No.
The bat came down.
– o – o – o – o – o –o – o –
Icecoldfunk
Rest in Peace
- Location
- Australia
ooOOooh
Luverly trauma.
Welcome to Worm-verse, check your innocence at the door, no, you're not getting it back.
Luverly trauma.
Welcome to Worm-verse, check your innocence at the door, no, you're not getting it back.
redzonejoe
Vaguely Pastafarian
- Location
- Canada
I kinda feel like these should be switched, but whateves.
Anybody wanna take bets on what the KO costed Greg? I'm gonna guess it's more than just a 5 minute loss of awareness.
Negative exp? Loss of levels? Temporary or semi-permanent debuff? Quest failure?