Deckard inspected the details of the item Ronan had just given him.
Card Repository (Unique)
Description: A piece of Zulmer technology that imparts subdimensionalized characteristics onto the carrier’s genome.
Despite its fancy description, the item Ronan handed him felt instantly familiar. Deckard ran his fingers over its surface—a hard-covered, thick, sturdy portfolio almost identical to the ones he and Andy had used to store their Spades & Space collection—the game he and Andy had played before Nova Cardia.
Memories flashed in Deckard’s mind. He and Andy sitting cross-legged on Andy’s bedroom floor, hunched over a game of Spades & Space. That one week they had spent on their summer holiday cleaning the warehouse of Andy's father’s shop only to exchange it for the last box of cards the shop had.
Nostalgia bubbled up, bittersweet. It was as if Andy was beside him for a brief moment. But as Deckard opened the portfolio, the feeling evaporated, buried under the many differences between his old Spades & Space repository and this one.
For one, it was too heavy. A small part of him hoped the weight came from a complete collection of cards already stored inside. Wouldn’t that be something? But as he flipped it open, the reality was far less satisfying. One page. A single, thick, weighty page. It felt almost like a stone tablet. Deckard ran his fingers over the surface, curious. The texture beneath his fingertips was a bizarre blend of opposites: soft as silk yet hard as steel. When he touched it, the page trembled slightly, skittering as if alive—much like how Ronan’s skin had moved earlier.
“Nanites,” Deckard whispered.
“That’s it,” Ronan confirmed with a nod.
The page was blank, except for neat rows of empty slots, each perfectly shaped to hold a card.
“This is what you called an ark earlier,” Ronan said, his voice swelling with pride. “I told you it could fit in a shoebox, remember? This machine has enough space to store all the species in your world.”
Deckard’s brow furrowed as he glanced back at the description. All the species in the world? He looked up at Ronan skeptically. That can’t be right. If he remembered correctly, there were over a million species of animals alone. “Are you sure?”
Ronan nodded, his expression calm and confident.
Deckard ran a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of it all. Maybe I’m taking it too literally. It seemed impossible that the developers had modeled mutated versions of every creature on Earth for the game. Right?
He thought back to Gull Rock. There, seagulls had been divided into diseased, terminal, cranky, radioactive, and then the final boss—the sea ghoul. Five variations of the same bird, none mimicking reality. That probably meant he wouldn't need to collect over a million cards.
Ronan, sensing Deckard’s hesitation, nudged him to try the item. “Go ahead. Try inserting one of your cards.”
Deckard hesitated for a moment, then reached for his small collection. He shuffled through the cards, finally selecting one: [Cranky Seagull]. The card was practically unplayable. If I lose it, I won’t miss it. With a deep breath, he pressed the card against one of the empty slots.
Instantly, it stuck, like a magnet snapping into place. The page began to glow, a soft electronic hum rising from the portfolio as the entire sheet turned a radiant blue.
Collection updated.
+0.2% attack speed.
Deckard blinked, wide-eyed. “It… made me stronger.”
“What you humans call creature cards subdimensionalize a subject’s DNA,” Ronan explained, his tone brimming with excitement. “But the DNA alone cannot bring a creature back to three dimensions. You also need complementary cards—ones that provide behaviors.”
Behavior? Is he talking about skill cards? Deckard wondered.
He sifted through his deck, quickly finding a card related to the seagull: [Seagull Strike]. His pulse quickened as he placed it beside the [Cranky Seagull] in the portfolio.
Collection updated.
+0.1% attack speed.
The two cards shifted slightly as the page reconfigured, the [Cranky Seagull] hovering in one corner while the behavior slotted into place next to it, like a puzzle fitting together.
“That’s it,” Ronan said with approval in his voice. “To collect a creature’s full information, you need its genome and behaviors. There are more pieces to the puzzle, but for now, this is enough.”
Gears turned in Deckard’s mind. Another increase in attack speed. That seemed to be the attribute seagulls offered. The skill card had only provided a 0.1% increase, while the [Cranky Seagull] card doubled that. I wonder if it’s because one is a skill card, and the other is a creature card, Deckard mused. Or maybe the [Cranky Seagull]’s elite status makes the card more valuable.
His head swam with this new information. The way the game integrated a card-collecting system into his class was dope. But something worried him.
With each card, he only got a 0.1% or 0.2% increase in an attribute. That’s on the low side, he thought, frowning. After investing [Cranky Seagull], [Seagull Poison], and [Seagull Strike], he had barely reached a 0.4% boost to attack speed. By comparison, every other player got five total stat points with each level-up, and from what he’d read, each point in dexterity increased attack speed and movement speed by 0.2%.
So why am I gaining so little, even after investing valuable resources?
This class would take a lot of work to get off the ground. The incremental boosts required patience and dedication. It’ll be worth it in the long run, he reassured himself, but a flicker of doubt remained.
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
Deckard glanced at Ronan, sensing the need to make the most of Ronan’s availability to answer questions. In his experience, Ronan wasn’t one to linger in conversation for long. “Why did the page turn blue earlier?” he asked.
Ronan’s expression darkened briefly. “It’s due to how they fractured reality. This planet’s order is unstable. Some creatures respond more to certain forms of energy than others.”
Deckard nodded slowly, filing away that clue. Yet another reference to them, he thought. The opening cinematic also said something about a fractured reality. The lore of the game was all coming together.
In his match against Ratu, Deckard noticed that all the cards had an affinity. [Crab Enforcer] and [Sturdy Turtle] were tied to water, while [Backstab] had a dark affinity. [Psionic Push] had a wind affinity, and [Charged Slash] a fire one. Affinities hadn’t influenced the game in any way, but their visual prominence suggested they were important.
A spark of curiosity ignited within him. Tentatively, he tugged at one of the two cards in the repository, half-expecting it to resist. Instead, it came free effortlessly. So, if I put a card into the repository, I can always remove it later.
Deckard grabbed the rest of his small collection. As he pressed the cards against the portfolio, it reconfigured again. The thick block split into several pages, and some of them shifted colors.
The one holding [Backstab] became pitch black, while the page with [Charged Slash] turned fiery red. Suddenly, the portfolio’s interior was a rainbow of colors.
Collection updated.
+0.1 damage resistance
+0.1 crit damage
+1 HP
+1 energy point (EP)
+0.1 attack
+0.1% attack speed
Deckard’s mind raced with possibilities. Which cards contributed to which benefits? He was about to dive into another round of experiments to better understand the mechanics, but a lingering question nagged at him. It had been gnawing at the back of his mind since he read the skill description earlier.
“What about understanding the creatures?” he asked. “I need that before I can subdimensionalize them, right?”
Ronan’s smile broadened. “I’m glad you asked. Come, look into the tank.”
Deckard approached cautiously. Inside the tank, several starfish scuttled around—if you could call what starfish did scuttling. They moved at an excruciatingly slow speed. He glanced at Ronan, uncertain. “What now?”
“Look,” Ronan instructed. “Really look. Let your radiation-soaked mind absorb the information. The mutation is already there, waiting to harness the details.”
Deckard didn’t fully understand, but he followed Ronan’s advice, focusing his gaze on the starfish. He watched intently, unsure what to expect. He watched as each of the tube feet in the common starfish helped it move slowly up on the glass. He kept watching each of the starfish.
You observe the common starfish.
Your understanding of it grows.
Deckard blinked, startled by the notification. Then, more followed, rapid and exhilarating, like tiny thrills sparking in his mind.
You observe the chocolate-chip starfish.
Your understanding of it grows.
You observe the common starfish.
Your understanding of it grows.
The updates kept coming, and soon they became a stream of information. “What’s happening?” he asked, his voice tight with amazement.
“Check the repository,” Ronan suggested, his tone calm.
Deckard flipped it open, and to his surprise, there were now faint, grayed-out outlines of the starfish he’d just observed. The common starfish was the clearest, its design pale but complete. The chocolate-chip starfish was less developed, its lines rough and unfinished. Other shapes were little more than crude sketches.
“This… is incredible,” Deckard murmured.
“The nanites in your bloodstream are transmitting the data from your brain to the repository,” Ronan explained.
Deckard’s hand instinctively moved to his ears. “My bloodstream? When did that happen?”
“When I pushed one of the subdimensionalizers into your head,” Ronan said casually, as though implanting nanites was an everyday event. “They got in through your human head holes.”
Deckard winced, reflexively rubbing his ears. Human head holes?
“This helps you track how many creatures you’ve observed and how many are left to collect,” Ronan continued. “The clearer the image, the better your understanding of the creature.”
Deckard’s gaze drifted back to the tank. “So… I can capture the starfish now?”
Ronan smiled. “Yes. Go ahead.”
Deckard glanced back at him, a question forming. “And where do I get the empty cards to store their information?”
“The repository will provide them for you,” Ronan explained. “However, this kind of uplink consumes significant processing power. There’s a limit to how many cards you can keep out.”
Deckard turned back to the portfolio, flipping through the pages. On the first page, he noticed a blank card that had seemingly materialized, glued in place. As he pulled it free, a window appeared before his eyes.
How many cards would you like to retrieve?
Intrigued, Deckard fiddled with the menu, quickly discovering that he could carry a maximum of 52 cards—the number in a traditional card deck. He grabbed one of the empty cards from the portfolio, his heart pounding with excitement. The card’s texture was unlike anything he had felt before: smooth but firm. He inspected it closely.
Subdimensionalizing Card (Uncommon)
Description: A piece of Zulmer technology that can take quite a beating.
Effects: When thrown, +1 attack.
Deckard could hardly contain his enthusiasm as he approached the tank. His eyes fixed on the common starfish, lazily clinging to the glass near the top. He pressed the card against it.
“Subdimensionalize!” Deckard whispered.
The card glowed, a brilliant white light radiating as the starfish squirmed. Then, in an instant, it was sucked into the card. The glow faded, leaving a detailed, life-like illustration of the starfish imprinted on the card.
“Woah!” Deckard exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief.
The blank card had transformed.
Deckard grinned from ear to ear, admiring the new addition to his collection. It even came with a funky effect and a keyword he hadn’t seen before: regeneration. As he fixated on the keyword, a pop-up window appeared.
Regeneration: Whenever this card is discarded, it will appear in the battlefield at a random location two turns later.
Cool! He slid the card into the portfolio, feeling a sense of satisfaction as a notification appeared.
Collection updated.
+0.1 HP regeneration.
“So starfish give me HP regeneration,” he muttered. “Let’s try capturing a few more.”
His gaze shifted to the chocolate chip starfish crawling along the tank's floor. He pulled out another card and pressed it against the glass, watching eagerly as the light began to glow again. This time, however, the brightness faltered and then darkened, leaving the card blank.
Ronan chuckled. “Haha. Too soon. The more complex the creature, the harder it is to subdimensionalize. You’ll need to observe it further before you can capture it.”
Deckard frowned, his mind racing. Is it a matter of odds, or do some creatures require me to reach a certain threshold of understanding?
Determined, Deckard grabbed a fresh card and tried again, but the result was the same—just a brief flicker of light before the card dimmed.
“The creature has gained some resistance to capture after your earlier failure. I’d advise you to wait a bit before trying again.”
Ronan turned to leave, operating the console embedded in his arm. As the nanites crawled back onto his face, they reshaped his features, covering the alien blackness beneath with human-like skin once more. “I have to go now. The shop won’t run itself. I think I’ve taught you everything you need to know.”
“B-but I…” Deckard stammered, looking back at the tank, the remaining starfish practically waiting to be captured.
“Go, human,” Ronan said with a smile. “Collect as many creatures as possible while there’s still time.”
And with that, Deckard found himself unceremoniously pushed out the door. He sighed. So much had happened. He needed to make sense of his new situation and plan his character’s development.
Deckard marched toward the piers. He would think when watching the ocean. He had to figure out how to make the most of the card slinger class.
Click here to become a Patreon.
