Call Of The Tamer - Chapter 2: The First Beast, Mong

"Hello?" Michael called out, sweeping his gaze over the dark alleyway for a person, but found only roaches, rodents, and the golden retriever puppy accompanying him in this dump. Again, he studied his body, seeing he wore a ragged shirt barely held intact by torn seams and a pair of loose pants, certainly not his own belongings since the waist was wide and had to be tied to avoid falling off his legs. More notably, his feet were closer to his eyes, and his hands were like a child's. The most alarming and strangest was not his seemingly younger body or the state of his clothes; it was the so-called status floating nearby.

Name: Mikhael
Age: 12
Class: Beast Tamer [FFF]
Strength: FFF
Endurance: FF
Vitality: FFF
Agility: FF
Magic: FF
Active Skills: Tame [FFF]
Passive Skills: Unlimited Evolution [???], March Of The Beasts[???]
Traits: None

It bore a striking semblance to the stats of video games, though rather than the numbers he often played around with on his computer, these used letters. So many questions raced through his mind, but his head nearly exploded as they pounded like hammers striking his skull, and he fell to his knees, gagging and gripping his mouth shut. Regrettably, the foul muck on his hand worsened the issue as it streaked past his lips, and he vomited again, attracting some roaches that partook in the new feast.

'Ok…calm down. Calm down.' Michael steadied his breathing and eyed the status once more, thinking it had to be a nightmare, but the persistent glow of the bright screen depicting his stats etched itself in his sight. He didn't favor the obvious shift of his name to be more fantastical; according to it, he was twelve years old. So, he lost five precious years, regressing to a mere child, and had his name forcibly changed. 'Yea, this is a nightmare. It's not possible.' He couldn't believe his years of hard work in getting into a good high school and getting admitted with a full ride to N. University would be wiped out like that.

"Alright. Odds are, I'm stuck in a coma and somehow playing a game in my head." Michael convinced himself, refusing to believe it wasn't real. The golden retriever barked, the loud noise startling him and the roaches. He chuckled and rubbed its greasy head. At the very least, he should care for the dog, real or not. Next, he turned his attention to the status window, giving it another glance over.

If it followed school grades, F should be the lowest, but in his stats, multiple F's decorated the same lines, not the best start, or perhaps everyone started the same way. 'Why am I overthinking a dream?' Michael smacked his head and felt an instinct rising, his finger reaching out and tapping on the class, Beast Tamer. The statue window shimmered as ripples distorted where he touched and spread, changing the words as if he flipped to a new page.

Class: Beast Tamer
Current Rank: FFF
Description: You are the tamer. Able to have limited communication with beasts and enter a contract with them, gaining abilities and powers depending on the beast. Their woes are yours, and yours are theirs. Their joy is yours, and yours is theirs. Man and Beast as one.

"I guess it does fit me," Michael mumbled as he figured out how to backtrack to the main status window, like swiping on a phone. There was no page behind the stats, so he focused on the skills. He tapped on Tame and read over its details.

Active Skill: Tame
Current Rank: FFF
Type: Primary
Description: Attempt to tame a beast and enter a contract. Using this skill will make the beast your friend and companion. Rank is tied to your Beast Tamer rank.
Restrictions: You can only tame one beast.

It seemed quite typical for a tamer class, not unlike the usual games he played in his idle time. However, the Passive Skills section attracted his attention, their ranks hidden behind question marks, which, according to common game knowledge, meant they were far beyond his capacity to see. Still, it was strange, considering that this feature was normally for enemies beyond his character's level, not his own abilities. But when he flipped to his Passive Skills, his eyes widened in shock, his finger trembling over the descriptions. 'Are you serious?'

Passive Skill: Unlimited Evolution
Current Rank: ???
Type: Inherited
Description: Your beast can evolve to the highest peak regardless of bloodline or type. Even the smallest maggot can become the strongest apex predator in your hands. You unlock the doors to heights never seen by beasts.
Restrictions: You can only tame basic animals, not Awakened Beasts.

Passive Skill: March Of The Beasts
Current Rank: ???
Type: Inherited
Description: Your powers as a tamer exceed others, breaking the soul limit of one. You can tame up to seven wonderful beasts.
Restrictions: Your current rank only allows you to tame two beasts. Grow stronger and gain the power to tame more!

It was a good balance of pros and cons. Instinctively, probably gifted by his class, Michael knew basic animals had zero potential, and even with his Unlimited Evolution, their pace would be slow compared to other beasts. The March Of The Beasts restricted his total beasts for the moment, preventing him from gathering an army, but allowed him not to be overwhelmed by juggling seven at once until he grew stronger. But, something nagged at him, a discomfort welling in his heart as an unwelcome notion propped in his mind. Was this really a dream? It was too vivid and specific.

The puppy barked again, jolting Michael. Staring at the little puppy, he had an idea. Reaching out, Michael tried to invoke the Tame skill, following a trail of instinct telling him how to use it—a warmth spread throughout his veins, hot blood pumping to his fingertips, all from his chest. Oddly, it wasn't his heart but a strange object resting in between his lungs next to the heart that surged this newfound heat. An invisible power ignited his nerves and tensed his muscles as every fiber of his being focused solely on the puppy. His surroundings were distorted, and the sound became muffled as if the space had closed into a pocket world for him and the dog, the only two clear beings in it.

You are attempting to use Tame on the dog.

Awaiting the dog's response…

Success! Congratulations! You have tamed your first beast!

Please choose a name for your new companion.

The automated voice spoke again, requesting a name. Michael searched his thoughts and smirked, deciding on a funny name his stepsister used to call the neighborhood dog, owing to the strange way it barked. "I name you, Mong." He caressed its head as Mong tilted upward, attempting to sniff and lick his palm, but reaching only his wrist. Suddenly, a new status window popped up, along with a new message from the voice.

Ding! Unlimited Evolution's effect has taken place. Mong has evolved into an Awakened Beast.

Mong's stats have been updated.

Name: Mong
Race: Golden Retriever [FFF]
Strength: FF
Endurance: FFF
Vitality: FFF
Agility: FF
Magic: FFF
Active Skills: Bite [FFF], Claw [FFF]
Passive Skills: Sense Danger [FF]
Traits: Enhanced Smell [FFF]

With that, Mong barked loudly and leaped around, sheer delight spilling over into Michael. The newly formed connection between him and Mong shared the dog's overflowing joy, lifting his lips into a wide smile. He couldn't help but laugh as Mong pounced on him, licking his face. At least this dream wasn't so bad, having a good companion by his side. Something skittered past his face, and he yelped, skipping to his feet. A roach paused as if looking up at him with its antennas swaying. Tiptoeing, Michael carried Mong away, not even entertaining the idea of taming a roach, the absolutely nasty creatures they were.

Light poured down, forcing his eyes to stutter, dazed for a moment while they adjusted to the sudden brightness. The sun perfectly beamed straight down the narrow gap between the two buildings. The sudden rise in temperature, as the cool shade faded, intensified the nauseating stench of garbage and other unsavory sources. Michael was about to rub away the stinging pain in his eyes but halted, recalling the dirty state of his hands. He waited for a few seconds and regained full vision, his face twisting at the sight of the distinct sludge oozing between the old bricks.

'I need to get out of here.' Michael gagged as his bare feet found no respite from the foul slick covering the alleyway. Mong liked his cheeks along the way and scratched his shoulder with tiny claws. Light spilled forth from the exit, and he strode out, seeing a bright blue sky greeting him, clouds floating lazily around the intense sun, yellow and radiant.

Crowds of people passed by on the edges of the street, sandwiching the carriages, some looking far fancier than the others as armored horses of the finest coat of white fur pulled them, and others carted by single horses, donkeys, or mules, lacking the splendor of the gilded edges and fanciful ornaments of the priors. The streets were well-paved in stone. The bigger buildings were clearly of Gothic style, with pointed arches and piercing spires, and the smaller ones looked like the standard medieval homes with sloped roofs of wood and tiles and frames of timber and stone, but in better condition than the typical medieval city he reviewed in history class.

Michael swept his gaze across, realizing he was behind a stall, the pleasing aroma of cooked meat and spices making his stomach grumble. He gulped, but drool continued to leak out, his mind unable to properly control his younger body.

"Oi! Little slum rat! Get out!" The stall owner, a skinny man, scowled at him, raising a bony fist and hollering, "Ya won't be wreckin' my business by standin' here!" Before Michael could react, the stall owner stomped his foot down, very intimidating, and as his body jumped in fright, a fist drove into his gut. Michael fell back and stumbled on his feet, able to lean on the wall for support. The stall owner yelled, "Off!"

'Huh? That didn't hurt too much.' Michael coughed from his organs being squeezed. His brow rose in confusion. The man was skinny, indeed, but still older than him, and his body wasn't in the best condition either. Yet, he didn't feel much pain from the stall owner's blow. Was it because he was an Awakened? That question barely floated around before a more pressing one, the same that haunted him, resurfaced. Was this a dream? The slight pain and discomfort in his gut from the blow felt too real.

'No, this has to be a dream. It can't be real.' Michael entertained the notion before tossing it out as he walked away, soothing Mong, who wanted to bite the man. Say, it was real. Where should he go? He had no prior memories, believing it to be like any dream where he would be dropped in the middle of an event. But what if it was real? The lack of knowledge irritated him. He closed his eyes and clenched his eyelids hard, attempting the old remedy he knew to escape dreams with a good degree of success in his usual nightmares. Still, the countless steps of the crowds resounded clearly, signaling failure.

'No one wants to talk to me in this state.' Despite his attempt to hunch and walk by the wall, he couldn't escape others' attention. Several looked at him with contempt flaring in their eyes, a scoff as they avoided him like the plague, and others simply ignored him, his wretched state not attracting any pity as if they regarded him like a bug. Now, he knew how the homeless in the subway stations felt, to be ignored so strongly or be looked down on. Enduring the stares and blatant disregard, he couldn't help but grow nervous, hugging Mong tightly as it cuddled closer, his distress known to his beasts. Feeling better, Michael went into another alleyway and sat down, already out of breath.

What was his next step? He pondered, gripping his bony legs that trembled from exertion. His experience as an academic high school student brought a good idea. The solution was simple. He needed to solve a problem, so he had to study. The first step was to find a library or bookstore and read its books, but glancing over his ragged attire and dirty body, surrounded by the stench of garbage, and remembering the cruelty of the stall owner, Michael realized he needed to clean up.

Peeking his head out of the alleyway, he spotted a fountain containing four statues of graceful women pouring water from their vases, perfect for a late-night bath. Michael scurried along and searched for a bookstore or library. He found a clothing store, noting it in his academic memory for later. The city was large, too great for him to travel by himself. As luck would have it, he stumbled on a nearby building bearing the mark of a book on its sign.

"Everrit's Books…Pay the entrance fee to read for free." Michael read the strange characters. They weren't English, but he could read them. Could a dream conjure up a new language? He shook his head and noted his three targets: the fountain, the clothing store, and Everrit's Books. However, one frustrating point glared back: money. Where could he get money?

Mong barked, growling at the stall owner who had punched Michael earlier and was currently entertaining some customers, mainly couples. He had wandered back to the start by accident. The clear clangs of metal clattering on each other made his ears perk up. His eyes turned to the source and caught a glimpse of the small pile of coins in the drawer of the stall when the owner opened it to toss the gains from a new sale. A daring idea formed in his mind. 'I'll steal it.'