Zavier sat in the bathtub, warm water up to his waist. He had the drain cracked open just enough to maintain perfect clarity - water flowing in at the sa rate it escaped. Crystal clear water was essential for what was coming next.
The argunt with Tess burned in his mory. Neither of them had chosen a healing skill at level five, and when Cass had taken that gauntlet blast during the Scamperer fight, they'd stood helpless as their son bled. Completely dependent on the Bouchards for salvation, ard with nothing but basic first aid and desperate prayers. What happened when the Bouchards weren't there? What happened when soone was dying and they could only watch?
He glanced at the party chat - the twins hunting with Maisy, Tess out with his chain, all of them growing stronger while he remained static. His heart hamred against his ribs as he studied the implents arranged on the closed toilet seat: healing pills, Chloe's numbing compound, the ergency injector, and a box knife sharp enough to split skin cleanly.
The logic was elegant. The Bouchards had proven you could earn skills through obsessive practice outside of combat. Owen's brewing mastery ca from countless hours of experintation. Madison's invention skills blood through endless building and testing. Chloe's chemical analysis had developed through deliberate exposure to controlled substances. If Zavier was going to earn a healing skill - and God knew they desperately needed soone in the family who could handle dical ergencies - he needed to understand anatomy at a level no textbook could provide.
And there was no universe in which he would experint on anyone else.
After the zoo, he'd brought the Bouchards bags of the butterfly creatures, watching in fascination as Chloe analyzed their effects. He'd nearly launched himself across their table when she opened the bag and slid her arm inside, but she'd stopped him with an upraised hand.
"It's fine," she'd said with the calm of soone who'd walked through fire before. "I have a skill that allows to safely absorb chemicals and monitor their reactions within my body. It helps create better and more effective potions."
She paused, eyebrows drawing together as the butterflies settled on her skin. "Interesting. They're not using proboscises as expected. Instead, they're rging their bodies with mine on a cellular level through their feet, directly injecting chemicals and bypassing pain sensors entirely."
Zavier's eyes had gone wide, alarm shooting through him, but Owen had simply waved off his concern. The casual gesture of a man who'd watched his wife dance with death a thousand tis before. "She'll be fine. Always is."
Chloe continued her clinical dissection of the experience with the professional detachnt of a coroner reading autopsy results. "The anesthetic powder in their wings eliminates all sensation - you can't even feel the beat of their wings against your skin. The powder is magically absorbed, traveling rapidly to the brain and releasing serotonin, dopamine, endorphins, and oxytocin simultaneously. Quite a cocktail. I imagine you felt euphoric covered in them."
Her expression shifted to surprise. "Oh! latonin is being released now. If I weren't actively focusing, I'd be drifting off to sleep." Another pause, her eyes widening. "Fascinating. Once they sensed the latonin, they reversed their process - absorbing my life energy instead. About one percent per ten butterflies per minute for soone my size and level. Trivial in small doses, but if you were drugged into blissful unconsciousness and covered in hundreds of these..." She trailed off aningfully.
She gently shook them off, extracting her hand without harming a single creature. "What do you want for them?"
Zavier smiled, gesturing at the beast cores and supplies they'd brought. "Let's not get transactional. We're friends. You can have the butterflies - I can't wait to see what you create from them. But I do have a request, if it's possible. After experiencing their effects, I thought of sothing that might be useful for my attempts at learning a new skill."
When he'd explained his theory about earning healing skills through anatomical study, Chloe had leaned forward with scientific interest rather than horror. "If anyone could push the System to recognize dical expertise through direct study, it would be soone willing to use themselves as the subject. The intensity factor alone might accelerate skill developnt exponentially."
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Owen had nodded slowly, his weathered face thoughtful. "Makes sense. System rewards dedication and risk-taking. Can't get more dedicated than cutting yourself open for knowledge."
Now, rolling Chloe's creation across his forearm, Zavier felt vindicated as numbness spread instantly. Full range of motion, absolute absence of sensation. He tested the compound's efficacy with the box cutter against his palm, tensing as crimson welled up from the cut, then relaxing as he felt nothing.
This wasn't reckless experintation. This was controlled research conducted with scientific rigor. He had healing pills to maintain his health above critical thresholds. He had the injector for ergencies. He'd studied dical diagrams for weeks, morizing every detail. Most importantly, he had pharmaceutical-grade anesthesia that would allow him to work with surgical precision instead of writhing through agony.
The family needed this. He needed this. Every ti they ventured into danger, every ti one of them took damage, they were gambling on whether the Bouchards would be available to save them. This was his path to independence, his way to beco their guardian instead of their burden.
He began with thodical precision, flaying skin and muscle from his hand with the focused intensity of a scholar. Rivers of blood spiraled down the drain as he catalogued each layer, each structure, burning the knowledge into his mory while hoping the System recognized his dedication.
Hours passed. Zavier stood on unsteady legs, sealing the nearly empty container of healing pills. Through his arm, hand, and shoulder, he'd conducted ticulous anatomical study, taking pills whenever his health dropped below fifty percent to maintain controlled conditions.
Sothing felt wrong, though. His left side felt disconnected, as if the signals between brain and limb were traveling through static. The healing pills had restored his health and tissue, but systematic dissection and regeneration of an entire limb in one session had created so kind of systemic strain the System couldn't fully address. He'd need to discuss optimization with Chloe.
Still, the knowledge gained was invaluable. He understood muscle attachnts, nerve pathways, blood vessel placent in ways no textbook could have taught him. If this didn't trigger healing skill recognition, nothing would.
He heard the front door open and quickly concealed the evidence, then made his way to the couch on trembling legs. The twins burst in, dirt-streaked and glowing with the satisfaction of successful hunters, while Tess followed with the pleased expression of an evening well spent.
Later, as she leaned down to kiss his forehead, Tess said, "I noticed you cut off your feed just after we left."
His heart lurched, but she smiled with genuine warmth. "I'm so proud of you, honey. You trusted us to be okay. That's a big step."
He kissed her back, guilt churning in his stomach.
Weeks passed in the sa pattern. The twins approached level ten, Tess reached twelve, and every night Zavier continued his anatomical research. Arms, legs, shoulders - each session providing deeper understanding of human physiology while nudging his healing skill developnt forward. He could swear that he felt sothing building in the System's recognition, distant thunder gathering on the horizon.
But his credit with the Bouchards was nearly exhausted, and tonight he was down to his final numbing compound and last healing pills.
Tonight had to be definitive. If controlled limb study wasn't sufficient to trigger the skill, he needed to understand the torso - the critical region where combat injuries would prove most imdiately lethal. When soone took a blade to the gut or shrapnel to the chest, he needed to know exactly what he was seeing and how to address it.
His family was out hunting as a group, having pleaded with him to join them. He'd deflected with research excuses, earning a concerned look from Tess.
"You obsess, Z," she'd said. "You need to get out there and level."
"I'm holding you back," he'd replied. "I need to find other ways to contribute."
The tenderness in her eyes had nearly shattered his resolve. Part of him had wanted to confess everything - explain the healing skill theory, show her his progress, seek her input on the experintal thodology. But he'd learned to deliver results rather than promises.
Now, sitting in the tub with water barely covering his hips, he applied the last of the numbing compound across his stomach and chest. The dosage that had worked flawlessly on thick muscle tissue seed less effective on the thinner skin covering his organs, but he had four pills and the ergency injector. Multiple safeguards for controlled risk.
He drew a steadying breath, mirror in one hand, kitchen knife in the other. The mont he opened the abdominal wall, he knew he'd miscalculated catastrophically. His intestines spilled out, and his health plumted from full to critical in heartbeats.
He dropped the knife and lunged for the injector, his trembling hand sending the injector skittering across the toilet seat to fall off the other side.
As darkness pressed against the edges of his vision he managed one last ssage to Tess:
"I'm sorry. I love you."
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