Magic Murder Cube Marine

Francis didn't dream often, but when he did, it usually didn't end well for the monsters. His sleep paralysis demon was currently on strike, and the killer clowns had joined it in solidarity. Francis didn't have nightmares, he was the nightmare.

The Marine yawned. He vaguely remembered something about chasing a demon down a hallway. That was typically how his dreams went, though this one had involved a lot more crying and begging than normal. (Francis had eventually taken pity on the demon and given it a head start.)

It was debatable whether his inner demons were real and had learned not to mess with him, or he had merely convinced himself that was how hostile creatures should act in his presence. But the results were the same.

Francis chuckled. “He must have been new.”

“Hmm?” Willow asked, not quite awake.

“Nothing, go back to sleep.” The Marine gave her a kiss and pulled on his clothes. The Robes of Casual Evil were incredibly comfortable, and even self-repairing. But it felt wrong to wear the same thing every single day. Francis was thinking of trying to get a Hawaiian shirt or something similar, for formal occasions.

He flexed his hand and Relativity appeared. Then he flexed it again and the staff vanished. Francis was beginning to understand the nuances of his class choices, and how incredibly badly he had fucked up during character creation.

He had thirty in every stat. Which meant he had missed out on the opportunity to push his most important stats even higher. A thirty in Intellectual didn't actually make him that much smarter than someone with a twenty. But putting those ten points into Durable would have dramatically raised his HP.

Francis pulled up the relevant info as he walked to the kitchen to grab some chow.