Book 5: Chapter 9 - Curtains Closing (RAW)

There are balances in this world that must never be disturbed. Sins that must never be committed. The greatest sin birthed by Al-Lazar is the Abomination—a Sleeper, cursed against all odds, tainted by the forbidden Song of Mana.

- The Warnings of Al’Jabbadi the Duwat of Ardent Sands. 

You have slain a human 30 experience gained.

The cleric fell with a guttural choke, his lifeblood pooling at my feet like fresh spilled ink. The god he had worshipped was unknown to me, but his death filled me with more experience than expected. The weapon in my grasp thrummed with dark hunger, craving more souls to satiate a lust that mirrored my own shadowed desires.

The other adventurers stared, confusion and fear flickering in their eyes, the howling wind snatching away any words I might have offered in explanation. Canis stood tall, his arm outstretched as he pointed at Zariyah the Djinn and me, rallying his men with shouts lost to the tempest.

Blame hung heavy in the air, misplaced yet unshakable. The skirmish devolved into chaos—a brutal three-way melee of man against demigod against a creature born of storm and sand. An outsider might see only madness, but beneath the fury, I felt a resonance with Zariyah that flowed both ways. Even in her elemental rage, some vestige of recognition lingered in her eyes. Perhaps she sensed that my animosity for the adventurers burned hot.

It was a fragile understanding. I would not trust her at my back, but at least her wrath was not directed at me—for the moment, at least. Two figures charged toward me then, men or perhaps hulking women, it mattered little—encased in armor as heavy as my own, though lacking its finger craftsmanship. Their ensorcelled bronze weapons, etched with arcane runes, bit into my Mimic Shield, tearing gashes that made it wail in agony only I could hear.

I felt no sympathy for its suffering; the shield had served its purpose, its automatic defense allowing me to unleash Greater Drain. The spell's intoxicating rush flooded my veins, more potent than the richest wine, igniting a savage exhilaration deep within.

But fortune, as ever, is a fickle mistress. A mage behind them shifted his focus, perhaps sensing the dark tendrils of my magic. He summoned orbs of swirling purple energy that keened louder than the wind, homing in on me no matter how I tried to dodge. The magic was an echo of a spell Tally had used so many years ago. The orbs struck true, bypassing my armor as if it were but a shadow.

Each impact sapped a sliver of my strength—not enough to fell me, but enough to distract and grant the armored brutes openings to strike. Their weapons swung with vicious intent, seeking any weakness.

Yet, cloaked in the golden light of Holy Aura and fueled by Greater Drain, their efforts were in vain. My Health and Stamina remained near unshaken, while theirs waned with each desperate assault. Slowly, I could see exhaustion etching lines on their faces as we danced the dance.

But battles are seldom fought with honor or fairness. The two warriors and the mage withdrew, replaced by fresh foes: a Beastkin wielding a longspear, his boiled leather armor splattered with dried blood, and a dwarf hefting a round shield and a wicked warpick. They pressed me hard, providing cover for the others to retreat and regroup. Gold-ranked adventurers—all the more troublesome. Individually, they were manageable; together, they tested even my limits.

Amid parries and thrusts, I glimpsed through the slit of my helm the trio downing potions, wounds knitting, vigor returning. The tiresome cycle would begin anew.

My Mimic Shield faltered, its life essence drained under the ceaseless barrage. Its Health dipped perilously low. I dismissed it with a curt command and it disappeared, vinelike threads sinking into my forearm. I gripped my polearm with both hands. If its defense would no longer serve me, then raw, unbridled force would.

The Beastkin's spear grazed my vambrace, sparks flaring sparks. I retaliated swiftly, driving the butt of my polearm into his knee with the bone-shattering of an Improved Power Strike. His scream pierced the chaotic din as he collapsed to the stone floor. I moved to deliver the final blow, but more of those damned purple orbs slammed into me—not enough to wound deeply, but sufficient to stagger me. The dwarf seized the moment, his warpick skittering across my thigh cuisse. A warrior of the Gold rank, he had been aiming for the back of my legs covered only by chain and only a turn at the last moment deflecting the blow. The clever runt had known where to strike.

It was then that I felt the first touch of traitorous doubt intrude, clouding the arc of my weapon with hesitancy. I was no longer sure which side would win in a simple contest of attrition.

However, that doubt quickly vanished when I saw the mage who had been assaulting me with balls of magical heat disappear as if, ironically, by magic. Zariyah had taken advantage of my distraction and blasted him with a blade of wind, turning him into a fine mist.

Smiling, I remembered the ace up my sleeve, for my Asura gauge was slowly but surely filling.

Rallying, I saw an opportunity to recover. Drawing my power inward, I cast a Heal spell on myself, the magic of my basic recovery spell boosted by my Holy Aura. It was enough to top off my health, but more significantly, it healed my Mimic's Health bar to just over sixty percent—enough to safely summon it again.

And so I did, parrying a wild axe swing from the dwarf with the banded haft of my weapon. Wormy threads escaped from my arm to form a spiked Tower Shield. Bracing it against my shoulder, I activated Shield Bash from barely a sword’s swing away. Behind the dwarf, the Beastkin tried to rise on shaky feet to dodge out of the way of the avalanche of black. I barrelled into the both of them, knocking them over like skittles. Once more on the floor, I ruthlessly stomped on the Beastkin’s head, ending him.

You have slain a Beastkin 15 experience gained.

As for the dwarf, I spotted a small gap between his helm and neck, a link of chain damaged by the rigor of the fighting. The point of my Lucerne found its mark, my strength driving the tip through to taste soft flesh. With a twist of my wrist, I ended him.

You have slain a dwarf 50 experience gained.

Well, that was a relatively large amount of experience for killing the dwarven warrior, I thought, before realizing it was my first kill of his race. Novelty—you gained bonus points in this game for doing new and unique things. I laughed, watching my Asura gauge tick up a few points more.

I felt my soul lighten as my kills dedicated to the pursuit of Justice accumulated. Defending myself, I was clearly in the right, and I reveled in it. I imagined Goddess Avaria screaming as I twisted her concept to suit my ends, but that was all she could do. I could feel the touch of her Grace settling more heavily upon me as I executed actions in her name.

Seeing me kill more of his precious adventurers, Canis could only gift me with a swift glare filled with worry and hate. For me, it was like an oasis in a desert—satisfying and sweet. Yet, despite it all, the man had yet to panic, maintaining an air of calm as he dealt with two monsters.

Through raw and repeated experience, I found there was a problem, or limitation, with Holy Aura. It delayed but did not stop me from casting Entropic spells. As this thought whirred about, I stupidly realized I had once again forgotten about Rust. No, not forgotten. The spell had hidden from me again, that slippery thing.

Eschewing the use of Silent Casting, harsh vowels and consonants rose, carried by my voice. I uttered the syllables of Rust, the voices within somewhat stymied by my Holy Aura and only able to offer the most rudimentary aid. I almost failed to cast it as felt a heavy impact smack against my heavy helm; only my Improved Pain Nullification skill and battle grit prevented me from losing the threads of the spell.

The black lightning of the spell erupted from me, but it glanced off the invisible wards of the Gold-ranked adventurers. Like a river seeking the path of least resistance, the spell veered toward a lower-rank adventurer on their left, clawing away at him. His weapon and armor disintegrated in an incandescent inferno, consuming him utterly.

One Mana for one dead adventurer—a poor trade. I snarled in frustrated disbelief.

One of the twin warriors decided to gloat, his deep voice cutting through the chaos. "Did you think we would not be prepared for your betrayal, Gilgamesh Salahaem? Your Fae magic will not help you here..."

"I am just the help..." I muttered behind my helmet, words meant for no one. "Not quite family yet." Betrayal—how rich. It was they who attacked me first.

In their brazen arrogance, they thought themselves prepared. But they did not have my full measure—not by half.

Now that I had my Mimic to bolster my defense, I could focus entirely on attack and positioning. The armored warrior who dared to utter such trite words had stepped a bit too far forward, thinking victory was within grasp. Or perhaps they just wanted to end this quickly, one way or another.

Whatever the reason, I seized the opening. Launching myself with a speed no man in full armor should possess, I closed the distance. Wielding my Lucerne one-handed sacrificed some agility and control, but its considerable reach remained—a reach that translated into devastating power. With a downward swing enhanced by Entropic Strike, I crushed through the arrogant warrior's guard.

Void poison surged into him from the point of impact—a substance I knew instinctively was short-lived but inimical to life and creation on this plane. Brought to one knee, his companions tried desperately to drag him away, but he was too heavy, and I was too swift.

Charging them with Rush Strike, I skewered the other twin through the eyeslit of his helm after shattering his guard with an Improved Shield Bash. To my surprise, the warrior's death was not immediate. Either he too was blessed with regeneration, or perhaps healing Alchemics still coursed through his veins.

He scrabbled on the floor—a fallen statue of tortured metal.

Guildmaster Canis barked out more orders, his men dwindling under the onslaught of the Djinn and I. Now, it was only a matter of time before this scene reached its inevitable conclusion.

I saw it as if it were foretold… the song of my own Aura singing to me of my impending victory.

But I had learned that nothing could be taken for granted. Before the final curtain fell, luck, fortune, or fate might yet decide to interfere. To get in my way as it was wont to do. I would take no chances.

I had grown and learned—that arrogance and hubris lead to the fall of man. I would fight as if facing a hundred Fens... and I would savor every moment.

Canis, send me more, I thought to myself. Send more so that my weapon might drink of them and their energies. 

It was time to do a bit more grinding.