I tested the bonds of the shoulder strap. Still, if I started punching some of these mechs in the face with my super wrist, surely they’d put a hole in me, killing me.
I pulled up the debts tab. The debt was still listed, still active. Was Madame Throb going to kill poor little Gulch? And if so, would the debt go away then? I had to keep an eye on it. The moment the debt disappeared, I’d make my move. Any sooner and I’d likely die, suffer through the death sequence, and then reappear right here in the harness again, probably with my implants removed.
A pair of clerics appeared and dragged the lifeless body of Stonegate away, leaving a streak of red on the tiles. I idly wondered if NPCs killed by NPCs stayed dead. This whole sequence had to have been programmed in here, hadn’t it? If this was part of the main groundling storyline, then he had to be dead, dead, didn’t he? I knew each individual NPC was run by an AI, but I didn’t know how much of their actions were predetermined or not.
Out of morbid curiosity, I pulled up my map, looking for the Chicken and Waffles and Upgrades shop here in Kinnegad. It wasn’t there. Not grayed-out like it was closed. It was just gone. The apothecary next door remained, but the circle of the shop no longer held any label at all.
Pastor Broc returned to the clearing. He reached down and picked up the glowing knife, examining it.
“So,” I said, breaking the silence. “If Gulch can’t perform the sacrament, I guess you gotta let me go. I agreed to let him do it, nobody else. That was the agreement.”
The cleric grunted in amusement. He looked me in the eye. “Young Victus, are you still here?” he said without turning away from me.
“I am!” a young boy hopped forward. This boy was about a year older than Gulch. He had a larger head, meaner features than the other boy.
“Do you know the ceremony?” Broc said.
“I do,” the boy said. “I do.” His voice did not hide his excitement.
He handed the knife to the boy.
I reached forward to shoot the boy like I had with Gulch, but I was hit with the paralysis spell the moment my hand left my body. It shot a meter out, sagged, and then slowly returned on its own to my wrist.
Pastor Broc stepped forward and whispered in my ear. “There is a prophecy that a worm surgeon will bring ruin to the Temple of the Chained Gods. I’ve never trusted your kind, and I will do all I can to make sure each and every one of you suffer. The sacrament is going to happen today. It is going to happen right now. Nothing is going to save you. Prepare yourself, demon.”
Without any more hesitation, the boy stepped forward, grabbing my left foot in his strong hand.
“We start with the small toe,” the boy cried. With the knife, he placed it against the tip of my frozen pinky toe. He pushed, and I felt the searing pain as the toe split into two, nail and all. He cut easily through the bone, as if it was made of unfired clay.
“The first chamber has been amplified,” Pastor Broc declared. He had to speak loudly over the sound of my screams. “Fifty-one chambers to go!”
Chapter 25
I would love to say my rescue came in the nick of time. The toes, the soles of my feet, my fingers, the palms. All of that was terrible, the worst physical ordeal of my life. I’d just love to tell you how I was saved the worst of it just as that little shit Victus pulled away my loincloth and grasped my left testicle.
The chaos and ensuing destruction of Kinnegad did not happen in time to save my left testicle. Or my right one.
It did happen, however, when my absurdly-long zombie penis was halfway through being inexpertly sliced in half like a hotdog being sheared by a blunt spork.
After every few cuts, the clerics cast a particularly nasty spell called Preserve Injury, which allowed them to heal my life points without actually closing up the wound. It would’ve been useful when I was first feeding Banksy, but I could think of no other possible use for it. Except for torture.
The Preserve Injury spell did blunt the pain of the injury somewhat, but that ended up being more of a curse than a blessing. By the time Victus had sliced my third toe, peeling it open like a pistachio, I was in so much screaming, why-am-I-not-passing-out pain, I barely registered new injuries to my person. I looked down, surprised to see him working on my fourth toe while I was still screaming about my second one.
After he was done with my big toe, I was wailing and sobbing and begging for death. The cleric cast the Preserve Injury spell, and a welcome, glorious warmth spread across my foot. I found myself gasping, gulping in air, my heart thrashing in my chest. My toes still ached. They itched as if on fire. Victus brushed by to move to my next foot, sending a fresh spasm of pain through me. But the pain on its own was manageable, like an injury that was several days old.
That had the unfortunate effect of allowing me to focus entirely on this new pain.
From my toes, he moved to my fingers on my right hand, then the hand itself, which he sliced at an upward angle, starting from outside the inner wrist to a point below my index finger, allowing my hand to flap open loosely. It had the effect of losing all feeling in that hand, and the bottom half of my palm screamed, though the sensation wasn’t nearly as bad as the destruction of my fingers.
He left my mechanical left hand alone for now.
My feet were peeled in a different manner. He cut from the bottom of the heel, carefully easing the knife through the bone and only halfway up the depth of my foot. He cut along the center of the sole, ending at the space between my index and middle toe. He then peeled the foot open like an upside-down baked potato. I felt bones and tendons snap and crack and splinter.
I can say, without a doubt, this was the most excruciating physical pain I had ever felt. It was like the death sequence, the fingers and toes, the cutting open of my own stomach, all of it combined at once and focused on a single, solitary spot of my body and amplified a hundredfold.
My mind was doing this odd stuttering thing, like a needle on a record player skipping and scratching, desperately trying to find the proper groove. I kept moving between screaming pain, saying “no, no, no,” and “You little fucker. Fuck you, you little fucker,” and having my mind wandering off, finding itself in a loop. I pictured the kangaroo poster on Ruth’s wall when she was a child. I kept thinking of it, of how it ripped when I tried to remove it when we moved. Her mom had left us for Arizona. For another man, and we’d been forced to find a smaller apartment. Ruth had accepted her mother leaving with a quiet, matter-of-fact stoicism that was unusual for an 8-year-old. But she had wailed when I tore that poster. I kept thinking of it, of the poster, my mind taking refuge in this odd place. I’d crumpled to the floor that night, sobbing for the first time in my adult life after spending hours scouring the internet for a replacement. I hadn’t thought of that in years, and it was ridiculous I was thinking of it now.
But I clutched onto the terrible memory, thinking of that moment over and over. Of that stupid fucking kangaroo poster.
But then Victus moved to my testicles.
One does not simply slice a testicle in half and leave it remaining attached to the body in two distinctive pieces any more than someone can slice a raw egg in half, shell and all, hoping to keep all the pieces attached and within.
As such, there was a special tool made just for this part of the ceremony. I was in too much terror and pain to get the best look at it, but my first impression was the device was like a handheld cherry pitter.
I fear I have already described too much of this process. Let me just say after the second testicle was obliterated, left hanging on my body like an apple that had been crushed and juiced, rotting away, I felt that record needle of sanity snap right off. It was like a physical thing in my mind. I screamed, I wailed, I foamed at the mouth. They had to wait for a good long time after the second testicle before he could move on.
My mind was finally tumbling back into coherence just as Victus grasped my flaccid cock in his left hand and pulled it taut, like he was attempting to yank a turtle’s he
ad from his shell.
For his part, the boy went through the actions of the sacrament with determined ferocity. Despite his earlier eagerness, he showed no pleasure or displeasure in the process. His cuts were uneven and haphazard, but he did not hesitate, and so far nothing was actually cut off of me, which would require him to start over. I was absurdly grateful for that.
The clerics knew exactly what they were doing. They cast their terrible Preserve Injury as Victus split open the gray head of my worm surgeon cock.
Victus paused, the knife curving, coming dangerously close to severing off the top half of my member.
“Be fucking careful,” I screamed through gritted teeth.
But the boy wasn’t paying attention to me. His head was turned. His grip on me slackened, causing my dick to cut itself as it retracted like an eel back into its cave.
I finally registered that the screaming I heard wasn’t just my own.
A massive frog with a set of antlers jumped into the clearing, croaked once, and shot his tongue out. The long, wart-covered tongue splattered onto the chest of a groundling cleric. The tongue held fast. The cleric flew off his feet as he was pulled to the monster. The man folded in on himself, his scream abruptly cutting off as he cracked like a twig. The frog swallowed him whole. The groundling was a few hands larger than the frog, but it didn’t matter. He disappeared completely into the frog’s mouth. The frog chewed a few times, its mouth sliding to the side like that of a cow. The beast casually shot its tongue at another groundling, this one a woman.
My eyes focused on the frog’s tag. This was the same one we’d seen earlier.
Familiar – Player Jenk
Victus screamed as the frog’s tongue lashed onto his back. The boy looked up at me, and our eyes met. His loose left hand grasped my dick like it was a life preserver. He opened his mouth, as if to say something. He was violently yanked away, pulled into the giant frog’s mouth.
The knife went flying.
Victus’s hopeless grip failed him. He went one direction. I rebounded back in the harness, bouncing like the surface of a trampoline.
The top half of my penis flew straight up like a damn bottle rocket. I watched it curl into the air, spinning, trailing blood. It landed with a splotch on the tiles, only to be trampled a moment later by a rush of screaming groundlings.
I was in too much screaming pain to see what happened next, but I did note the boy was not swallowed by the frog. With children being indestructible by other players—and their pets, apparently—he was not swallowed. He ran off, screeching.
The crowd scattered. The frog bounded off, chasing a pair of particularly-plump groundlings. An explosion rocked the town behind me. Then another.
Holy shit, he’s here, I thought. The Canadian guy was here. But then I looked down at the ruined half of my body and stopped caring about Jenk.
The paralysis spell was starting to wear off. I felt the now-familiar crackling tingle that indicated I’d soon regain full motion. But that did not matter. My life points flowed out of me like water from a sieve. With no clerics nearby to heal me, I would bleed out in minutes.
Hurry up, hurry up, I mentally screamed at the life bar. Die already. Blood cascaded from my crotch like a firehose. The burning heat of death would be like a spa day compared to this.
A mech ran past, his or her features obscured by the lowered blast shield. The templar screamed incoherent orders. Something about protecting the temple. A group of mechs took up positions around the entrance of the outside of the giant badger head, a mere 50 feet away.
Death would come at any moment. I felt myself slipping away. I pulled up the debt menu. Goddamnit, I thought. It was still there, not yet canceled. Why the hell not? When I died, I’d come right back here. I looked at my ruined testicles and cock, the splayed ends of my toes, curled up like a dead sea creature. That was okay, I decided. If I was going to face this crazy Jenk asshole, then I would rather be fully intact.
And then he was there, as if had summoned him.
Jenk – Player (Level X).
The wolf waved his hand, and my life bar froze. I was not healed. My injuries remained.
You have been Decelerated!
“No,” I cried. My health bar had paused right at the edge. The corners of my vision remained red, pulsing like a heartbeat.
I wasn’t paralyzed like before, but I still couldn’t move. The spell he’d hit me with, Deceleration, seemed to slow everything down except my ability to talk. My arms felt like they were stuck in molasses.
He stood before me, his hands on his hips, appraising me. A brown, well-muscled wolf man. He wasn’t nearly as decked out as Anatoly and SmashSouth had been. He wore what looked like a pair of leg bracers over his black jeans. They were some sort of mechanical enhancement. Probably something that let him jump. His left hand was also mechanical, though instead of the circle of four grabbers I had, he wore a metallic glove that looked like a chrome version of his own hand.
He wore twin bandoliers over his otherwise bare, broad chest and had a pair of handguns holstered around his waist, making him look like a deranged werewolf cowboy. He did not carry a special edition Epiviper pulse rifle. His left eye appeared to be cybernetic, and it focused on me, servos twisting and turning within.
I realized then that all sound had cut off. A flash of light caught the corner of my eye. We were encased in some sort of semi-circle shield that encompassed the entire pavilion. To my right, a group of mechs silently poured fire at us, but the translucent glass shield protected us. These were the mechs protecting the temple. One of the mechs disappeared, screaming silently as the frog crunched him. My life ticked down again. One or two more percentage points, and I’d be gone.
Jenk’s gaze fell upon me, on my ruined body, and he examined the crushed and ruined half cock smushed against the tiles. He poked at it with a booted foot.
“Well this is awkward,” he said. He spoke amiably, casually, like he was someone who’d just sat down next to me at a bar. He did not have a menacing voice, which made him seem even more terrifying. He ground the smushed meat even further into the tiles. “Are you circumcised in the real world? You might find this interesting. So you probably know in some bris ceremonies, the rabbi guy—the mohel—he lops the newborn’s foreskin off, right? But did you know there’s this sect of rabbi guys. They actually cut the foreskin, and then they suck the blood away with their mouths. Can you believe that? People say I’m fucked up. But when I heard that, I just laughed and laughed. A bunch of years ago, some rabbi gave a couple babies herpes by sucking on their injured wieners. One of the babies actually died. Did you know that?” He took a step toward me, then paused, looking thoughtful. “Actually, I don’t know if you have to be a rabbi to be a mohel. Do you know?” He looked at me expectantly.
“Do you?” he asked again.
“What?” I asked, bewildered.
He reached forward and grasped my ruined testicles with his metallic hand. I didn’t feel it at first, an effect of the deceleration. The pain did come, though, climbing up me in slow motion, a slow-moving lance of fire ascending like spiders up my body. I screamed.
“Do you know if someone has to be a rabbi to be mohel?” he asked again.
“No,” I gasped. “I have no idea.”
Jenk sighed, releasing me. He wiped his hand on his fur. He looked around, sighing again, this time louder.
“Still, this is probably the most entertaining circumcision I’ve ever attended. I mean, I haven’t been to many. But this is definitely up there. How about you, Duke?”
“I’ve been to better,” I muttered.
Jenk clapped his hands in delight. “Oh, this one is funny. You’re the artist, right? Clara’s pet. I’d heard Anatoly was finally bringing you in here. You sure have gotten yourself into quite the pickle. You know what’s funny? In the normal version of the game, people went out of their way to get themselves amplified. It’s not easy to get the groundlings mad enough to do it. The thing is, whene
ver you get tortured or imprisoned it triggers a cutscene. Time zooms by, and you can only watch via third person. There are pages and pages on the internet of people trying to hack the game so it’ll let them experience what only you have managed to do. There are some sick fucks out there. I call them pain junkies. They would give anything to experience what you just did. And you’ve done it at 105%. Well, half of it. Man. If you ever manage to get out of here, you’ll be a folk hero. Like the Captain Sully of VR torture.”
Tick. My health bar went even lower. I wouldn’t escape if I died, but at least my body would be repaired. Come on, come on.
He leaned close, examining me, my arms. “You only have one brand,” he muttered. “Are you really using Anatoly’s base as your regeneration spot? That’s why you were here, wasn’t it? You came to get a new brand, but instead you got yourself peeled.” He nodded. “That means Clara is back inside of Bast, too.”
My new brand was in the center of my back, which was pressed against the harness. He couldn’t see it.
“Whatever you are up to, it’s pointless, fruitless, aimless, and even a bit futile. This is a big, scary game. There’s no winning. Only losing. And when you lose here…” He made a point to look down at the remnants of my smashed penis on the ground.
Suddenly the frog was there, leaning up against the leg of Jenk. She was completely covered in blood and guts. A long tendril of gore hung from her antler, dripping. Jenk patted her head. “Good girl,” he said.
The frog let out a satisfied ribbit. She noticed the gore of my severed penis on the ground. She slurped it up.
“Okay,” Jenk said, looking at me. “I have no interest in you.” He tapped his lips. “But we do have a mutual friend. Hmm.” He patted the antlered frog again. “So I’m going to close these caves off, make sure you can’t come back and get a brand. I’m sorry about that. But first Olga here is going to eat you. When you regenerate, I want you to pass a message on to our Clara. Can you do that for me? It’s the least you can do. After all, I saved you before they got to your teeth. Trust me, and I’m an expert in this sort of thing. This pain you feel with your balls and fingers and feet. That is nothing compared to what the splitting of the teeth would’ve been like. Not the way they do it here.”
Kaiju- Battlefield Surgeon Page 21
