Kaiju- Battlefield Surgeon

by Matt Dinniman

  The goat creature looked thoughtful. “He is quite dangerous. He takes the form of an owl-headed angel, but he is actually a shapeshifter, a master of disguise. He is an assassin and a brilliant swordsman. He can be used to sow discord. You can evoke him to cause one camp to attack another, even if they are allies. Or you can enlist his aid to slay or even kidnap a powerful enemy. But beware his true heart. He will always try to trick you. If you create a contract with him, be sure to make it as simple and full-proof as you can.”

  “I just want to kill him,” I said.

  The viceroy looked at me like I was out of my mind. She didn’t offer any sort of tips on how I might do that. Stolas had told me to cut off his head and stick the black sprout flower bud in him. I still had the black sprout sitting in my quest inventory. I assumed Clara did too unless she’d managed to complete the quest.

  At my next stop, I purchased a pair of pants that increased my strength by two. The rest of the armor was prohibitively expensive.

  My next stop was a Chicken and Waffles and Upgrades location in the technology center of town. I used most of my remaining funds to upgrade my Teleport to level 4.

  Next door to the surgery center was a showroom for mech power armor. It seemed they only sold and carried armor that was compatible with technology and steam-based creatures. I browsed anyway. They sold groundling mechs similar to the ones the guards of Kinnegad rode for 900,000 teeth.

  That gave me an idea.

  I had 2,500 teeth left when I approached the mercenary market.

  Chapter 52

  “You,” I said to the first low-level groundling mercenary I saw. She was a scowling woman named Janzig. She reminded me of a younger Madame Throb. She was a level 14 mercenary. “I want to hire you for a day.”

  “And I want to amplify every inch of your body,” the groundling said, looking me up and down. She spit at my feet.

  I didn’t know if the groundlings knew why they hated me, but boy did they like to show it. The few radiants I’d passed by on the street just glared at me with mild disdain. The groundlings actively showed their animosity. They brandished their weapons. They made obscene gestures. They hurled insults.

  “Just one day. Really, just one hour. But you’ll get a full day’s pay.”

  “There is not a thing in this dying world that you can offer me that’ll make me want to spend another moment in your presence, demon.”

  I leaned forward. “How about the ultimate pilgrimage? A trip to the inside of your god?”

  ***

  Less than an hour later, I used my level-4 Teleport ability to clank back into Medina and to the mech dealership. I dismissed the starry-eyed Janzig after ordering her out of Madame Throb’s old mech. I sold the battered machine to the nerve agent dealer for 400,000 teeth. Apparently, this was a special edition of groundling war armor, so it was much more valuable.

  I hadn’t lingered in the oblation chamber. But I looked. I couldn’t help it. Gulch was still there, screaming in agony.

  It’ll be over soon, I thought. I’m going to win this game, and your suffering will end.

  My next stop was a shop that sold upgrades for my grappling hook. The owner was a black female human with an eyepatch. All four of her limbs were cybernetic. For just over 50,000 teeth I bought a gloved hand that looked and acted like a normal hand, a flamethrower attachment that could shoot blue flames, and a gripping upgrade for my four existing pincers. A swiss-army-knife-like add-on to my wrist magically stored all three hands at once, and I could quickly cycle through them.

  “You sure you don’t need one more?” the shop owner asked as I figured out how to quickly change between the extensions. “That selector can store four attachments. No use wasting the slot.”

  I wanted to save some money for Clara, but the shopkeeper had a point. Most of the choices were guns, but none were even close to matching the Epiviper. I was about to choose a flechette upgrade when my eyes caught a category I hadn’t yet explored. I remembered what Well Done had said to me. You’re under-armored.

  “I’ll take this one,” I said, clicking on the interface.

  She nodded. “It’s the most powerful shield I have. It’ll require a battery upgrade in addition to the fuel tank upgrade. It recharges the same way as your rifle. So it’ll be another 5,000 teeth on top of the 15,000 for the shield. Is that okay?”

  I sighed. “Sure.”

  Five minutes later, I practiced deploying the power shield. It didn’t work as I anticipated. It wasn’t a traditional attachment. I could still use one of the other four add-ons while it remained in effect. I turned it on, and my arms, chest, and head glowed a translucent blue. It covered everything on my head, including my eyes, so the world had a tint. Two new status bars appeared while the shield was active. Shield Integrity and Shield Battery Power. The integrity decreased as I received damage, and the power decreased slowly over time. Integrity slowly healed itself once I stopped taking damage. Battery power also recharged, but only while the shield was turned off.

  It could only be used as protection against stabbing and high-velocity weapons. It wouldn’t protect me from fall or even crush damage.

  According to the merchant, the battery lasted about 15 minutes if it didn’t have to heal the integrity of the shield. During a heated firefight, it could last as little as two minutes. So I had to use it sparingly. Once the battery died, it took a full half-hour to recharge.

  And finally, I visited Pets Plus, the same shop I got Banksy. The dryad shopkeeper sold me a simple pet carrier. I couldn’t use it to actually hold Banksy, and I couldn’t use it as his regeneration spot. They didn’t have anything that could accommodate his bulk. But owning the carrier gave me a very important upgrade. It allowed me two-way communication with Banksy over great distances.

  The carrier took the form of a keychain-sized fire hydrant. “Cute,” I said, stuffing it in my bag.

  Normally, this same carrier would allow my pet to teleport to my location. I could click summon, and after a short countdown, he’d appear at my side, no matter where in the world we were. Unfortunately because he was now labeled as a “Behemoth-Class Familiar” I could no longer use that ability. The shop owner said such an upgrade wasn’t possible. It sucked, but I guess it made sense.

  The moment I stepped out of the shop, I pulled up my map to see where Moritasgus was. The badger kaiju was moving more quickly than I anticipated and had already arrived at the location I sent him. I moved him a bit closer to Clara’s guardian.

  I tried out my new chat feature. I had to physically type the words into a floating keyboard that only I could see.

  Duke: Banksy, can you see this?

  Banksy: Father, yes. I hear you.

  Duke: Okay, good. Have you talked to Clara?

  Banksy: I don’t know how to get her to come out. I haven’t seen her in a long time. I’m not even sure she’s in there. Winky and the others sometimes fly around the outside, but they don’t talk to me anymore now that I’ve gotten big. It’s very lonely.

  Duke: Okay. I’m going to come to you. I will be inside of Moritasgus, so don’t be afraid.

  Banksy: He will attack me. He will kill me, father.

  Duke: I will make sure he doesn’t. Stay buried until I say it’s okay.

  Banksy: Yes, father. I will see you soon.

  I pulled up my Teleport menu. When I was within the city, I couldn’t randomly teleport away even though I was level 4. You could only use the transport gazebos to zap yourself out. I’d forgotten.

  But it didn’t matter, I realized. I was running low on soul power. I had enough to get into the kaiju, but I wouldn’t have enough to BloodBorne myself out of the oblation chamber.

  The soul power potions were 500 teeth each, and I didn’t want to waste them. I needed to find an alternative. I needed to kill something and not raise the ire of the town guard.

  The worm surgeon neighborhood held a race guildhall, called a mausoleum. It was a ten-minute walk. It was actually close
r than that, but I made a wide berth around the groundling neighborhood.

  In most games, the masters at the guildhalls acted as guides and helped when you had questions. I figured it was worth a try. The building looked like an old-school, stone church. Someone had spray-painted “Worm Surgeons go to hell!” on the wall, but it had been poorly painted over. Trash littered the streets of this part of town.

  Entering Worm Surgeon Mausoleum of Medina

  Welcome, Fellow Worm Surgeon!

  Jobs available! See the guildmaster!

  “Hello, Duke,” a familiar voice said.

  “Mayor Fiona!” I said in surprise. “What’re you doing here?”

  I noticed then that the tag over her name had switched from “Mayor” to “Guildmaster.”

  “I see this is your first visit to the guildhall,” she said. “If you had come here when you were younger, like you were supposed to, you would have learned all about how I have always been the guildmaster here. About how I went to Charnel to check up on my sister, the mayor. And how I have disappeared. And you would have been sent to the city to find out what was going on. But you skipped all that and went straight to Charnel instead.”

  “Ahh,” I said. I’d gone about the main Charnel quest backward. Oh well.

  I took in the expansive room. The stone walls were adorned with a scattering of torches that gave off a flickering, red-yellow light. There was no electricity. Long tables stretched down the hall. A fireplace made of bones dominated the far wall where the altar would be. Above the fireplace was a colossal painting of the Shrill. The ornate, golden frame stretched to the ceiling of the hall. The portrait depicted the tentacled guardian pulling himself out of the rift, fighting another, unfamiliar kaiju. This was a winged, obsidian demon with a flaming crown. Twin horns curved off the guardian’s head. The monster would be home on the cover of a black metal album. Kind of like the Balrog from Lord of the Rings mixed with an especially pissed-off goat.

  The guardian was easily twice as large as the Shrill, and I could only see the top half of his body in the painting.

  “Who is that?” I asked, pointing at the image.

  “You mean Emperor Baal?” Fiona asked.

  I gulped. “I hadn’t realized he was so large.”

  “Zagan and Baal are brothers,” Fiona said, coming to stand next to me. She looked up at the painting. “Zagan’s betrayal is the only thing that saved this world during the first war.”

  “Why did he do it?” I asked.

  Fiona gave me a side-eyed glance. “If you came to the guild as a child like you were supposed to, you would know these answers.” She sighed heavily. “But I guess your aunt didn’t come either. Zagan wished to be married. He had a betrothed.”

  “Queen Lamashtu,” I said. “The donkey.”

  “So you aren’t hopeless after all,” Fiona said. “Yes, Queen Lamashtu. In the beginning, Baal’s intentions were good. He wished to make peace with the Creator. Zagan and Lamashtu both opposed the action. They wanted to permanently sever the bond that connected their world with the heavens. But Baal is the emperor, and what he says is law. Baal had the rift opened, but when the first emissaries came through, they found this world instead of the heavens. The emissaries were attacked and killed by Paskunji before they could even speak. Enraged, Baal ordered the demons to attack.”

  “And Zagan and Lamashtu wanted him to let it go?”

  “Almost correct. Zagan knew that many of his fellows would die, that all the fallen would suffer if they brought war to this place. Lamashtu saw the war as an opportunity to overthrow Emperor Baal. She yearns for power. Zagan wishes for peace. Baal is bitter and wants revenge. He is willing to sacrifice everything if that’s what it takes.”

  “And somehow that all translated into Zagan coming here and turning into the Shrill?”

  “Yes. Lamashtu attempted to assassinate Baal. She failed, and when she was caught, she blamed it on Zagan. Zagan was set upon by his brother’s legions. He fled here, and now he fights against those who would invade this world.”

  “But Lamashtu wasn’t killed or banished?” I asked. “Why not?”

  Fiona shook her head. “I do not know. She is slippery. She lies. Her motives are never clear. She has likely convinced Baal that it was all Zagan’s plan.”

  I was now wondering how good of an idea it was to bring that fertilized egg back to the donkey. Did it really matter? If she gave me the key to the rift, then what difference did all of this make? As long as I could trigger the endgame, then that’s all that really mattered. Right?

  Still, I suddenly had a very uneasy feeling about the egg in my pack.

  “Are you looking for work?” Fiona asked. “We have much that needs to be done.”

  “I’m looking for advice, actually,” I said.

  “Oh?” the elderly ghoul asked. She crossed her arms. “How can I help you?”

  “Soul points,” I said. “Now that Banksy is all grown up, he’s not around so much, and it’s getting harder for me to keep my power topped up.”

  Fiona looked me up and down.

  “Do you know what you are?” she finally asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  She poked me in the chest. “You are a worm surgeon. You are a legion of the Shrill. You are the embodiment of resurrection magic. No other race can say that. When your familiar reached level 40, he obtained a spell that exemplifies his master, did he not?”

  She looked at me expectantly.

  I had no idea what she was getting at. “He got a spell called Ghoul Night Out, but he doesn’t know what it does. Neither do I.”

  She smacked me on the head. “If we manage to survive this invasion, and you have children, you better promise to bring them straight to the guild for training. Honestly, Duke. I don’t know how you survived this long. You never obtained your guild skill, did you?”

  “What the hell is a guild skill?”

  She sighed. She waved her hand around the air, muttering angrily. “You should have gotten this when you hit level 20. Moron. I don’t know how you managed to rescue us.”

  “Okay, what is it?”

  “When Zagan came to this world, battered and on the verge of death, a small group of humans went out to render aid. These were our ancestors. They knew that this horrific demon was the key to our redemption. But do you know what happened? While they rendered aid, Zagan died. They tried every magic skill they knew to resurrect the demon. But even these spells didn’t work. So that group of humans tried one last spell. A forbidden spell. Led by Guildmaster Charnel, the humans cast Sacrament of Eternal Blood. He and every member of his bloodline from that point forward would sacrifice their very soul essence from the moment they were born in exchange for this demon’s life. Only then was the demon brought back to life, and a new guardian was born. The wrenching of the life force from every human and every member of their family at that moment caused such an outburst of pain, Zagan was called the Shrill from that moment forward.”

  “Jesus,” I said. I involuntarily looked at my withered and zombie-like right hand. “That’s so gruesome.”

  “Like I said,” Fiona continued. “You are the embodiment of resurrection magic. Your body is always dying because you are not truly alive. You are resurrection magic incarnate. You are made of soul power.”

  I didn’t tell her that thanks to aunt Bernadette, I’d managed to beat that “always dying” part.

  “So how does that help me with my original question?”

  She touched my shoulder.

  You have learned a guild skill!

  Consumption!

  You have learned a guild skill!

  Resurrection!

  “What just happened?” I asked, astonished. I looked up the descriptions. They were listed as skills, but they appeared in my spells menu under a separate column.

  Consumption allowed me to gain soul power by draining it from my own life force. It was a one to one ratio.

  Resurrection was a necromancy
spell. But like Consumption, it cost life points. Not soul points. It allowed me to raise the dead. When the reanimated monsters died for the second time, I received soul points equal to the amount of life I’d put into their bodies.

  “I could’ve been doing this all along?”

  Fiona shrugged. “Consumption at level 20. Resurrection you would’ve just learned at 40.”

  “Resurrection,” I said again, turning the word over in my mouth. “I know our magic school is called that. And I know how we gain power. But necromancy has always seemed like an evil skill.” I shuddered.

  “Evil?” Fiona said. She chuckled softly. “Resurrection is a skill of the creator. It is the celestial magic users who are the true companions of darkness. They are the evil ones, and most do not even know it.”

  It was my turn to laugh. “Why do you say that?”

  Fiona pointed north. “Have you seen the temple? The Temple of the Chained Gods?”

  “I’ve seen it, but I haven’t gone there.”

  “No, you wouldn’t be allowed to enter. No practitioners of resurrection magic are allowed anywhere near the chained gods. Even the viceroys, who use both schools aren’t allowed past the gates. They must gain their celestial power in alternative ways.”

  “The blood nuggets,” I said.

  “Yes,” Fiona said, shaking her head sadly.

  “How does that make them evil?”

  “This world is not what you think it is,” Fiona said. “The creator made this world, and he sent three of his angels to oversee it. This world’s original purpose wasn’t just as a bulwark. It was also supposed to be a place of negotiation, a table of equal footing where representatives of the heavens and the fallen could sit down together and discuss their differences.”

  “You said when the emissaries first showed up, they were immediately attacked by Paskunji, the radiant guardian.”

  “Yes,” Fiona said. “But Paskunji is no mere guardian. She is one of the three angels sent to protect this place. She is the warrior, and it was she who originally ruled over the guardians, all but Zagan, who is her brother.”