no apparent
One look, and Ofelia raised her shield and backed toward Noah. “Liv, that thing's too strong for any of us. Get behind me.”
“Vog that, we gotta save him! Go for the not-Slasher bits.” She unleashed a winding beam of orange fire from her staff, channeling half of her MP into the blaze.
[Liv — Fire Stream]
As the fire beam landed on one of the legs, it changed in color to a sickly green.
[Blocked!]
[Fusion Wraith — c0n$um3-dr!nk-f33d]
The fire did no damage, only healing the beast as the number went up and up. Liv tried to flick her staff to the side to cancel the fire stream. No luck. Instead of projecting her magical energy onto the fusion wraith, it was being ripped out of her body, along with her HP, and every other trace of energy inside her.
Her vision blurred, and the intense pain became intense fatigue. She fought the urge to go to sleep, knowing it would mean death. Noah and Ofelia's screams became muffled in the distance.
“Dammit,” she mumbled under her breath. “I figured I would die in battle, but I didn't know it would suck this bad...literally.”
The monster's voice became distinctly less monster and more Era, and the absorption stopped immediately. Liv could scarcely make out a laugh.
[Absorbed for 471,239 HP!]
[Fusion Wraith — h@h@-I-gEt-iT-'$uck']
[The absorption was interrupted!]
Though her life was spared from the full absorption, Liv began to notice that the pavement was actually rather comfortable against her forehead.
[Liv was KO'd!]
[Wormwood — Regain Control]
The laugh turned into another demonic scream. Era's limp hand pointed to the unconscious Liv, readying a powerful blast of magic to finish the job.
Ofelia sprinted forward, throwing her shield in front of Liv like a discus.
[Ofelia — Praetorian Guard]
The shield hovered in midair, spinning and weaving threads of blue magical energy into a barrier. A shower of green fireballs shot from Era's finger...
[Fusion Wraith —EnErgY-$t0O0Rm]
[Deflected!]
...only to ricochet onto Era's face as they bounced against the barrier.
[903,320 DMG to Fusion Wraith — absorbed for HP!]
As the shield held against the assault, the blue of the barrier became purple, then pink. Red, and the forcefield would disappear, exploding in the monster's face. Ofelia winced. Keeping the shield up against the assault had taken a serious toll on her MP, and this demon was about to cut through it only a few seconds after she deployed it.
And they still hadn't done a single point of damage.
The barrier broke, and the Fusion Wraith snarled, dragging its black, pulsating tongue around its lips as it glared at Ofelia.
Noah trembled in his slippers. He held the flute in his white-knuckled grasp for a full five seconds, before he realized that a holy object might be of some use here.
[Noah — Astral Flute]
B, A, G. B, A, G. G-G-G-G, A-A-A-A, B, A, G.
[Con-voggin'-gratulations! You just used the Eternal Fife that Awakens the Stars Themselves...]
[...to play Hot Cross Buns.]
“Sorry Ofelia, I don't know any other flute songs!” whimpered Noah, promptly continuing.
The holy instrument's tone squeaked out like a first grader's recorder practice. To be fair, the Fusion Wraith seemed to hate it, too. The demon screeched as it backed toward the hospital.
[Fusion Wraith was repelled!]
“Keep it up!” said Ofelia, against her ears' better judgment. “It's working!” She readied a healing spell over Liv's unconscious body.
Unfortunately, Noah couldn't hear her command over his flute playing, and had to stop for a moment to say, “what?!”
[Fusion Wraith — D e V 0 u R]
Free of the flute's restraint for a brief moment, the fusion wraith charged toward Ofelia in savage hunger.
Ofelia screamed, “NOAH—”
[Mischa — Rock Salt Blessed by a Northwestern Orthodox Monk]
[13 DMG to Fusion Wraith]
A blast from a familiar shotgun stopped the monster in its tracks. Mischa charged into the hospital courtyard.
“You!” he shouted, pointing to Noah. “Keep playing or we're all dead!”
[Noah — Astral Flute]
[Hot Cross Buns, Hot Cross Buns]
[PLEASE DON'T KILL ME, PLEASE DON'T KILL ME, HOT CROSS BUNS]
[Fusion Wraith's power is being sapped!]
As Noah's sacred tootelage continued from the sidelines, the Fusion Wraith writhed on the ground. The distortions it made to Era's physique gradually grew smaller and smaller. The spider legs retracted.
“Princess! Get Liv back up.”
“I-I'm on it!”
[Ofelia — Rejuvenate]
[Liv was revived!]
“Good, good,” said Mischa, keeping his gun pointed at the struggling demon. “When the size of his head gets back to normal, I'm gonna need one of you to restrain him for me. Then we can finish this.”
“Oh, hi Meesh,” said Liv, still getting her bearings from her revival. “Try not to panic, but your son might be a—”
“He's possessed, I know.” Mischa sighed. “I knew it would happen sooner or later. Better he does it here than in a populated area.”
Liv looked at Mischa as if he just asked her to swallow a live dog.
“Look, I can explain everything, I promise. But we gotta save my son first!”
And so, fifteen more minutes passed of a hectic battle. Era grew smaller and less demonic, Liv and the others were more and more exhausted by the second, and Noah’s flute skills hadn’t improved a bit. He had been attempting to summon up the notes for “Mary Had A Little Lamb,” and while it was even less pleasant on the ears, it still got the job done.
Soon, the Fusion Wraith's crab legs had been reduced to violently twitching stumps, and Era's body was more or less at its normal size. Ofelia held the beast from behind, restraining its human arms.
[Fusion Wraith — St0P_iT_St0P_iT_St0P_iT]
The wraith let out a shriek as he spat a stream of black fire into the air, grazing Mischa's remaining arm and turning it white with pixels.
[1,299 DMG to Mischa]
“Gah, vog!” Mischa beat away the remnants of dark flame on his jacket. “Ofelia, you got a solid grip on my son?”
“I'm afraid this is as good as it gets, Signor Gualtieri!”
“All right, Liv, that's your cue.”
Liv brushed another glob of toxic sludge from her hands. “Right, what am I doing?”
“Try to keep him calm and take his prosthesis off.”
“Then after that?”
“After that, he's safe. But do it now! Wait any longer and he'll die!”
Liv nodded. Geez, no pressure or anything. She crouched in front of Era's body, which was writhing and screeching in Ofelia's arms. “I'm here, Slasher. It's gonna be okay—”
“Ever to starve! Ripped from my cradle! Aaarrgh! I starve. STARVE! Make it stop! I must exist! Neverending agony! Ever and ever!” With that, he projectile-vomited a stream of black sludge all over the ground. The splatters twitched with worms and cicada husks.
[Liv — Remember Who You Are Jimmy Rustler]
“Careful,” said Liv. “Don't wanna get puke on your rapier.”
[J!mM!3s Ru5tl3D]
His movement stopped for a brief moment. A weak whisper escaped from Era's lips: “It's...it's a schiavona...”
Slowly, Liv guided her hands to the Necrylified stump of Era’s right thigh and undid the peg leg's buckles one by one. “Really? 'Cause it's got the basket hilt and everything. If it's got a basket hilt, it's a rapier, end of discussion.”
“Rapiers are...for thrusting...you s-slash with a rapier, and you'll...b-break it—”
[Unbuckled Era's prosthesis!]
[Wormwood — Emergency Control Re-Establishment]
Another scream, and the Fusion Wraith started to come back in full force. Not even the flute seemed to stop the sudden growth. A freshly sprouting leg threw Ofelia off his body.
From Mischa,“DO IT, LIV!”
[Liv — Steal]
[Stole Era's Prosthesis!]
[Fusion Wraith became Era!]
In a rush of dark mist, Era plopped onto the ground. His skin was Necrylic grey. His eyes sank in his head. He stared, unblinking, at the sky. Only a hint of his rising and falling chest indicated that he was alive at all.
Liv remembered this kind of face from Ariesian Red Shield commercials, asking for donations—children with terminal Necrylic poisoning looked the same way. Please, no.
Mischa came to his side and began to sob like a 300 pound newborn baby, resting against Era's chest.
“Stop cryin', Dad,” whispered Era, struggling to draw breath. “If someone in the GU catches you, they'll get all 'men don't cry' n' stuff.”
“It's all my fault, Little Dork. It's all my fault. I'm so sorry.”
“Don't...say that,” said Era.
“You're not the one that gave him Necrylic poisoning,” said Liv, her voice cracking. She drew her fingers through his hair, which already began to feel more brittle. “I mean, it's...not like he's gonna actually die, right?”
“It is all your fault,” said Ofelia.
Dead silence.
Mischa and Liv turned to Ofelia, who held Era's prosthesis in her hand, with a hateful scowl on her face.
“Signor Gualtieri, would you care to explain why you did this to your own son?”
She overturned the cup of the peg leg, where it had remained attached to Era's leg for the past four years.
A Neverstone fell out.
From the sidelines, Noah called out, “Hey, you guys still need my flute, or...what?”
Chapter 26
The Pyrite Palace Incident, Part I
27 And the Prophetess Atossa said to the Three Gods, “O Wheel, Flame, and Fleece, the townspeople have begged me for an answer to their question, and I ask their question to you: 28 Who, among the three of you, is master, reigning supreme over the other two?”
29 Galgalim of the Wheel spoke: “Though we possess equal godhead, the three of us are but humble messengers and arbiters for the Voice Highmost. 30 Our will is not our own, but the will of an unknowable Supreme Being, an almighty force of Good, that exists outside of all understanding in Luminar and Paradisia alike.”
31 Rafeth of the Eternal Flame spoke: “To know Its name is to know the final secret, the meaning of life, and the power to lift the veil of reality and bring everlasting ruin to Our kingdom. 32 If you must call our Master by any name, say 'Voice Highmost,' or 'Noumenon.'”
33 Argo of the Golden Fleece bleated, because He is a sheep, and not one for conversation.
— Spoilers 9:27-9:33, The Luxiacon (Teen Study Version)
[Era / Fencer / Level 1 / HP: 1 / MP: 0]
Every few seconds, Era had to remind himself to breathe. He was tired enough to forget.
He stared at the interior of his eyelids. He felt like the ground was trying to suck him in through gravity alone. Sleep would have been too much effort. He swore he could feel and trace the outline of every cell working its way through his bloodstream.
What even happened?
He tried to remember the events of the previous night, everything up until Raphael's failed soul neutering attempt were flashing, rapid images, blending into one another. Bugs. The Bug Man. Dice. Agony. Bugs. More bugs. His seven sets of hands tearing Raphael's cape apart. Bugs. Noah, crying. Bugs. Bugs. Plastic. Dad. Plastic. Liv, crying harder than Noah.
Never mind. Sorry I asked.
Where am I?
Take it slow, Era. We can still have a good day if we—
...
Y'know what? No. There's no way this...
Just...
Vog it. Open your eyes, you idiot.
Against his better judgment, Era opened his eyes. A slit of blurry, pale light broke in. There was a damp yeti pelt against his back on the examining table. A high stone ceiling stared back at him. Green mushroom lamps flickered on the sides of the room.
To his right, he heard the Kobal high priest, a bearded imp clad in three bed sheets' worth of robes, mumbling a healing prayer over his body. To his left, he could make out Titania relaying instructions to the priest. His head throbbed, and every syllable he heard was a muffled scream.
Titania bent over him. “Don't speak yet. Yelàn, maelten ga.”
[High Priest — Vigor Wave]
A spark of revitalizing energy shot from the old priest's hands. If only for a moment, Era found that something could come out of his mouth other than labored wheezing.
“There we are,” said Titania. “All right, Sir Era, how are you feeling?”
“Not great.”
Titania winced. “You know, you can say you're in complete agony. No one's going to judge.”
“I mean... you were stuck in a torture box for 5200 years, so I think you've got the monopoly on complete—” a coughing fit interrupted him. He winced from the feeling of the salty Necrylic residue in his throat. “Y'know.”
Titania held out a Neverstone—covered with a small rag to protect her fingers. “Here's the situation as I understand it. You've been experiencing something called 'Necrylic poisoning' for the past five years, and the only thing holding your symptoms back has been this Neverstone resting against your knee stump.”
The rag trembled in the queen's hand. Era looked closer—the Neverstone vibrated. Tuning out Titania's voice for a second to focus, Era heard the faintest hint of something inside the rock.
Screaming.
She continued: “Now, we would like to put it back on, but first, we'll have to let the... well, there's some kind of...” Turning to the side, she said, “Begging your pardon, Sir Mischa, but this is starting to sound like something my organist would have crooned out after three barrels of flùpya.”
Mischa trudged into the chamber, kneading his forehead. He ducked his eyes from the light of the crystal lamps. Another hangover—understandable, after last night. He sat down next to Era.
“Hey, Little Dork, you comin' to? I think I owe you an explanation.”
“Maybe later. I could really use a nap.”
Ignoring him, his father continued. “Remember when you woke up from your coma after the Fall of Rosencrace, and I said it was because a miracle happened?”
Hoo boy, here we go.
“It was less of a 'miracle' sorta thing and more of an 'I was really pissed off about what happened to my son, so I derailed a Celsioran military supply train, put on a mask, grabbed my shotgun, and went on a liquored-up rampage, killing most of the guards on board and looting whatever experimental Celsioran tech I could find to break you out of your coma'—that sorta thing. That's how you got that Neverstone, and that Neverstone woke you up.”
“Was it at least a cool mask?”
“It was an evil clown, so, kinda?”
Era stifled his rant about how the evil clown shtick had been done to death, to the point where a clown that just wants to make children happy had become the edgier option. “I take it that's where you got your closet full of stolen machinery, too?”
“Pretty much.”
The dying fencer chuckled. “Cool.”
“Don't say that. It's not cool, Little Dork.”
“Look, Dad, maybe Noah would be disturbed by that train rampage story of yours. But it sounds like one hell of an adventure, and it ended up saving me, so...” He motioned to Mischa's prosthetic arm. “Frankly, I just wish you'd go to such heroic lengths to keep yourself in one piece, too.”
“He has a point, Sir Mischa,” said Titania. “All I can hear from that story is a father saving his son, not a murderer.”
Tears of frustration formed in Mischa's eyes. “Stop it.
I'm not a hero, and I didn't save him.”
“Bullvog,” said Era.
“It's not bullvog! I didn't 'save' you. I just —look, Little Dork, do you even know what Necrylic is?”
Era shook his head. Through his fatigue, the process took five seconds.
“Necrylic isn't just a toxic chemical. It's death—the act of dying, compressed and purified into a tangible chemical solid. Necrylic poisoning is really just a part of your soul leaving for the afterlife, while the rest stays down here.”
Mischa rested his elbows on the space next to Era, and planted his forehead in his hands, trying to keep it together. “Era...at least one third of you died in the Fall. We could have woken you up from that coma with healing potions and constant treatment, but the Red Shield volunteer doctors kept tellin' me how your life would go after that, and I couldn't let that happen. I'd have to watch the Necrylic rot your brain, and you wouldn't live past 26.”
Tears fell down one of Mischa's wrists. “Option one: mercy kill. Shoot you in a back alley, put you out of your misery. Let you join the fencing team boys in Paradisia, take you to meet Lutero Gualtieri himself. Option two: delay the inevitable just to let you live a little longer, and watch you grow up to be a zombie.”
“And what was the third path?” asked Era.
Later, in the amphitheater near the Apocalypse Tree, Mischa held up the Neverstone in its rag. “The third path,” he said, “was to fill the missing part of his soul with something else.”
He sat on an empty stone bench of the amphitheater. Titania and the three other heroes (Branwen hadn’t yet given up on eating the Pyramid, sadly) sat around him. Mischa had just finished the second round of explanation and found the whole bedside-manner thing a little harder for Era's friends than Era himself, if only for all the threats.
Neverstone: A LitRPG Adventure (The Mad Elf Book 1) Page 39
