Neverstone: A LitRPG Adventure (The Mad Elf Book 1)
Page 45
“Me hearin's fine,” said Branwen.
“Exactly, which leaves you open to your safeword. Can you temporarily deafen her, Noah?”
[The Full Monty — Hey, Hey, Do the Rosie Stomp!]
Before he could get his answer, Era realized that the shadow forming around him on the ground had to come from somewhere. He looked up and rolled his eyes. “Seriousl—”
Monty's furry, dingy Muppet foot completely covered Era with a pound.
[Legate Thoric — Mind Control]
Judging by the silenced scream, the scattering blood, and the fragments of bone from under the foot of the Great Beast, the Rosie was at last banished from the mortal world and left to rot as a rust-colored blemish upon the ancient and proud soil of Kobalheim.
At long last: Era Gualtieri, the homeless elvish bastard who never worked a day in his sexless life, was dead. (The other degenerates died too, and their deaths were also sufficiently poetic.)
After returning to his human form and reclaiming the Jade Crown from the be-pancaked remains of his opponent, Lord Monty declared the victory he had sought for so long and held the Jade Crown to the sky to make the promised wish.
With his wish, Montostatos Jones became an invincible warrior god, paving the way for a one man Death March of his own through the streets of Aries. (Thoric was there, too, and he had a whole mess of girlfriends and his own wizard school.) Even the Koscheis feared his power, and the nation of Celsior kowtowed to his every demand. Raphael hung himself and was promptly used as a piñata by Monty's 73 handsome and strong sons (between his 200 supermodel concubines) at their collective birthday party.
As the last Rosie in existence choked out its dying breath in Lord Monty's grip, the true Ulfenstadt was born—not as a secluded kingdom of Vikings in the ruins of Kobalheim, but a shining, golden empire risen from the ashes of—HEY!
STOP IT!
[Ned Caratacus — Regain Control]
NO MIND-CONTROLLING THE NARRATOR. THAT'S CHEATING!
“Oh, come on,” said Thoric, stupidly, like a STUPID CHEATER. “How can you honestly control this universe properly, 'Ned?' You're a duck at a bloody typewriter. Do you know how small a duck's brain is? It would take more effort to mind-control a chihuahua. Control of Luminar's narrative is better off in the hands of someone who actually knows what he's doing.”
WHOOPSIES, MY NIGH-OMNIPOTENCE SLIPPED!
[Ned Caratacus — Deus Ex Duckina]
[Legate Thoric now has syphilis!]
“Oh...” said Thoric. “Oh, dear.”
Yeah, that's what I thought. Okay, where were we?
[The Full Monty — Hey, Hey, Do the Rosie Stomp!]
Before he could get his answer, Era realized that the shadow forming around him on the ground had to come from somewhere. He looked up and rolled his eyes. “Seriousl—”
Monty's furry, dingy Muppet foot completely covered Era with a pound.
[Era — Trap Strike]
A subtle white glow of war pixels from underneath its fur made its way up the beast's leg. Monty groaned, immobilized from the pain, as the damage counter above the glowing bit went up and up.
Era finally broke out of the body at Monty's right upper thigh. He gasped for air as he clutched his flying sword with both hands.
[52,509 DMG to The Full Monty]
Hi, Gena. It's your brother. I just used a racist wolf god as a swimming pool. How was your day?
Monty bent down. Growing blobs of red plasma began to form in his jaws as his arcane strength gathered.
[The Full Monty — Moonbreath]
A torrent of dark red energy shot from his mouth, pouring into the pavement and the tunnels and basements below. The surrounding towers of Kobalheim fell into an ocean of blood-colored fire, and at this point, I don't really give a damn if Łöbøtömÿ Ŵård steals that for song lyrics.
One falling tower had the added flavor of a dwarf and a healer sprinting up several flights of stairs, both screaming the whole time. The identity of the most panicked one among them is anyone's guess.
Below them, the werewolf continued to pour fire into the ground, making sure it ended the life of someone today—a member of the Chosen Three would be nice, but beggars can't be choosers.
[Branwen — Board the Enemy Ship]
Branwen scruffed Noah’s neck and launched herself into the fur jungle of the wolf's back. Her passenger tumbled from her hands into the cushions of matted fur-grass.
“Branny, I can deafen you,” said Noah, taking hold of a strand of the wolf's fur, “but the incantation will take a few minutes, and—”
[Branwen — Box Own Ears]
The last sound Branwen heard in that battle was a dull, satisfyingly painful snap. Blood dripped from her earlobes. The pain was intolerable, which made her giggle.
[Branwen is now completely deaf!]
The werewolf stood back up. Further burning of the city might burn himself, and even a drunk werewolf god with nothing to lose could see that. Branwen and Noah clung to his fur and climbed.
[The Black Knight has awoken!]
Meanwhile, from the collapsing remnants of the Skin Scrambler pit, something flew to Monty's eye level—a masked knight.
[Liv — Jimmy Rustler]
“Yo, Monty! No one told me you were a furry!”
[Taunt failed — Monty's jimmies cannot be rustled further.]
[Thoric — Throw Voice]
“Liv!” said Thoric into his staff, using it as a magical microphone of sorts. “Out of all our enemies, I despise you the most. A real wizard, like me, earns his skill through years of study. But you? Your strength was handed to you by your metaphysical sugar daddy!”
“Like how your money for wizard college was handed to you by your billionaire actual daddy? Real cute.”
Thoric's grip on his brother's fur tightened. “Kill her, brother.”
[The Full Monty — Spatial Razor]
The claws on the tips of Monty's right fingers shone with energy. He swiped through the air, trying to catch Liv, and she flew around his hand to dodge.
Which would have been a miss, if the claws didn't leave white, glowing trails in the fabric of space, which then exploded.
[5,819 DMG to Liv]
This nearly killed her—which, as indicated by science, is a guaranteed way to piss her off.
[Liv — Vampiric Maelstrom]
A flaming dragon skull formed on her free hand. It drew in a current of red-hot energy from Monty's body, taking in his hit points for herself. The werewolf tried to move to avoid her—
[Era — Look, a Distraction!]
—but realized there was a one-legged elf, sitting right in front of all three of his left eyes.
“How's it goin'?” asked Era.
(Meanwhile, some goblins at their camp a few hundred miles away swore they heard a giant
wolf monster of some sort say a very rude word in a human tongue. Oh, those humans.)
Era chuckled. “That's fair, I suppose. But before you judge me too harshly, consider the following...”
[Era — Flying Blender]
The Schiavona twirled from Era's fingertips, spinning like a sawblade through the row of eyeballs. Monty roared at the sky as the left side of his face was covered in war pixels.
[Critical Hit!]
[Hit 42 times!]
[293,490 DMG to The Full Monty]
Meanwhile, the scattering pixels came drifting toward Liv's little dragon skull, but not too much. Liv figured that absorbing too much of his rancid life force might give her food poisoning.
[50,230 DMG to The Full Monty — Liv Absorbed for HP!]
Lest we forget, Era's little stunt caused Monty to raise his head in pain, which catapulted Era into the space above him.
[Era — Blade Recall]
With a snap of his fingers, Era's sword came back, and he once again had control of the air. Okay, going pretty good so far. Just gotta keep him distracted a little longer so that Liv can land a few more hits.
&
nbsp; Also, is she in Riastrad? She's flying. What does the Riastrad look—
FOCUS, Era!
Maybe just a quick glance.
[Era — Glance at the Riastrad]
By Galgalim, I want her to shove me against a locker and take my lunch money.
Meanwhile, Thoric had jammed his staff into the belt of his wizard robe to free his hands. Now that Era was here, why not use his favorite weapon?
[Legate Thoric — Medusa Gun]
No, wait. No, NOT NOW, I—
[Missed!]
[Era lost his grip!]
[Fall damage!]
[30 DMG to Era]
Era landed on the top of Monty's skull, face-to-face with Thoric Jones himself—and facing the smoking business end of a KM-29 sidearm-grade Necrylic ectolysis caster pistol.
From Liv: “Slasher, RUN!”
[Bestiary: Legate Thoric]
[Type: Human, Wizard]
[Weaknesses: His brother showing brief moments of genuine compassion]
[HP: 70,300]
[Description: Worked for his father's teleportation company as an unpaid intern when he was 14. Has a Master's degree in Spatial Manipulation Magicks from Dartley Tech. One of the few people on Luminar with access to time-bending spells.]
Thoric grinned. “Brother, did you want to be the one to kill him, or would you mind terribly if I—”
A grumble to the effect of, “whatever, just do it,” came from the werewolf.
Something seized in Era's chest as he stared at the gun. Everything in the world became silent around him. Right now, for Era, the only things that existed were himself, Thoric, and the flickering spark of the electric pilot light at the end of the pistol, ready to launch heated Necrylic gas into Era's body—ready to finish what Coach Jordy started five years ago.
Era. closed his eyes. He took a deep breath.
“As the cold December winds graze the flowers of Mt. Colibri, still they bloom, and still the violet-winged Rosencracian hummingbird laps at their sugared nectars in the defied snowfall—so shall be the spirit of all my children.”
— Lutero Gualtieri's epitaph
[Legate Thoric — Medusa Gun]
Era threw his head to the side a millisecond before the plasma could connect.
[Missed!]
Because the blast had to go somewhere, the fur underneath his knees turned to grey plastic.
“MONTY!”
[Lord Monty was slain.]
Thoric dropped the gun. His hands trembled, and his face was covered in a thick film of tears and snot within seconds. Underneath the necrylified head of the giant werewolf, the legs still adjusted to the fact that the brain was gone and stumbled slowly backward.
“I killed him,” mumbled Thoric. “I killed him. Mother, I killed your boy...”
Era looked at the dying beast below him, then back to the beast’s grieving brother. “Uh...” he began, “that's the way the Monty crumbles?”
[Thoric — Cosmic Retcon]
Thoric screamed. Green energy shot from his hands. A clock sigil formed at his feet. He slurred through an incantation that wrenched every spark of arcane strength from his mind and body. When he ran out of magic, he burned his body as fuel for the spell. His flesh. His blood. His soul. His hands crumbled to ashes and his eyes melted and smoke and fire shot from his ears. Then there came a flash of light.
[Returning to 30 seconds in the past...]
Thoric grinned. “Brother, did you want to be the one to kill him, or would you mind terribly if I—”
A grumble to the effect of, “whatever, just do it,” came from the werewolf.
Something seized in Era's chest as he stared at the gun. Everything in the world became silent around him. Right now, for Era, the only things that existed were himself, Thoric, and the flickering spark of the electric pilot light at the end of the—
Suddenly, the ghastly image of Future Thoric, his body tearing itself apart from the force of chronomantic energy, appeared next to his past self. “Throw the gun away, you stupid bastard!” he said, and disappeared forever.
Thoric made a point of always listening to his future self (the guy certainly knew what he was talking about) and threw the Medusa pistol to the ground below. “Actually, Monty,” said Thoric, “I'll let you do the honors.”
Era raised an eyebrow. I mean, not that I'm complaining about it or anything, but...what?
Another flaming green Future Thoric flashed in front of them both—still suffering, but also clutching his pixel-fading torso this time. “Turn around, Thoric!” he said, also disappearing forever.
He did, just in time to see a familiar face—Branwen, with chunks of bloody werewolf fur in her clenched fists. She panic-laughed through her teeth as she stared at Thoric.
“Anubis,” said Thoric.
The pirate tilted her head.
“Anubis!”
“A-nuuuuu-bis?” said Branwen.
Thoric saw the trails of blood under her ears. He barely suppressed a few frustrated sobs.
Era was also having a pretty nice time. Thoric, one of his hated enemies, just turned his back on him with his weapon still in his hand. To a fencer, this was Crissmus morning in careless-gesture form.
[Era — Backbiter]
The Schiavona shot through Thoric's back up to the hilt. He bucked from the shock of it. Looking down, he saw the blade sticking out of his chest, and his lip quivered. That's always the worst part about impalement—acquiring a new body part that you never asked for.
[13,302 DMG to Legate Thoric]
[Absorbed 2,023 HP!]
As for Branwen—
[Branwen — Centrifugal Fling]
She grabbed Thoric buy the boot, yanked him off Era’s blade, and three serious twirls later, the wizard was horizon-bound for the mother of all rough landings.
[56,900 DMG to Legate Thoric]
Thoric opened his eyes in a field a few miles north of Ur-Kobalis. He was tired, 98 hit points away from death, and beginning to develop a lifelong phobia of lesbian pirates.
The wizard pawed at his neck—his Koschei Thaumatronics disguise amulet had gone missing.
[Era — Hey, You Dropped This]
[Stole Shroudsguise Cloaking Amulet!]
Thoric's temples throbbed.
[PUT ON YOUR GLASSES NOW]
There you stand, Branwen, on the head of the enemy ship, the Flying Duckman, summoned by the evil Duck Lord and his nest of cheeping darklings.
LaGuêpe salutes you—though once, you had detested even the thought of this francophonic Bug-Man, you had learned of his mysterious ability to turn into some sort of sensible elvish swordsman.
For this, you had forced yourself to tolerate his more Parisian qualities, and found a loyal comrade in him, nonetheless. Someday, when you finally settle down, rob the sperm bank on Route 36 and have a Branwen Junior, only LaGuêpe would be fit to be your child’s godwasper.
And in the end, what’s so bad about being French? Not only is it a simple nationality rather than a character flaw, but this “France” thing doesn’t even exist! So, why do you associate it with all these oddly specific stereotypes and a full-fledged language that you don’t even speak? What the vog is wrong with you, Branwen? What the vog is wrong with everything? What are—
You remember how hot Noelle is, and all three of your brain cells are back on task. “What now, monsieur?” you ask LaGuêpe.
Your insectoid rival merely points to the ground, stating, “Fromage! Fromage!”
Fromage. You remember when you first shared a bite of LaGuêpe’s bizarre cheese, and your heart fills with nostalgia.
You look down—Cheese! An endless sea of the finest brie and camembert lies beneath your feet— what luck!
[Branwen — Snack Break]
You plunge your anchor-fists into the mass of cheese below you, shoveling fistsful of cheese into your mouth and swallowing them whole. The gooey deliciousness fills your mouth with a salty-sweet, three act rock opera of unspeakably perfe
ct tastes, and it only fuels your hunger more.
[Remove Your Glasses Now]
The giant werewolf shrieked pitifully as the pirate broke into his skull and ate a tunnel through his brain. Thankfully for everyone else’s stomach, Monty was still in combat mode, and his head turned completely white from the top. Era flew off with his sword, having to dodge the pair of paws clutching the scalp.
[3,578,093 DMG to The Full Monty!]
Meanwhile, on top of Monty’s right foot, Ofelia hadn’t forgotten her involvement in the plan. For the past few minutes, she whispered an elaborate series of prayers into her gladius, which shone with brilliant white light. The sabatons of her boots dug into Monty's fur as she clung to her position until the sword was ready.
[Ofelia — Whit]
She sunk the blade between two of the werewolf's tarsal bones, and the ground beneath her became a puddle of white pixels.