by Charles Dean
“That wasn’t very kind. That book had a lot of great stories, but . . .” The Herald shrugged as if nothing was wrong and pulled out another book. “It’s no matter. I have plenty more stories to read you.”
Lee didn’t wait for him to even open the book as he rushed forward, once more equipping his swords and throwing the noob weapon from his left hand straight at the Herald. No, don't you read another page! I just stopped myself from dying to that awful thing! Don’t you do it! He felt his heart beat a thousand miles an hour as he got closer. Twenty feet wasn’t that far. It was less than a large living room, but given how much adrenaline was surging through his veins, and how scared he was of another page being read, Lee perceived it all in slow motion. The twenty feet may as well have been closer to a hundred for all it mattered to him.
“You see,” the Herald began, pausing briefly to dodge the incoming noob sword. “Back in the day, there used to be a—”
The Herald was cut off by Lee’s real sword. Lee swung at the book with every ounce of energy left in his body, and finally, he felt the pull against his blade as the book was rent in half.
“Now that’s just not right!” The Herald took a step back and pulled out another book, but no sooner had this one entered his hands than Lee had already swiped it down too. He reached out with his free hand and grabbed the Herald.
“Hey!” The man panicked. “Get your filthy hands off me!”
There were a few different lines that went through his head as he stabbed the Herald through the gut: ‘Storytime is over,’ ‘It’s time to book you,’ or even the cringe-worthy, ‘This is one book I’ll have to put down.’ He would have probably even gone with the last one, but there were people watching—people he needed to turn into zealots—and that would never happen if they heard how ridiculous his puns were. Lee loved dad jokes, but he knew that no one would take him seriously once they heard his.
The Herald stared at him coldly and said, “Your weapon, so crass and Philistine. Do you really not know?” He jerked away just in time for Lee’s second strike to miss. “Stories can be used as a defense too, and a good parable at the right time can shield one from the slanderous swords and stones of others.” A light formed in front of him when he finished speaking, and a massive golden shield appeared, blocking Lee from seeing what the Herald was doing. “More than that, they are better than any weapon. A weapon forces you to risk a confrontation, but a well-placed story in the right ear can act as a shot from afar, safely striking down your opponent without you ever having to lift a finger on your own.”
Easily recognizing the pattern, Lee backed up, equipped his tower shield, and held it up in front of him. His instincts proved right as, seconds later, a volley of arrows struck his shield.
“A shield that acts like a wall? You think it will save you from the words and stories of men?” The Herald laughed. “You should know that no wall is great enough to stop the winds from carrying the words of men to and from the lands. The more a man tries to shield himself from gossip and idle stories, the more vulnerable he becomes to the slings and arrows of accusation.” Lee’s shield became ethereal, almost completely fading away from view entirely and leaving him exposed. He tried to equip another shield as soon as it happened, but he couldn’t remove the ghostly item on his arm.
“Where you can’t stop them with a wall, you can drown them out with noise so that no one can tell truth from lie. Then doubt will become your shield where lies cannot,” Lee said. At this point, he saw thirty-odd arrows coming toward him from behind the Herald. He thought he was dead for sure, but this gamble paid off just as well as the last one. His shield re-materialized and the arrows turned ethereal, no longer solid or tangible, and they passed right through him and his shield.
There’s a reason for the pause between everything he says and the impact. It has to give time for a counter-argument. Lee felt like he had taken in a breath of refreshing air for the first time since the fight started. He’s not overpowered; he’s not broken. His ability has a weakness, and he can be killed. He suddenly realized that the people around him were cheering, urging him on to finish off the Herald.
The Herald dropped his shield and said, “Whether or not an accusation can be nullified in a wave of gossip, one must still admit that a good tongue is sharper and deadlier than any sword.” He stuck his tongue out, and Lee watched as it extended well past any woman’s expectations, dropping further and further until it reached three feet in length before stopping.
The Herald grabbed his elongated tongue and pulled, and with a snap, the part of his tongue that had been hanging out broke off. The part he held in his hand formed a soft handle, and the rest stiffened up straighter than if it was cloth ironed with all the starch in every 1970s commercial. A moment later, Lee saw that the tongue now shone and reflected light perfectly, clearly a hiltless sword.
Lee did his best to reinforce his own blade, saying, “That may be the case, but no quick tongue can ever truly defeat reason and the presence of good, visible, physical evidence against a case. Even if you concoct the best stories, it won’t matter if people can see that your case isn’t justifiable from the evidence at hand.”
“We’ll see if that’s really true,” the Herald taunted.
Using the two-handed sword, he lashed out at Lee. Lee blocked the attack with his own sword, not trusting the shield he had created to hold up, and felt another wave of relief when he realized that his own sword was going to hold up as well. He tried to counterattack, but before he could strike a blow, the golden shield maneuvered itself directly between them. Lee’s blade bounced harmlessly off the shield of light like it was a wooden stick striking a brick wall.
“Hahaha! No matter what you do, my parables will defend any point I make. There is always an anecdote to justify whatever I want!” The Herald laughed, and the cheering ceased as everyone saw exactly how defensively sound that light was.
“A parable might defend your case, but it could also just as easily illuminate the weaknesses. No matter how good a story is, it will have a flaw to be nitpicked, a weakness in the metaphor to be undermined, and the parables you use as defense are no different,” Lee criticized. He watched as his words left his mouth as slow-moving, red rivers of light and pasted themselves onto the Herald’s shield, covering it in thin red lines from one side to the next. They were only the size of a number two pencil at best, but Lee was confident that he could hit them, assuming that his opponent wasn’t a genius swordsman.
The shield rotated to the side allowing Lee to see the wicked sneer plastered on the Herald's gaunt face. “I can’t stand it when a villain keeps using one twist after another to stay alive. It’s simply a bad plot device. You should die peacefully and let the story go on to a better arc.”
You’re the one delaying your death with these cheap magic tricks! Lee furrowed his brow as he stared angrily at the Herald. He wanted to yell, to give him a piece of his mind, but words were important in this fight. If the Herald’s magic worked to its full extent as it had previously, it’d just prevent him from dying and give him another chance at lasting longer. He couldn’t risk saying anything out of place since it wasn’t only the Herald’s words that mattered.
Seeing that his provocation hadn’t worked, the Herald lunged forward with a straight thrust. Lee angled his body right and risked it to see if his shield could absorb the blow from the sword without turning to paper and being cut right through. He knew that he’d be fine, even if the shield failed, since he had stepped to the side, so he felt comfortable taking the risk.
There was a thwack of tongue on wood as his shield turned the attack, but as soon as he went for his own retaliation, the giant golden shield swiveled around in front of him, once more separating the two. This time, Lee adjusted his blade as quickly as he could and, ignoring the Herald, aimed for the red lines on the shield. His sword cut through one, and the shield split in two, parting so that there was a clear foot of space between the top and bottom half of the shield
where the red line had been.
“That’s not okay.” The Herald’s temper was no longer as steady as it was before. His thrust, having been deflected by the shield, had left him in a position where he couldn’t even counterattack properly. “You should know that the hero in every story wins. It’s how it’s supposed to be!” he shouted angrily, going for a low horizontal slash.
Lee parried the blade and sent it straight to the floor before following up with another attack at the shield. He hit another red line, and the golden shield split further, the space originally left by his first slash growing a new foot wider.
“Who said you were the hero? What story have you ever read that insinuates that?” Lee asked against his better judgment. “You kidnap people, force people to work, kill people you disagree with and build castles in the middle of nowhere. You might as well have called it an evil lair and waited for your death at the hands of the first good knight to take up the case.”
The Herald’s face scrunched up. “That’s . . .! I brought the people more than they deserved! Education! Entertainment! Meaning!” he yelled as he made another poor attempt at striking Lee.
Lee realized how sloppy the man’s swordsmanship was. “You never did your own fighting, did you? You’ve relied on your powers the whole time, haven’t you? You’ve never tested or trained yourself, have you?”
“What use do I have to train? Haven’t you read? Most good stories feature a hero who is physically inept and vastly unqualified yet able to defeat opponents who have worked hard their entire life to master a skill! And after only a day or two of training!” the Herald quipped, his face turning redder than Erik the Viking’s beard.
Well, technically, I qualify there too. Except, this just means that neither of us has ever trained before. Lee parried another attack and cut again at another red line on the golden shield. He realized that the gaps were large enough for him to almost ignore the shield completely at this point, but he patiently waited and cut through one more so that the split was large enough for him to step through comfortably. Then, as he sidestepped his opponent's thrust and parried it to the side, he grabbed his opponent's wrist with his shield hand and pulled him directly onto his waiting sword.
The Herald started to laugh, and Lee knew he was up to something. “You think you’ve won, but the best part of a sto—”
The Herald began to use another one of his trump cards, but Lee wasn’t going to let that happen. Instead of letting him finish, he punched the Herald in the mouth with the hand that was holding his sword.
“Ow, stop that! You’re not supposed to interr—”
Lee didn’t have any patience left. He punched the restrained man again. He didn’t want to waste any more time toying with him, so Lee thrust forward for the other Herald’s neck. High as he was on his victory, however, he was too slow. The Herald turned his tongue-like sword and stabbed into Lee’s side, even as Lee’s own sword sliced into his throat.
Luckily for Lee, the Herald had been too weak to actually drive home the blow. He watched as his own health dropped from thirteen to nine and then stared at the message as it popped up and let him know that he was taking one point of damage from bleeding every other second. That gave him twenty seconds to live. His only comfort was the fact that his own blade had cut the Herald’s throat, so he wasn’t the only one with a timer.
“You’re such a bastard.” Lee watched as the Herald’s mouth opened and closed in shock, the look of pain and disbelief in his eyes growing as he processed his death. “I hope you rot in hell,” he added before releasing his grip and falling over. The minute he hit the ground, Lee felt like he had been used as a punching bag by a heavyweight boxer. He had been running on adrenaline alone, and it had basically been the only thing keeping him on his feet and ignorant of all the damage his body had taken.
Stupid. Freaking. Dragon. Stupid. Freaking. Knight. Lee sighed, staring at the sky. “It’s time for me to die again.” He spoke the words aloud as he realized that it was inevitable now. He had won, and the other Herald was dead, but there was nothing he could do to stop himself from bleeding out. He had tried to use the same strange healing he had used on Ling in the mine to help cure himself, but it didn’t want to work for him.
“Just . . . take care of Ling and listen to Miller for me,” he said to the crowd who had gathered.
Divinity Power: Life in Death activated.
What? What the heck?
Divinity Power: Life in Death will both cease life-threatening damage over time effects and slowly regenerate the user’s hit points so long as the conditions are met.
What conditions?
The enemy that caused the injury resulting in the damage over time effect must be killed.
The fancy blue box prompts were rather enlightening, and the news was a load off. He had six health left when the effect kicked in, and he realized now that the Herald must have taken a full minute to die. For some reason, that brought a little comfort to Lee.
“The wound is closing up,” he heard one of the people say as they crowded around him.
“Is it over?” he heard others from inside the keep ask.
Lee raised his head to see a few dozen people, all chained and dressed in clothes that might as well be potato sacks, starting to file out of the keep. “Did he finally die? Are we free?” one of them asked.
One of the men who had just witness the confrontation said, “Yes! This man, The Herald of Augustus, came and saved you!”
“He’s not just a Herald, he’s the son of a god! He came back from the dead!” another yelled.
“I mean, the other one had magic and seemed . . . more divine. Are you sure he’s a god? He doesn’t seem that impressive,” one of the men who had followed Lee from the village asked, ignoring the newly-freed and frightened prisoners who had been held inside the keep.
“People!” Lee said, bracing himself as he stood up. He might not have been dead, but he still felt awful. Low hit points had a very real and physical feel, and it wasn’t pleasant. “Please, put your priorities straight. Who or what I am doesn’t matter. Can’t you see them?” He pointed over to the three or four individuals that had actually left the keep, and the dozen or so behind them that were still timidly waiting inside. Their arms were bound, their feet were shackled together, and their faces were gaunt and miserable. “Why must you worry about who is what or what matters when so many are injured and suffering right in front of you?”
“Oh . . .” the villager who boasted about Lee’s divinity at the beginning began with a start. “I’m sorry, Lord. I’ll go right away.”
He rushed over to the group, pulled out a dagger and began working the lock on the closest victim to him as best he could, yet the others just stood and watched. They were wide-eyed, curious and confused, but after a minute, they joined him. They began taking off their shirts from underneath their armor and giving them to the prisoners, passing out food, and doing what they could to remove the locks and chains. The small group of observers was finally doing something useful.
Lee walked over to where Henslee was bleeding out. She was stretched out on the ground, and a man was sitting beside her, holding a blood-soaked bandage over her wound. Lee was no doctor, but even he could tell that she was going to die very soon. “I see you did very well for yourself, Henslee,” he said, kneeling down beside her.
She took a ragged breath and coughed up a mouthful of blood. Even as the blood dribbled down the side of her mouth, she smiled. “Does this mean I’ll finally get to be with David?”
Lee shook his head and placed a hand on top of her chest. “I’m afraid I still have a need for you.” He had only used the method of healing once on Ling, but due to the nature of this world’s systems, he was able to execute the heal on Henslee without any issue at all. It was far easier than it had been the first time, but the process left him drained. He watched as over half of his Spirit bar depleted, and his energy was transferred into Henslee as her wound was healed.
Ethan noticed it first, and with a little mental squeak, he told Lee to pay attention. The people were lined up just inside the keep, watching him intently. “He . . . He can do that? Not only did he come back from what should have been a fatal wound, but he even brought her back too?” one asked in awe.
“I told you: he’s a god,” his staunch defender, Foster, reaffirmed.
Lee did his best to ignore them while they gossiped about how divine he was or wasn’t and focused his attention on the woman he had healed.
“You promised me . . . if I died . . . that I could . . . You promised me!” Her smile faded to anger as she glared up at him. “Why would you heal me?”
“Because it’s what David would have wanted. He told me when we were fighting giant beasts in the tunnels. He was worried that he might die at any turn, and he told me that he wanted you to live a long life no matter what happened to him.” Lee was lying, but he didn’t know what else to say. This woman was hell-bent on death, and her method of fighting would get her there sooner or later.
“He would say something like that.” Her anger subsided, melting away as she suddenly became interested in the ground off to her side. “That idiot. Why did he always have to be first, to try the hardest? Why did he have to go right as we . . .?” For one reason or another, she didn’t finish her sentence. She just broke down crying. The man who had bandaged her up looked around awkwardly and then excused himself.
Lee sat where he was, crouched down beside her, equally unsure of what to do. “It’s going to be okay. He’s not suffering. You have but years here, but you will have an eternity with him later. Treasure the time in this world as a chance to become a better person for your time in the next one.” Lee continued to use his tongue as a shovel to dig a blasphemous hole straight to hell. Augustus, why couldn’t you let me convert them to the proper religion? You bastard!
