by Reed James
The battle raged fast. The stalac-mites were around us. Above us. One dropped down on me, smashing into my shoulder and dealing a chunk of my Hit Points before landing before me and biting into my greaves, the bronze armor protecting me.
My Blood Bronze Ax swung in a reddish blur. I crit the beast and chopped it in half, spilling foul-smelling ichor everywhere. Kulri's Arcane Bolts flew from her every few seconds, punching with devastation into the enemies while Maria and I drew their attention, slashing our weapons into their glowing bodies.
My hand throbbed by the time we dispatched the last of the stony bugs. Blood dripped from my fingers and stained the ground. Maria rubbed her arm where she'd taken a nasty bite. She'd lost a little more Hit Points than I had, though she had a renewable way to get hers back that didn't involve drinking a healing potion. I was down a third of my Hit Points.
“Shall we press on,” suggested Kulri, her stuff thunking on the ground as she passed between Maria and me. “I hope you shall listen to my advice next time.”
Maria's eyes narrowed. She mouthed something that I didn't catch.
“Kulri, are you taking point?”
The elf stiffened. “My apologies, Marcus Aurelius. I am not used to being in a party.”
I led the way into another narrowing tunnel; it snaked around while a chanting grew. Something rhythmic. Deep and disturbing. It held an atonal quality that had my shoulders squirming. Iris descended, landing on my shoulder.
“I don't like the sound of that,” she whispered.
“It is disconcerting,” the elf said. “I hear seven men chanting with a slight offset to make it so... unpleasant. In addition, they are speaking Dēmodith.”
“More of those Rūzemites?” asked Maria. “How did they get past the angel?”
I hadn't realized that. My quest to rescue the girls was taking me deep into this temple. “There might be another way past the angel. A passage we didn't find. We haven't explored this place 100%.”
“The condition of this place is not the harmonious way it once was,” Kulri said. “I suggest we prepare for the fight to come.”
“I'm ready,” I said. I had a fresh charge on my Flamedust Boots and Maria had yet to use the dazzling ability of her breastplate bikini. “Just don't get stabbed by their daggers, Kulri.”
“I hate it,” groaned Maria. “Burns.”
“I shall unleash my magery upon them, Marcus Aurelius.”
I nodded and led the way, drawing my Bloody Bronze Ax, my shield held in the ready. The tunnel snacked around. Light spilled out ahead, a flickering red. The chanting grew louder, the sounds repeating over and over. Monotonous and yet never quite the same. Subtle changes to the consonants in the syllables.
“They're praying to Rūzem to corrupt the sanctuary,” said Iris. “They're saying it over and over in the devilish tongue.”
“Cease thy churlish chanting and stop thy desecration of this temple, knavish followers of Destruction!” a woman's voice rang out. Bright and youthful. “Tremble in fear before the righteous purity of Ëshuxeri, Goddess of Love!”
The chanting stopped. The rasping sounds of daggers being drawn rang out.
“Fuck!” I snarled and charged forward.
Chapter Thirteen: The Acolyte's Conviction
Dëshoma, daughter of the great Dezösh, faced the seven cultists of Rūzem as they desecrated Shuwëmeri's temple. She stood steadfast before them, holding in her right hand the Book of Love, the words of her Goddess Ëshuxeri inscribed upon the pages, strengthening the faith brimming through the acolyte.
She wore the red habit of a divine servant of Ëshuxeri, a white wimple wrapped tight about her face, covering her hair and framing her pale and youthful features. Green eyes gleamed almost like emeralds as they shone with righteous indignation at the foul servants of Destruction. A red veil draped over her head and fell to her shoulders. She wore a sleeveless habit that fit tight to her torso, clinging to round breasts. It belted at her waist and flared into a pleated skirt that fell not far past the swell of her rump. White thigh-high stockings clad her legs, rising out of heeled shoes that matched the red of her nun's habit.
“Your blood shall fuel our ritual and hasten Rūzem's claim upon this place!” their leader shouted. He held a ritual dagger in his hand. His tattered and filthy robes clung to him. He didn't wear a cowl like the others but left his head bare. Cancerous blotches marred his skull. Two sunken pits faced her.
“Rotgaze,” Dëshoma said, recognizing the undercultist to the leader of Rūzem's foul followers. “If thou are here, then has Feverblight himself stirred from the Putrid Temple?”
Rotgaze smiled, showing off teeth stained with smears of dark-red. “Does it matter? You should not have come here alone, little one. No matter who your father is. You are not an angel, just one of his seed he splattered in some whore's cunny.”
Her irritation swelled. She held her book, ready to fight the seven clerics who ran at her. She surely would prevail. She had the might of right at her back. Holy purity would drive away their blight and see this temple cleansed.
“When all seems lost in the dark,” she chanted as she cast her miracle, “let my presence be a bright hope to the lost!”
She sacrificed 3 MP. Divine power flowed through her, channeled from her Goddess, and launched out of the holy book she brandished. The ball of dazzling light slammed into the nearest cultist's body. It threw him back in a burst of holy power, his robes sizzling.
“When all seems lost in the dark,” she chanted as the cultist recovered, his brethren swarming in on her, “let my presence be a bright hope to the lost.”
It slammed into him and knocked him down. Smote by her righteous power, he hit the ground and spasmed once, slain. She turned to face her next enemy. She began to chant, but it took her three seconds to speak those words.
They were on her in two.
Knives slashed into the acolyte's habit. For the first time in her life, she felt true pain burning through her half-angelic flesh. The nephilim screamed in agony, her miracle faltering, her casting interrupted by their blows.
* * / *
We burst into the room to see five robed figures swarming a woman in red. A nun. Her chanting cries choked off as knives plunged into her flesh. They swarmed her, watched over by a sixth who had his hood down, something dark running down his wrinkled cheeks from his craggy eyes. A seventh figure lay smoldering on the ground, smote by the acolyte.
“Maria!” I shouted and charged across the open room, hardly taking in the surroundings. My bronze chainmail rattled around my chest. My boots thudded on the ground. I felt the fire in them aching to burst free.
I unleashed it.
Flames rippled up my body beneath my leather pants and chainmail. Hot licks that caressed over my skin and spilled over my broad shoulders. The heat flowed down my arms and burst across my skin to reach my weapon. The fire leaped up to it, engulfing the ax, allowing me to deliver fire damage.
“Ëshuxeri!” cried the acolyte, her red veil swaying. She swung her bible and struck one, hardly knocking the cultist head back. Darkness crept across her pale cheek. Her aura dimmed for a moment.
Maria and I both Yelled. The buff surged through me, filling me with confidence.
An arcane bolt hissed over our heads and slammed into the nearest cultist. A burst of purple energy devoured through his robes and charred the flesh on his back. The cultist turned around to see my ax slamming down and cutting deep into his body. Flames burst as he fell back.
“Who are you?” demanded the watching cultist. “How dare you interfere in Rūzem's punishment!”
The acolyte's green eyes met mine, shining with thanks. She swung her heavy book, a stylized flower on the front that reminded me of a Georgia O'Keeffe painting. She struck one of her attackers in the head, hardly doing any damage. Their knives flashed, plunging into her.
“No!” I growled as my ax swung. I unleashed Hard Strike. My weapon buried deep into the nearest cultist's ches
t and struck his spine. He gasped in gurgling shock.
The acolyte staggered, the glow around her diminishing. Then she pressed her holy book to her chest. A burst of white energy flared around the book and sank into her flesh. The corruption eating across her cheek retreated. Her body strengthened.
The idiot healer had attacked a large group alone?
Another arcane bolt slammed into the head of a cultist. He staggered, hood sizzling, the magical energy burning across his cheek. Maria shouted, her loincloth rattling, and plunged her sword deep into his chest. She kicked the gurgling cultist down as I fell on the next who pivoted to face me.
The three still swarming her all turned to face me as I pulled aggro. “Retreat, lady acolyte! We'll cover you.”
“My thanks, good sir!” the acolyte said and retreated back.
“Not so fast!” said the cultist standing apart. He had no eyes, just ruined pits weeping something foul and black. “Let rot and fester tear apart the world with corruption. Spread your blight far and wide!”
From those eyes, a tide of ichor burst from the man. It washed across the room, looking thick and heavy. It swept over me, sizzling across my skin and armor. I gasped at the pain shooting through me. A huge chunk of my Hit Points vanished. The sludge sizzled on me, devouring into my skin.
“Fuck me!” I growled.
“Marcus!” Maria gasped, staggering as the same black ooze clung to her body. A cultist stabbed into her side. I sensed her HP plummeting to critical levels. She staggered back.
“Bastard!” I growled and launched myself at her attacker, ignoring the ones coming for me.
The sludge clung to my legs, slowing me down. I fought against the sizzling pain. A DOT drained even more of my Hit Points. Maria's, too. I landed before her and swung a Hard Strike at the cultist. Flames burst and set his robe on fire. My ax buried deep into his side. He hissed at the pain and thrust his knife at me. I blocked with my shield and followed it up with a regular hit, breaking his arm and hitting an artery. Blood spurted as he dropped dead.
“Drink a healing potion, Maria!” I shouted.
“I have her!” the acolyte said. “My lady warrior, be healed.”
White light flared behind me. Maria groaned and her Hit Point levels rose. My own were entering the critical area as the two other cultists thrust their serpentine knives at me. I set my shield, blocking both. I unleashed my last Hard Strike, badly wounding the cultist. Maria's sword stabbed past me to take him in the neck, her bronze blade ramming out the other side.
“Good sir, I have thee,” the acolyte said, her words soft. She pressed her bible against my shield arm right above my elbow. The white light flared across the cover and flowed into me.
It felt like a woman's hands massaged over my body. The pain from the sizzling sludge clinging to my legs faded. She healed a third of my Hit Points, taking me well out of the critical range. I grinned and slashed my ax at the last cleric we fought.
Maria's sword fell with an even harder stroke as she stepped up beside me. The cultist took both blows at the same time, hacked down by us. He fell flopping to the ground, joining his brethren. I looked to the blind one.
He raced at Kulri.
“Shit!” I snarled and struggled to run to her, fighting against the movement debuff.
* * / *
Kulrigiizhai faced the charging cultist calmly. Her last arcane bolt had hit him hard, sizzling through his robes. More black rot dribbled from his missing eyes. She set her staff and drew upon the other spell she knew.
“Let the geometries of space entwine around me and shield me from damage,” she chanted, Arcane Shield being faster to cast than Arcane Bolt.
The air rippled before her, distorted by the magic that she called upon. It wreathed her with some measure of armor while holding a nasty surprise for the knife lunging in at her. She launched into casting Arcane Bolt as the cultist priest struck.
“Let the mystical energy,” she chanted—
His knife struck her shield. The energy rippled, blunting it and slowing it from penetrating the scant protection her purple robe gave her. The shield crackled with purple lightning. The cultist snarled in pain and wrenched his knife back.
—and finished, “flow out of me and explode in an arcane bolt!”
Her spell fired out from the antler tines on her staff and struck him with purplish power. He screamed and stumbled back, the wound burning into his chest. He snarled and drew back his arm to strike at her again.
“You shall die,” she said as he thrust. “Your Hit Points are in the critical.”
He ignored her. Why did no one listen to the good advice she gave today?
He struck her shield. The energy crackled. He screamed and staggered. He might have hit her, but the damage killed him. He collapsed at her feet, his body sizzling. She watched him die, not feeling anything. Her heart hadn't even sped up a beat.
The heavy steps of Marcus Aurelius slowed. Stopped. He panted, sludge coating his legs. He'd fought to come to her rescue. Her brow knit together at the flutter of emotions inside of her. She thought she'd killed all passions years ago.
Hadn't she learned those lessons well?
* * / *
As the cultist died, the experience surged over us. The rush of gaining a level spilled through me. I felt it strike Maria and Kulri. The bright flash of light of the innate magic of being a Shardhunter surged through our bodies.
“Congratulations!” cheered my pixie. Iris zipped around my head and then stopped before me. Her hips shook back and forth as she danced, arms thrust over her head. She looked like she stood on nothing, her feet moving in an intricate step. She whirled around and shook her little booty at me. “Level 6! Upgrade time!”
I could feel it, the ability to modify my stats again. It wasn't even a choice for me. Damage. I upgraded Hard Strike's damage multiplier again, raising the cost to activate it by another TP. It was 5 now, which meant I could only use it 3 times instead of 4. My TP had only risen by a point to 17.
“Damn, didn't expect that,” I said. “Maybe I'm pumping it too fast and should have upgraded something else.”
“I think I'll buff Hard Strike,” Maria muttered, her eyes closed. Kulri, too, had her eyes closed as she chose her ability to upgrade.
I turned to the cleric. Unlike us, she still looked hurt. She hadn't gained a level. I smiled as I took her in. She had a mix of an innocent beauty and a slutty nun. The red veil on her head and white wimple wrapped around her head gave her that modesty befitting a woman sworn to serve God, but the sleeveless top of her habit, fitting over her round breasts like a glove, left little to the imagination, and the way it turned into a pleated skirt, like a schoolgirl would wear, made my dick throb. White thigh-highs stockings and red high heels only made me groan.
“Damn,” I said, “look at you.”
“Yes, I was overwhelmed by their churlish weapons and almost perished,” she said. “My greatest and most heartfelt thanks, good sir.”
“Marcus,” I said. “Marcus Aurelius.”
“Dëshoma, Acolyte to Ëshuxeri, Goddess of Love.” She bowed to me, clutching her bible to her chest. I guess that flower on the book's red cover was supposed to resemble a pussy. “You have my eternal gratitude.”
“Excellent,” I said.
“Methinks we can aid the other,” she continued. “It seems we are both sworn enemies of the villains who serve that most putrid and disgusting god, Rūzem. I am here to see that they do not taint this temple. Their leader, Feverblight, plans a most heinous ritual.”
“With two virgin girls at the center of it?” I asked.
“Yes, we are kindred spirits seeking the same goal. Mayhap, I can join with thy group and travel to defeat these churlish invaders before they complete their dread task.”
“Absolutely!” I said, grinning at her. I thrust my hand out and took hers. I lifted it to my lips and kissed it.
Her cheeks blushed a fetching shade of scarlet.
“Welcome to the party, my lady Dëshoma.”
Chapter Fourteen: Corruption Spreads
Maria du Marne was surprised by the flutter of jealousy that rippled through her. He never kissed my hand.
She rubbed at the back of hers, her chainmail loincloth shifting as it swung between her thighs.
She shouldn't be jealous. Marcus was her party leader. Nothing more. They had made love a few times, something she never should have done anyway, so it was best if he turned his attention to Dëshoma. An Acolyte of the Love Goddess should have no qualms enjoying his advances. Even if she did seem a tad innocent for one of her position.
The woman had a glow about her. A nimbus that drove back the darkness. Though she looked human, her eyes were a tad too green. Too vibrant. Maria couldn't quite figure out why she was different, while Marcus was prodding Iris, studying something only he could do.
He did that when Kulri joined the party, too.
“The day is wearing on, Marcus Aurelius,” the elf said. “With our level up, we should have no problem pressing on even if our newest ally is down MP.”
“I still have half of my reserves, lady elf,” Dëshoma said.
“You may call me Kulrigiizhai or Kulri if that proves untenable for your tongue.”
“It is my pleasure to meet you, Lady Kulrigiizhai.”
Maria frowned. She didn't even fumble once!
“What brings you to the dungeon, Dëshoma?” Marcus asked as he crossed the room.
“I am the daughter of Dezösh.”
Kulri's ears twitched. “The mighty angel who served Ëshuxeri?”
“The very same,” said Dëshoma.
“You're angelborn!” Maria gasped in delight. “One of the nephilim.”
Dëshoma gave a nod of her veiled head to Maria. “I am, Lady Maria. Greatly did mine father fall in love with mine mother and did wed her. I am the happy product of their union.” The delight in Dëshoma's face fell. “He has... vanished. It is up to me to serve as Ëshuxeri's agent upon this world. I had a dream that corruption would devour this temple. In the past, I have opposed members of the Cult of Rot and Fester, one of the foul groups who doth serve Rūzem. Feverblight is the knave who leads them and has breached this once proud and noble temple to mine Goddess's divine sister. I am greatly heartened to have such capable and stalwart companions such as thee, Marcus, and thy two companions.”
