Demon Core

~ [Shaushka] ~

Elf, Female, Classless LOCATION: The City LEVEL: 04

Empty head. Full eyes.

A strong wind howls all around her.

Shaushka stands in the middle of the street, staring down at the gap between her feet that rain crashes down on and into from the sky above, washing away the world with a powerful torrent that streams past her wet toes.

With a void expression on her face, the elf bends down forward and stares at the cracks between the cobblestones that make up the road.

— She tilts her head and watches the water.

Stormwater, pouring down from the rain of the heavy downpour, runs through the little gaps between the cobblestones, slipping through the grooves as they create thousands of tiny rivers.

The elf’s eyes wander along the grooves between the pavers as she follows a glimmer of rare light that reflects in the tiny trickle of water.

Turning around, she walks like that, bent over forward, following the run-off to wherever it might lead. In order to keep her balance, she holds her arms stiffly behind herself.

She wonders where it is, that the water is going?

For it to be going this fast, it must be a very important place to be.

Her eyes wander back behind herself for a moment, staring at the bakery that is still closed, before she turns back to the drainage and walks, following it to wherever it has to lead her.

~ [Ruhr, the River-Sorceress] ~

Human-Half-Elf, Female, Sorceress Rank: SSS LOCATION: The City, Cathedral Quarters LEVEL: 92

Ruhr lays on her back on a large, very soft, and very luxurious bench and lets out a long, satisfied exhalation, or at least as satisfied as can be, all things considered.

— She winces in pain, jolting together, opening her eyes to shoot a look at one of the many priestesses flocking around her like a swarm of bees, attending to their queen.

“Apologies,” says the young priestess who is holding onto Ruhr’s injured leg, washing it with a rag and warm, soapy water.

Ruhr sighs, leaning back again. The priestess returns to her duties, which seem to consist of pampering her. Another priestess stands there, wiping off all of the smears of blood and mud off of her body.

She’s not used to this kind of treatment, not that she shouldn’t be. Someone like herself clearly deserves it. But even as a high-ranking adventurer, it’s hard to get really good service now and then, especially without paying an arm and a leg for it. But getting it for free?

That Demon-King should have shown up years ago. She’s been waiting at least that long for her big break.

Ruhr opens her eyes again, wondering if that’s a callous thing to think.

— Another priestess leans over her, offering her some fruit, which she lets get dropped into her mouth.

Nah. It’s not her fault that the world has gone to shit, and there’s nothing wrong with her making the best of it, right? After all, she’s basically the hero of the day here. They did destroy the Demon-King’s dungeon. She fought. So, it’s all fair enough, right?

Ruhr turns her head, looking at Zacarias, who is sitting by the door with crossed legs like some kind of stoic monk with his eyes closed and his hands resting on his lap.

“You’re missing out, Zizi,” calls Ruhr over to the man.

Zacarias opens his eyes. “You’re overindulging,” says the royal-guardsman.

Ruhr waves him off. “We’re still waiting on new orders,” she replies. “So let me have thi- ah!” she hisses, wincing.

“— Apologies,” says the priestess, rubbing her soapy foot. Ruhr wiggles her toes, making sure they still work.

Zacarias sighs, getting up and walking over towards them.

Ruhr smiles at him smugly. “Ah, giving in?” she asks. “Smart man,” says Ruhr. “Come over here and let me show you how life is meant to b-”

Zacarias cuts her off and nods to the priestess. “Do it.”

“Yes,” replies the priestess. Holding Ruhr’s foot with both hands, she closes her eyes.

(Agrestis) has used: [Minor Cure Wound] on (Ruhr)

A warm sensation runs up Ruhr’s leg, as if the soapy water were running up towards her thigh. Something pops, and a second later, the ache leaves her completely, her damaged ankle having been restored.

“Thank you,” says Zacaries, nodding to the priestess. “You’re dismissed.”

The priestess nods, rising to her feet and taking the bucket of warm, soapy water with her. The others leave too.

“- Ah!” Ruhr reaches after them as they leave, closing the door to the chamber behind them. The woman scowls, turning to look at Zacarias. “Come on, why’d you do that?” she asks, offended, lifting her wet leg up into the air to shake it at him.

— He grabs hold of it, wrapping his hand around her ankle.

Ruhr blinks and then stares. After a moment, she leans back on her elbow, smiling at him. “…Oh?” she asks smugly. “I didn’t think you were that kind of type, Big-Zac,” she says. “Well. We’re all alone now. I’d say you earned it.”

He looks her in the eyes. “Families died today,” says Zacarias. “Rein it in.” He lets go of her leg and then turns around, walking back to the wall by the door, where he then simply sits down once more, closing his eyes and returning to his meditations.

Ruhr stares at him with a vacant look as he goes, deciding after a moment that she’s annoyed, and then lowers her leg back down, grabbing her socks. What good is being the queen of the world when you can’t even sit back and enjoy a simple, free foot massage? Of course families died today. Everybody died today. What does that even mean? Just because some people died, does that mean she has to give up on her life too?

It’s not like she didn’t fight a horrific monstrosity in the center of the city and then invade the literal castle of the Demon-King. Ruhr scowls, grabbing her sock with her toes and then pulling her leg back to put it back on.

What a kill-joy.

She slides her dirty boots back on and then sits there, looking around herself. What else is she supposed to do now?

Outside, a wild storm is raging, and honestly, she can’t tell if it's a natural event or if this is related to the whole ‘Demon-King’ thing. The wind howls and rattles against the glass of the windows of the cathedral quarters.

She looks around, staring at Zacarias, who just sits there like a zombie. She, in her already growing boredom, mirrors the way he sits by crossing her legs and entering a meditative pose, and then makes a stupid face at him that he can’t see.

— Someone opens the door.

“The bishop is ready to see you,” says the attendant.

Ruhr hops up from the bench and Zacarias rises up, grabbing his shield, as the two of them follow the man to meet the bishop and report on their progress.

~ [Abydos] ~

Gallu, Male, Painter LOCATION: The Dungeon LEVEL: 62

The painter stands before an entirely blank wall, deep down in the dungeon, staring at it in the darkness.

“What am I?” asks the man, looking at the wall before him that his hands press against, a brush held in his left palm rubbing against the stones. He stares into the rock as if it were a polished mirror, and he looks, trying to decipher what his impossible reflection has to show.

Of course, it has nothing to show him. There is nothing there.

“Who am I?” he asks, and this question pertains not to this new life, but to his old one.

Who is he?

He doesn’t know. He’s never known.

The man’s fingers dig into the stones, crumbling off pieces of rock as his frustration grows. His nails don’t break.

Abydos’ eyes wander to the side, to his hand, where he feels the familiar sensation of a brush being held. He stands upright and then sets to work, crudely swinging the brush over the stones to paint an image that is not entirely of a professional quality, but it is of an artistic one.

Black smears run over the black walls, all of it merging and melding together into what an outside observer would describe as a crude child’s scrawling of a man, made entirely in black scribbles.

He looks at the scratchy drawing of himself, and it looks back at him.

“Who am I?” asks the painting.

Abydos shakes his head, not sure either.

“Hey,” says a voice from the side. He turns his head, looking. It’s the woman, the one who’s like him — the dancer. “We didn’t have a chance before. Who are you?” she asks, walking over towards him. His eyes go wide. “— What’s your name?”

A breath escapes Abydos as he looks back at his painting that has merged into his own shadow, stuck flat against the wall, becoming a part of it.

“My name…” says the painter. “My name is Abydos,” he explains, wondering if his name is who he is? “Who are you?”

She leans against the wall, tilting her head. “Cartouche.”

“No,” says Abydos. “Who are you?” he repeats.

The dancer plays with her bangles for a moment before looking back at him. “Just me,” replies Cartouche. “Are you alright?”

The painter sighs, holding his face for a moment to rub it in exasperation. She doesn’t have the answer either.

“You’re looking for it too, right?” she asks. “Beauty?” His eyes go wide. “That’s why he brought you here, isn’t it?”

— Is that who he is? Someone who is looking for beauty?

Yeah.

Yeah, that sounds right.

Abydos stands upright, looking at the black, dripping brush in his hand. “He told me that too,” says the painter.

“That’s who we all are,” explains Cartouche. “Don’t make it more than it has to be, or it’ll get in the way of your art.”

“Do you think it’s enough?” he asks, paint dripping from his brush and striking against the shadow at his feet. It opens its mouth; the droplets of paint fall down, splattering into it and vanishing, as if being consumed. “Do you think that it’s enough to get us closer to… to it? To beauty? Dancing and painting? Isn’t it too…” He shakes his head, getting frustrated again. “— Too simple?”

Cartouche nods. “It’s enough. We’re closer to it than ever before,” she says, holding a hand against her heart.

— A voice calls them from the distant darkness; both of them turn to look its way immediately.

He’s calling them.

Cartouche walks off without another word, hurrying towards the origin, and he moves after her, his shadow hissing as it runs through the cracks in the walls like running water.

~ [Ruhr, the River-Sorceress] ~

Human-Half-Elf, Female, Sorceress Rank: SSS LOCATION: The City, Cathedral LEVEL: 92

“Very well done!” says the Bishop. Ruhr lowers her head. The many very relieved nobles, sitting around at the large, ornate table, clap and applaud. “Your bravery has saved us twice now, Ruhr, the River-Sorceress,” commends the man of high status.

Ruhr flairs with her hand in her bow. “For my people, it was nothing,” says Ruhr, lifting her head. She gestures to Zacarias. “And I couldn’t have done it without Zacarias,” she says, shooting a sideways glance at the guardsman, who doesn’t say a word. He had kept his promise to let her tell the story in her own special way.

“Yes, both of your efforts are to be commended,” praises the bishop. “Ruhr, Guardsman Zacarias,” says the man, sitting back down at the table. “I wish we had the capability to offer you a reward worthy of your efforts here and now,” he says.

Ruhr interrupts him. “— If I may be so bold, your grace,” she says. “I wish to lead the immediate pursuit of the Demon-King. Let this be my reward.”

Applause. The nobles at the table rise up to their feet, their fervent clapping from before intensifying.

Ruhr smiles, holding her head in a low bow.

It’s a little while later.

Ruhr and Zacarias walk out of the conference room and close the door behind themselves.

She smiles, nudging him with her elbow.

“Really?” he asks. “’Your people’?” repeats Zacarias, shaking his head. “You don’t give two craps about any of these people,” says the man.

“You really are a downer, you know that?” she asks, walking on and waving him off. “You’re welcome, by the way, for that promotion you’re going to get.”

Zacarias walks after her, carrying his tower shield on his back.

“You only offered to lead the hunt because I told you that they would make us do it anyway,” accuses Zacarias.

Ruhr turns around, walking backwards to look at him while she speaks. “Yeah? Duh?” asks Ruhr, knocking on her head. “Of course we were going to have to lead the hunt against the demon-king either way,” she says. “The bishop was about to tell us exactly that, before I cut him off.” She shrugs. “But this way, I asked for it. It makes it my idea,” explains Ruhr. “Our idea,” she amends, pointing at him and continuing to walk backwards.

“I find both your methods and your personality distasteful,” says Zacarias.

She sighs, spinning back around forward. “I’ll grow on you,” she replies. “Did you see how those nobles jumped to their feet when I said it?” she asks. “If I had let the bishop give the order instead of suggesting it myself, all of that sweet, delicious social clout would have never come our way, Z.z.”

“Zacarias,” says the man, narrowing his eyes.

“Sure.” Ruhr looks over her shoulder. “Listen. You and me, we’re stuck in this together,” she says. “So you need to learn how to play the game,” explains Ruhr.

Zacarias stops where he stands, staring at her. The man lifts a hand, pointing at her. “No. You need to learn that this isn’t a game,” he replies. He gestures around them at the dark corridor that they stand in. “Hundreds of thousands of people are dead and dying as we speak. We live in the birthplace of an age of horror,” says the guardsman. “If not for those we couldn’t protect, don’t you at least have any respect for the people who you lost today too?” he asks.

Ruhr looks at him for a while and then simply shakes her head, wrapping her yellow scarf tighter around her neck and mouth as she walks off down the dark corridor to prepare for what comes next.

He doesn't get it.

~ [The Demon-King] ~

Wailing spirits convalesce around the demon-core, flying into its many open maws as the last of the souls of this new location that they have stopped at fly his way.

Level Up! ~ [The Demon-King] ~

You are now level {63}! You are now level {64}! Level: 64 ↗ Experience: 6448/88750 Attribute: DARK Soul-Points: 128/128↗ Presence: 12.5 km ↗ Obols: 000

The Demon-King, still in the process of his creation, holds his massive hand against a stone wall, deeply scarring it with fresh words, carved with his claws into the rock.

The dancer and the painter arrive.

He turns his head to look at them — gray gestalts. Their skin is a sunless, bluish gray and of a far different hue than what they carried in life. Their eyes are a haunting shine of moonglow yellow, like a predator’s — stalking the night. Their bodies are refined and strong and free of imperfections, apart from their burned and charred clothes.

Cartouche the dancer and Abysdos the painter look at each other for a moment, coming to some unspoken understanding, and then lower themselves down onto one knee.

“We do not have long,” says the Demon-King. “The storm is in our favor, but the humans will move through it, undisparaged.”

“What should we do?” asks Cartouche.

“First. Rise,” says Swain. “In our pursuit of beauty, we are equals. I will not have you lower your heads,” explains the Demon-King.

He lifts a hand, taking a new ability from his selection.

NEW - (DEMON KING) ABILITY

[Soul Food](Active)

The spark and energy of life is contained not within the flesh, but within the motor of the body - the soul.

Effect: Allows you to permanently consume some of your gathered souls in order to restore your own SOUL-POINTS at a rate of 100 souls for every 1% SOUL restored.

(Swain) has used: [Soul Food] to restore 25% SOUL for 2500 [Collected Souls] SOUL-POINTS: 51%

~ [DEMON CORE] ~ SOULS COLLECTED: 8,336 / 1,000,000

Swain exhales, feeling a little stronger in his core as a rumbling moves through his body.

With all of the gathered souls he’s spending to furnish the dungeon with monsters and now to restore some of his own energy, he’s already burned through the majority of his collection.

The goal of the demon-core to reach an overload of one-million souls seemed like a feasible target at first, but in consideration of these ‘running costs’, it may be further away than he expected. He’ll have to be more frugal in the future, but this is a dire hour.

The demon-king turns his head, looking at Cartouche and Abydos, who are still kneeling.

“I asked you to rise,” says Swain. “You can not perform your arts on your knees.”

“Please allow us this theatricality for the moment,” says the painter. “It frames the scene.”

“It feels befitting,” says Cartouche, next to him. “There’s a dance here too, in this. The movement of bodies defines the story of the dynamics between souls.”

Swain exhales. “The humans are coming to the dungeon, now, this instant,” he says, holding a hand against his chest. “The demon-core is stable for now, but we must not roam too recklessly.” He places a massive claw into the floor between the three of them. “I have orders for you,” says Swain, carving into the stones. “We will show them the final act of our first performance tonight.”

A window pings over his shoulder as a creature, lurking in the darkness behind them, carries a new corpse to the graveyard from the surface.

~ [Graveyard {Level 03}] ~ Corpses Collected: 100 Summoned Monsters

[Imps]: 12

[Shadow People]: 08

[Corpse Collector]: 01

~ [Achievement Unlocked] ~ 'I Don’t Know Where They’re All Coming From {01}' Unlocked By: Collecting {100} corpses Reward: All UNDEAD monsters under your control will be able to restore their HEALTH-POINTS when eating living flesh.

~ [Imp] ~

An imp.

Imps are mischievous demonic spirits that love nothing more than to cause trouble for the sake of it. Their greatest joy in life is having fun, and, while they are not specifically out for blood, it turns out that most of the very fun things in life for an imp involve a lot of it.

They have short, slender bodies with long, very sharply clawed fingers that they can use to reach the most fun parts of a person’s insides.

They are very weak as individuals and therefore readily rely on swarm and ambush tactics.

Class: MINIONElement: DARK Type: TricksterCategory: DEMON* Rank: D- Level: 64 [Red-Water {04}] || [Wild-Hunter] || [Lamashtu] HP: 64/64SOUL: 64/64 *A demon's stats are based on the LEVEL of the demon-king. Its affinities are based on its past life. [Demonic Glow] : Allows the imp to enchant its long, filthy claws with demonic magic, that allows them to pierce and cut both metal and stone.

~ [Shadow Person] ~

A Shadow Person.

Shadow people are the odd, loosely formed gestalts that enjoy sitting over beds in the dead of night. Being spiritual parasites, they feast on negative emotions and are drawn to locations where particular amounts of these are present.

If none are found, they will torment the sleeping minds of the people they latch on to, riddling them with sleep paralysis and horrific nightmares, in order to seed more negative emotionality that they may then consume.

Shadow people can not kill, and they cannot be killed; they may only be dispelled for a while, before they might then return on a night that is darker than the one they were dispelled on.

Applies Status: [Paranoia], [Poor Rest], [Night Terror] to anyone it can find in the dead of night, severely reducing their functionality.

Class: MINIONElement: DARK Type: AfflictorCategory: SHADOW* Rank: A- Level: 60 [Red-Water {04}] || [Wild-Hunter] || [Lamashtu] HP: 00/00SOUL: 01/01 *Shadows can not be killed, they can only ever be dispelled for a while.

~ [Shaushka] ~

Elf, Female, Classless LOCATION: The Outskirts of the City LEVEL: 04

Shaushka sits down on her bottom in a puddle.

Rain pours down around her everywhere, soaking both her hair and her clothes.

Confused, the elf looks to her left.

Nothing.

She turns her head, looking to the right.

Nothing.

Slowly blinking, she lifts her gaze towards the dark and heavy sky. Water pelts into her eyes and mouth.

Ah.

The elf blinks, rubbing her eyes that sting a little from the impact of the rain striking them.

— She had lost track of the specific droplet of water she was following. It had led her all the way out here, far from the baker’s house. But the heavy winds came, and she fell down.

Hmm.

Her long, damp hair sticks to her face and neck, obscuring her vision somewhat. Water runs down the fine grooves in her long ears, dripping down her shoulders as the downpour continues.

Maybe if she waits here for a while, that droplet will come back for her?

Maybe it will notice that she couldn’t keep up.

Head empty. Eyes full.

Shaushka sits there in the muddy puddle, out in the middle of nowhere by the road, rain thundering down around her. Ten-million droplets of water, but not the one she wants.

— The ground thunders.

The elf, with full eyes, turns to watch as a mass of people ride past her, down the road. Hundreds of them, armored and geared for war, push through the tempest like a blade trying to cut through lightning.

— One of the large birds splashes a puddle of mud on her face.

“Ah…”

She looks down at herself as the riders pass by.

The rain, friendly as it is, stays with her and washes her clean.

Shaushka smiles, staring off with a somewhat open mouth into the far distance as she waits with full eyes and an empty head.

~ [Ruhr, the River-Sorceress] ~

Human-Half-Elf, Female, Sorceress Rank: SSS LOCATION: The Outskirts of the City LEVEL: 92

Ruhr holds onto the reins of the large animal she’s riding, a large, white-feathered bipedal bird of the ‘anqa’ species.

She looks behind herself at the men who were able to be mustered — another odd few hundred, many from the noble’s own royal guards. This was necessary, given that a great number of the church’s best soldiers present here in this city were crushed in the collapse of the demon-king’s castle.

Men and women of all species and banner, ride together now under the flag of their holy union.

— Thunder crashes above their heads. Some of the less trained birds get a fright and veer off the road.

She looks ahead of herself, glancing over Zacarias.

She’s not going to lose this chance. The demon-king isn’t far. He can’t be. The system-menu says he’s not moving anymore, so, at their pace, they’ll be there within the hour.

Ruhr lifts a hand, holding it above her head.

(Ruhr) has used: [Summon: (Water Elemental)]

A stream of water surges out of her hand, shooting up into the air above their heads in the form of a quivering mass of a puddle that seems to stay suspended in the rain, taking the shape of a winding snake. She waves her finger, and the elemental stretches itself out over the top of the riders, absorbing the rain that would fall down onto their heads and diverting some of it off to the sides of the road.

— Forty-five minutes now.

She whips the reins of her anqa, pushing it harder.

~ [Cartouche] ~

Gallu, Female, Dancer LOCATION: The Demon Carnival LEVEL: 64

Cartouche stands on the stage, outside of the dungeon’s entrance.

Left foot. Right foot.

— The wind of the storm, brought to them by the graces of nature, presses against her form, and she, giving in to its pressure, moves her body to sway in the direction it guides her. The rain strikes against her face, pelting her back, soaking through her clothes, and she moves her body in understanding of its forces, spinning around the other way again in her dance as she bounds across the wet stage as she performs for the ten-thousand starlight eyes that shine down from the heavens above, peering in through the sparse gaps of the rainclouds.

The dancer lowers herself down, looking out and across the stage at the faces of the undead who wander the carnival, hundreds of them. Many of them she had once known, or at least ‘known’ as would a caged animal know the animal next to it.

It was more a sense of familiarity than one of knowing.

Cartouche has never ‘known’ anyone, not in a deep, intimate, true sense.

The dancer looks at the faces of the undead who watch her performance, as she returns to her dance, which is not a show that is meant for them or even for the stars above.

Rather, it is an act of introduction. It is her first meeting with herself.

Cartouche spins through the rain, clutching her hands against her heart, her wet hair spinning around and around as she finds a way to start speaking to herself, not through words or journaling, but through her deepest method of communication that she has never been so free to practice before.

The world rumbles off to the side as she dances, the carnival growing in size, as structures and tents begin to erupt out of the darkness.

~ [Abydos] ~

Gallu, Male, Painter LOCATION: The Forest Outside of the Demon Carnival LEVEL: 64

He needed to be somewhere quieter, somewhere with a better view.

Abydos stands out in the thunderstorm, rain pouring down his face, body, and canvas as he stands up on top of a small ledge, overlooking the carnival in the distance.

Framing it all with his fingers, his eyes darting through the rectangle that water drips past, he sets to work.

— The childish shadow that he had summoned before plants itself against a flat, stone wall.

Abydos takes his brush and begins to paint it over, soaking the heavy rain into his brush, causing the ink to run on his painting as he works.

But this is not a bad thing.

The force of this natural imperfection is something that would ruin a traditional painter's endeavor, certainly.

But he is not a traditional painter.

— He runs a stroke straight through the shadow’s heart.

~ [The Demon-King] ~

As they all work, Swain sits on his throne in comfortable silence and thinks.

He thinks of the things that have led him to where he is now, and he thinks of the things that will lead him from this position to the next. The carnival must grow, and most importantly, he must survive the night and the next assault.

— After this one, the humans will be dry. Their prime resources from this city will be spent, and they’ll pose no threat to him any longer. Yes, there are other cities. But they will need a great deal of time before they arrive here, assuming they have even bothered to mobilize at all.

Humans do love to squabble.

The demon-king narrows his eyes, remembering the visions of a man and a woman who shared a house with him once, in a distant life.

He tears off a sheet of paper, held his way by a quivering ghost, as he sets to work on his next poem, wondering if he’ll ever write his masterpiece, the true message that his core, body, and soul have to share with existence.

Perhaps not.

He begins to scrawl on the paper.

But it will bring him closer to it… to her.

~ [Noble Guardsman Tischalo] ~

Human, Male, Royal Guardsman Rank: A+ LOCATION: The Outskirts of the City LEVEL: 81

Tischalo holds onto the reins of his mount as they ride on through the storm, thankfully now dry because of the spell covering their heads. Although, the prospect of this massive cloud of water over them does unnerve him, as he almost expects it to collapse apart at any second, washing them all off the road with a cascade of water.

— The Demon-King.

The man focuses on the road ahead of him, doing his best to keep his mount steady in the formation as they charge through the mud.

His family and his people are safe, thankfully, being protected by the cathedral’s wards. But for how long?

They have to put an end to this. Or at the very least, they have to weaken it long enough so that reinforcements can come from the other cities. The great paladins of the church, the renowned adventurers of the world, and great armies and movements of men will be on their way here to stop the threat.

But this is going to bring new problems.

Even if the nation will accept all help in the fight against the demon-king, they’ll be more than cautious about allowing foreign troops into the country, even if the whole world is at stake.

“— Papi?” asks a young girl’s voice just next to him, as if she were floating in the air.

Tischalo curses and jolts, pulling on the reins of his anqa as he comes to a sudden stop, looking around himself, certain that he just heard the voice of his daughter.

— The back of the formation slows, watching him.

Tischalo looks around himself, seeing nothing, and shakes his head. He whips the reins, and his annoyed anqa moves back forward into formation.

The stress of this night is going to be the death of him.

~ [Ruhr, the River-Sorceress] ~

Human-Half-Elf, Female, Sorceress Rank: SSS LOCATION: The Deep Forest LEVEL: 92

Ruhr stares ahead of herself.

First, she’s going to kill the demon-king.

Then, she’s going to parade back to the city and get her rewards.

Zacarias was right about one thing, she needs to add a little piety to her public appearances later. It’ll help sell her image better than if she’s too over-indulgent. She’ll bow her head and pretend to say some prayers. That’ll evoke sympathy with the common people.

— That’s it. For her next reward, she’ll ask the bishop for a prayer session together.

Of course, she’ll ask this question in a public setting, like in the meeting before with the nobles. This will seal the deal. They’ll spread her reputation as a great and significant soul all by themselves, and she doesn’t have to do anything more than this.

She doesn’t pray. But the image of her asking the bishop to pray with him is juicy. They’ll eat it up.

Zacarias is an ass, but there is something there in his words that she can use.

— Something blows softly into her ear.

Ruhr hisses, jolting together in surprise as she looks to her side.

There’s nothing there, apart from the forest off to the side of the road, obscured in the curtain of heavy rain that runs off of the body of the elemental above them.

The woman shakes her head, wiping the wetness out of her long ears.

“Must’ve been a bug,” she mutters to herself beneath her breath as they round the bend.

She opens the window and looks into the distance.

! [Critical System Notification] ! THE ONE-HUNDRED YEAR CRISIS - THE AGE OF DEMONS The demon-king has returned once again, fully intent to destroy the world in its entirety. You must reach and defeat him before it is too late. Difficulty: IMPOSSIBLE Priority: HIGHEST Souls Remaining Until Failure: 991664/ 1,000,000 Demon-King’s Castle: 11 KM west of your location

They’re here.

She narrows her eyes.

It looks like he’s been burning through souls. They still have plenty of time, in that case.

Ruhr looks over her shoulder at the troop of men.

“DISMOUNT!” calls Zacarias from the side. Everyone begins to hop off of their birds. Ruhr scowls at him. She wanted to say that. “You too,” orders Zacarias, looking at her.

“I’m in charge here,” says Ruhr, pointing at herself with her thumb to remind him.

He points ahead. “Then feel free to charge right in on your anqa,” says the man. “It’ll get eaten together with you,” he says, watching the area around them suspiciously.

She leans down sideways on her bird, looking at him up close. “You know, Zazi, you have a real attitude problem.”

Zacarias lifts an eyebrow and points around them. “There are undead everywhere,” he says. “Get off. Now.”

“Huh?” Ruhr blinks, looking around the dark forest. But it’s hard to see because of the curtain of rain cascading down around them. She lifts her hand.

“The anqa is going to get spooked,” explains Zacaraias, holding a hand against the creature to steady it. “They’re no good against things like this.”

(Ruhr) has desummoned: [Water Elemental]

The elemental above their heads vanishes, splashing off to the sides into the dead forest to mix in with the rest of the decaying, rotting mush.

Ruhr looks as the thousands of stars that dot the sky, hidden behind rain clouds, seem to have somehow also found their way down to the ground, to hide behind many dead and broken trees.

— Glowing eyes.

The anqa that she’s sitting on rears and screeches. Zacarias grabs Ruhr, yanking her off as the large bird scrambles through the mud, crashing into the ones behind it and rousing the rest of the flock in panic.

“UNDEAD!” calls a voice from the side. The anqas squawk and protest, many of them bucking their unprepared riders off and many more bolting off back the way they came as fast as they can.

Hundreds of zombies lurch out of the darkness toward them.

Zacarias drops Ruhr down and then grabs his shield, thrusting it into the mud.

(Zacarias) has used: [Regal Barrier]

A long, prismatic wall shoots out in front of him, spanning a good many strides in length. It glows alight, blocking off dozens of hungry, mutilated faces that press themselves against the glassy wall in a desperate attempt to reach them.

— The rest of the line begins the fight as the zombies swarm around the wall, moving past to the openings, reaching many of the riders who were still dazed from the stampede.

Ruhr jumps to her feet, holding out a hand to the sky that now pours down over her head.

She hates getting wet.

But at least the rain is good for something.

(Ruhr) has used: [Blessed Purification]

— Dramatization.

Her fist hums as the water that runs down her hand in a trickle stops its flow. A soft candescence illuminates the water that begins to shine, and then it begins running back upwards, up along the length of her hair.

— She flicks her fingers.

The purified water flies up, arcing through the air as it surges out in a whip-like torrent.

The rain all around them begins to glow; thousands, perhaps millions, of droplets of water shine with a vivid whiteness as if they were all flakes in the heart of a brutal wind. The black night turns to light.

The rain all around them takes on the purified, mystical properties of holy-water.

Skin and bones all around them begin to hiss and broil as a great melting takes place amongst the screams. Meat falls off rotting shoulders and faces, leaving hollow cheeks and empty eye sockets that then too begin to collapse apart.

The zombies fall apart, scattering down into the forest mud, where they sink, trampled by boots and by heavy, taloned feet.

The rain returns to its normal state.

The night returns to its prior state of calmness as the soldiers begin to collect themselves again, hundreds of pairs of eyes turning her way, as they come to understand what she just did.

Ruhr smiles smugly at Zacarias.

She spins around, walking on forward towards the oddly colorful place that lies ahead, the hideout of the demon-king. “Let’s go,” is all that she says, before walking on alone.

The river-sorceress continues to hold her smug smile. That’s all that she needed to say. In a moment like this, there is a balance of words to be weighed. By saying nothing more than that, she looks better in their eyes — more competent.

Everything is a game of moments.

Zacarias might not see that. But she’ll be sure to laugh at him when she’s sitting on the throne that she’s going to earn herself here.

— Hundreds of pairs of boots march after her without any hesitation.

~ [Shaushka] ~

Elf, Female, Classless LOCATION: The Outskirts of the City LEVEL: 04

“AH!”

Shaushka lets out a surprised noise as something interrupts her vision of the rain.

A small, tiny, wiggly, jiggly thing pops up out of the soil not far from where she sits, in her puddle.

Shaushka stares at the worm, having come to dance in the rain.

— It wiggles.

The elf blinks, watching the worm.

It sways its body around, gyrating and flopping around in odd fashion.

She tilts her head.

— It jiggles.

Shaushka rubs her eyes in confusion.

She, sitting otherwise perfectly still, begins to gyrate her stomach, to move like the worm is moving.

The worm flops over sideways, slapping its upper half against the ground.

Shaushka flops over sideways, her head landing in the mud as she watches the worm.

The worm flops over the other way.

Shaushka does the same.

— It wriggles.

The elf, laying in the mud, wriggles herself, holding her arms at her side.

The worm vanishes, pulling back into the soil.

Ah.

The rain continues, storming around them.

Full eyes. Empty head.

She lies there for a while.

— The worm pops up again, several feet away. Shaushka turns her head to look at its seductive, wormy dance.

She sits upright and watches it.

The worm vanishes.

“Ah…?”

A moment later, the worm pops up again, further down the way.

Shaushka gets up onto her feet and walks towards the worm, holding her head above it.

The worm digs back into the soil.

Shaushka kneels down, holding her face over the small hole in the soil that rain runs down into. Her wet hair drapes around her face, clinging to her body like a wrap.

The worm appears again, a little further ahead.

She follows it.

~ [Noble Guardsman Tischalo] ~

Human, Male, Royal Guardsman Rank: A+ LOCATION: The Deep Forest LEVEL: 81

Amazing.

He’s been around strong people for all of his life. But it never stops being amazing what someone with real power can do. The river-sorceress, having been chosen by the universe with the blessing of purity, really is the savior they need. Even experienced paladins and crusaders would have a good fight with these zombies. But to just… wipe them all away, without hurting a single one of them in collateral, to use the rain as a weapon…

— Amazing.

The man holds onto his sword at his waist as they march towards the beast’s bastion.

“Papi?” calls a voice from the side.

Tischalo stops, hearing it again. He looks around, staring at the men around him who march on, unbothered by the rain or by any such hauntings.

His mind has to be messing with him. He can’t explain it any other way.

The tired man rubs his face, smearing around the dirt and the rainwater on it into a slurry, before he turns back ahead.

“PAPI!” calls the voice, louder now, almost annoyed.

Tischalo spins around, beyond disillusionment now.

— His eyes go wide as he sees her, peeking out of the supply cart they had brought with them. Hidden there, nested beneath a series of crates full of medical supplies and provisions, is his one and only daughter.

The man looks around himself and then rushes back to the cart, standing between the odd hundred anqas that remain.

Did she sneak into the supply cart to follow him? She’s always been a clingy child, but this is dangerous. She’s at risk. He can’t just leave her here by herself.

The man presses a crate to the side, looking into the little hollow gap in the cart.

— There’s nobody there.

“Papi…?” asks a voice just next to his ear.

Tischalo turns to look.

~ [Ruhr, the River-Sorceress] ~

Human-Half-Elf, Female, Sorceress Rank: SSS LOCATION: The Deep Forest LEVEL: 92

A horrific scream comes from behind them, from back down the road.

“Keep moving!” yells Ruhr, looking over her shoulder. Some straggler probably got caught by some zombies.

They move towards the thing that she can only describe as a carnival.

Ruhr narrows her eyes in suspicion, looking around at the collection of colorful, burnt, and torn tents ahead of them. Music plays and fills the air with a sickeningly present joviality, as hundreds of harrowed faces begin to leak out from ahead.

— Someone blows in her ear.

Ruhr spins to the side, hitting Zacarias in the chest. “Knock it off!” she hisses.

Zacarias, looking at her in annoyance, lifts an eyebrow. He nods his head forward, towards the undead that are coming their way.

Ruhr lifts her hands, repeating her spell, as a formation gathers behind her.

The siege begins.

Explosions ring out all around them, setting the fairgrounds alight with the shine of hundreds of spells as the warzone activates. Mud and rocks fly everywhere through the storm, together with sharp fragments of bone and teeth.

Water crashes down from her spell, caving in a dozen tents and just as many undead bodies that melt away in the purifying stream of her spell.

— A small creature leaps out of the forest, its hand aglow with a putrid, green light.

One of the soldiers throws himself in front of her, the imp’s claw cutting straight through his sword, his breastplate, and his torso.

Blood sprays everywhere, splatting over here. Ruhr holds a hand down against the demon’s head.

(Ruhr) has used: [Needle Pressure]

A sharp blast of highly concentrated water blasts straight through the imp’s skull, causing its head to fly back.

— The forest around them glows alight with a green shine as several others charge out at once, merging into the ongoing zombie swarm.

A line of fire charges along the landscape, pushing through the storm, as a wind and a fire caster cooperate to create a firestorm. All of the imps simply vanish as the night turns aglow, the hissing, spinning flames rising up against the storm, as if in protest.

But it is quickly silenced as the oppressive rains continue.

The fight moves closer towards the carnival.

She’s going to put an end to this.

“Marcus?” asks a voice from next to her, as the fight dies down. “Marcus? Is that you?” asks the surprised man.

Ruhr wipes a smear of someone’s blood off herself, stepping over the man’s corpse without looking at it, as she takes stock of the situation. They’ve still got just about everybody else alive, it looks like.

Is this all that the Demon-King has left? Some zombies and a handful of imps?

Sad.

She turns her head back to the carnival, walking towards it.

— A man just behind her screams.

Ruhr looks over her shoulder, staring at the man who falls down into the mud.

There’s nothing wrong with him. The fight was over.

He just… fell over.

She narrows her eyes.

Something lurches in the distance, behind them, obscuring the silhouettes of the dead forest.

~ [The Demon-King] ~

Swain sits there, content, as he looks over the poem he had written minutes ago. It’s… acceptable.

With only thirty-percent of his total soul-points to spend, the terror couldn’t be as strong as the finger-collector, which had taken seventy. But this… this can fit. This can be useful here in this limited situation.

It’s important not to be wasteful with resources, after all.

It creeps, it hisses, and it pulls on such strings,

As are tied taut in the coffers of closed hearts,

It knows what you yearn for and for what you long to feel best,

— The thing that you feel, squirming there, deep inside of your chest,

The warmth that is present there,

Boasting host to the kind graces of goodness and love,

Will serve as the nest for the aforementioned — above,

It will crawl down your throat,

With claws planted on both your neck and your eyes,

As it reaches down deeper to search for its prize,

It will worm into your heart and then dance there in joy,

With sharp, snipping fingers,

And worms that will dig and scratch more,

As it makes new openings in the cocoon of your flesh,

So that it may creep and whisper,

To those who you know best,

— They’ll be next.

(Swain) has used [Poetic Summoning] to summon: [The Heartworm] Cost: 30% SOUL-POINTS

~ The Heartworm~

- Summoned Entity -

An odd creature. It is not a particularly strong combatant, but it is unusually cunning. The Heartworm will take on the form of something important to a person in order to lure them into its trap.

After striking, the Heartworm will nest itself inside of this person’s still beating heart, and lay eggs in their heart. These will then hatch and spread through the host with long, tendril-like parasites that take over the flesh and bones.

After laying its eggs in someone’s heart, the Heartworm will then escape their body and begin to seek its next victim, once more returning to its ghostly, intangible nature.

Class: MONSTERElement: DARK Type: NightmareCategory: TERROR* Rank: S Level: 30 *’Terror’ is a classification term used for all monster-types that do not fall into traditional monster categories, such as UNDEAD, GOLEM, GHOST, etc. Terrors tend to have unique make-ups and behavior patterns and lean towards hyper-violent tendencies.

He rests his head on his elbow, watching.

Cartouche and Abydos will have their parts to play now.

~ [Ruhr, the River-Sorceress] ~

Human-Half-Elf, Female, Sorceress Rank: SSS LOCATION: The Demon-Carnival LEVEL: 92

“TRAP!” shouts Zacarias.

(Zacarias) used: [Noble Barrier]

A glowing bubble immediately surrounds the body of the man who had fallen down. He shakes, lurching, his chest pulsating as if a particularly strong beat of his heart were causing him to move.

— Blood sprays everywhere inside of the shield has his ribcage flairs open. His bones, having gelatinized, shoot outward, each of his ribs acting as a singular worm that slaps and writhes against the shield, trying to get out, trying to reach more meat.

The people all around the shield scream and run back.

“BEHIND US!” screams Ruhr as the backline of soldiers turns around, looking at the mass of shrieking, squawking faces, bones, and meat that comes from where they came.

— Ruhr’s foot moves as the soil beneath her leg is disturbed, rising up as the ground begins to shift.

~ [Cartouche] ~

Gallu, Female, Dancer LOCATION: The Demon Carnival LEVEL: 64

Cartouche moves, snapping her body from side to side as fires rage nearby and tents collapse all around her from the pressure and the flames of many spells. Cinders and smolders spin and dance, entwining around her form, together with the rain, as it all becomes a singular, intricate part of something whole and complete.

The ground shakes, the carnival rumbles, and so does her body as she flourishes, clutching her hands against her chest as if to hold herself, rain pouring down her form.

The world rumbles and cracks, shaking with a violent tremor. Pieces of the forest break off, chunks of rock and ash rising up, creating great hills and cliffs — breaking free from the ground like the jagged teeth of a broken jaw shutting closed.

~ [Abydos] ~

Human, Male, Painter LOCATION: The Forest Outside of the Demon Carnival LEVEL: 64

This is it.

He can feel it. This is one of his good ones. He hasn't had one like this in a while.

Abydos fervently strikes the brush over his shadow that acts as the canvas for his work as he stares with a fever in his eyes — in his heart.

His body surges with a rush of intensity that captivates his spirit and his hand, striking with the brush like the hand of an expert fencer fighting for his life.

He arcs the brush back, stabbing it forward, creating a dull, broken smear right in the heart of the image that adorns his own shadow.

The ground shakes, the world fills with screams, and Abydos laughs, holding his face as he looks at the piece that depicts the world for what it will be in just an instant. Rain falling into his mouth.

— His shadow looks down at itself.

~ [Ruhr, the River-Sorceress] ~

Human-Half-Elf, Female, Sorceress Rank: SSS LOCATION: The Demon-Carnival LEVEL: 92

Men scream in horror as the world around them changes.

The forest breaks apart, rising up all around them like high, unscalable walls. Cliff-faces shoot up impossibly high out of the ground on either side of the road. A wall comes up behind her, cutting them off from the rest of the carnival. Ash, wet and congealed, runs down these many tall faces as the mudslides start to flow around their boots.

The disrupted ground slides downward at an angle. Ruhr holds herself, watching as the slope slowly grows steeper and steeper.

And there, at the very end of the wet, muddy incline that is beginning to grow, is a horrific terror. A creature, an amalgamation of every one of their anqas, of dozens of men’s bodies, all tethered together by their flailing, flayed open ribs, — hundreds of worms, emerging from softened bones, tie themselves together into tight knots that hold the creature together as it lumbers towards them.

— Men slide down the incline, right into the open rib-cages that cover its grotesque body like mouths and are broken into, as the worms flail around, pressing themselves into them, burrowing and making their own orifices as they dig to the men’s hearts and then, instants later, their torsos rip open as their bones soften and turn into worms.

The mudslide above their heads breaks, sending down a cascade that rips them all straight towards the waiting maws of the monster, consisting of so many worms.

~ [Shaushka] ~

Elf, Female, Classless LOCATION: The Outskirts of the City LEVEL: 04

Shaushka stops.

The worm vanishes.

“Ah…”

She stands there, in the middle of the road, bent over to look at the little hole in the ground that begins to fill itself up as loose, wet soil slides in to close it.

Nothing happens.

The elf stares around herself for a moment.

But the worm doesn’t appear anymore.

Shaushka stands there, staring, with her mouth held open a small amount.

— Something catches her eye, a glimmer to the side.

The elf turns her head.

There is a shiny rock.

Shaushka wanders over towards it and sits down, staring at the shiny rock.

The shiny rock stares back at her.

She tilts her head.

How strange.