Zeroth Moment: My Cheat Skill Is Stupid, So I'll Just Ignore It

Topher's senses seemed to expand, taking in the magical flow and flux in the room as if it were a new kind of light; he felt like he was peeking behind some impossibly complex and subtle veil, letting him glimpse the metaphysical underpinnings of the Archmages' talents like a duck's feet paddling furiously under the serene surface of a lake. Sahlerra's form seemed to boil and seethe with intent, wild desires and iron will clashing and hissing against each other as brilliance, flashing like a trout in the depths of a cataract, wove a symphony of unpredictable moves -- half feints, half subtle and deadly masterstrokes -- in real-time to guide each of her innumerable shadows. Quint, in contrast, was a towering titan of raw, unstoppable force; Topher could glimpse his innermost self, like a tiny clever animal directing a huge and cyclopean machine, making the tiniest of moves which brought crashing, unspeakable tidal waves of consequence in their wake. But Kelfir -- Silveril -- was by far the worst to behold.

He was like a fluttering moth inside a prison of shattered glass; Topher could see each jagged wound where he'd carved off a piece of himself for each Wyrd, and the Wyrds he commanded numbered in the hundreds. They were everywhere, he realized -- like Sahlerra's shadow spies, they prowled and patrolled the heavens, vigilant stars feeding an endless stream of sorrows and warnings back to him in his golden cell. But dozens of them were on his person -- lurking, quiescent, in the folds of his robe and in the strands of his hair -- and even now they were awakening and coming forth, like the myriad semi-autonomous tentacles of some golden, heartbroken octopus.

"I don't see any threat," Quint muttered, casting about the room. "Are we sure something's actually happening?"

"Don't be a fool," Sahlerra snapped. "Haven't you figured it out? They didn't kill the Immortal Beasts to stop us from doing anything; this was a trick to gather us all in one place, and there's only one reason they would do that. And don't forget none of us can get out without your help, you buffoon."

Quint frowned; then his eyes narrowed. "You're right. I could make a portal, but this is also the place our defenses are strongest; no one else should be able to infiltrate this place, let alone bring any reinforcements. If we strengthen our position here..."

Topher stopped listening; any plan they could make would have been foreseen by whoever was smart enough to plan and execute all this. Whoever the Demon Lord had put in place to spring this trap, they'd almost certainly brought them here themselves. Somebody here is the traitor.

His gaze flashed around the room -- Zashe was the one most out of place, and suspicion flared in Topher's mind the instant his gaze settled upon him. But the memory of what the king had said a few moments before, along with that critical gesture -- the raised imaginary glass of derjet -- was a secret known only to the two of them. Of course, there were still other possibilities -- mind control magic, memory theft spells, or other impossible-to-predict bullshit -- but Topher had to assume that the Archmages would be on guard for things like that. He spun, reeling, and tried to think -- who else could he eliminate?

The Archmages, he knew, had to be innocent -- they were the targets, the critical players of the game that had been gathered here to be disposed of in a single stroke. Zanasha, too, he could discount -- mostly because he couldn't even physically contemplate the idea that she would be the traitor -- but that left his remaining suspects almost impossibly thin.

His gaze settled on Hana -- she had the worst track record, after all -- but he felt that he'd seen enough of her true self, her anguish and her laments, that she couldn't possibly be the agent of their enemies' destruction. And as powerful as she was -- and Topher was quite sure that she was much more powerful than even she herself knew -- she wouldn't be a match for two Archmages, let alone three at once. The Demon King wouldn't gamble on an opportunity like this -- he'd make certain. And lastly, whatever problems he might have with himself, Topher was pretty sure he wasn't the traitor.

And that only left one option.

Topher felt his skin crawl as he turned, mouth falling open to shout, but he knew it was already too late.

Miss Shirakane and I will thus be free to take other actions while others are thus distracted.

The worst part -- the part that simultaneously set his blood afire and chilled him to the bone -- was that he hadn't even been tricked or lied to. The snake in his bosom had flat-out told him every step of the way.

Have I not proven myself untrustworthy at best?

Rudo was gone.

As Topher whirled around, desperate, he saw it -- the first glint of light reflecting off the descending blade of the guillotine. Down through the mysterious, distorted surface which bounded the space, he saw a wishbone-shaped object slipping through solid rock as though it were water, a shimmering multicolored expanse contained within its elliptical curves. "There!" He shouted, pointing; the Archmages whirled, but before anyone could react, something began to emerge from the curtain of light within.

A huge hand, clawed and rough-skinned, reached out from through the light and dug its massive, cruel fingers into the smooth stone of the floor; it was nearly the size of a man, and its skin was dark red shot through with black veins. The instant it appeared, Topher felt something strange sweep outwards from the space it occupied -- not a coldness, precisely, but some other kind of obscure deadness which deafened and blinded him in an obscure way. Through his Metaphrastic senses, he could perceive it rushing outwards at instantaneous speed, flooding the area like the darkness from a flipped light switch; and when it enveloped him, it sank into him like the teeth of some inexorable predator, taking hold of his bones. "The fuck is that?" he spat, confused.

Quint froze. "It feels..." Then, his mien hardened; roughly, he shoved Zashe behind him, then raised his hands, incanting "Zom Voq!" but no cerulean sphere sprang up to enshroud them both. His eyes widened. "What is this...?!"

To Topher's right, Sahlerra Siukh was gathering her shadows to her like a freezing woman attempting to bury herself under a pile of blankets; her face was a mask of furious, terrified concentration, but her lips were pressed together and trembling. "It's impossible," she growled, darkness swirling around her. "The Sanctum is so far from other spaces that only Quint's teleport can reach it. Only by using the Archmage-only Convocation spell can we join him. How could..."

Only Kelfir knew what was happening; as the dozens of motes around him flickered and dimmed, his face went gray. Like a man whose bones had turned to lead, he fought to hold himself upright; his eyes, wide in surprise, went slack and half-closed as some realization penetrated his consciousness. "We are lost," he murmured, his long-fingered hands dropping to dangle at his sides. "Lost."

"What?" Topher grasped the Archmage's sleeve and roughly whirled him around, shaking him; to his left, Zanasha had drawn Nethersbane and the Kiku-no-Tsurugi, holding both blades low and ready as she watched the great shape emerging from the curtain of shifting light. "Talk to me, goddammit! What's going on?!"

The Archmage sucked in a trembling breath; behind him, Topher could see Quint Aumraham casting spell after spell, chanting rune after rune, but none of them were having any effect. "The curving silver device," Kelfir began dully, "is one half of Shi'alv, the Wandering Portal. It can move through solid material to reach an ally, after which one may step through from the other side." He watched, impassive, as a second great clawed arm erupted from the portal and obtained a grip on the rock of the far wall. "The creature emerging from it," he continued, "is amongst the greatest of the Demon Aristocracy -- Kalphegor Broxigat, long thought dead. His titles are many: Unyielding Fist Of Tyranny, Duke of Torments, and Conquering Bringer Of Doom number among the most prominent."

"So fucking what?!" Topher shook Kelfir again. "It's not like he's the big guy, right?"

"The difference is somewhat academic," Kelfir groaned, "since he is the younger brother of the Demon Lord, and among his talents is that of Arcane Nullification. Anti-magic, in other words." Roughly, he pushed Topher away, then collapsed to the ground; Topher noticed that all his Wyrds had faded away to nothingness and quailed, knowing what that meant for Kelfir's decades of work and unknowable personal sacrifices. "As you said. The trap closes; bereft of our magic, we are all of us defenseless. And Duke Kalphegor's Level is almost certainly far, far beyond us; his innate Attack and Defense make us as helpless before him as mice. Our doom is certain."

Topher shuddered; unbidden, a memory welled up in his mind. But what will you do if you encounter a monster that resists magic, Bailey-sensei?

Die, probably.

"Yeah, well, we'll fucking see about that." Topher spun away from Kelfir just as the rest of the massive demon emerged from the portal; it was so terrible to behold that his bravado disintegrated in an instant. The creature was the size of a building; its massive, ridiculously muscled arms could have reached to the ceiling of the cavern, and its long legs were bent backwards like a great hunting cat's before ending in splayed, hand-like feet tipped with another assortment of long, deadly claws. Its body was totally unclothed and genderless; a broad chest like a brick wall was topped by a massive, leering head with feral, vicious features drawn from sources across the canine, feline, and reptilian spectra of nightmares. The massive, jack-o-lantern mouth was rimmed with more teeth than a shark's head, with a powerful bite like a crocodile's; but more than any of these, the almost physical aura of strength which radiated from the creature threatened to reduce Topher's bones to dust where he stood. Almost nonchalantly, the creature reached out to take hold of Quint.

The movement was lightning-fast; before anyone could even blink, the Archmage was caught, dangling from the front of his robe as a startled shout erupted from his bearded mouth. Then, with a flip of the great demonic wrist, he was hurtling through the air -- directly towards the waiting maw.

Shadows surged from Sahlerra, stretching out towards Quint to arrest his fall; How? Are our Skills not affected? But Kalphegor lashed out with his other claw, scattering and tearing the shadows apart before they could reach him; Sahlerra cried out, a high, piercing note of despair. Topher felt paralyzed, too far away; dark, stressful clouds of impending doom clouded his vision.

Good thing you don't have to actually cross the intervening distance, the distant part of his mind observed.

Oh, shit!

In an instant, Topher's mind snapped taut; bands of invisible intent anchored him to the floor and ceiling, the cavern wall behind him, and to Quint's flailing form as it dropped into the demon's massive, fanged mouth. With a defiant shout, Topher flexed his will with all of his heart; he felt his Skill take hold of the Archmage as the dreadful jaws crunched down, sending a spray of blood in every direction, and his heart halted its beat as the shock and horror of his failure flooded through him.

But then, Quint's body slammed into him with the force of a truck; Topher's breath blasted out of him as the Archmage's senseless form bowled him over, sending them both flying. As he tumbled and scraped over the rock floor, he grasped Quint's body tightly to him; as they tumbled to a stop, he flung back the Archmage's robe, heart in his throat as he expected to see the stump of a decapitated head or bottom half of a bitten-off ribcage.

But Quint stared up at him, white-faced and grim as agony flooded through his face; as the confusion receded, Topher saw that only the Archmage's right leg had been bitten off. "Good thing your Class isn't Dancer," he quipped, dragging Quint away from the battle; behind them, Sahlerra was being swept around the battlefield by a slick, rapid flow of shadows as Kalphegor roared and smashed away at her. "You're gonna need a tourniquet, though, or you'll bleed out."

Coughing, Quint pulled a potion from his robes and drank it; but his eyes went wide, and he spat it out as he stared at it in horror. "The Nullification affects even potions," he choked, aghast. "How are we to prevail?"

"Probably not with that kind of attitude," Topher muttered, ripping the sash from Quint's robe and binding the stump of his leg as tightly as he could. "Stay down; you're no good to anybody right now. Just try to survive, and maybe later you can cast some awesome spell and blow up a bunch more shit." Dragging the groaning Archmage behind a rock, he turned back to the battle.

Sahlerra was down, he saw; she'd taken some kind of hit, and was attempting to crawl away from Kalphegor as it stomped menacingly towards her like a ten-ton Terminator made of meat and malice. Topher winced, expecting a descending fist and another spray of blood; but then, to his shock, an unexpected challenger stepped into the demon's path.

Kelfir was trembling like a leaf; his spindly, aged arms could barely hold aloft the golden sword he gripped with both hands and brandished at the creature. "Halt," he managed, his voice breaking pitifully; he thrust the point of the sword at something vaguely in the vicinity of the demon's left kneecap. "You shall go no farther."

The demon grinned; its face, already hideous beyond measure, became almost unbearable to look upon. "VALIANT. I SALUTE YOU, KELFIR LEAFWIND; HEROES ALWAYS TASTE DELICIOUS." At the sound of its voice, Topher reeled; it was the same earth-shaking, eardrum-splitting roar he'd heard above Oguro's shop, and brought back another tidal wave of trauma that nearly sent him to his knees. This is the thing that killed Oguro. Jesus. They sent this guy to kill a D-Ranker Mage?! Why?!

Leering, it reached for Kelfir; he swung the blade with everything he had, but it bounced off the demon's iron-hard flesh as though it were solid steel. Chuckling, the demon gripped the Archmage by both arms and pulled; Topher shouted in dismay as Kelfir's left arm came away from the elf's body in a spray of blood.

Casting him aside contemptuously by the other half-severed arm, Kalphegor popped the dismembered limb into its mouth and chewed with obvious satisfaction; "NO SENSE RUSHING A GOOD MEAL. LIE THERE AND BLEED, LITTLE ELF; I'LL EAT THE REST OF YOU LAST." It turned, reaching for Sahlerra, but she was already a dozen yards distant; more shadows had swept her away, but it was obvious there was nowhere for her to run.

Topher started away, but something was holding him back; he looked down to discover Quint's arm gripping his pant leg. "The king," the older man panted, face white with agony. "Protect the king."

"Zashe?" Topher looked around; at first, he couldn't even see the other man in all the chaos, but he finally spotted him, huddled behind a rock and watching with terrified intensity; even at this distance, Topher could see that the other man was just as helpless as the rest of them. "What the hell for, Quint? I'm sure he's a good guy, but what good's he gonna do us against that?"

"Duty," Quint groaned. "Promised his father..." the Archmage's eyelids fluttered, and he sank back to the stone, unconscious. Topher scowled. Like I don't have enough to do right now.

His gaze crossed the cavern again; Hana and Rudo were still nowhere to be found, and Zanasha was busy dragging Kelfir's mangled body to the far side of the enclosure just as Topher had dragged Quint's. Topher extended his will throughout the cavern, building a web of momentum to carry him to her; he shot into the air, then glided across the open in an inverted parabola, smoothly dipping under Kalphegor's lashing claw and skating to a halt at the half-orc's side. "Not the best first date, I know," he groused to her as she whirled, eyes grateful as she beheld him; she flashed him a quick smile, then bent to bind Kelfir's wounds as Topher had bound Quint's.

"Archmage Siukh cannot distract the Infernal Duke for much longer," she commented tersely. "I have struck a few blows against the beast, but even the Kiku-no-Tsurugi cannot penetrate its defenses." She hung her head. "Against a foe such as this, it is a Fighter's role to protect the spellcasters. I feel very worthless."

"Yeah, well, you're not." Topher scanned the room again; where the fuck did the others go? "Do you have any idea what a Battlemaster is?"

Zanasha frowned. "It is a Class -- a very rare one, but not considered especially powerful by the standards of C-Rank and above Classes. Why do you ask?"

"No time." Topher turned, gripping Zanasha by the shoulders again; she was soaked with hot blood, most of it probably Kelfir's, and his hands adhered like he would never be able to let go. "How would a Battlemaster fight this thing?"

She blinked; but, after a moment, her gaze turned thoughtful. "Battlemasters turn a foe's force against them; they move with and against the tide of combat, entangling enemies against each other in much the same way as a Fighter does, but with greater prowess." Her golden eyes, so pure they made Topher's heart ache, widened. "Are you suggesting...?"

"Again, no time." Topher kissed her, briefly but passionately, then looked into her eyes as deeply as he dared with the few seconds remaining to him. "We have to hit the cyst -- the place inside where its real body is, and if we miss, it'll just grow another one. If I give you an opening, can you make it work?"

"Topher." She clutched at him, but he shook his head; she set her jaw. "Yes. I can but make the attempt, but... yes."

"Gorgeous, that's all any of us can do." Topher turned away, looking for the golden sword Kelfir had dropped; with an effort, he pulled it into his hand with Attract Object. Fat lot of good all my fancy mage bullshit's going to do me here.

He quick-stepped behind the demon, using his Skill to glide through the air between each step; it was like he'd finally learned how to move, his lighter and more toned body working in perfect harmony with his Skill. Too bad I'm gonna be too dead to enjoy it. Reaching the spot he wanted, he sighted around the cavern a final time, hoping for aid from Hana or Rudo, but there was nothing. He sighed. Well, here we go.

"Hey, ugly!" he shouted; the demon turned, its gaze curious, and Topher blanched as he saw Sahlerra's hand dangling from its teeth. Shit. "You wanna snack on mages, right? Well, I'm feelin' pretty tasty right now."

Despite his bravado, his legs were shaking; his guts felt like he was about to crap his pants, and the palms of his hands were slick with sweat. But this was the one thing that could motivate Topher Bailey to a heroic sacrifice; not ideals or duty, but the love of a girl he'd never deserved. He grinned, blackly amused with himself. Best part is, this way I won't be around to fuck up the relationship later.

With a shout, he flung the blade; it was a bad throw, wobbly and weak and off-target, but that didn't matter. As it flew, he took hold of it with his Attract Object power; but instead of pulling it towards himself, he pulled at the cavern behind the towering horror in a long sequence that twisted around the creature's head, chaining the force through the blade and into himself while making a corresponding pull on the rear wall behind him. The result of this was that the blade jerked sharply to the left as it soared through the air, spinning like a fan blade as it swirled around behind the creature, around to the right again, and then plunged with uncanny accuracy into the creature's left eye.

He'd been expecting a roar, or at least a flinch; but Kalphegor merely stared at him curiously, then pulled the sword out of its gelatinous, unblinking eye as though plucking something out of its teeth. Topher groaned. Right. Fake flesh. They probably don't even need the eyes. "WHO ARE YOU?" The Infernal Duke asked in confusion. "YOU ARE NOT ONE OF THE ARCHMAGES. WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING HERE?"

Topher pointed as dramatically as he could. "I'm Topher Bailey, motherfucker. My Class is Clerk, and I'm gonna file your ass under Toast." It was the emptiest of empty threats, he knew; without the ability to use his Trajectile Bracelet in the Nullification, he couldn't even make a second attack unless he threw his shoe or something. He crossed his arms anyway. "Last chance to surrender, pal. What's it gonna be?"

The demon laughed; Topher had to lock his knees to keep from collapsing under the sheer weight of its derision. "A FINE JEST. I CAN FEEL YOUR STATUS, LITTLE OTHERWORLDER; YOU WILL BE MORE DELICIOUS EVEN THAN THE ARCHMAGES." It paused, gathering itself, then leapt.

It was like having a freight train rushing towards you; Topher was barely able to avoid wetting his pants as the ten-ton mass of the demon rose and expanded in his vision, triggering every instinct in his body to panic and escape. But he held his ground; narrowing his eyes, he focused every ounce of his willpower on expanding the inchoate, instinctual sense he had for Objects. He found it almost immediately; deep within the demon's body, shifting subtly with each breath and heartbeat to migrate throughout the creature's mass. Now nestled within the ribcage, now within the nape of the neck, the cyst flowed and oozed from place to place with steady, organic motion.

He waited until he could predict its path -- it felt like an eternity, even though he knew it was only a half a heartbeat -- then grabbed on to a stone over to his right at a highly calculated angle and pulled as he skated to one side, dodging the demon's crashing descent by inches. But its arm snapped out, quicker than a frog's tongue, and reached out into the path of his arc to snatch him up.

Right into Zanasha's trap.

Appearing in just the right place, she stepped into the blow and swung the Kiku-no-Tsurugi in a Mighty Blow with all the force her taut, solid body could muster; against any other opponent, it would have cleaved them in twain and sent the pieces flying in opposite directions, but the demon's rigid, impenetrable skin merely threw sparks and attempted to push the blade aside. But she held her position, planting her feet; and though Topher knew nothing of it, high-Level Fighter Skills such as Improved Last Stand, Unstoppable Blow, and Ironheart were not to be trifled with. Alone, none of them would suffice; but together, combined ingeniously and applied at just the right moment and angle against the weak point of a foe's own misstep, they were much more than the sum of their parts.

Kalphegor's huge, infernal eyes widened as the power of its own strike split its hand between the second and third knuckles; but that was not all. Like a ship's bowsprit, Zanasha continued her cut with the whole weight of her being; not meeting the demon's strike with magic or specialness, but with the undeniable solidity of her skill and spirit. The Kiku-no-Tsurugi could no more fail to bear the strike than water could have failed to be wet; it cleft infinitely, seamlessly, and parted the flesh of the great arm first up to the wrist, then up to the elbow, and finally up to the shoulder and clear through the ribcage as the towering demon bisected itself upon the strike, like a wave crashing into a spar and breaking to either side upon it.

Out of the black ichor of demon's blood, the wet red of muscle, and the stark white of exposed bone, the cyst emerged; like a trapezoidal onyx gem, it slipped down, suspended from dozens of fibers and vessels. Topher felt as much as saw it try to retract itself out of exposure, to slip and swim away through the layers of the false flesh of the body, but it was too late; seizing its already-formidable momentum, Topher pulled with every ounce of willpower he could muster as he felt his SP drain away. For an instant it hung, suspended on blasphemous tendrils, from the cut.

Then Zanasha's other hand draw Nethersbane.

Though it could neither glow nor execute any of its Skills within the Nullification, it was still a sword; it could still hack and cleave. Zanasha's green-sheathed muscles bulged mightily as she let loose a defiant shout, carving through the spongy, corded lengths and bands from which it hung in a single stroke; for an instant, the demon's core was vulnerable.

Topher raised his hands above his head, pulling the cyst towards him; it was almost three feet across, and looked extremely heavy. But he was stronger now; he caught it, held it upraised overhead in his best attempt at an overhead press. He groaned beneath its weight, but found that he could bear it, if only for a moment. "Now," he gasped; Zanasha dropped Nethersbane, taking the Kiku-no-Tsurugi in both hands, and whirled in a devastating downward hack.

It wouldn't be enough, he knew; the black carapace of the demons' encysting was diamond-hard, much tougher than even their outer flesh, and the demon within would begin growing a new form in seconds. But Topher was there, in the path of the strike; with the force of almost all the SP he had remaining, he used his power in the one way he'd always been too smart to do before. Bravely and suicidally, he pulled the Kiku-no-Tsurugi downwards, directly towards his own heart.