Alan wanted a glimpse of the awful monster stomping around in the distance, but as soon as he peeked out from the trees, Farante – the Bladesmen – waved for him to stay put. Maybe the Borai sensed eyes on it or something.

Boom!

Boom!

The vibrations quaked through his stomach – adrenaline starting to rise. But when he heard the footsteps fade farther away, he relaxed.

“Phew.” Farante sighed and sheathed his swords. “Fighting a monster without Saro is no easy task, my friend. We would’ve been chopped meat alone. Come, we must find my party before it gets a whiff of us.”

In Alan’s mind, he was doing just find before Farante came along. It felt like his fault that the Parose territory was in danger in the first place. “What happens if I stay behind?”

Farante winced. “I’m afraid, upon my return, I wouldn’t be able to identify you by bloodstain.” He grabbed Alan’s arm to calm him. “You saved my life, Alan, now let me save yours.”

His eyes were big and brown, full of life now that the wound wasn’t depleting him. Under a trench coat with too many buckles, he wore a leather cuirass for light movement. A tickling sensation cued a trance, but Farante’s expression told him there’s no time – so Alan nodded and dismissed the feeling.

“Good. Follow me.” Farante sprinted through the trees, back onto the dirt path, and beyond a vicinity Alan refused to cross earlier.

He hoped to learn all he could from Durger before advancing, but that pipe dream was ripped from him by the quaking monster he couldn’t yet see.

“Hey!” Alan called ahead, and Farante skidded to a stop.

With a finger over his mouth, he beckoned Alan closer to him. “Listen, friend,” he whispered. “Your voice is like a siren because of your low Ojin reputation. We can’t afford to attract the Borai.”

“Right,” Alan whispered. “Hey, I just remembered something. My friends in Strangey Town, they told me that if Ojin senses I’m being power-rushed, we could be inundated with monsters beyond our abilities.”

Farante smirked. “It is good they warned you.” He patted Alan’s shoulder. “But you are past that now. You cleared the grey fog of Parose, yes? You wouldn’t have been able to save me, otherwise.”

“Yes, I defeated Akira Black,” Alan professed.

“Ah. A particularly slimy monster, she is.”

“Yep,” Alan lied.

“Then you are clear to roam. Come quick.”

Alan reluctantly resumed his sprint at Farante’s heel.

The terrain changed from forest to hilly swamp fairly quickly. His vision began to cloud too… this time with a dark grey Fog of War… almost black. Insects chimed all around him, and the smell was a mix of corrosive acid and tar.

“I separated from my party a few miles down the hill, near the swamp. Hopefully they’re still there,” Farante called over his shoulder.

Alan was surprised he hadn’t run out of breath yet. Even though he was beginning to strain, going downhill helped. His medieval clothing pressed flat against him in the putrid winds – every inhale was like ingesting poison. But he kept on, glancing at Durger still barren of Saro.

How large is the Borai’s suppression aura? I thought for sure we’d be far enough by now… unless.

Alan peered over his shoulder to a massive ethereal beast peeking over the hill in the distance. Samurai-shoulder-pads, a bear’s face, and a molten throat illuminating its fangs made Alan want to dive into a ditch to hide.

Chhrr.

Alan heard Farante skid to a stop again, and before he could turn, Farante’s hand was over his brow, blinding him and forcing him to stop short. “Do not give it your eyes,” he warned. “It will turn. Quiet.”

“What—”

“The Borai.”

“Impossible to fight. Too big,” Alan said.

Farante removed his hand. “Nothing is impossible, friend. Come. They must be close.”

Alan noticed a black pendant around Farante’s neck glowing gold at the edges. It must be some kind of protection – or at least he hoped. But there was no time to ask any questions. No time for anything. Just run.

The fog thickened with each passing mile, so Alan made sure to keep close to Farante. A ghostly slime skittered past them – taking with it a rush of fog. Alan wondered if that was a guardian of the dark grey.

“This way!” Farante made a sharp left into an inlet framed by tall purple grass dripping blood.

C’mon, Durger. I could sure use you right about now. He glanced again at the barren dagger. The blood drained from his face when the purple grass curled over him, looming and dripping blood into puddles on either side of his path.

“Larna! Morgo!” Farante called. “Show yourselves! It’s me.”

Alan was in over his head, literally. And when he got past the purple grass, he found himself on a cliffside of marshy grounds, overlooking a swamp of black tar.

“Seefash!” Farante shouted out to the tar. “Shit,” he lowered his voice, talking to himself. “Where are you guys?”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Alan had enough second-guessing every turn. He needed to know how powerful his newfound ally really was. Would they die to that giant bear-ghost if it found them? Or would Farante slice ’em up?

Seeing him preoccupied, Alan eyed one of the swords hanging from his belt and allowed himself to fall into a trance.

Alan nearly choked when his vision became blurry like he was underwater. A less-armored Farante had swam for hours into a black abyss to obtain a blade stuck in a rock at the bottom of it.

How is that even possible?

When Farante grasped the hilt, he pulled and pulled to no avail. Alan wanted to warn him when a giant skeletal dragon swam around his back – then he remembered where he was… a memory of the past. Farante noticed on his own, let go of the sword, and crossed his fists over his chest. The same glowing pendant he wore now shined gold, and an orb formed around him, shoving water, matter, everything back in a quaking display of power.

The dragon fell into the bubble arena and crashed onto the murky seafloor. Rattling bone reverberated all around the confined space far under the sea. Alan couldn’t fathom the pressure this magical orb was withstanding.

Farante drew his solo blade with no fear – determination in his expression. He disappeared into a blur, using Black Saro to deflect a barrage of bone spears launched at him. Each one ricocheted past the bubble’s shell and immediately slowed to a drowned spin in the sea.

Alan was in awe. These were feats he expected Flint could rival, but he really didn’t understand power dynamics yet. He sped the trance forward. The sword he fought an undead dragon for was now his. Sometime later, it survived long-winded journeys up impossible mountains in Ojin, where Farante and his party slayed monster after monster to unveil patches of war fog. Judging by their teamwork, the party knew each other for a long while.

Energy drained from Alan when he watched Farante hang back in a grand battle. Something was off about his eyes. They turned bloodshot all of a sudden, and his smile was crazed. Amidst lightning bolts from an elemental minion, he hid behind the party’s Healer – Larna. When lightning struck inches from them, he stabbed her through the heart and ripped the blade free.

Her screech was stifled by the summoned storm. His friends were preoccupied casting spells and attacking the beast head on, giving Farante enough time to syphon Larna’s soul into his Black Saro sword.

Alan panicked, trying to release himself from the trance, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away from the next part of the vision. It was late. The brute Knight of the group – Morgo – mourned over the skeleton of Larna, while Farante emerged from his sleeping bag with his black cutlass drawn. Not a sound, and no hesitation. He stabbed the Knight through the heart and claimed his soul next, while keeping his other sword at the throat of the sleeping mage, Seefash. She roused from her slumber to a cut throat. Two souls for one this night.

Alan snapped back to the swamp, out of breath, wondering how much time had passed. Farante was still peering over the edge of the short cliff into the swampy sludge about ten feet below. The friendly innocence, protective actions, it all vanished in Alan’s mind and melted into fear. He had a mind to scream Mujungo’s name at the top of his lungs. He understood now why people went back. In a million years he wouldn’t have been able to drum up such deception. Ojin harbored evil.

Farante turned to Alan, and Alan had to pretend he was rubbing a wound.

“They must be around here somewhere. Maybe taken by the swamp.” Farante snapped his tongue.

Just then it occurred to Alan – the dead plants in Parose, the blocked Saro – it was all Farante the whole time. But what about the giant ghost-bear threatening them? The Borai. Could Farante have summoned it from that pendant?

He was never going to let me stay in the forest. He was hunting me. He needs me here, for some reason.

Fuck this, I have to get out.

“Mujungo!” Alan called in his mind, and could feel the god’s presence rushing to hear him. Just as he was about to plead for the god to yank him out of Ojin, a stray thought hit. “I’d like to offer you a trade.”

Alan felt a pulse reverberate through his heart that told him ‘yes.’

“If you will carry a message to Flint Degoba and Lucius Kiar, telling them that I’m in danger in the thick grey fog south of Parose, on a hill facing a black-tar swamp, taken hostage by a Bladesmen named Farante, then I will commit to another twenty humiliations upon my return to Strangey Town.”

Mujungo clapped – Alan sensing the god’s excitement, but then it went away.

Mujungo has rejected your terms, and countered with 21 humiliations.

Alan rolled his eyes. “Done.”

He returned to the present, crawling up beside Farante so not to raise suspicions. “Any sign of them?”

Farante shook his head and punched the ground. “Nothing.”

“I think we’d see bubbles or something if they were under there,” Alan suggested in his most innocent voice. “Maybe if we looked at the other end of the swamp, we’d have better luck?”

Alan’s throat ran dry. Being so close to a cold-blooded killer was never something he’d dealt with before. It was harrowing.

He simultaneously tried to buy himself time and stay near the tar in case Flint and Lucius heeded his call. Otherwise, he’d have to hope Mujungo would still pull him back if things got ugly.

“It’s a good idea, Alan, but I know the encasement spells of the creatures around here.” Farante took out his binoculars again. “I have a feeling they’re buried deep, and hidden by the Borai.”

“I see.”

“Ah!” Farante feigned surprise. “My Saro is returning. We must be far enough away now. Hm. Perhaps if I cast a protective spell on you, would you dive in to search for them?”

Alan tensed.

He could snap me like a twig if he wanted. Why doesn’t he?

Does he… need me to go willingly?

“I’d fail you, Farante. You go, and I’ll keep watch.”

Farante shook his head. “The Borai assuredly blocked me from being able to sense them. Please, I don’t want my friends to die.”

Alan’s heartbeat thundered in his ears. “I can’t help you with that, Farante. I’m sorry.” He backed away from the cliff slowly.

“You must, Alan. You must.” He drew one of his swords. His black pendant shined gold once more, and the tar lake rumbled behind him. “I need you to help me, Alan. You wouldn’t leave a warrior to die, would you?”

The fanged ghost-bear rose from the tar – roaring as sludge rolled off its ethereal skin. The Borai was never chasing them… it was always tethered to him.

Its bright pupil-less eyes stared only at Alan as it rose high overhead, eclipsing the cliffside, and casting a shadow over both of them, highlighting Farante’s bloodshot eyes.

“You’re going to go in there, Alan, one way or another. Bonus points if you made the decision on your own. But hey, we can’t all get what we want, right?”

Alan dashed away and Farante reeled back.

“Hah. Do you really think—”

A pulse of snowy ice wooshed past Alan and into Farante’s chest. It froze all but his sword arm, which Farante swung in a blinding whir to melt the ice in one motion. He broke out of it – expression feral like in Alan’s vision – and lunged to stab Alan in the chest.

Clnk!

Alan’s body temperature rose like he stepped into a furnace. A ball of fire hissed to reveal Lucius locked sword-on-sword with Farante.

“You guys came.” Alan smiled and drew his dagger.

Trade with Mujungo Initiated

Steps taken to unlock next Title:

3/3

UNIQUE TITLE UNLOCKED:

Title: *God Merchant of Strangey Town

ABILITY UNLOCKED:

Coined Wrath – Transmogrify any owned entity into a coin for storage.

(To revert transmogrification back into original form, flip the coin)

BONUS ITEM

Coin Pouch received.