Chapter 50 – Rampant Corruption

Palmira followed her former opponent north along the river, the two of them making their way back to the arena they’d been launched from mere moments ago. If she were alone she might have been back by now, her fire letting her dart across the city within minutes. But with Johan here she was forced to slow down, worry over what might have happened to everyone else dogging her every step.

Palmira glanced at the half-elf beside her. She didn’t know him well, and unlike the stories Chiara told her their mutual brush with death hadn’t made them any closer. All she knew was that he had some lost magic, he wielded a living weapon, and he had enough of an ego to go around calling himself a ‘chosen one.’

Oh, and he was rather handsome, much as she might wish he wasn’t.

She wanted to learn more about him. Not because he was pretty, to be clear—Lorenzo was much more handsome and had two rows of teeth to boot—but because his ‘Vita’ had taught her more about Morte’s past in five minutes than she’d learned in the month she’d had him.

But no matter how much her curiosity was burning at her, now wasn’t the time. They were in the middle of a crisis, and unlike the majority of her guild she knew how to prioritize.

Shaking her head, Palmira glanced back up at the sky. The arena was still too far away to see, but the warped sky above stood out like a beacon above the city. People all around them were pointing up in shock, confusion spreading in their wake as the few who’d stayed home tried to make sense of what was going on.

They ignored them. They didn’t have time to spread the word, and the people out here were likely safer from whatever was happening than anyone where they were going.

Or, at least, that’s what she thought.

A commotion erupted nearby. They glanced over, curious yet unwilling to stop, trying to see what was going on.

A ghost was flickering down the street, the shade frantically stopping everyone it could to wail about its fate. It was a common enough occurrence around this time of year. Unsettling, but nothing worth fretting over.

“We should see what’s going on,” Johan slowed to a stop, much to her frustration.

“What? Why!?” she asked incredulously, gesturing up at the twisted sky. “We don’t have time for that, we need to get back to the arena!”

“They might need our help, though.”

“They’re already dead! They can wait a couple hours!”

Unfortunately, the ghost seemed to have taken notice of their arguing. Soulless eyes lit up as they were suddenly before them, relief plastered across its fading face. This close she could see its face clearly. She was a middle-aged woman, her body bloodied and broken. Colorless blood poured down her ruined chest, fading as it dripped from her knees. It was a gruesome sight, one unfortunately common amongst ghosts.

Those who clung to the mortal realm rarely died peaceful deaths.

“Adventurers!” She wailed, clutching at the half-elf’s armor. Or at least they tried to—her hands instead fell halfway into his shoulders, not that they seemed to notice. “Oh, finally! Please, you must help me!”

“Of course,” Johan the idiot promised without thinking. “What do you need?”

“My husband!” she gasped, tears joining the blood pouring from her eyes. “He killed me! He beat me to death in the street! Why, Gerardo, why did you do it? I thought you loved me!?”

“Do you know where he is now? If we can bring this to the authorities, maybe they can arrest him!”

“She’s a ghost!” she hissed quietly, aware of where he was coming from but getting impatient regardless. “The man who killed her is probably long dead.”

“There’s no time!” the ghost screeched, clutching him tighter. With one broken limb they twisted, pointing down the street to their left. “He’s right down there, you must hurry! Quickly, before he kills again!”

Palmira blinked, frustrations quickly replaced by concern. “Wait, he’s right over there? Did you… no, wait, when exactly did you die?”

“Minutes ago!” she began to cry again. “Gerardo was taking me on our honeymoon date. Yet in the middle of our dessert, he… he…!”

Johan gave her intangible back a gentle rub, before stepping away. “Don’t worry, we’ll stop him,” he told her quietly. “We won’t let him hurt anyone else.”

Then, without even asking her, he rushed off down the street the ghost had pointed to.

Palmira swore as she followed, fumbling her mace into her hands. She prayed this was worth the delay.

The street was rather short and thin compared to the larger boulevards which followed the river. Though it was no less wealthy, filled with well-kept shops and cafes from end to end. Normally it was probably much more crowded, but with the tournament going on (and the apparent murder) it was practically deserted.

The two of them stumbled to a stop as they took in the scene, bile rising in her throat at the sight.

A fancy restaurant dominated the center, its grand marble arcade jutting out over the outdoor seating. Or at least what was left of it. Most of the verandah had been destroyed, the furniture strewn and shattered while the once pristine marble was now painted with blood and gore. A middle-aged man, heavyset and balding, slammed himself repeatedly into the barricaded doors, a half dozen mangled corpses sprawled across the ruined tables.

“By the Goddess,” Palmira whispered in horror, staring at the carnage before her. Johan didn’t say a word, simply stepping forward and readying his spear.

That seemed enough to garner the man’s attention. Stumbling around his face lit up with a deranged glee as he caught sight of them. Red faced and wheezing he charged them, cracks spreading across the street tiles with each lumbering step he took. He didn’t bother moving around the broken furniture, the splintered wood tearing at his flesh ignored in his mad stampede. He let out a bellowing roar, his bloodshot eyes swelling over his pudgy cheeks.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

And yet, compared to the people she’d seen fighting just earlier today, this was as threatening as the flailing of a toddler.

The moment he was in range Johan drilled Vita into the man’s shoulder. As he reeled from the blow she stepped behind and shattered his kneecap with Malocchio, their twin attacks flipping the man horizontal in an instant. His head slammed against the stone curb with a sickening ‘CRACK.’

He gurgled, swollen eyes darting between them as his limbs spasmed. Despite that, the look on his face couldn’t be described as anything other than relieved.

The man let out one final wheeze, before slumping. His eyes rolled back in his head and he fell still.

The two of them stared at the body.

“Is… Is he dead?” Palmira asked, her limbs suddenly feeling very heavy. Much as he might have deserved it, she hadn’t intended to kill him. She just hadn’t thought… “Did we kill him?”

“I think so,” Johan grimaced, stepping towards the body. “I always forget how fragile the average person is. One wrong hit to the head is all it takes for most people.”

Palmira swallowed back the bile which rose at the thought. “Oh.”

“This may have been a mercy, however. I’ve seen this type of rampage before, though I’d never hoped to deal with something like this here.”

Then Johan dug his fingers beneath the dead man’s tunic and yanked it up, revealing the horror that laid beneath.

Eyes stared back at them. Yellow, bloated things, rooted deep into the stomach and reaching as far up as his chest. The purpling flesh surrounding them throbbed and shuddered, in their death throes turning to glare up at the two adventurers with blank hatred.

Palmira set the corpse on fire.

Stumbling away she dry heaved, trying to burn the image from her mind. Johan awkwardly beside her, gently rubbing her back.

“Nytheloph, huh?” Morte hummed, sounding more annoyed than horrified. “I suppose we should have seen this coming.”

“Why,” Palmira gasped, finally having regained control of herself. “Why in the world should we have expected the fucking eye demon!?”

“We ruined its plans back in Iscrimo, remember? No Demon worth their salt would take that lying down, much less a Lord. I admit though, I should have been better prepared for this. I must be getting rusty in my old age if something like this blindsided me.”

“Oh, that was you?” Vita asked, intrigued and equally unconcerned. “I assumed the young man with the volcano magic was the one who did all the work. But I suppose I should have expected as much. You always were the type to stumble across such dangerous situations.”

“But we barely did anything!” Palmira snapped. “It was mostly Iscrimo and the Cantons, why are they attacking Firozzi!?”

“Oh, I have no doubt that everyone else who opposed them are currently dealing with some form of revenge as well,” he sighed, sounding both tired and frustrated. “I suppose you could take this as a lesson; just because you’ve won a battle doesn’t mean you’ve won the war. And it certainly doesn’t mean your enemy will stay idle in the aftermath.”

“What do they even hope to accomplish from this?” Johan scowled, glaring down at the burning corpse. “I know the Demon Lords are despicable, petty tyrants, but this is little more than random violence! It was sheer coincidence that we stumbled across this at all!”

“You must have a high opinion of the Demon Lords if you think they’re above random acts of petty violence. Or perhaps not high enough, if you think that this is all that the All-Seeing sent.”

Palmira felt a chill run down her spine. “They were the ones to attack the arena, weren’t they?”

“I’d assume so. It’s what I’d do if I was trying to attack a city this big and powerful. The majority of the adventurers in Firozzi, all taken out in one fell swoop? I’d call it a ballsy play, but I doubt the bastard has any of those.”

“They’re not dead, Morte,” she snapped. “We can still save them if we hurry.”

“I sincerely doubt they’re dead,” Vita hummed in agreement. “But they’re certainly incapacitated and reeling. And if the whole goal of this is petty revenge, then having his hijacked minions sow chaos across the city while all the adventurers are otherwise occupied in a singularity is certainly a way to go about it.”

Johan frowned, thoughtful. “…In that case, rushing back to the arena would only be playing into the Demon Lord’s hands. Er, eyes?”

“You cannot be suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, right?” Palmira snapped, glaring at him. “My friends are back there! I can’t leave them to die just because that might be playing into a Demon Lord’s plan!”

“And what of everyone else in this city?” Johan shot back with a scowl. “Who knows how many of them could die or get corrupted while we run back into a trap! Look,” he pointed at the half-dozen corpses sprawled throughout the arcade. “People are already dying! How can we call ourselves heroes if we don’t do everything we can to save them?”

“I’m not a hero!” Palmira snarled, smoke billowing from between her teeth. He wasn’t wrong—people would probably die if they did nothing—and that thought filled her with guilt. But the thought of losing Chiara or Lorenzo or Ósma terrified her far more than the deaths of some strangers she’d never met. The guilt and the fear mixed with her anger, and she hated the feelings which came from it. “I’m just—I’m me. Why should I have to sacrifice my friends for people who wouldn’t do the same for us!?”

“The girl’s not wrong,” Vita hummed, disinterested amusement coloring her tone. “What about your own friends, dear? Are you willing to risk their lives for some strangers?”

“There are hundreds of adventurers in that arena,” Johan shot back angrily. “Even with whatever’s going on right now, that’s probably the safest place in the city. Unlike out here, where there are two.”

“…Look, kid,” Morte sighed, grabbing her attention. “I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but he’s right. The others are in danger, but they’re adventurers. That’s their job. They can handle a little risk.”

“But what if they can’t?” she hissed back, tears burning the corners of her eyes. “What if it can’t be stopped from the inside? We’re on the outside, we can to things to help them that they can’t!”

“Oh? I wasn’t aware you knew how to fix that. Because let me tell you, I have no idea how to resolve a spacial distortion that big.”

That brought Palmira up short. “I… was hoping you’d know.”

Vita laughed while Morte sighed again. “I’m sorry if I’ve given you the impression that I’m all knowing, but I’m not a master of space magic. …Well, okay, I did master space magic, but a different kind of space magic! Cosmology is leagues different from whatever the hell that elf was doing to the fabric of space-time.”

Palmira grimaced, clutching his staff tighter. “But I can’t just leave them…” A thought occurred, causing her to turn back to the other man in desperation. “Wait, what about that Anti-magic you were using? Couldn’t we use that to turn it off?”

“You mean the Anti-magic which launched us halfway across the city?” Johan scoffed, before letting up on his glare with a sigh. “I know you want to save your friends—and I want to save mine as well—but we need to pick our battles. Your guild seemed competent from what I saw, don’t you trust them to make it through a bit of chaos?”

That more than anything took the wind out of her sails. Slumping against Morte she sighed, glaring at nothing. “They’re a bunch of stupid, drunken idiots, most of whom don’t even know how to read. …But they’re powerful idiots. If anyone could survive a Demon attack, it would be them.”

“So…”

She groaned, scowling at Johan’s relieved smile. “Fine, fine! I’ll help you save the stupid people of this stupid city from the stupid Demons. Are you happy now?”

“I won’t be happy until every Demon in the world is slain,” he told her, offering her a serious nod in thanks. “But today we’ll be able to do some good, and that’s more than enough for me.”

“Tread lightly,” Vita warned her, deathly serious. “You said they’re here for revenge, yes? In that case, they’re likely targeting you.”

Wasn’t that a cheery thought.

With that in mind they started moving through the streets of Firozzi again, though this time with a different goal in mind. To protect the innocent from the Demon Nytheloph’s rampage.

It was a noble goal. She just wished she didn’t feel so guilty about choosing to follow it.