Chapter 51 – The Clock is Ticking

Ósma

Ósma furrowed his brow, squinting out into the warped arena around them. Beside him—and above him, and behind him—Dante sat despondent, having buried his face in his hands.

“Just one day,” the man groaned, fingers digging into his forehead. “Can we not have one fucking day where things go to plan? Is that too much to ask?”

The orc let out a low rumble, more a scoff than a laugh. “If the world were so kind, adventurers wouldn’t be needed in the first place. And then we’d all be out of a job.”

Dante returned to his grumbling, allowing Ósma to go back to studying the mess they were currently in.

Not that it helped. It was impossible to see more than five feet in any direction, the twisted space distorting reality in such a way that strained the mortal eye. He couldn’t see or hear any of the others—the only reason he could still communicate with the guildmaster was because they’d been sitting right next to each other. It made the whole situation that much more frustrating to resolve, though any initial panic had long since cooled once they realized that whatever was going on wasn’t going to instantly kill them.

Whatever caused it killing them might be a different beast, entirely.

Currently he was far more worried about Palmira suffering that fate than anyone else. The rest of the guild was either in the infirmary or (in theory at least) somewhat nearby, but the girl had been down in the dirt when this began and he worried what she might get up to alone.

“Do you think Raum is dead?” Ósma asked, raising an eyebrow. The elf may not have had the storied career the likes of Johanna or Zeitn had, but he’d still been an adventurer for over a century now. He wasn’t the kind of person to die so easily.

“If he’s not, I’m going to kill him myself,” the guildmaster grumbled, before finally rising to his feet with a sigh. “Though it’s likely. I can’t imagine him letting things get this bad if he were still in control.”

“How certain are you of that?”

“Very. While I don’t know nearly as much about magic as you do, I like to think I understand business quite well. And I can assure you that after today not a single person will ever set foot in one of Raum’s arenas again, and I think the elf would rather die than risk his life’s work like this.”

“That assumes he wasn’t corrupted,” a new voice interjected.

The two of them turned around to find Teresa walking up to them. And walking away from them. And—

You get the idea.

“Teresa,” the old orc smiled warmly. “I was worried it might take longer for us to regroup. How’d you find us?”

“More luck than anything else, I’m afraid,” she pointed back the way she came. While the space there was still twisted upon itself, it wasn’t nearly as bad as everywhere else. “It’s possible the Goddess heard my prayers, but the Lady is rare to answer me outside of combat. More likely the world seems to be slowly healing itself of the injuries Raum has rent upon it.”

“I see, so if we give it enough time, it might fix itself on its own,” Ósma frowned. “But my gut tells me that waiting that long is a bad idea.”

“More to the point, you think Raum might be corrupted?” Dante cut in, narrowing his eyes at her. “That’s a dangerous accusation to make, especially considering the situation we currently find ourselves in.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” she shrugged. “But the Ambrosi were recently caught consorting with Demons and are not well known for their kindness. If there were ever a time to take out their competition it would be now.”

“But the Ambrosi own most of the adventurer’s guilds in the city! Why in the world would they attack their own people?”

“I never said we were the Ambrosi’s competition.”

The three of them went silent at that, a grim air settling between them.

“A Demon attack on Firozzi itself…” Ósma scowled, clenching his fists. “How bold. But somehow I’m not surprised. Perhaps I’m just too used to things going wrong…”

The guildmaster on the other hand walked closer to Teresa, nearly tripping over her feet in the process. “We need to leave!” he snapped. “If Raum really is attacking us, then we’re sitting ducks standing around out here! Do either of you have any ideas on how we can escape this place?”

“Possibly,” Ósma grunted, fishing around in his pockets. He pulled out a spool of thread, which he then began to work his massive fingers through. He hadn’t used his magic in years, though some things never truly left you. “But I’ll need a moment to see if this’ll even work.”

“Beyond prayer, I’ve got nothing,” the Crusader shrugged languidly, before looking behind them. “What about you Leo, do you have any ideas?”

Leo—the ten-foot-tall muscle-bound green orc—simply grunted.

“How long have you been there!?” Dante yelped in shock, and even Ósma couldn’t suppress his surprise. He must really be getting rusty if he hadn’t noticed him. “Goddess alive, never mind. The four of us are about, what, one third of our group? Is there any way for us to gather the rest?”

Leo grunted again. It was unclear if this was supposed to be helpful.

“I don’t know about fixing this mess, but I think I should be able to find the others,” Ósma nodded, raising his hands to show off his work. It had been a long time since he’d last worked a proper spell—and the fact it was still daytime certainly didn’t help—but he’d managed it. Thin, silvery threads launched themselves from his fingers, snaking out in all directions. Almost immediately they spasmed and twisted off into the rest of the madness surrounding them, but so long as they held in one piece such was of little consequence.

As long as you knew the path it mattered not how dangerous the labyrinth is.

“These threads each lead to one of our guildmembers,” he handed them out to the others. “If we want to find them all quickly we’ll need to split up. Dante, you focus on finding everyone in the stands and getting them combat ready. Teresa and Leo, you two try and get to the infirmary and let them know what’s going on. From there we can regroup outside the coliseum along with any other adventurers who made it out.”

The Crusader nodded, the Barbarian grunted, but the guildmaster frowned. “What about you? Where are you going?”

“I’m going to find Palmira,” he motioned to the last thread in his hand. “She was separated from the rest of us, so I’m going to find her and bring her back. With any luck it’ll only take a few moments and I’ll be back to help you all soon enough.”

Dante’s scowl only deepened at that, but he nodded sharply. “Very well, make sure you keep the kid safe. …And keep her from getting into any more fights while you’re at it! The last thing we need is her setting this place on fire while we’re trying to escape.”

“Now now, I’m not one to make promises I can’t keep,” he chuckled, before nodding solemnly. “…If you do happen to smell smoke though, make sure you start heading in the opposite direction.”

The guildmaster gave him one last stink eye before departing. Thread in hand, the four of them braved the twisted world before them in search of their guildmembers.

--

Palmira slammed her mace into the back of an elderly woman, the spine shattering blow knocking her to the ground. A moment later a spear ripped through the woman’s throat, nearly tearing her head clean off her shoulders. From beneath her bloody tunic swollen eyes glared up at them, oozing with hatred even as the body they had infected died.

At this point she couldn’t even bring herself to gag. They’d been at this for nearly an hour now, running from massacre to massacre in a desperate attempt to stop the endless barrage of corrupted people from causing anymore chaos. But their efforts were only met with mixed results.

In the last hour she had killed more people than she had in her whole life. And even if it was to save others—even if it was to put those poor broken souls out of their misery—she could only feel a growing disgust and hatred for everything which had caused this to happen to her home.

And to think, today had started out so hopeful.

“Why are there so many?” she grimaced, setting the body on fire. The eyes made no noise, but she could swear she heard them squeal as they burned. “Surely someone should have noticed if this many people had been corrupted by a Demon Lord!”

“Firozzi is one of the largest cities on the continent, and has had an endless influx of refugees for the past several decades. It would be child’s play to sneak a few corrupted humans into the city. Even the dozen we’ve killed so far are just a drop in the bucket compared to the tens of thousands of innocents,” Morte told her, though he sounded troubled. “What I’m more worried about is why. The All-Seeing was clearly planning something by planting so many of its subjects in the city, and I fear there may be some greater plan we’re missing.”

“You think all of this is just a distraction?” Johan scowled, staring at the burning body. The vague outline of a ghost faded into existence, sobbing as it clutched at the flames. “All of this suffering a mere byproduct of some bastard’s evil plan?”

“Suffering is a byproduct of most plans,” Vita gave the impression of a careless shrug. “Whether that suffering is yours, your enemy’s, or some poor souls caught in the crossfire, plotting has a tendency to cause suffering by its very nature.”

“Yes, thank you Vita, we’re all very well aware,” Morte scoffed, a familiar exasperation in his tone. “But that’s not my point. While the Demon Lords certainly aren’t above petty revenge, this feels too… small scale for a Demon Lord’s plan. Chaos for the sake of chaos isn’t impossible, but if that were the case surely there’d be more chaos. Currently all we’re seeing is little more than petty murder.”

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“Wonderful, that’s just what we needed! Some horrible plot going off in the background while we run around like headless cockatrices trying to put out individual fires,” Palmira groaned, rubbing her eyes. Turning to her new ally, she asked, “What about you, do you have any…”

Johan raised an eyebrow, wondering why she trailed off. But she didn’t have the time to tell him.

Because the time mage Zeitn was standing right behind him, wicked dagger raised to strike.

“Johan!” she screamed, her hands moving without thinking. The elf barely managed to nick his shoulder before a fire whip was launched directly at his head.

In the next blink he was gone, her spell just barely skimming the top of Johan’s scalp.

The half-elf froze, pupils dilating as sparks fell from the singed tips of his hair. Then her fire was snuffed out as he activated his anti-magic barrier.

Zeitn instantly appeared a few feet away, walking towards them as though he were out for a Sunday stroll. He froze as they turned to face him, looking as confused as they felt. Then his eyes widened, and turning on his heel he ran away, trying to make as much distance as possible between them.

Normally Palmira wouldn’t have let him do this, but without her fire she was wary of giving chase. Instead she closed ranks with Johan, putting their backs to the wall as the time mage disappeared the second he crossed the edge of the barrier.

“What’s going on!?” she hissed, swapping Morte out for Malocchio. “Isn’t that guy a part of your guild?”

“Yes?” his response sounded more like a question as he regathered himself, readying Vita. “I mean, I never really spoke with him, but he should be?”

“Then why is he attacking us?”

“How should I know—crap!”

As they were talking the elf suddenly appeared at the edge of the barrier again. But rather than close in he instead launched a knife directly at his head. Johan had just enough time to move out of the way before the blade clanged against the wall behind them.

“We need to move!” Palmira yelped as the time mage appeared again, this time tossing a knife at her. “We’re sitting ducks out here!”

Johan nodded, and the two of them made a break for the nearest shelter. There was enough distance between the edge of the barrier and them that they had enough time to dodge or block the incoming blades, though that didn’t stop it from being a harrowing experience. A nearby arcade provided the cover they needed, the limestone pillars able to act as a shield against the hail of projectiles

Unfortunately, it didn’t do much else.

“What do we do?” she heaved, crouching behind an abandoned table. “Doesn’t this guy control time? How are we supposed to beat someone like that?”

“I’m… not sure,” Morte admitted, sounding frustrated. “While the kid’s barrier is protecting the two of you from instant death, its also stopping you from attacking out of it. If we had some sort of nonmagical ranged attack we might be able to do something, but with Malocchio damaged our options are limited.”

‘Disagreement. We can still protect Our Lady.’

“Not right now you can’t,” Palmira snapped, giving her mace a sharp glare. “Your head was nearly cut off!”

Johan coughed. “Right, um, sorry about that.”

“You could start throwing things back,” Vita offered. “He may control time, but he’s still mortal. One good rock to the dome is enough to take down most people.”

“How are we supposed to hit someone who controls time!?” the half-elf scoffed, chancing a glance over around their cover. He immediately had to duck back to dodge another knife. “I can’t even look for him without risking my life!”

“Maybe…” Palmira huffed, thinking hard. They couldn’t use their magic but also couldn’t let down the barrier, so… “Can you make a space inside the bubble where I can use magic without taking down the rest of it?”

“I…” he blinked, stumped. “I don’t actually know. Vita, is that possible?”

“Who knows? Why don’t you figure it out yourself?”

“Goddess above—yes, it is possible, so do it quickly!” Morte shouted, annoyed. “I swear Vita if your apathy kills my apprentice I’ll haunt you for the rest of our unlife!”

“Please, you don’t have the attention span for that. You’d get bored within a week.”

“Are you willing to bet? These past few decades have taught me quite a bit about patience.”

While the weapons were arguing, their wielders were actually working to solve the problem. Johan frowned deeply, focusing on something only he could see. It took him a few moments, but as his forehead creased and he grit his teeth a second bubble slowly appeared within the first. It expanded in increments, beginning as small as an olive before after several agonizing seconds growing just large enough to fit the two adventurers within.

Palmira ignited Malocchio, relief filling her with the simple act.

“Hey, see, you figured it out!” Vita cheered. “I knew you could do it!”

“No thanks to you,” he grunted, clearly under some form of invisible strain. He’d closed his eyes tight, seemingly unable to move from his spot. “I tried to remove part of it, but that didn’t work. So instead I added a double negative—we’re still standing in an anti-magic bubble, but we’re also standing in an anti-anti-magic bubble, which is how you can now use your fire.”

“That… is not how that works,” Morte told him, bemused. “How did you manage that?”

“See, if I’d just told you the answer you wouldn’t have figured out how to do that,” Vita praised him. “Isn’t this so much nicer than being handed the solution?”

“No, it’s not!”

Palmira silently apologized for ever complaining about Morte. It was becoming clear to her that she’d apparently lucked out in the living weaponry department.

Unfortunately, they didn’t have any more time to argue. Zeitn rushed into the bubble, perhaps assuming that it had been lowered with her use of magic. Not that she let him get anywhere, igniting another fire whip and forcing him back and keeping him at a distance.

The elf jumped out of the way, though he refused to retreat back out of range of the barrier. Instead he stood indecisively, eyes darting frantically between her and the street he’d just come from. She considered trying to extend the range of her fire whip, but before she could they were interrupted.

“Well, what do we have here?”

Palmira froze, the familiar voice instantly activating her fight or flight instinct. Risking looking away from Zeitn, she could only watch in horror as a newcomer approached.

Rosalina smiled kindly, her blindfold not able to mask the joy which wrote itself across her face. In her hand she held her staff—ridged and pale—which burned with faith and flame. She wasn’t alone, either; just behind her, a dwarf and an orc followed. They marched silently, hollow gazes taking in nothing as they followed the priestess.

…Ah, he hadn’t been attacking them. He’d been running from a much bigger threat.

“You’re that young lady from the cathedral, aren’t you?” Rosalina hummed, her pace unhurried. The holy flames in her hair flickered, so bright it made her hard to look at. “How wonderful it is for us to meet again! I’d worried Sinbad might have ruined my sermon with his games, but it seems the Goddess rewards her faithful well! Come, my dear, won’t you join me in prayer as I purge this poor lost soul?”

Zeitn took this as his queue to get the hell out. And with an insurmountable threat blocking one end of the street, there was only one direction he could run in:

Directly towards them.

Palmira tensed, readying her mace. The flames burned hotter, and even if she didn’t want to let her guard down against Rosalina she couldn’t just ignore the threat barreling towards them. She raised Malocchio, ready to—

“Now now, do you really think you can run from me?”

The orc was suddenly upon Zeitn. The elf didn’t even get a moment to react before the orc’s foot was on his back, slamming him into the street with a thunderous ‘CRACK.’

Palmira watched, wide-eyed as he fell limp. There hadn’t even been a struggle.

“There we go. Isn’t this so much better?”

She swallowed, turning back to Rosalina. The priestess did not bother changing her pace, only stopping just outside the range of the anti-magic barrier. Then, with a smile one part chiding and one part amused, she lifted a single finger, placing it gently against the empty air.

And Johan screamed as Nothing was burned to ash beneath Holy Flame.

He collapsed on his knees behind her as at once the barrier was dissolved. Wide-eyed and gasping, he could only cling to Vita as he struggled to remain conscious following the sudden shock.

Palmira wet her lips. “Um, Sister Rosalina,” she stammered, unsure what to do. “Uh… thank you for… saving us…?”

“You are most welcome, my dear!” her smile grew, just as kindly, just as lovely, and yet somehow off in a way she couldn’t describe. A human should not be capable of smiling like that. “Ah, but tell me, did he hurt you? These poor corrupted souls are all so very vicious, and it would wound my heart to know such a brilliant soul as yourself might have been harmed by one of them.”

“No, er, I mean, not really?” she shook her head stiffly, eyes darting about the street, searching for a way for them to run. Unfortunately she couldn’t just leave Johan here, and with him incapacitated from the backlash escape didn’t seem possible.

Wait what was that about Zeitn being corrupted?

She didn’t have the time to ask about that though, as it was at that moment a thin silver thread rocketed down the street and very gently tapped against her arm.

Despite herself, she couldn’t help but glance down at it in shock. What in the world…?

“Palmira!” the booming voice of her mentor echoed, and she nearly collapsed right then and there in relief. “There you are! How in the world did you get so far away from the arena!?”

Ósma rounded the corner, the massive accountant bounding up to her in mere seconds. He crouched on one knee next to her, eyes roving her body for injuries.

“I’m fine,” she shrugged him off, gesturing in front of them. “But that’s not important, we need to—”

“Ah! If it isn’t old Ósma!” Rosalina cheered happily, her eyes lighting up. “I assumed you’d retired! What are you doing up and about? Don’t you know there’s Demons at work today?”

The orc tensed, turning to the priestess with eyes both confused and wary. “…Rosalina?” He asked slowly, frowning. “You’re here? But Sinbad said you were—”

He glanced at the other two next to her, first at the dwarf and then at the orc holding Zeitn down. And as he did so he stopped dead, unable to do anything but stand frozen in disbelief.

Then, a single word spilled from his lips.

“…Brother?”

The orc shifted its weight slightly. Barely enough to tilt its head, though it seemed just enough for the elf he had trapped underfoot.

Zeitn suddenly disappeared, the orc’s foot slamming into the ground right after.

“Ah, shame,” the priestess sighed, shaking her head. “And after all the effort we went to tracking him down. Such a slippery elf, that Zeitn.”

“Rosalina!” Ósma boomed, shock giving way to anger. “Who is that!?”

The woman gave him an odd look. “It’s your brother, isn’t he? I know it’s been many years, but surely you recognize him, no? Ah, my teacher, why don’t you say hi? I’m certain you’ve missed each other dearly.”

The orc opened its mouth, yet no words came out. Only the hiss of displaced air, wet and unnatural.

Ósma could do nothing more than stare with wide, horrified eyes. “…Rosalina, what have you done?”

She smiled, beautiful and kind and wrong. “The Goddess returned your brother to life, my old friend. Isn’t such a thing wonderful? That we might be so blessed?”

Her mentor’s fists clenched. Horror and shock giving way to a fury unlike any she’d ever seen from the orc before. He opened his mouth, rage on his lips—

But it was not his voice that shouted at her.

“ROSALINA!”

There was the booming of thunder and a choir of angels. An aura of divine fury smashed unto the street with all the subtly of a roaring dragon.

And suddenly Sinbad was there, the Paladin storming down on them with the wrath of the Goddess on his heels. His sword came down like a bomb, the air shattering in its passing as he carved through it to stab at his old ally. It was a blow that—had it landed—would have had enough strength behind it to slay even a Demon Lord.

The blade didn’t make it though. The orc was instantly between them, catching the sword on his own axe. As they did, she was barely able to catch a glance of Sinbad’s face before the two vanished into a flurry of blows she wasn’t yet skilled enough to follow.

To call the look on his face angry did not do it justice. The sheer hate which twisted his lips made Ósma’s horrified rage look like joy in comparison.

“SINBAD~” Rosalina pouted. “See, I can do it too! But why must you always be so battle hungry? I don’t know if you noticed, but I can’t spar right now. I’m busy!”

The Paladin merely let out a wordless howl, his face contorting into something inhuman. He launched another attack, this one powerful enough that the rest of them were knocked to the ground just from sheer proximity to the blast.

Ósma, meanwhile, had come to his own decision, and that was that he needed to get the kids the hell out of here. Though confused and thoroughly off his game, the old orc didn’t hesitate in this. Throwing one hand out a dozen silver threads erupted from his sleeves, swiftly wrapping around both her and Johan. Then he pulled and the two of them were lifted into the air, flying straight into his waiting arms.

Then he ran.

Palmira, hanging over the orc’s massive shoulder like a sack of flour, could only watch as the battle faded into the distance behind them. And yet, even as they fled, she couldn’t help but notice something off about the man she’d begrudgingly come to know.

Somehow… he seemed in pain.