I slip off the monstrous metal carcass, landing with a wet thud. Not wanting to be caught as a pink milkshake, I rapidly start reforming my human shape. As I do, I look at my surroundings. The nearby stores are gone, the ground totally covered in a layer of demolished buildings, twisted metal, and the occasional body. When my feet are solid enough, I take a step forward, the ceramic roofing crunching beneath my fake shoes.
A message appears in front of me, floating in the air.
You have killed a Royal Amalgamate, equivalent to thirteen stage two monsters, Soul goal updated.
4/100 > 17/100
300mp > 300mp
I mentally dismiss the pop-up. I don’t have time for it now, future me can deal with it. I have things to do.
My eyes dart over the wreckage, looking for the sad form of my minion. I see several people struggling in the rubble, but none are my useless sidekick. Just as I start to get annoyed, a small wiggling in the back of my consciousness starts to pull me in a random direction. I try to ignore it, like I do with all the signs of my frayed sanity, but this one proves to be persistent. As soon as I give it my attention, it starts to pull even harder, dragging me towards a clear goal. With no real reason to ignore it, I start following it.
It doesn’t take me long to reach where the feeling is pulling me. Stone rubble and broken glass cover the area, the nearby buildings seemingly bisected by one of the machine’s clumsy swings. Stepping over the half-crushed body of a woman, I close in on where the strange sensation is strongest.
The epicenter of my rapidly progressing insanity is a thick wooden beam lying across a collapsed wall. I grab the rubble, wrapping some extra limbs around it for good measure, and toss the debris to the side.
Sitting mostly unharmed, surrounded by thin pink threads, is Betton. He looks up at me, squinting against the light.
“Ah, did I live, or are we in hell?” he snarks at me. The crumbling masonry no longer threatening to crush them, the pink strings start withdrawing, pulling towards the teen. One by one they vanish into a small, pink ring that sits in the palm of his hand.
“What’s the difference?” I mutter. So the ring defends the wearer? Or maybe itself? “Wear that,” I command, pointing at the bubblegum-colored jewelry.
He glances at it, giving it a good scowl before slipping it over his finger. At least he listens.
…Great, now I need another. I can’t give Lina a ring that this mongrel wore. I glance at the jewelry shop, and see only a burned rent in the ground. …So much for that.
The pipsqueak suddenly speaks up. “What now?”
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With the total demolition of a good quarter of the town drawing many sets of eyes to us, I decide the need to tiptoe around is gone. With a mental flick of a switch, my body explodes outward in a tide of bubbling flesh. In a little under a minute my rapid transformation solidifies, the carapace of my mantis form shining in the noon sun.
Betton doesn’t even wait for my instructions and just clambers up one of my legs, crawling onto my back. I create two small tendrils to wrap around him so he doesn’t fall. With my only possession stowed, I flick open my back half and release my thin wings.
Taking off, I immediately notice something’s off. Gaining any altitude is difficult, my wings having to beat twice as hard as normal. Did I gain weight or something? Whatever, I can just brute force it.
I expand the translucent membranes of my wings, making them larger to help grab more air, or something, and flap harder than before. My ascent speeds up, and I soon clear the lip of the pit that holds the sad little town.
Without warning the air loses the humidity that I’ve become used to, and it becomes much easier to fly. I jerk backwards as the reduced friction makes my extra effort turn to speed instead of height. I shoot up like a rocket, quickly getting high enough that the air becomes cold.
Shit! I stop my wing’s erratic movements, and my upward momentum. For a second I hang in place before gravity takes over. Dropping like a stone, I mentally rub my face. Why is flying so hard?
I try to ignore Betton’s girlish screams as my wings sputter back into action. Our fall slows gradually until we’re moving horizontally again. Thankfully that makes Betton chill out. He’s crying instead of screaming.
During that little… ordeal the two of us have gone far enough that the town is out of sight. That should make it hard to find us, if anyone decides to try.
Betton’s question floats into the front of my mind. Now what? We trashed the first town we found since escaping the insane woman, and it seems like they’ll keep sending robots after us…
I guess we could just live in the woods or something, but that would make finding Lina hard. And I doubt Betton’s stomach could handle eating monsters, since there’s no way in hell I’ll farm. Even if we did, monsters or robots would just trash anything we planted.
So we either stop whoever’s sending the robots, or just risk the lives of everyone around us. …Risking lives it is. No way in hell I can kill the Scalpel yet, and I honestly don’t care about some randos.
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
That being said, it took a couple of days for that second robot to show up. So in two days I can just make sure to not be in a town. If the pattern holds, I can spend a night in town before each fight. More convenient than having to find a new town each time.
With a vague plan in mind, I point myself in a direction and fly.
*******************
By the time we find a new place to crash, the sun is already hanging low in the sky. I have to imagine that if we had to walk the distance, it would’ve taken us at least a week. This insect bod has some serious speed.
Unlike the last town, which was nestled in a massive hole in the ground, this one seems to be the opposite. Sitting in the middle of the grasslands is a single, massive tree. The thing’s upper branches are easily as high as my flying height, and stretch even further upwards. Its roots are massive, stretching across the grassland like rivers of wood. Nestled in the center of its trunk is a gem similar to what the previous towns had, except this one is buried in bark.
Betton taps on my shell, pointing down at the ground at the edge of the nearest root. Deciding to humor the kid, I go into a dive.
It takes only seconds for us to touch the ground, but the image of Betton screaming in terror will be etched into my mind for much longer.
“W-we need to be careful here…” he stammers out between gasps. I tilt my head at him. “If we do something bad, everyone near the tree will know.”
Not understanding what he means, but also not caring, I decide that I’m done with being a bug for now. Without letting the guy off my back, I turn back into a semi-solid. Falling to the ground in a pile of almost liquid flesh, I feel Betton thud onto me.
I spend about ten minutes turning back into a human shape, which Betton uses to cuss me out while I can’t hear. Or at least while he thinks I can’t. Ignoring his grumbling, I finish reshaping and dust the nonexistent dirt off my black dress.
“So what were you saying?” I ask him.
He groans in annoyance before repeating himself. “If you fuck around here, the tree will tell everyone.”
I snort. “What? The tree? Can it talk or something?” I ask mockingly.
“Yes,” he answers, completely straight-faced.
“...Oh,” I mutter. “I’ll take that into account.”
He points at the nearby root, which is a good half mile away and looks like a large brown hill. “That tree can communicate with the race that lives here, so don’t do anything to get us in trouble with them, alright?”
I scratch my head. “Is there… anything specific I should avoid?”
He chuckles humorously. “Yes, no feeding on someone unless they clearly attack us first. This place allows killing in self defense, but they won’t count it if you make the first move.” He pinches the crest of his nose. “Also, don’t hurt the tree.”
I nod. “Alright.”
A passing thought hits me like a truck. Why does this kid know so much? He said he’s an orphan, and I saw the town he was living in. He shouldn’t know so much about another race’s culture like this.
I narrow my eyes in suspicion. “Betton…” Pink tendrils shoot from my feet, and wrap around his scrawny legs. “How do you know all this?”
The boy’s face goes pale as his gaze flicks between his bound legs and my face. “I… I, uh…” He glances around at the nearby grass, like someone is going to appear and save him.
I walk up to him, and grab him by the chin, forcing him to meet my eyes. “Tell me, or I’ll remove a finger,” I say calmly.
He lets out a sigh. “Fine, alright? I’ll tell you…” I wait for him to explain, not backing off even a little. “My parents were part of a trading company, their caravan moved around a lot.” He pauses, his eyes going sad. “Then, in an attack on the caravan, they both got killed… Without my parents around, the company just left me in the town that you found me in. I’ve been there for years now.”
I sigh, annoyed. “That’s it? Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I… I did, but you changed the subject,” he says, confused.
I blink. Wait a second… did he just… Get me to care about his sad backstory?!
I glare at the child, releasing him. Without giving him another thought, I turn and head towards the stupid fucking tree.
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We follow a trail that winds along the side of the massive root. It’s more of a road than a trail, honestly, being made of nicely placed cobble and lit by small glowing crystals growing out of the nearby bark. Strangely the crystals only grow near the path, like the tree places them there for travelers.
After following the path, we come to the tall outer wall of a village. Shockingly, it's not near the trunk, instead lying between two particularly close roots. The wall blocks passage between the mountainous wood on either side of the path. Meaning we have to go through.
In the center of the log wall is a large metal gate, with lanterns hanging on either side. A guard stands on duty on both sides of the gray slats, although one is taking a nap it seems.
“Halt!” the one on the left yells as we approach. “State your business!”
I laugh quietly, but before I can say anything stu— fun, Betton cuts me off. “We’re just travelers, trying to find an inn to sleep in,” he yells to the guard.
The guard looks us up and down before motioning us forward. “Alright, come on.” As we get closer, the man’s eyes widen. “You’re just kids! What are you doing out here all by yourselves?” He looks between Betton and I worriedly.
I sigh. “We’re fine, I’m very capable.”
The man frowns, but doesn’t argue with me. “Very well… Open the gates!” he yells. The wooden frame of the wall instantly begins to groan as the metal slowly clatters upwards, revealing the town inside.
“The inn here is nice, Gladdy will take good care of you,” the man says with a genuine smile. I force my skin to not crawl at the man’s kindness.
“Thank you, sir,” Betton says with a huge grin. Then the boy pushes me past the guards, before I can say anything, presumably.
The stone road continues inside the wall, branching off into small alleys and side streets. Buildings made of stone and wood line the street, light glowing through the closed windows. Overall the town has a surprisingly nice feel to it.
It doesn’t take Betton long to find the inn, which is off the main road. Needless to say, without his help, I’d never have found it. My decision to keep him was clearly the right one.
As soon as we walk inside the building, I’m hit by the obnoxiously warm atmosphere. The mood is clearly cheery and homey, giving the whole place a nice and comfortable feeling. Hiding my scowl, I follow Betton’s lead.
He walks up to the bar, where a stout woman is chatting up one of the patrons, some ugly bald guy. My small guide sits down on one of the lopsided stools near the woman, so I follow suit. After a few minutes of chattering away happily with the baldie, the woman walks over to the two of us.
“Well, ello there, little ones! What brings you in here after dark?” she asks, all smiles. Betton mimics the woman’s toothy grin instantly, while I just frown at being called a ‘little one’.
“We just got into town, and are looking for a place to stay,” he explains cordially.
The woman nods her expansive head. “Why are tykes like you traveling alone though, dear?” she asks, concern in her voice.
I feel my eye twitch in irritation over the woman’s wording, and smile at the chance to scare her, but Betton somehow reads my mind.
“Don’t damage the bar this time, Alex,” the kid says, without losing his smile.
Frowning, I turn my hand into my now beloved scythe hand, making the woman’s eyes go wide. After letting her be afraid for a few seconds, I return the weapon to a much less useful hand.
“I see…” she says, a slight frown ruining her face. That doesn’t last long, however, and her massive grin pops back into place. “Well, I have plenty of room for you both to stay, would you like your own rooms?”
Betton and I nod simultaneously, which makes her laugh. “Very well, you both get a free meal with the room, so let me go get that!” Before either of us can respond, she waddles off into what is presumably the kitchen. Once the door clatters shut behind her large frame, I glare at Betton.
“I wanted to knife the bar…”