Benny laughed. He did a lot of that, Tyr observed. They hadn't spent much time together before this, but in such close confines it was hard not to observe things. Benny and his team, mixed with Tyr and 'his' own. The sudden leadership thrust on him by the others. Not that there was much to lead, they were all fairly self sufficient. And he was absolutely confident they'd tell him to fuck off if he tried to boss them around.
“See?” He said, still laughing. “This isn't so bad!” Monsters of any real form had long stopped appearing. Some influence of the unstable gateway. Most that appeared were vaguely humanoid, fleshy things. Uncomfortably familiar, in Tyr's opinion. The others were stilted and wrong. Four legged mockeries of various animals. Horses with the heads of snakes. Scaled bison. Dogs covered in porcupine quills. Small and large, but each stranger and more insidious than the last. The monster population of a dungeon or astral space, according to Abe, was theorized to be 'one'. An amalgam of sentient mana. Like... Anima elementals? Not a hive mind, but their conglomerate of life energy came from a single whole.
Broken up too many times, and too fast, coupled with the unstable mana of the gateway – and their original form was lost. Even their instinct. Less aggressive monsters became ravening horrors. Beings stuck in a loop of incredible pain and forced to run to their deaths again and again. Hundreds of times, perhaps. It had been twelve days, and the tide was fairly consistent. Thankfully, there was no shortage of adventurers in the republic. Still, many had died. More adventurers had perished in the conflict than had originally been stationed in Aurora since Tyr had arrived. Five hundred or so. Not a small thing, considering the minimum to enter the city by normal means was steel rank.
“See? This isn't so bad!”
Ah... Benny was talking to me...
“Why do you say that?” Tyr frowned. He wasn't sure how he felt. Fit to bursting still, but the relief wouldn't come. Like a balloon full of too much air, he felt the change coming but for some reason it just wouldn't happen. No matter how many monsters he killed. It was incredibly uncomfortable, resulting in his mood shifting south at an alarming pace, but he tried to keep it together. For the others. And for Benny's team as well.
“We'll all be rich at the end of this. I don't care what they say. We've got over twenty dimensional storage artifacts full of loot. I'll wait years to sell it if I have to, this is insane.” He was right. Ripping his battle axe from the flank of a 'shark-duck' the size of a horse. Perhaps a horse, shark, duck? Things were confusing. It was better not to dwell. Regardless, the loot tally had indeed never stopped for any of the groups. Tyr's own ring was at least five to ten times larger in capacity than anything they'd find in the city. Imperial rights and all of that. A family heirloom and the only one he'd kept. Once upon a time he'd been told it could only be used to carry water, and... That's exactly what he'd used it for, even after he had become experienced with dimensional artifacts. It was a source of great embarrassment.
In any event, his was full. As were the other three he normally carried. The amulet and two rings. So he'd acquired more, and they'd been filled as well. Every kill in the chamber was 'tagger' with fair consistency, so people got credit for their kills. Between waves, loot was divvied up properly by attendant guild personnel. What they called 'supporters'.
“Oh?” Tyr asked, amused – and not for the first time at Benny's constant rambling. He always talked. Talked a lot. Liked to hear the sound of his voice, perhaps, but Tyr didn't begrudge him. When his flank was open – Benny's axe was there. If not his axe, then Kirk's claws or a quick enchantment from the human mage on their team. Working in concert with the others and always supporting. Never seeing them as competition, as the other adventurers did with both their group and all others. Everyone was greedy, but not Benny's team. They'd gotten what they came for, and that was good enough. The fight was just a nice bonus. Some of them even believed in their 'duty', same as the dwarf from the Hunter's who'd lingered about. “And what do you plan on using all of these riches for?”
Benny mused for a moment. Fighting was slow. Most of the gaps were easily covered by the spear wielding guards of Aurora. Weaker than the average adventurer, but they made up for it in tactics and numerical advantage. Regimented and disciplined as one might expect. “Hmm... Perhaps I'll buy brother Tyr a book on sword fighting so that he might learn to be more aware of his surroundings.”
“...Huh?” Not much point in questioning it. Tyr looked down to find that his arm was missing, laying some two meters away. Limp and lifeless on the ground. Covered in blood as they all were. “I'm...” He coughed, seemingly unconcerned. There was a 'ceiling' to the pain he felt. He was sure of it, sometimes he barely felt it at all. It was strange, and contextual. A pinch from Jura who'd finally stopped smacking him about the head was painful enough for him to react. And yet, a lost arm seemed no big trouble. An itching discomfort. “I'm just tired.” He excused himself with that. Plucking his arm from the ground and slamming it into place with a wet squelch just long enough to reattach to his torso.
Much to the disgust of many around him. It sounded nice, you know? The idea that one could simply 'heal'. But healing was often grotesque, and this was no exception. The clicking, grinding, slurping noise as his body repaired itself. Air pockets expelled through reattached veins and arteries, the carpet of squirming muscle fibers...
The other adventurers in the place hadn't quite gotten use to that. But the unique abilities of adventurers and those like them were just that – unique. Some combination of spira and mana could create rather bizarre abilities. Things that shouldn't, at least via the current knowledge of magical phenomena, exist. They didn't know about the spira, but they knew about that, so while shocking – they took it in stride. They still stared, though. As they always did. Some of them hatefully, thinking about lost friends that may have benefited from such an ability. Mostly humans, people without the obvious advantages experiences by 'half-breeds'.
“Tired.” Benny scoffed. “Always looking forward. No awareness. Like you've blinders on – if my mother saw you fight she'd laugh at you. Might beat you, honestly. She is a very violent woman.”
Tyr wasn't sure what to say. “I hope I don't meet her, then...?”
“Not likely.” Benny replied, dragging what monsters he found living out of the corpse piles ringing the hall and beating a stake into their head. Never missing a beat. Cool and composed. “She's long dead, rest her.”
“I'm sorry.” Tyr was again, not sure what to say. “I didn't mean to--”
“To what?” Benny turned around, eyebrow raised. The red lines on the skin of his face, like bloody tears, seemed so vivid and alive in the atmosphere. A strange thing. Seemed to glow with a nigh imperceptible light amidst all the blood and carnage and violence. “She lived hard, and died hard too. And that's the way the 'warborn' want it. I have seven mothers, brother. Six still alive as far as I know. We do not grieve. Only celebrate and witness.”
“That's a lot of birthdays.” Tyr mumbled. It was always a bit jarring when he realized he was forced to realize he wasn't speaking to a human. Projecting his own ways on others seemed so natural Of course they wouldn't live by his customs and traditions and he felt like an idiot every time. But he couldn't see them as anything more than equals, so it seemed inevitable.
“Birthdays?” Benny asked, looking back again at a particularly grisly collection of a monster corpse. The cleaner teams arrived to turn them all into the black dust. Mana rich material that could be refined into synthetic crystals or used in manatite refinement. “What's that?”
“It's uh...” Tyr coughed. “The day that you are born. Humans hold a celebration of it. A 'birth day'. A party, sometimes.”
“Ah. Interesting.” Benny said. “We do not hold to that custom, but it sounds fun, eh?” He looked to Kirk in askance.
“You do not have birthdays?” Kirk asked, confused. The stalks upon which his eyes were held twitched in nervous discomfort. “Barbarians...” He mumbled. Though he never stopped the grim work of his claws plying through corpses to find any and all unlooted bodies.
Tyr shrugged. “Haven't celebrated mine for years. Not since...” He stopped then, but Benny didn't press and neither did Kirk. The man would hearken back at times. Glazed in the eyes. Not since his mother died, is what he wanted to say, thankful that he wasn't made to say it.
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Instead, Benny would speak. He was clever, kind, and a consummate leader. A good friend, too, always so thoughtful. Almost a complete opposite of Tyr in every way. “I've always liked fishing, you know?”
“Fishing?” Tyr asked. Flipping another body with the help of Kirk. It held no loot, so they cast it into the cleaners pile. A gangly, bony frame with six limbs and a tentacled face like an octopus.
“Mmm.” Benny nodded. “There is something calm and relaxing about the open sea. Wind in my hair, pole in my hand. I'll buy a ship with my haul, you asked me what I'd use it all for. Go exploring, maybe. Fishing in between.”
“No more fighting?” Tyr asked. Benny seemed to love it so much, as all kijin supposedly did. They lived to war and reave. Or at least, that's what the stereotypes indicated.
“No more fighting.” Benny smiled. “Never much liked it in the first place, don't get me wrong – I love it, but I don't think it's my purpose. Plenty of men and others around who are all too excited to walk about harming and killing things without me jumping into the queue. 'Course... Monster slaying does have its perks. All the women and other benefits. But I'll be a man of the sea, soon. You should come with me. Me, you, and Kirk. Returning to the great water that all life sprung from. What do you say?”
Tyr snorted, thinking about the seasickness that had kept him glued to the side of a ship for hours. He'd be perfectly happy never stepping on another boat again, wondering if he could swim across the hatchet himself... “I'll think about it.”
–
Someone was shaking him, strong but gentle. Two calloused hands wrapping around his shoulder and pulling him from the floor when he refused to respond. So tired. So incredibly tired. A rug that had been beaten free of dust ten times too many. That's how his head felt, at least. Every muscle fiber in his body was strained to a maximum he hadn't thought possible given his constitution. “Time to get up, brother.”
Benny's voice. Tyr jerked awake, gripping his sword with white knuckles. Until his arm was yanked uncomfortably by another strong hand significantly smaller in comparison. Tyr turned toward the figure at his rear with a snarl. Jura flinched back and cast him a disapproving look. “Relax, don't go drawing that thing and swinging it about just because you woke up on the wrong side of the... The floor?”
“Sorry.” Tyr replied, pointing two fingers towards his mouth and only belatedly realizing he wasn't wearing the spellbreakers. Resulting in a gout of fire, not water, shooting into his mouth and down his throat. Thankfully, it wasn't much more than a brief discomfort. His own magic didn't hurt him, which was common among mages, just a bit of pain here and then. The others gave him a look, but said nothing else. Few adventurers were willing to provoke the silver ranker constantly throwing himself at the front lines. They could do without the mess he made and the talking in his sleep, but he wasn't alone in that. Rarely slept, anyways. A few quirks in personality were not so bad a trade-off considering the utility of a front line melee combatant keeping the mages and healers alive.
That didn't mean they were friends. Tyr rubbed people... Perhaps not the wrong way, but it certainly wasn't right. Made them uncomfortable, some said. Even the few gold rankers present in the tunnel felt the same. A complete disregard for injury was bound to make anyone nervous. That kind of cold brutality was rare in so young a man, constantly staring at people and almost getting into fights because of it.
“How'd that taste?” Benny asked, brow raised. Tyr glared at him before opting to drink from a canteen instead. The water was tepid and stale, but it did the job. He'd made the mistake of wearing his enchanted vessel for water on his hip, leading to it being destroyed.
“What's happening?” Tyr asked, leaning against the wall and wishing he had something for the headache pounding in his skull. Honestly, he probably did, but sorting through dimensional rings wasn't easy when he'd refrained from labeling or identifying anything. And right now, he didn't feel like rummaging through corpses, both beast and human, around so many people.
People that were currently leaving the tunnel in orderly lines. Despite the fact that the astral gate was very much active. Covered in a sheet of earth, this time. A true archmage present to cast it and keep it stable. For now.
“Getting the hell out of here, I reckon.” Benny shrugged. “Not our problem anymore, see?” He tilted his head to a group of armored men and women. Similarly dressed to the various paladins present, like Lina and her Knights of the Blue Rose. Or... Was it Order of the Blue Rose? Tyr didn't really care, they were all shills and not one of them was worth the gold spent on the armor they wore. Not once had he seen any of these 'champions of humanity' stand shoulder to shoulder with he, Benny, and Girshan while they fought. Most had already left the place. Now, only Lina and a handful of juniors remained.
Dressed like her and her men, but different. The armor of these new paladins had harsher lines. Blackened plate about the torso with long skirts of cloth and chain hanging from their waist. Plated boots and hands, snug pauldrons and all the cloth between them was blood-red. A familiar look, only slightly different than the paladins of Indura that Tyr had killed. Paladins, at least five or six of them. Thirty or so squires, though. More than an entire chapter house in a major city was like to contain.
“It's not nice to glare, little brother.” Someone said. An older man with long hair of a similar color to lacquered cherry wood. Reddish brown and glossy like a woman's. If not for the plentiful stubbly about his jaw, he might've appeared as one. A beautiful man, with armor fit tightly to his athletic frame. Built for a deadly purpose, not to look good. Though it was worth noting that the symbols of their house and god were glistening and gilded about their sternum and gorget, the only obvious decoration present on their war gear. “Never seen a priest of the flame before, eh?”
“Oh.” Tyr stared back at the man. Beautiful, but hard. His eyes were like twin orbs of cherry red coals cooling in a dead forge. An unnatural hue for a human. Blessed by his god, most like. “I've seen plenty of your kind.” He made to leave but the man stopped him. Or rather, his raised hand brought a cordon of his juniors tight in a circle to prevent their passage out of the tunnel.
“Tyr Faeron.” The man nodded slowly. “Big bounty on your head, I hear. Eighty crowns dead, one hundred and twenty alive. A kings ransom, though I suppose I'd expect no less the cost for the head of a bastard princeling. Could make a man rich beyond belief, more benefits beside for those in the churches.”
“The only person you'll be killing today.” Tyr replied coldly. “Is yourself. If you do not make way.” His hand rested gently on the sword belted to his waist. And he wanted to use it. He'd exhausted himself and the nails were set so deep in his eyes he couldn't see much beyond the red haze hanging at the edges of his vision. As red as the tabards of these men and women. “Lots of paladins have come for me. I'll send you to the black, and you can finally greet those gods of yours.”
The man frowned. Glaring back at Tyr with those red orbs of his, hand resting on the hammer hanging at his waist. Noticeably more relaxed, but his body was as taut as any spring Tyr had ever seen. Equally ready for a blooding if it came to it. Perhaps he wanted it, too.
“Tyr.” Girshan warned, his hand shook roughly from the young mans shoulder. Tyr locked his gaze onto the paladin before him and refused to back away. “These are paladins of the flame, boy. You'll kill us all.”
Then, the paladins frown turned and split. Erupting into booming laughter. Joined by his fellows who seemed party to some jest that Tyr was not. Only when it settled down did his face grow hard again. But his eyes remained amused. Twinkling with firelight. “Hard man. This is how we honor Him. To challenge and be challenged. Unfortunately, I am unable to accept your wager, though I'd like to. Don't confuse us with Lady Indura's hounds, we are not paladins nor inquisitors. We are warrior priests of Astarte. Those two in the back are Agni's, but it's all the same to us. Father and son.”
Tyr tilted his head, frowning himself. “You're not here to collect the bounty on my head? Or even angry that I've killed so many of your brethren?”
“Brethren?” The warrior priest in charge scoffed. “Hardly. Sending gangs of men about to hunt down a single boy is bad enough, losing so many of them just makes it worse. What a mess they've made for all of us, we of the flame do not begrudge fair combat. And less, we are not bounty hunters. All we seek is battle and challenge, conflicts of equity. To do the bidding of our lord is our life's work, and while we are often paid for it, we do this for Him, not for some fop of a noble or cardinal that's felt a slight offense. We've a task to tend to, you've earned yourself a break, child.”
Before Tyr could ask any further questions, the man and his retinue swept by him. A few among them nodded to Tyr respectfully. Men of Haran, he'd have thought based on their green eyes, none of them carried the same gift that their leader did. Men and women with some sense. Their chain skirts rattling in a hushed twinkle as they marched in perfect order down the hall and planted themselves before the stone barrier blocking the astral gate.
“Brave.” Girshan exhaled. “Brave idiot.”