Chapter Three: Fall from grace
Cillia looked at the scenery, hills valleys, forests a town in the distance, the sky above a brilliant blue, that seemed to mock them from above. They were roughly eighty miles from their former village and near another where they would spread the word of Xinder’s invasion, if fortune were kind enough to cut them some slack. But at least they were safe they were all safe. She looked for Arth in the crowd. He wasn’t there…
She began to ask around but no one had seen him. There was a burst of sound and crack of light as Tallia appeared from thin air, she was crying. Cilia went to comfort her, it was heard to tell what she was saying something about Arth saving her. He hadn’t come through yet. She just needed to wait. Everything would be okay.
Then another flash of light as Naulo appeared on his knees weeping, fragments of a sword appearing about him. He bowed his head to the ground his fingers digging into the earth. Her stomach sank.
“I’m sorry!” he screamed striking his fists against the dirt.
“Naulo where’s Arth?” Cillia questioned kneeling down. Naulo looked up eyes red, panicked.
“He… He gave him self up. A cultivator attacked, he burnt down the church we tried to escape but the portal… we wouldn’t have been able to get away from here fast enough, he would have come through and killed us all. Arth. Arth stayed behind, he pushed me into the sigil and used my sword to break it. Arth gave himself up, He was burnt alive!”
Cillia fell to her knees as it felt like some dark hand of shadows had pulled her heart out of her chest, looking up to the sky. Arth was gone; that fragile little boy she always thought of as a brother, wise as he was annoying, constantly blithering on, so fragile and frail yet full of life… He was gone
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General Lufe Alv Xader
The little town of Gunmar was small; it would be insignificant if not for its strategic positioning. It stood right outside of the small pathway leading through the Andell mountains separating the empire and Yagore. General Lufe was a veteran of the minor war eighteen years ago, fought on the southern front, when he was still young, the small country of Yagore did not stand a chance against the empire or Jundore at least militaristically, but it was neutral grounds for both if one power attempted to take it the other power would aid in the suppression of foreign forces. Xinder had been pushed back many times, especially by the countries elite soldiers made the mix of cultivators and adventurers making them a deadly and versatile force.
Most of the General’s own forces had a strong, racial, hatred for adventurers. They were considered weak and foolish, they were short lived and existed only on there own whims. Lufe knew this to be true but he was also well aware of how frightening they could be and respected them for it.
Cultivators at the lower levels were stronger than adventurers of the same level. But it was harder to tell at higher levels who were stronger. Still it was not their strength that the General admired it was their adaptability. An adventurer’s strength is based entirely on their surroundings and more particularly the monsters around them. They would go and hunt monsters many times there level to train. Most Cultivators considered their training rigorous, and in terms of discipline the adventurers could not compare, but considering the pure terror of facing down opponents many times your skill and level having your comrades die besides you, delving into dungeons at the risk of ones own life; they were a mad bunch of bastards, they lived in fear and terror and they overcame it with ease, they did not fear death and so had no need to extend their lives like cultivators taking the safer path. Not that it mattered now, this village was destined to fall.
“What is the hold up?” He questioned dismounting his horse and approaching the soldier facing the church.
“They’ve erected a ward sir.” one of them replied saluting, placing a fist over his chest and a palm over the fist. He bowed slightly in apology.
“No matter.” Lufe sighed walking towards the barrier, the men bombarding it with attacks stopped to let him through. He placed a hand against the wall touching a thin invisible barrier. “Holy barrier, one would need a demonic or divine attack to brake it. However it does not reach into the ground by destroying the earth beneath you can shatter it with ease.” He declared raising a foot.
He brought it down upon the ground a wave of flames bursting out destroying not just the barrier but the door as well. Amid the smoke and the cardinal flames fluttering through the air. Lufe could see the figure of an old man with a cane carrying a child descending down the stairs.
He followed never rushing, a constant pace his feet droning as he moved. His men did not follow, they knew not to interfere with the man who led Xinder’s front line forces: General Xader The flame.
Lufe paused looking down a corridor the old figure disappearing. He pointed a finger down the stairwell a sea of flames blooming from his fingertips. They roared and burnt their path down engulfing everything. The General clucked, he’d been too impatient he’d burnt up all the oxygen and now would need wait for the air to stabilise.
After just under five minutes he continued down into the basement of sorts, probably some kind of bunker going by the layout. Adventurers always seemed to prepare for everything. But it was to quite… Crap
His mission had been to capture the town and not let anyone escape, simple really. But unless they’d all been vaporised by his flames he didn’t think that was likely. He sighed marching through the room. He could hear scrambling at the far end like a mad dog trying to let itself in the house. He approached. He was intrigued by what he saw: a young man clawing for life.
He whistled looking at the sigil drawn on the floor. Xinder never bothered using sigils it was considered insulting to forsake their own language for that of these adventurers. Xader had always thought that amusing. He watched as the young man, weak and frail bleeding from many wounds crawled forward. He was on the edge of death, stabbed through the shoulder, already sickly and sallow a desperate light in his eyes. Xader squatted between him and the portal, which had been shattered by a sword, which now lay in pieces. Though it appeared a fair portion had simply vanished.
“Teleportation… crafty” He smirked. He knew little of sigils but this one was certainly complicated, far to complex for war or a battle mage to have drawn, probably an enchanter or someone similar. The boy continued forward, in vain exertion. They boy was too frail.
“Boy I’ll heal you, if you give up.” Xader said. The boy looked at him with strange eyes. They looked through him like he wasn’t there like they saw his soul and judged him. He clucked his tongue, a clear no. He watched, as the boy grew closer to the circle. Now within inches he slammed his hand down his fingers reconnecting with the main portion of the circle. The sigil spluttered light and colour magical energy bursting forth. Not much, a low level, but enough to activate the circle if not control it. The boy was gone in a heartbeat.
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Xader laughed standing. The boy may not have been powerful, but just looking in his eyes Xader could tell…
The boy was strong.
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Arth Felcite
On reaching the sigil Arth had infused all the mana he could into the circle pushing far past him limits until he broke down, but it was enough to reconnect the circle. He remembered falling vaguely he appeared high in the air near a pounding waterfall and quickly fall into the lake below. His consciousness spluttering out like a candle caught amid the storm.
He awoke his head burning, his body aching, it felt like he was underwater. He assumed he had a concussion, he knew his body was broken; he didn’t even need to move to know the pain he would endure. I opened his eyes and looked up. Something was waiting for him. Looking up he saw a monster. Not much of a monster but still a monster. He saw a slime.
“Why hello.” he muttered wandering if the creature would deign to finish him off, put him out of his misery, not that such a creature had the necessary compassion for mercy. The Slime tilted its body as if questioning him, curious. Ignoring the pale red creature for the moment he began to wonder what it was he needed to do. He was currently alive, and that meant he hadn’t lost just yet. That was when the memory of the betrayal hit him.
It had been like a dream watching someone he considered a brother try to kill him… it was unthinkable. Tears welled in his eyes as he tried to understand what had happened. In the end it didn’t matter though, what could he do? Take revenge? He was far too weak for that.
So that was it huh, he’d get strong, and then he’d find out why Naulo had done it, why he’d been betrayed. Answers came second now though, he needed to survive. Moving his chest slightly to find his ribs broken from the fall he knew that his medicine box had vanished. Looking around him he saw the very same box lying in the sand a couple of metres away. He tried to move forwards to reach it. Pain exploded through his body. He would have screamed if he didn’t know how painful it would be to do so. He settled for a pained whimper. The Slime regarded him rolling along, a living ball of goo held together by a mana core. Taking a deep breath Arth swung out his arm. It dug into the sand and he used it to drag himself forward. Once, twice, so on. The pain went beyond words, until he was numb to it, his mind reaching a saturation point where it could no longer feel in an attempt to save his sanity.
It took nearly ten minutes for him to reach the box, dragging his body leaving a bloody wake in his path, quite literally. He pushed aside the latch with bent and broken fingers before reaching inside, his hands felt a gooey liquid. The potions were broken.
It was hopeless; as soon as hope lit a torch before him it grabbed it and shoved it right into his face. Fate was cruel; the God of chaos was cruel for bringing him into a world where this could happen.
No that wasn’t true, his old life was a testament to that, the world had always been cruel, it didn’t really matter which one did it. Still this world had so many things his old one did not, magic, mystery wonders. Sure there were evil wizards and monsters lurking around every corner, but that wonder was worth it. He wanted to live, to see the world, become an adventurer and show that jackass god what he was made off.
“I’m going to live.” He croaked.
The slime jiggled as if applauding him for his resolve, he shot it a glare, and the stupid creature began to role around in a circle. Now he had a choice to make: one: enter the forest and crawl about hoping either the monsters their ignored him thinking he was a diseased corpse. Or two: drink the mixture, which could heal him, although even if he were healed he wouldn’t have healed correctly. It be deformed and would need to purposely brake and attempt to set his bones before drinking more again.
One led to near certain death, the other to certain agonising torment. He chose the latter option, at the expense of his sanity; he’d receive his life.
Bringing his lips to the mixture of many shades and colours that ended up predominantly yellow he drank from the box attempt to keep from cutting his lips. Pain lanced up his body. He’d ingested an unknown amalgamation of potions; he had no idea what the end result would be. Although it was quite simple. His stamina mana and health were recovered, but while health potions mended only flesh there appeared to have been potions for mending bones mixed in as well. The pain was agonising as he fell onto his back spasms rushing up and down his body, his mind felt like it was being ripped apart by unseen hands. He screamed thrashing in the sand. His health was dropping lower and lower from his original ten points to a measly three. The red slime was rolling about like a mix between a rubber ball and a snail. Within two minutes he lost consciousness.
When he awoke it was night; the stars above shone brightly, they were truly wonderful even lying there infirm his body aching with pain. He crawled into an upright position looking at his body. His ankle and arm had set but the joints hadn’t reset properly and had become somewhat like a mass of bone, He’d need to brake and reset them now. But first he’d have to take another sip of that mixture and hope this time he’d survive.
Of course while all this was happening the slime just sat there watching him in wonder? Humans were tough. Slimes were almost indestructible (apart from their core) and just by watching this human a creature without a sense of pain could sympathise. Of course the slime was constantly being distracted by birds and flowers and other things like worms and grubs; still it was drawn to this human who wasn’t quite a human.
Morning came and went with Arth just lying there staring up at the sun hoping death would be swift when it came. He recounted everything he had once again; one box full of murder medicine, one set of ruined bloody clothes (partially burnt), one scalpel, two halves of a belt that had broken during his fall, three healing potions (that he definitely should have remembered and used earlier) and last but not least a rapidly failing hope for the future.
He reset his bones a couple of times with better results each attempt: still he was deformed. His shoulder was raised too high making him lop shouldered. His ankle twisted his broken ribs jutting slightly outwards giving him a skeletal appearance, while his front was drenched in blood and back covered in burns, his complexion sallow and his hair matted. He wouldn’t blame someone for mistaking as some kind of undead.
He looked up at the early sky, clouds of a feeble white trailing along in the otherwise empty sky. The forest seemed quite except for the drone of the bugs and the rustling of the leaves, it felt lonely. Arth knew he had to move, his body ached with an ungodly pain but that wouldn’t stop him. Then he noticed it, in the corner of his vision a small icon similar flaring, a picture of two hands clasped together. Confused he reached upwards his limbs shaking as he did, he probably had nerve damage either from the fall or the potion. He clasped them together unsure of what to expect. A display appeared in front of him.
Congratulations!
You Have received the title Deifier of death
This title signifies a person who is able to survive what should have killed them. To overturn fate and influence the future.
Vitality +5
Endurance +3
Value of all vitality points +10%
Warning!
You have ingested an unknown potion. The affects are as follows:
Improper healing
Vitality – 1
Endurance - 1
Sickness prone
Vitality – 1
Organ damage
Vitality – 1
Endurance -1
Speed – 1
Nerve damage
Dexterity - 1
Warning!
Due to one of your stats reaching 0 you suffer the penalty (Null)
Any actions requiring this stat are guaranteed to fail.
Arth chuckled to himself looking at the multitude of windows. He laughed, his chest racking blood staining his mouth. Two steps forward and one step back. Still his vitality was higher, enough that he could survive, his speed had literally fallen to zero.
He looked towards the woods and wondered, How and if he would survive and where that would lead him. He wanted answers, not just from the god who had brought him here but also from the brother who had betrayed him. He wanted to know. And to know first he would have to make it through those woods.
He chuckled looking down at the lake, his weary body finding his cane waiting for him on the sure. A trusty friend. He smiled taking it up and standing. He began to move forwards his body aching as he moved a small smile on his lips. There was a strange sound below him the slime waving and shaking towards him. He smirked down at the little creature
“You coming to?” He questioned. The slime made no response just looked up at him. In the end he decided to move on the creature following behind. Eh he could just use it as a waste disposal or a distraction if worst came to worst.
He smiled as he moved into the woods a new goal set in mind. He find his brother and he’d get the answers he needed through any means necessary.