Kredevel stood silently as he learned the full story of what had happened.
Apparently, when a group of his fellow Sylvans had tried to capture and corral a large group of new Denizens towards a pack of hungry Brighthorns, they had been interrupted. Somehow, the humans had not only freed themselves, they had also been able to call upon a Duskshell to assist them.
“If those fools could get killed by some humans, maybe they deserved it,” the Floor Lord said with a distasteful look on his face.
The Sylvan in the lead, Airsten, looked a little horrified that their superior could hold such disparaging views of his own subjects. “My lord!”
Kredevel held himself back from shaking his head. These naïve youth had no idea about the Floor Lord’s reputation.
“Ha!” the human in chains shouted. “That’s what you bastards deserve! Death.”
Instead of dignifying the retort with an answer, the Floor Lord walked over and started pulling out the man’s innards. A thin tube that appeared a light red in colour stretched out as the man screamed.
Lord Olgolair tore off a chunk of the tube, leaving the rest to dangle and drip blood, balling the torn-off length and throwing it hard for the large Brighthorn to chase.
The man continued screaming.
“There is some factor you’re missing,” the Handler said as he returned. “I don’t believe the excuse that the humans were diverse enough to possess a skill for both freeing themselves from Mana-disabling chains and calling upon a Duskshell of all things. At the levels that you report? Nearly impossible.”
Kredevel had to agree with that assessment. That the humans had freed themselves entirely on their own would have been their only possible conclusion, but there was one detail that led to a different possibility.
“The Feathered Imps,” the Floor Lord said. “You said the evidence of their presence was only upon the Brighthorn bodies?”
“No, my lord.” Airsten was not happy at all to be the bearer of bad news. He was fidgeting where he stood. “It is the other way around. From our inspection, the Brighthorns with the group who had captured the humans were attacked and killed by the Feathered Imps. Nothing else.”
The Floor Lord cursed. “Monsters.” He flung another withering look at Kredevel. “I want you to shift priorities, Kredevel. Don’t destroy the Marauder’s Caves just yet. I want you to investigate the whole situation and report back your findings as soon as you can.”
Kredevel bowed stiffly. “Of course, my lord.”
“What of us, my lord?” the last Sylvan, Vrayne, asked.
“You will take more Brighthorns. Set them to find these escaped humans. Make sure to corral the humans and subdue them if they dare to harm the Brighthorns.”
Kredevel really wanted to point out that the Brighthorns would never be harmed if the Floor Lord didn’t send them out. If he hadn’t put them up to this insane challenge. No wonder so many of them were coming back wounded. Even dead.
But Olgolair cared more about bringing his brutal fist down on the new Denizens than the wellbeing of their beloved Brighthorns. Their “safety” was simply another tool for his sadism.
Sadly, Kredevel was not yet in a position to make such thoughts known.
One day, though.
The other Sylvans excused themselves to see to their order. Olgolair retained Kredevel before he left too, however.
“Kredevel,” he said. “You were about to make an excuse, yes? About meeting someone in the tutorial? And is it not this same tutorial from whence these deplorable monsters came and attacked us?”
Kredevel had been trying to not to think too hard about that line of logic, but clearly, the Floor Lord had other ideas. “Yes, my lord.”
“Then you know what to find. This is your objective, Kredevel—find the human who took this tutorial and bring his head to me. I can already see how that insignificant worm is going to harm our operations here. End him before he can cause further troubles.”
He left the last part out, but Kredevel understood it all the same.
Before he calls down a Paragon.
Kredevel was still for a while. There was so much he wished he could have said at that moment. But Olgolair, Lord of the First Floor, was in one of his moods. There was no room except for blind obedience.
Unless one wished to experience the same as their tied-up human a few handspans away.
“Of course.” Kredevel bowed. “My lord.”
----------------------------------------
Derrick sniffed. He breathed in deep. Odours wafted into his nose. Sweat, blood, the burning of meat somewhere in the distance. Ah, the delightful smells of effort.
He could live off just that smell.
“They won’t listen to reason, sir,” Ken said. “We kept telling them, trying to convince them, but they still think we’re wrong.”
Derrick snorted. Ken wasn’t the tall, handsome guy’s real name. Derrick didn’t remember what it was anymore, and Derrick really didn’t give a shit anyway. Ken looked like a pristine little action figure, and whether he had his Barbie or not, he was now “Ken” to everybody in the Wild Tides Faction.
“You were trying to get them to agree?” Derrick leaned forward where he sat against the rock. Above him, the Base Node glowed with a white light, brighter than any of the fires his followers could ever light up. “Even if they don’t believe it?”
Ken recoiled back. He looked he could shit himself any minute then. “No, sir. Not at all. I—we were just trying to show them the right way forward.”
Derrick held a hand up for silence. He had heard enough. These dumb fucks would never learn.
“I want you to round them up and bring them to communal fire after dinner,” Derrick said. “We’ve entertained them and their stupid notions long enough. Now, there’s no place for them here anymore. And make sure you tell Bellamy to get the scaffolding ready. Got it?”
Ken saluted, the end of his red armband flapping. His hand trembled, but it was a little less than yesterday. Some improvement. “Got it, sir.”
“Good. Now get out. You’re blocking my view.”
Ken ran off. With that nuisance gone, Derrick was free to enjoy the vista before him. A wonderful sight where the whole ragtag little army he had assembled was slowly coming together. Dinner was brought to him soon. A round of monster meat with a side of blood sauce and some water they had purchased through the Base Node.
Derrick enjoyed the meal and enjoyed watching everyone else in his growing band enjoying their meals too. They were going to need their strength for what was to come next. An army marches on its stomach.
About an hour after dinner, a group of his personal guard brought over the dissenters. The captives were kind of hazy in his vision. Unformed. Barely real.
That was the way things had always been. Things and people—and in this case, these men could barely be called people—were never distinct to him unless they meant something. Unless they were worthy of his regard.
“You’re going to fail, Derrick,” one of the tied-up men said. “You can’t fight and survive here like this. The System wants us to climb the Tower. This whole floor is inhospitable. It’ll chew you up and spit you out. We need to move.”
“Shut up,” Derrick said.
His voice was quiet, but he put in enough menace in it to make them stop their blubbering.
He let them stew that way for a while. Just to put them in their place. They really thought they were worth his time? That they could convince him with their lies? Dumb fuckers.
“Alright, enough of this.” Derrick got to his feet. He tamed his long, dark beard with a stroke of his hand, then made sure his cloak covered him right. “Bring them along,” he said as he got moving.
His personal guard dragged the dissenters along behind him. They protested, vocally, but a few jabs from his guards shut them up real quick.
Derrick didn’t stop until he had reached the rise from which he always addressed his army. There was no night or day on this forsaken floor, so he would always be visible to his men and women. No one couldn’t not look at him.
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He raised his hand high. “Comrades!” he shouted, making sure he caught the last of the attention that were yet to fall upon him. His Projection skill magnified his words. “Who are we?”
The answers came in pieces, patchwork replies that weren’t at all up to snuff.
“Louder,” he demanded. “Altogether. What are we? Who are we?”
“We’re the Wild Tides!” they all shouted back.
Derrick smiled slowly. “That’s right. We’re the Wild Tides who’ll sweep this entire floor. Who’ll flood and take over the Tower of Forging. And to do that, we need to believe in ourselves. We need to believe in our purpose. The purpose of ruling this Tower.” He paused for a moment, letting the reminder sink in. “Now, why do we have this purpose?”
The answers were again patchwork, but more than the words, it was the feeling he wanted to listen to this time. And that emotion was loud and clear. Evident in all his followers.
“That’s right,” Derrick shouted. “If we don’t take this Tower for ourselves, we’ll all be eradicated. How many have we lost already? How many of our friends have already fallen to the monsters? To get us the food, the shelter—the Base—that we so enjoy freely? We cannot let their sacrifice be in vain. We cannot stray from our paths. We cannot fail.”
He turned viciously to the dissenters who had been dragged in. “These men here. They would have you forget your purpose. They would have us stray from our glorious paths. They are not with us. They are our enemies. Do you know why, my comrades?”
The answer started slow, from only a few mouths, but then, they were all yelling it out. “If you aren’t with us, you’re against us.”
Derrick’s smile was the widest it had been all day. “Yes. If you aren’t with the Wild Tides, you’re against the Wild Tides. Simple as that.” He nudged his head towards the contraption a few yards away. “Hang them up.”
The guards complied. They knew by now not to hesitate. Otherwise, they’d be replaced quicker than Derrick could say “get out”. The dissenters all shouted and begged, of course, but Derrick had gotten quite good at ignoring the whimpering, pitiful noises. They were no more distinct now than their appearances were.
Derrick didn’t bother watching the stupid animals being strung up on their makeshift gallows. It worked. That was good enough. He would need to congratulate Bellamy for a job well done with its construction using nothing but giant monster bones.
What Derrick watched instead were the faces of his followers.
He noted the ones who looked away, the ones who grew pale, the ones who disapproved one way or another. Some weeding would be needed.
After all, if they weren’t with the Wild Tides—in mind, body, and soul—they were against the Wild Tides.
“This,” Derrick said, his voice booming over the group. “This is the fate of all who oppose us. The fate of all who would dare stand against us. We have sacrificed blood, sweat, and tears to build a life for ourselves, to construct a home for our future, and we won’t let anyone stand in our way. If you aren’t with us…”
His followers, his faithful, dutiful, spellbound followers, answered, “You’re against us!”
Derrick held his smile as he left. He didn’t have to make any effort to do so. He was pleased. It came naturally. With the dissenters taken care of, hope filled him. Derrick knew his purpose. To guide the faithful flock to the peak and destroy everything in their way. That was what the Paragon had ordained. He couldn’t fail.
Not when he had an entire Tower to conquer.
----------------------------------------
Ray stretched when he awoke, feeling more rested and refreshed than he had in a long while. It was even better than when he had taken a break with Maya, Dory, and Randall. Maybe it was because there was a greater sense of accomplishment with his current rest. A fulfilling feeling, after having rescued Gritty’s bigger group.
But his good mood was soured pretty soon.
“Hey.”
The call made Ray turn to see a familiar big, gruff man walking over with a spear in hand. He looked like he wouldn’t have minded stabbing Ray in the guts with the spearhead. With a short start, Ray realized this was the guy who had first protested the Imps taking away the Sylvans’ corpses. “We’re having a meeting. You’ve been asked to join.”
Oh, so that was how it was going to be. No introductions. No greetings. Straight business. “Meeting?” Ray asked. “For what? And who are you?”
The big man frowned. “I’m Tyler, the Fist. And are you dumb? The meeting’s for what we’re going to do from now on, what else?”
Ray stretched again. Ah, yes. That felt good. It made a small vein pop on the man’s forehead. Even better. “I think I’ll pass. I’ve got something I need to take care of, so I’ll be heading out now. But I’ll be in touch, in case you guys need anything.”
The man’s grip on his spear tightened. “So you’re just going to run, huh? Figures.”
“What’s your problem? I said I have business to take care of—”
“You think whatever stupid shit you need to do is more important than what’s going on here? We’re your fucking faction, man. The meeting we’re having is the most important thing you could possibly be doing. No business comes before that.”
Ray’s hackles rose so high, he was pretty sure they were off the charts. This was exactly what he had hated about the idea of joining up with any Factions.
People depending on him, relying on him, expecting things from him to the point of being stupidly entitled about it. People who needed to learn that he didn’t owe them shit.
People who needed to learn their place.
With a deep, mastering breath, Ray turned away. “Whatever, man. I’m heading off. Like I said, I’ll be in touch.”
The hand that landed on his shoulder was heavy with undeserved authority. “I’m not done. You think scum like you can just show up, do what you want, and then run off and sell yourself to some other Faction? Is that what you are, huh? A mercenary? Don’t you have any sense of loyalty?”
Ray twisted around, shoved the idiot back with one hand, working really hard to stop himself from doing anything worse. “Who hurt your sorry ass, pal? Stop taking out your trauma on me.”
The man’s face turned apoplectic. Before he could do anything stupid, Ray activated Primal Summons to pull up his wings.
“See you,” Ray said. “Tell Maya I’ll be back soonish. Actually, on second thought, I can do that on my own.”
Without giving a single shit for what the man’s response might have been, Ray flew off.
He sent off a message through the party chat to Maya. Ray might not be a part of the meeting in the way she probably wanted, but he could weigh in on things all the same.
Ray: Are you holding a meeting right now?
It took a minute or so before she replied. In that time, Ray had put enough distance that the broken down keep looked like nothing more than a smudge in the distance. He dismissed his wings and walked on. No need to waste any more Mana.
Maya: Yes. They’re trying to come up with a name. Right now, everyone’s settled on Insurge Faction.
Ray: Insurge, huh? Sounds rebellious.
Maya: Will you be joining us?
Ray: Uh… I’m already gone, lol. Sorry.
Another pause. Ray could imagine Maya sighing.
Maya: I suppose it would mostly be too boring for you anyway. We’re dealing with stuff like infrastructure, potential food sources, scouting missions, and so on.
That wasn’t exactly boring, per se, but Ray didn’t want to be in charge of those things. Those were for the Faction to figure out. But he did have advice that might help.
Ray: I’ll take care of your food problem. We need Mana fruits, basically, and I think I might have a way of securing a steady supply of them. So long as we can keep our supply hidden from the Sylvans. Other than that, you should probably focus on getting stronger. Scout out nearby dungeons, see which ones you can clear.
Maya: Oh, wow. I wasn’t expecting you to come out and say, “I’ll take care of the food issue myself”.
Ray laughed.
Ray: Part of it I’m doing for myself. That it helps the Faction too is a nice side benefit.
Maya: Oh, of course. Regardless, I’m grateful, and I’m sure everyone else will be too. And we’re planning on some dungeon runs too. Keep up a rotating mix of patrol, a guard, and a team focused on clearing dungeons to grow stronger.
Ray: That’s a good plan. Just let me know if you come across any more Sylvans.
It took a little while before Maya replied. He supposed he ought to not to be disturbing her during the meeting. Maybe she was even telling everyone else the “good news” that their food problem might not be a problem much longer.
If Ray’s plan worked out.
Maya: We will. Good luck, and take care of yourself. Don’t hesitate to call us if you need anything.
Ray: Yes, mom.
They cut off the chat. Good thing too. Ray was almost at a location he could sense another Duskshell.
As he had chatted, he had surveyed the lands surrounding the Base to see if there were any of the gigantic monsters still alive nearby. A mixture of quick walking and a few bursting flights with his wings had led him over five different groves of sinuous, dark trees.
Gritty: Ha, I finally figured this thing out.
Ray: What the hell?!
Ray had come to a record-scratch halt when the chat window had popped in out of nowhere. A part of him was glad he hadn’t collided with a tree mid-flight. Another part was confused.
Gritty: Did I surprise you?
Ray: You could say that. Hold on, you’re not coming after me, are you?
Ray looked around, suddenly fearful he would see a blood-drenched punk girl burst out from behind a dark, undulating tree with a psychotic grin on her face. Also, was there a setting or something he could toggle to stop letting random people open a chat with him?
Gritty: Oh, you’re one of those shits who think the world revolves around them, aren’t you?
Ray: No. No, I’m just suspicious of someone who barged into my chat with no warning. This is an entirely reasonable reaction.
Somehow, he could feel her eyes rolling.
Gritty: Listen. You’ve left them, haven’t you?
Ray: So have you, I’m assuming.
Gritty: Correct. I got monsters to kill. More importantly, I’ve got Sylvans to kill.
Ray: But I bet me killing them for you is the last thing you want. So, what’s up?
Gritty: Well, if you’d let me finish. I’m going dungeon-hunting, right? Well, that ain’t the only thing I’m doing. I’m people-hunting too. If you see anyone who runs away from you, don’t let them get away easily, alright?
Ray: What are you talking about? You’re saying there’s people who ran away from our Faction? Why?
Gritty: Dunno. But I suspect they’ve got ulterior motives that might be worth finding more out about. Before we ran into you guys, before we even got captured by the Sylvans, we had a couple of people leave our group secretly. Next day, we had Sylvans attacking us and threatening… well, you know.
Ray: Ah…
Gritty. Yeah. So, friendly warning. Keep your eye out for anyone you recognize.
With that Gritty cut off the chat. If only Ray had received that warning before he had left the group. He could still pass it off to Maya, which he proceeded to do, leaving the implication unsaid.
There were, potentially, people in their own group who were selling them out. If Gritty could be trusted.
Though, that also reminded him of that Fist’s actions. Tyler. Had he been suspicious of Ray for this reason? Sure, he had been dick, and Ray was of half a mind to not let any further dumb shit slide without proper reprisal, but he supposed there could be some logic behind his actions. Other than him being an idiot, of course.
Ray continued searching for more signs of his target. It was interesting that not all the groves had a Duskshell beneath them.
At the dozenth grove, he finally found something alive. Presence of the Primordial confirmed it. There was indeed a living Duskshell buried under the ground. There was also a single Mana fruit growing on one of the central trees.
“Sorry, buddy,” Ray said. “But you have to go.”
He used Shatterclaw to attack the tree with the Mana fruit. Ray wasn’t sure it was going to work. It made sense. If the trees grew from the Duskshell, it stood to reason that the monsters might be alerted through the trees. But he had the shovel from Randall in case it didn’t work.
The slashes of dark-red energy scored deep grooves in the trunk, sending splinters flying and dark liquid splattering to the ground.
A second later, with a guttural roar, the Duskshell emerged from the earth.