How?
That was the question continuously revolving around Derrick Orden’s head.
How?
How in the world had someone he was sure he had killed had come back to strike at him again? How could he have failed to foresee this? How could the Paragon have failed to warn him? Derrick was the one who had been foretold. The one who would attain greatness unlike every before. The one—
He coughed. Blood splattered out in front of him. Curse Raymond Dominick to hell.
That last attack had essentially destroyed him. Two blasts from those dark, unholy summons had destroyed all of Derrick’s legs, almost two thirds of his torso, and reduced his lower right arm to a corrupted mess of flesh, blood vessels, living fat, and spiky bone.
Derrick couldn’t even look at himself without feeling revulsion rising within himself like an eruption of bile and vomit. When he was free… when he was fixed… he was going to make Ray—
Coughing again, he decided to keep crawling forward.
The last attack hadn’t only destroyed Derrick. It had ruptured the whole area he had been in. The ground had shattered in a wide radius, the nearby trees had all been burned by the splash of chaotic flames, and everyone in the vicinity had already scattered. Well, everyone except for Derrick himself and that damnable Sylvan who had tied him down.
Oh, yes. Curse that alien bastard to hell too.
Derrick had never liked any of them. The only reason he had even tolerated their presence was for his deal with the Floor Lord. No one would turn down an easy way to gain power, even if it required tolerating reprehensible beings.
As he crawled onwards, he called on the power that had been granted to him. The power that was his.
“Appear before me,” he ground out through a bloody mouth. “Tower Node of the Fleshcrafter.”
It did appear before him. Derrick was never sure if those exact words were necessary but felt necessary. They were right. Something he had retained from his old life. Rites and rituals were important to carry out religiously.
He continued crawling, the Tower Node floating along to maintain the same distance between them. “You see what has become of me? Reduced to this wreck. I need to get back to my usual self. I need more power.” He had to pause to gather breath. In this state, it was hard to move and talk at the same time. “I need you, Fleshcrafter.”
There was no response from the Tower Node.
Apart from the first time Derrick had obtained and used it as much as possible, he had never found it responsive to him again. But surely now, his god would come and answer him. Surely the Fleshcrafter would not abandon his most righteous servant. His most steadfast follower. His—
Derrick coughed again. Some of the droplets of blood struck the Tower Node, though they slowly dripped off, leaving no sign that they had ever been there.
The urge to curse out loud was stronger than the life within him, so strong that it could sustain him for a while longer. But he mastered his impulse. He was stronger than this.. Strong enough to know he had already been blessed.
“You have already graced me, I know,” Derrick said, after making sure he wasn’t about to cough out the rest of his lungs. “You have secured me from my enemies. That they do not seek my head while I’m in this state is a great blessing.”
It probably helped that he had sent out his Flesh Amalgam to deter any followers.
No, no he had to stop seeking help from his god. The Fleshcrafter needed his most devout follower to be capable of taking care of himself. So what if Derrick had suffered a grievous injury? The little Ring of Life Stasis would prevent him from dying from anything except a direct, killing impact.
Disease? They may as well not exist. Starvation and dehydration? Bygone foibles that Derrick never needed to care about. Blood loss from a wound? Nothing he had to concern himself over.
Unless a killing blow landed on him, like his head being severed or his heart being stabbed, he would survive.
He knew this was another little blessing from his god. It was, after all, the guidance of the Fleshcrafter that had led him to the dungeon that contained the Ring. It was the power borne from Fleshcrafter that had allowed him to get through it and reach the end.
He was blessed. He would survive.
So long as he made it into the palace and retrieved one of those health poultices. That would fix him back up. And then he would make Raymond Dominick pay. He would carve that infidel’s body into so many pieces, chop, chop, chop, then scatter them across the entire Floor.
Derrick laughed. Oh yes, he could already see it. Whatever foul trick that abomination had used would no longer matter when he was dispersed in a thousand little pieces.
He froze. The feeling arose, of a divine power approaching. A familiar flavour…
Derrick tried to hurry. He hadn’t come this far to die now. He hadn’t trialled through the hell his life had been, he hadn’t gone through deity after deity, only to fail the one who had finally answered him.
“What’s there to laugh about in your condition, Derrick?” Raymond’s voice rang behind like Derrick like the toll of a funeral bell. “Did you hit your head when I destroyed your legs?”
Whatever else Derrick may or may not have been capable of them, he was capable of turning around to face his assailant head-on. It made him see the ruin of his body again. The organs trailing on the ground, the bits of flesh he had left in his wake, all the blood everywhere…
A servant of the Fleshcrafter had nothing to be disgusted about but this was his blood and flesh. Torn from his body.
“You think you’ve won?” Derrick said. “With your deceiving and trickery?” He would have spat if he could have, but it would have caused another bout of coughing. “Your hollow little victory means nothing.”
“So you admit I did win, then?” Raymond raised an infernal eyebrow. “I’m surprised you don’t have some last trick, something to let you escape death. Although…” His eyes landed on the trail Derrick had left. “I suppose the fact you’re still alive is proof enough there’s something going on.”
Derrick tried to focus. The Flesh Amalgam would have—his eyes opened wide.
Raymond, curse the bastard, read his mind. “Oh, you’re wondering about your little eldritch abomination of a pet? He’s gone. For good.”
Derrick stared and stared. It was settling in that this was over. That it was the end. But if he was going to die, he would do so with the face of his killer fresh in his mind, so when they met in hell again, he would be ready and waiting.
“My life might end here, Raymond,” Derrick said. His voice was calm. Of course, it was calm. The surety of his faith filled him to his core. “But my work does not. The work of the Wild Tides, that we performed in the name of the Fleshcrafter, will not cease. There is nothing you can do to stop it.”
“Funny, you say it’s the work of your whole Faction. But I’ve met your goons. I’ve spoken with them. Nobody has mentioned anything about this Fleshcrafter except you.” Raymond’s face was cold as a gravestone. “Know what that means? Nobody cares.”
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“You know nothing of my fervour. Of my faith.”
“Face it, Derrick. You’re clutching at straws. Your so called faith is going to die with you and the rest of your Wild Tides.”
“You don’t know anything. This work is far beyond the likes of me.”
Derrick could see the gears shifting in Raymond’s head. Ah yes, there it was. The mark that he was going to leave upon this world. His sign of immortality. The fulfilment of his great work.
“Alright then, tell me,” Raymond said. “What exactly is it that I don’t know?”
Derrick laughed shallowly. There, the fool had fallen for his trap. “You mere insect. You don’t know that you’re a cog. A wheel in this great, big machine that we’re all a part of.”
“If the only thing I didn’t know was how much you were going to insult me before dying pathetically, then I think I’m done.”
“All my life,” Derrick went on, raising his voice over the blasted infidel’s. “All my life, I’ve been searching for a higher purpose. For an answer from the beyond. Surely, something exists in the greater plane of existence, something that would listen to me and answer back when I called.
“Nothing happened. They were all fake. All pretenders. Until…” He coughed, spilled more blood, but went on anyway. “Until the Tower came. Until the Paragons came. Don’t you see, Raymond? We’re working under literal gods. Do you understand the magnanimity of such a thing? Do you understand what that means?”
“You’re starting to sound insane, Derrick.”
“Insane? You fool. Gods are real in this world. I heard them. I worked for them. I received their power through their sacred artifacts. That could only mean one thing—that I was the fated one. The chosen one. The one who was to bring about a new age.”
Raymond’s face had gone from cold to… what was that? Fearful? No. Incredulous? Not truly, not on its own, at least. There was something deeper.
“And yet,” he said. “You’re dying, and I’m still alive.”
“My purpose will live on, even if I don’t. There is nothing you can do, nothing you can stop, no matter what. Because, in the end, you’re no less pathetic in the eyes of the gods than I am, you idiot.”
Raymond stood straighter. The coldness was back. But it came with something else, this time. Several somethings. Derrick’s eyes slowly widened as, one after another, several Tower Nodes popped out.
He had known Raymond Dominick was collecting the Tower Nodes. That was why both he and the Tower Lord had decided that this stupid Denizen had to go. That his drive, egged on by the influence of the very first Paragon he had encountered, would make him try to take the Tower Nodes that others needed. That Derrick needed.
But… so many. How had he come by that many on just the First Floor? Derrick had known that several Tower Nodes existed, but for one person to attain all of them…
“Impossible,” he hissed.
“Impossible or not, they’re real,” Raymond said. “You think you’re so special that you got in touch with one little Paragon? This Fleshcrafter? I’ve encountered at least three, you fucking moron.”
“You lie.”
“Does it look like I’m lying? I heard that when you’re at death’s door, your sight clears up like never before. So tell me, Derrick. Do you really think I’m lying?”
Derrick could hardly breathe then. No. This couldn’t be. He was the chosen one. How could he be second rate to this… this mongrel? Why was his fate so cursed as to make him second to Raymond Dominick, a man with no faith in anything but himself?
Why?
Why?
Why?
Derrick felt himself passing away. It was the coldness creeping in from his extremities, the blackness at the edges of his field of view. They were all constricting him. Was the ring not working anymore? Or could it sense that death was approaching?
And then it hit him. The thing that this was all coming down to. The chain of events, the fact that Raymond was collecting all these Tower Nodes, the likelihood that Derrick’s Tower Node was going to join that collection.
Derrick Orden slowly smiled. “Ah, I understand now.”
“The hell do you understand now?” Raymond asked. “Why are you smiling?”
“This was to be my fate. The Fleshcrafter wanted this, and so, it happens. It was always supposed to be this way.”
That seemed to incense Raymond. “Don’t try to make this about yourself, you asshole. You lost. Accept defeat and die.”
“Oh, but I will. I will die and leave this world, and leave behind everything I’ve done. And in my place, you will pick it up.”
“What?”
“Do it now, Raymond. Fulfil your destiny. Claim what you seek.”
Raymond stared at him. It almost seemed as though he would spare Derrick just to spite him. That Raymond would leave him in his current state, only to return at some later date and cause the exact same thing to happen.
But then he raised a hand. A spiralling bolt of chaotic black-red energy struck Derrick in the face, and though the blackness closed around him in quick succession, he was, in the end, happy. He wouldn’t live on. But maybe, just maybe, his work would.
Because he knew, when this was done, that Raymond Dominick would take his Tower Node and carry it onward.
Great Fleshcrafter, I have fulfilled my duty in the end.
----------------------------------------
[Enemy Defeated—Human]
Fleshboon Cultist [Tier 3] Human: [Level 20] x1
Essence: +3,000
Knowledge: +3
Mana Restored: +200
Essence to Level 21: 15,740/24,300
Knowledge to next Threshold: 606/800
Dead. Finally dead. As confirmed by Primordial Gauge. Ray had a hard time believing that he had succeeded, that he had finally killed off Derrick Orden.
He couldn’t be blamed. That guy had survived like a cockroach. The first time, some crazy Sylvan had arrived and kidnapped him away before Ray could finish him off. Then, even after having the majority of his body destroyed via the compressed laser breaths from the Greater Draconic Maws, he had still lived and continued onwards.
In fact, Ray suspected that, had he not come over there to finally finish off the man, Derrick Orden would somehow have returned to full health one way or another.
“Yeah, fuck that,” Ray said.
The Spiritsorb had been a pointed use. Now Ray had a choice to pick from the list of skills he had first seen using Primordial Gauge. The choice was obvious, though. It was why he had used Spiritsorb to end Derrick in the first place, just to ensure he could add another little ability to Lifeblood Graveyard.
Channel Prayer.
That was the transformed spell that allowed Derrick Orden to channel the power of a Tower Node in his possession. Now, Ray had that neat ability too.
He would need to test just what benefits his various Tower Nodes would provide him. Some of those were very likely going to be useless or just not a good fit for his style of fighting. Abilities that didn’t gel well with his build. But there had to be a few that would work wonders.
Especially once he got going to retrieve more Tower Node from the palace.
As soon as he was done picking out his new skill for Lifeblood Graveyard, the Tower Node of the Marauder suddenly blinked into existence.
“Right,” Ray said. “Just in time.”
As his Tower Node started blinking like a lighthouse light gone crazy, Derrick Orden’s Tower Node materialized. It was strange. Same diamond shape as everything else, but it looked like a glass case holding some kind of… meat inside. It looked revoltingly like meat. He couldn’t think of anything else.
Not after Derrick Orden had called his Paragon the Fleshcrafter. No. It was Ray’s Paragon now.
[System Artifact—Tower Node]
Tower Node of the Fleshcrafter
With the Node of the Fleshcrafter, you can now lay claim to Sectors 43 through 46 and all associated structures within. Attain the ability to modify flesh, either yours or those of a target’s. Modifications range from grafting new material onto skin to incorporating entirely new organs and the like. True Mana can be used to increase the capacity of modifications.
Fleshcrafter. Well, the description was basically what it had said on the tin. Ray let the Tower Node vanish for now. He would need to test its capabilities later.
Right now, there was a battle ongoing all around him. Although, he wasn’t intent on entering it. He didn’t need to. When he had reached the spot where he had struck Derrick Orden with the compressed laser breaths, Gritty and Mary had informed him that the battle was well in hand.
There had been no time for details. All Ray had been able to tell them was to take care of Kredevel, before hurrying after Derrick.
Ray: I know you’re busy, Maya, but how are things going?
Maya: Good enough. We’ve captured a bunch of the Wild Tides and are pushing the Sylvans back. There’s been some kind of weird change with them, not sure what…
Ray: Derrick Orden is dead. That’s what’s changed. He had some abilities that might have affected his followers, so those might be gone now.
Was it just spells like Cult Following, or was it the influence of this Fleshcrafter Tower Node too? Hard to tell, really.
Maya: Dead? For sure, this time?
Ray: For sure. You should start spreading the word. Send someone over to collect the corpse. Oh, and the Floor Lord’s too. We can demoralize both the Wild Tides and the Sylvans together.
Maya: Ha, that’s devious. I’ll send Dory and her summons.
Ray: I’ll wait for her. Since you’ve got things in hand, I’ll head into the palace to take care of some final stuff afterwards.
Maya: Alright, we’ll meet you there.
The promise had so much surety, it almost caught Ray by surprise. But then, everyone had come together tremendously well. They were winning.
Ray stared down at the body of Derrick Orden. Of what remained of the man. The few clues he’d had about the man hadn’t really prepared him for the revelations he had learned today. But then, did any of that matter. Derrick Orden was dead and so were his delusions.
Now, it was Ray’s turn to keep going on his own terms. No one was going to control him. Not even this Fleshcrafter.