I stumbled backwards in fear and disgust, shutting my eyes and clamping a palm over my mouth and nose so that the insects couldn’t climb into them, feeling their miniscule limbs scuttle nauseatingly over my hand the moment I did so. With a silent roar, I reached out in the song, Draconic Blood erupting at my command, ready and willing to burn the creatures in a furious inferno–then paused.
I couldn’t.
A terrible realization overtook me. I had no way to fight back. Fang was too large, and the insects too many, for the sword to be at all effective. I couldn’t use Fire or Lightning, either. I couldn’t even Flash Step to get away. I backpedaled wretchedly on two legs and one hand across the wet, fetid marshlike soil, trying futilely to get away from the horrid things. It was no use.
My skin crawled and I started to suffocate.
I’d held my breath for more than a minute now. The micro-robots couldn’t harm me with whatever manner of weaponry they possessed, that much was clear, but I still needed to breathe. I began to panic as my options dwindled, no solution aside from revealing my powers availing itself to me mentally.
The mechanical insects were skittering over me in an indescribably revolting manner, making every part of my body itch terribly. I couldn’t block my ears, so they’d managed to push themselves inside, wedging deeper and deeper, their proximity to my eardrums making even their tiny footsteps pound like thunder, drowning out all other noise. My body spasmed, contorting madly. They were driving me insane.
I needed them off.
Fumbling desperately to my feet, my limbs still shaking and twitching from the sensation of being poked and prodded all over, I pulsed an absolutely enormous amount of Draconic Blood to empower my feet.
Burning a full half of my Entropy reserves in one move, more than I’d ever done before, with all my might, I jumped.
I shifted from motionless to missile in a moment, multiple g’s of acceleration rocketing me viciously into the air, compressing my internal organs. The wind screamed past me as my chest heaved helplessly, my eyes still tightly shut.
I felt the distant, muffled thuds of thick leaves and broad branches splinter upon my ascent, breaking against my arms and legs and back, dislodging hundreds of the creatures with every impact. They struck countless times, again, and again, and again, and again.
And then they were gone.
I opened my eyes in desperate relief, almost brought to the brink of tears from the sensation of one million microscopic feet no longer crawling all over me. Even the ones in my ears had been ejected, falling emptily off of me all on their own, perhaps no longer in range of whatever entity controlled them. I laughed shakily, clutching myself tightly, euphoric to be finally free. Then I looked down.
Sweet fucking Priest.
I was thousands of feet in the air, slowly decelerating. The jungle spread out below me like a vast, emerald sea, just as Glare had said. Far above me, a small pink moon rose in the otherwise starless sky. I couldn’t make out the swarms of insects, or the clearing. I’d no idea where I was set to land, but it didn’t matter.
From this height, Draconic Blood or no, I’d be the one splattered.
Gradually, I began to fall. I held a single palm outwards, fingers splayed towards the ground, and my song responded. Raw Entropy enveloped me, eagerly surrounding me in a comforting shawl. With so little momentum built up, my descent was instantly halted.
Breathing deeply, and still slightly shakily, I laughed again.
My levitation allowed me a moment of much needed calm, and it felt so good to use Entropy properly again. Channeling it into my Blessings alone, and so sparingly–it wasn’t enough. Nor was the little I’d employed it to protect myself from the jungle’s ubiquitous stench.
The song thrummed around me, broad and powerful.
Going for more than a full day without it was a novel experience, allowing me to better impartially examine its effects upon my mind. Though nowhere near the madness it had incited in me back before I’d been Blessed, whilst fighting the pillow mimics, the song still did influence me, to a degree.
My power begged for use. It didn’t care particularly how I utilized it, but it hated being trapped, locked within my soul. Now free, it was exultant, joyfully singing its pleasure to me in a manner different than any of my Shards. It didn’t feel like an individual being, like Fang, or an awesome eldritch collective, like ADMINISTRATION.
It felt more…natural than that. A force without inherent direction.
But that made sense, didn’t it? After all, I’d been able to hear the song since childhood, long before receiving my Blessing. My Gift, Broadcast Attunement, had amplified its effects, and solidified my own control, but…more and more, I was becoming certain that Broadcast couldn’t be the song’s source.
But then…what was it?
Through me, the song was so much stronger now than it had been back during Burrick’s siege, and holding myself aloft was as easy as breathing. Slowly, my respiration smoothed, and my pulse steadied.
For a moment, I considered not going back.
I knew the direction we were supposed to travel in now. I didn’t need to go with my team. I could head there at this very moment. I wouldn’t need to hide my powers any more, and flying would bring me to my destination swiftly and succinctly. Most of all, I’d no longer need fear encounters with the bugs–clearly, they couldn’t reach this high.
That was a big motivator. Fuck those bugs.
Sighing, I shook my head and began to slowly lower myself back down, swiftly, but not so much so as to risk death. I could have abandoned them, but what about the next floor? It was sure to be more dangerous than this one, and we had to clear all the way to the third. I’d be lost without Quarrel’s experience in delving, and Glare’s in combat.
But, even more than that.
If I gave up here, just when things were getting a little unpleasant for me, then…well, what kind of Hero was I? What’d stop me from giving up again, in the future, when things got tough? The first floor of a dungeon, exotic or not, was far from the most dangerous thing I’d face–I’d no doubt of that. If I crumbled here, how could I go on?
At last, I halted my descent, the tips of my toes just barely brushing against the canopy.
Zeroing in on an area just above the light Glare emitted even through the treetops. I moved a bit to the side, so as not to fall on anyone, but enough to give them a bit of a show, make them less likely to ask questions. Gritting my teeth and saying one last prayer to the Priest that the insects had all been eradicated, I cut the song holding me aloft and fell like a stone to the forest floor below.
Promptly shattering my legs.
The soft soil caved like cake beneath my empowered form, erupting all around me in dirt and contaminated water, misting the already infectious air. I was buried almost to my waist in the muddy ground.
Multiple shrieks of shock and surprise greeted my ears, muted somewhat by my own groan of pain as Draconic Blood quickly repaired the damage. I shambled unsteadily out of the crater and to my feet as bones and ligaments snapped back into place.
“My…Gods. Lord…lord Hero. Are you, um, alright?”
Glare, the kindly Immolator, had knelt beside me, a look of deep concern on his face. From afar, I noticed a disheveled and shivering Thaum next to a naked, furious, Quarrel rapidly throwing on clothes, her body covered in a massive, mottled, green-and-purple bruise. A shell-shocked Rover rocked back and forth on one of the logs by the corpse of the old fire.
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I bared my teeth at the blond mage in a smile thick with congealed blood. Distantly, I heard someone, likely Thaum, retch.
“Never better, High Inquisitor,” I replied, dryly.
The mechanical shells of dead, defunct insects littered the marshy ground. There were so many that I struggled to make out the earth beneath them. Some were mangled, some were melted, but most just looked…dead. Once more, though, there was not a single Entropy crystal to be seen. Frowning curiously, I stood.
“High frequency sonics,” our final party member said, his face contorted in an uncharacteristic scowl. “Disable the creatures.”
He looked at me with that same rage as before, lurking now beneath the surface but still unhidden in his song.
“It won’t happen again. Ever,” Vox growled through gritted teeth. I nodded mutely, caught between shock at his demeanor and gratitude towards his promise.
“It’s my fault,” Glare admitted, sadly. “I couldn’t incinerate the creatures in time, not without harming you all, and so–”
“So they got in everywhere,” Rover murmured, finally drawing himself to unsteady feet. “Everywhere. Crawling.” The wolfman shivered. “I’m immune to most poisons, but–”
“I’m not,” Quarrel seethed, having clothed herself in record time, now rooting around in her bag. “Reckon I’ve got about three hours ‘till my tits fall off,” she said, finally yanking out a vial filled with purplish liquid and downing about half of it.
“Fuck that,” she cursed. “Fucking shit tastes worse than this place smells. Oh grow up, bitch,” she spat at Rover.
For his part, he didn’t even seem to hear her, still rocking back and forth slightly, even on his feet. Stalking towards him angrily, Quarrel continued to berate the poor lycan. “What is it, your first time being–”
“Leave him alone.” Glare boomed, blue eyes glowing slightly with bright white light. “We need not–”
“Or what?” Quarrel snapped at the man, all admiration apparently evaporated over the past hours of hell. “What, you wanna be his Hero?” She smiled derisively at him, jabbing a finger my way. I just gaped at the woman. At this point, I shouldn’t have been surprised by her abrasive nature, but even I was shocked by this behavior. What could she possibly have to gain from antagonizing the most powerful member of our party?
“Oh,” she whispered, raising her eyebrows mockingly. “Oh–I know what you’re about.” Quarrel started pacing ominously towards the Immolator, who seemed just as taken aback as I.
“I know what you’re about,” she repeated, louder this time. “I know just what you’re about.”
“You may be Patrusc,” she said, “you may be hot. You can even try to be nice. To have honor.” She paused, spitting viciously onto the ground, before pointing at Glare accusingly. “But at the end of the day, you bleed blue.”
She smiled at him, again, falsely. “I know ‘Crats, honey. None better,” she continued, advancing fearlessly towards him. Rover remained catatonic, but Thaum and I were rendered mute only by what transpired before our eyes. Both of us stared at her, too amazed to respond. Glare frowned, his incandescence beginning to increase.
“Two types a’ ‘Crats, see?” Quarrel sang. “First type’s hers.” She pointed at Thaum, spreading her arms wide. “They’re the straightforward kind,” she said, nodding. “Oh, sure, they still think they’re better than you. Sure, they’d still kill you, or enslave you, or rape you.” She added, still nodding. “Never forget that. They would.” Then she shrugged sarcastically.
“But hey–at least they’re upfront about it.” She pointed again, this time at Glare.
“Then there’s yours,” she hissed, her words dripping with venom. “You’re a rare breed. See, you don’t just think you’re better, you think you’re good. You actually think you’re good.” She laughed humorlessly, now but a hand’s span from the mage. Glare towered over her as she glowered up at him, fingers twitching disconcertingly.
“You–you actually think you’re a good person,” Quarrel said, suddenly calm, eyes narrowed as they flitted up and down his form. “You really do, don’t you?”
“I don’t care what you think of me,” the Immolator rumbled, finally interrupting her tirade, just as imperturbable as ever. From the swiftness of his response, I believed it, too.
“Oh?” Quarrel asked, still frighteningly calm. “Oh, oh–really?” She repeated, sweetly, drumming fingers upon her chin. “Tell me, milord High Inquisitor, how many slaves does Patrusc send to die on the Frontlines? How many parents? How many children?”
Glare’s eyes widened.
“You have…no idea what you’re talking about,” Glare muttered, taking a single step back reflexively, then halting. “Patrusc–Patrusc doesn’t use slaves.” But his voice trembled ever so slightly and his hands were clenched into fists, a terrible radiance beginning to leak from between his blanched fingers.
For the first time, his impervious disposition was beginning to crack.
And still, Quarrel continued. “Oh, no? I’s sorry, milord. I’s so sorry, milord,” she said, affecting an accent I was well acquainted with; one of a villager from the wilds. “You’ve the right of it, of course, milord, the noble head of Cell Patrusc would never–”
Glare’s visage devolved into an overwhelming furor, shifting from shock to rage, as a glorious pearly-white armor condensed magnificently upon his person and he reared back and roared. “HOW DARE YOU–”
“ENOUGH!”
A thunderous voice swept across our party, deafening all noise and causing my ears to ring, almost shattering my eardrums. The barely discernible taint of a foreign song accompanied it. Each of us staggered, grasping our heads in pain, searching for the sound’s source. Vox, of all people, was looking at our group in genuine, dumbfounded, disbelief.
“I don’t believe this,” he murmured, appropriately.
His song, much like the Immolator’s, had descended into the chaos I normally associated with humans or Blessed, all semblance of sophistication or intrigue abandoned. Its many tendrils reached out and about, probing the air anxiously.
“I don’t believe this,” he repeated, speaking more to himself than any one of us. “I barely even–”
He stopped quickly, clamping his mouth shut, rage once more flitting across his features. Now though, the fury seemed less out of place, almost natural upon his incensed demeanor.
“You–,” he stuttered, “You’re all–”
“CHILDREN!” he shrieked, abruptly, followed by clamping his mouth shut forcefully again. He seethed silently, teeth gritted and song palpitating vengefully.
None of us replied to his insult.
Thaum looked down, despondently, her song sharing with me feelings of disappointment in herself and her leadership, or lack thereof. Rover just shook his head, still clutching his chest miserably, ears flattened. Quarrel scowled, looking none too happy with the man, but apparently unwilling to dispute his claims.
Glare looked…lost.
For once, he didn’t seem his usual self. He was staring at his hands, absently, ritualistically clenching and unclenching his fists. His behavior was particularly disturbing to me, having personally long counted on the Immolator to represent the last bastion of faith I had in my team.
I sighed, approaching the still-fuming Master wearily.
“Look, let’s just…let’s just get some sleep, ok?” Vox glanced my way angrily at my words, still scowling.
I turned to face the rest of my teammates, showing all of them my bracelet. We’d turned in at around seven, and it was barely ten.
“Look, we’ve not even spent a day here. Alright? We’ve plenty of time left. Let’s just sleep in tonight. Let’s get some good, proper rest. Vox, your area covers the clearing, correct?”
The man didn’t nod, but neither did he discount my assertions, returning to staring murderously at the remainder of the group.
“Well, you just keep that sound up, and I’ll keep watch with you for the rest of the night. Or, as long as you’re willing to. I’ll be alright without sleep, anyway,” I said, not entirely dishonestly. With Draconic Blood, I’d likely be able to function for a couple days straight.
I wouldn’t enjoy it, but I could do it.
“Whenever you run out of juice, switch out with Thaum…hey. Hey, Thaum!” I said, snapping my fingers a couple of times at the girl, who’d begun to nod off while still standing. She startled awake at my prompting, blinking exhaustedly at me while rubbing her forehead.
“You have enough shades for them to make a dome around our tents?” I asked. Mercifully, she nodded.
“Great, then I’ll watch with you once Vox’s done. Ok?”
No one responded.
“Ok, everyone?” I repeated, loud and forceful this time, imbuing just a hint of the Shardsong into my words and receiving a weary chorus of murmured acknowledgements in reply. Vox made the exception, still muttering disdainfully, walking over to the log by the now long-dead fire and plopping himself angrily down.
“Excellent,” I said, now to no audience, the clearing’s residents having retreated back to their considerably dilapidated lodgings, for some likely unsatisfying rest.
It was going to be a long night.