The dog-headed flail screamed past Elia’s face as she hit the deck, turning her sudden movement into a roll that got her just out of the way of its spurs on the way back. They alone would have been enough to decapitate her and even with a miss she felt the stone shrapnel pelting her across every inch of exposed skin.
The moment she was standing again a low swipe nearly took her legs off as she jumped, ducked, dodged, and rolled out of the immediate danger zone.
Close! Too close!
For a short while she caught her breath, watching Karla deflect the lashing chain with her own massive shield. Remarkably, she was holding her ground while Simon poked and prodded at the commander whenever his back was turned.
Two on one appeared an even fight, but the lord didn’t even seem to be breaking a sweat as he bashed Karla aside before suddenly turning on Simon, who – having smelled an opening – was now too close to dance back out of range.
The lord’s flail came within an inch of wiping that stupid grin off his face and across the field. Instead, a bloody chain burst from Karla’s shield, disturbing his attack’s arc just enough for Simon to parry the blow on his hilt. Still, the force pushed him back until he skidded to a stop next to Elia.
“Getting cold feet already?” he asked before leaping back into the fray.
“Could’ve told me we’d be fighting fucking discount Morgoth,” she yelled as she followed after.
“Mor-who?”
“It’s… nevermind.” No one ever got her references.
She rushed in, only to find that commander Hall could more than well focus on two opponents at once. The tyranny of range forced her to back off as the flail’s spur failed to gut her, tearing a mighty gouge out of the side of her chest plate instead.
They had to go back in again, or else he would turn his entire focus on Karla, who much against Elia’s expectations was keeping his shield hand occupied. Liters of blood flowed out from her camel bladder to act like a cushion on her shield. While Hall was busy with that, the iron chain conjured from seemingly nowhere had detached from her shield and snaked up his arm where Karla tried to choke him dead.
The man cared little, and the attack went much the same way as before while Elia became utterly aware of how it felt being outranged by someone with more than a passing proficiency in battle. He wasn’t even that fast, but he could leisurely attack her from over fifteen feet away while she had to close within kicking distance. That was the one drawback of going all-in on [Cutting cutlery]. Chefs didn’t need to worry about range when preparing dead meat, making her tools of choice rather close range and personal.
Simon and her both came to a stop out of his range again. His good cheek sported a seeping cut his smile was well and duly turned upside down. If anything could be learned from this exchange, it was that the smallest mistake spelled death.
“A dreg. A fuckin dreg he says. I’ll eat my boots if that’s a fucking DREG!” Elia cried.
“Bad time to mention he used to be an immortal?” Simon asked.
Elia dodged a scattershot of rocks the size of her head as the lord dug another gouge from the cobbled pathway.
“FSHHHFGKKRZZFFF!”
OH my GODS, we could have DIED! I saw my life flash before my eyes a few times there and… yours? Wow, that’s a lot of picked locks. Isn’t the possession of lockpicks a crime? And what are those rectangular flashing pocket lights? Dear Ruthe, is that paper PURE WHITE? How? What? Elia, explain.
Elia did not explain. Elia waved her staff. “Rye! Fuckin’ blast ‘im!”
O-ok. I mean, I’ll try.
The ice manifested over painful seconds before disappearing into the sky, seconds that were enough for Hall to make an absolute fool out of Simon. As his spear skidded off of his armor, Simon was forced into a parry that resulted in him being disarmed.
He didn’t seem to care. With a whistle, his spear stopped its flight and returned into his hand just like that.
Elia emerged from where she had snuck into the man’s backside, timing it just as the first of her double barrage hit him from above. A chunk of ice cracked him neatly across the forehead, their first solid hit. The commander raised his shield, forgoing any interest in Simon as he swung his flail wide above Karla’s head. Just the opening she needed.
Elia leaped and swung her cleaver. It bit into his armor, peeling it like a can opener before scoring second blood, golden liquid seeping from the wound. He sagged to one knee, but just as Elia went in for another blow his shield exploded towards her. It was unfair how quickly he could redirect so much momentum. It felt like a semi truck had just swerved to paste her when Elia barely parried with a saucepan. She felt the power of [Perfect Parry] suffuse her body for a brief moment, rigid strength and sturdiness reinforcing her every limb.
It was the only thing that saved her spine as she cracked against a tree, which itself cared little as the human cannonball spun off and landed in the grass. After being blown from her hands, that saucepan probably reached low orbit. For a moment, there was void, then stars.
Should’ve parried the tree. My driving instructor was right: the tree always wins.
“You learned to drive one of your metal beasts?” Rye asked before realizing the slight predicament she was in. “Oh, beans.”
Uhhh…
The odd clang and crunch of stone was still ringing out in the middling distance.
We switched. Shit.
“Elia, what do I do? I, I can’t fight, I’m just a farmer’s daughter! We’re screwed, so screwed, oh nooo–” Rye sniffled. Everything ached. “I don’t wanna die again.”
Alright, here’s what you do: You blast him until you’re out and then let him hit you in a way that knocks us against a tree again.
“What kind of plan is that!?”
Right. Forgot you’re basically combat disabled. Any chance you can just bash your head against a rock then?
There was silence as Rye had a mild breakdown.
Rye. I need a shield.
“… a what?”
A shield! Think of it, I’ve got a boon for parrying, but nothing good to parry with. I’m out of saucepans. Look at those bodies and get me to them so I can check their shields until we find one that isn’t broken or cursed with tar.
Rye wiped her eyes and shakily stood up. “O-ok. I can do that.”
She walked to the first body, the empty skull of a man wearing some beast’s pelt over chainmail staring back at her.
Tar-sodden Round Shield
A small and round shield made of metal. Ornate carvings show a rising sun being birthed from the earth. Steeped in primordial tar, it possesses enhanced durability against physical damage and rust. Highly vulnerable to fire and ice.
Next.
A dead woman with a cleft lip looked up at her, undead body freshly preserved even in death. She had hooves and a dragon’s tail and eyes wrenched wide open. She must have died suddenly.
Tar sodden Tower Shield
A great tower shield, preferred by the dragon cults for its sturdiness. Steeped in primordial tar, it possesses enhanced durability against physical damage and rust. Highly vulnerable to fire and ice.
Next.
Rye found another body in the grass, a thing she couldn’t quite place the sex of, that looked like a particularly hairy and small person with black bristles like a spider. Their body was similarly crushed like one.
Broken Hook Shield
The preferred shield of Maningwa, a well-known thief from the land of Morifurt. Its oblong shape is worn like a gauntlet and the hooks can be used for climbing or to slash at an unwary opponent.
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Morifurt. The city of dyes and frog eaters. She gave a prayer to the poor soul nonetheless and moved on.
Windcaller Buckler
A small metal shield with a pronounced bulge in the middle, embossed with the blackbird of Viln. Made for parrying blows, though anything but perfect accuracy will cost you dearly.
Wait! I want this one. Ye-hes, bird shield got.
“O-ok. What next?”
Elia opened her mouth just as Simon flew past at blinding speed and hit a tree. He wasn’t as lucky as Elia and instead of gaining a minor concussion, he wrapped around it like a half-cooked spaghetti. Rye turned to see Commander Hall idly fling Karla from where she was impaled upon a flail spike. He turned, and Rye felt everything seize up, her body rebelling, her mind playing panic on a loop.
And then he was in front of her. A single word escaped from her trembling lips.
“M-meep.” She squeezed her eyes closed and off went her head.
You have died
You have lost: Soul x28363
You have lost: Bone shard [Common] x6, [Uncommon] x3
She instantly woke up next to the bowl with a strangled scream. Her heart was racing, her eyes zipped between a startled Pim, the door, the bowl and Pim again. Right, Pim. They were doing this for him. Having the conviction to die for someone else always sounded so romantic. Of course, the stories never bothered depicting how terrifying putting words to action was.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to dying.”
Hah! Give it a few more dozen tries. It grows on you, like mold.
“Dozens!?” A spell of dizziness washed over her mind as she flopped over sideways. “Why me?”
Bad luck or divine punishment, take your pick.
Rye would rather not have to pick at all. She closed her eyes but found the omnipresent haze spelling out her fate even there.
Time until lost items and souls dissipate: 14 min
There was no chance in heaven or hell that she could fight the commander, not when Elia struggled with three others to keep him contained. She’d probably just trip and break her neck on the way to gathering the souls.
The thought was mortifying but in that moment she closed her eyes, counting silently up. By the time she arrived at forty-two, Elia opened them again.
“Woah. Fuckin’ lightning-speed nap.”
Believe it or not, I’ve had ample time to practice fainting inside here, haha. It is also quite difficult to look away without becoming consciously unconscious. Meditating helps.
“Whack.” She stretched herself, eyed Pim who had turned from surprised to confused. “What?”
“You two talk very differently.” He feigned disinterest before commenting. “You must be the crude one.”
Crude? Elia would never describe herself as crude. Desensitized, hard to keep up with, a riot perhaps, but crude?
“You’re a funny little fellah.” Elia ruffled the boy’s hair and fluffy ears under immense protest.
He scooted back an inch and the red script on the floor lit up. A hand and then a man pulled himself out of the bowl and Karla followed soon after. Were they seriously using a feather each on the off chance of finding someone willing to give up a portion of their loot and fight by their side?
The more Elia thought about it, the more odd it felt seeing two fully grown people emerge from a pool of water as deep as a kiddy pool. Pim seemed less surprised by the weirdness though he was probably used to it, which left her to wonder why Rye was so confounded by what should have been elemental mechanics of the world.
Maybe she really was from this world’s equivalent of ancient Rome. Maybe they hadn’t invented bowls yet, or packaged boons in handy dice-format.
“Is that a cheese grater?” Simon asked.
“There are many cheese graters but this, this is the one cheese grater, my secret weapon.” Elia said, patting the implement of dairy-grating at her hip. “It just looks like a simple grater on the outside, but on the inside it is filled with the power to grate them all.”
“Huh. Well, I’ve seen odder ritual weapons before.” He slicked back his wet hair. “The name’s Simon, and this is my companion Karla.”
For a moment, Elia just stared at his offered hand, Rye spelling out her exact thoughts.
They don’t remember.
Perhaps that was for the better, sparing them an odd talk or two. “Alright. I’m here to get me some souls and shards and you’re gonna help for an equal share.”
“The bekki kid’s not gonna help us?” Simon asked.
Pim was about to say something but Elia cut him off. “He’s a kid, what do you think? He won’t fight, he doesn’t need a cut either. Now, here’s the plan…”
----------------------------------------
The second try went well, all things considered. Since getting close was a dangerous proposition, the two had to figure out how to make the most of Rye’s [Heavy Hailstone Bolt]. Shooting commander Hall from the front was useless as he would simply block with his shield. Similarly, shooting him from the sides or back yielded less than stellar results as his armor was too thick there and joints were hard to hit in the middle of heated battle even with homing shots.
They settled shooting skyward in a one-one-two rhythm, though with three shots remaining that song and dance didn’t last long. The commander didn’t expect the first hit and when he went to block the second, Elia made sure to throw a pair of dessert spoons at his eyes to redirect his attention towards the people intent on making his existence short and miserable from the front. Her number of spoons would last a few loops and their expense was more than worth guaranteeing every hailstone hit.
They did, five of them. All were headshots, all were not enough to make him fall.
Elia got some good mileage out of her shield as well, parrying debris and shrapnel more than the great flail head itself, her [Perfect parry] flickering on and off. She hadn’t found herself in a situation yet where she had to be brave enough to pit her boon and body against that hunk of metal head on, but she didn’t need to. Karla was doing a good job at restricting his weapon arm this time and when it came to blocking, her gallons of blood acted as a cushion, allowing her to block everything but an overhead swing head-on.
“You holding up?” Rye asked as a tree in the background splintered apart.
“I-I-I don’t know.” There was a mix of manic focus and a dozen other emotions washing over her face. “I’m doing it. I think I’m doing it, I’m tanking! I’m a taaank!”
Oh no, she’s been corrupted by your outsider kin. Only a crazy person would enjoy this.
Simon meanwhile had found himself in a rhythm of shooting forward like an arrow and backing off immediately the moment Hall so much as twitched in his direction. He was like an annoying mosquito, not strong enough to do lasting damage but also too disruptive to ignore. Whenever he poised himself to jump the ground seemed to shift under his feet before launching him forward. When he retreated in between the constant gusts of the commander’s near misses, Simon had an unmistakable air of something more aiding him as well, either magic or another boon. He was paper, Karla was rock, and Elia was the scissors. In between the three of them at least one should have found a distinct weakness by now, but the damn hulk refused to fall.
They came close, so very close. Elia would have liked to believe that after waiting patiently for half a minute and hamstringing her opponent, he would have been rendered little more than a tank without its treads. Like a felled colossus, he staggered to one knee and there he didn’t seem so tall anymore. Simon saw his chance and went in for a killing blow even as Karla yelled for him to fall back, but it was too late.
The commander threw his shield. Knowing that the disk he was throwing like a frisbee was as heavy as a Fiat Punto made the suddenness of the motion all the more terrifying. Simon dodged, a leaf on the wind as what was definitely a boon made him flutter and bend unnaturally around the projectile. It hit a surprised Karla instead, splattering her across the far wall like a can of ravioli.
“NO! FUCK!” Simon yelled and he looked like he’d never smile again.
Elia understood why. For undead that were not her, the state of their body after dying was important for a smooth revival. If it was in too bad a shape, who was to say you wouldn’t come back as a pile of organs, or not at all? On the other hand, they had her around. She’d get better if they lost. Elia found it difficult to empathize beyond the annoyance that this attempt was not going to be her last.
The battle devolved from there, Simon’s fury lasting until the commander summoned a shield made of flowing gold and smashed him into the ground, leaving only Elia and Rye.
“Gold magic too now? What magic doesn’t exist?”
This isn’t the part where we win, is it?
“Nope.” She raised her shield, watching the golden shield drip away until it had formed a cast around his one leg and the rest had dissolved into nothing.
Unencumbered by a massive shield, Commander Hall’s charge was a frightening twenty-odd miles per hour with an acceleration twice as explosive and less than half as dodge-able. His great flail whooshed past her face, tore out trenches where he attempted to fling heaps of splintered rock to blind her.
Elia dodged well enough, surprising even herself as a head-sized chunk bonked against her shield and the boon activated. The strength suffusing her body made every step feel smoother than it had been days before, or even during the fight against the giant or the Fane-Eater. Desperation had been an ever- present companion and everything before felt like slinging mud compared to an actual fight. But where she had run up against a wall before and failed, now she was sprinting, her limit remaining out of sight. It was almost fun then, fighting one-on-one on razor's edge.
Finding herself running under any attack she would have fled from, she dodged kicks, stomps and the odd conjured golden shield which even only half conjured was enough to wrench a limb from her body. Or rather, it would have been, had she not deflected it at the exact moment necessary for her to not only survive, but get a good slice in at the knee.
The secret was getting close, getting past the outer danger zone. In here, all he could do was stomp, squish, swat and tackle. While all the above was no less lethal than his shield and flail, she could cut, cleave, tear and rip just as well.
She cut his knee again, her cleaver going in on one end and cleanly out the other. At that moment, she realized that his blood wasn’t colored gold. The armor was filled with actual, liquid gold. The realization stunned her for just a moment and the floodgates opened, his missing leg now replaced by a great mass of auroran metal that pummeled the floor with an earthshaking impact, knocking her off her feet and under his.
You have died
You have lost…
“No meat, no bones, only gold beneath. Guess [Cutting Cutlery] works on armor joints as much as meat and bone. But what is a joint?”
----------------------------------------
The third attempt went poorly. Simon died early as he caught a shotgun-blast of stone shrapnel with his face. The few reinforced parts of his leather armor were only useful to decorate the decency of his disemboweled corpse.
Elia died before Karla did this time, as a sudden rebound of the flail made her instinctively parry, though she only parried the chain. Due to an annoying thing known as physics, the flail-head wrapped around with sufficient momentum to break her spine.
You have died
She woke up next to Pim, who seemed even less prepared to see her this time as he jumped back with nervous grace.
“L-lo, the jitters interrupted your fight again. You have poor luck.”
Asking the question of why he and Lim could remember where the legionnaires and her two newest compadres couldn’t was as useless as the answer. Questions could wait for another time, because the only solution to how she was going to get past this man was obvious.
“Alright, let’s try this again.”
And again, and again, and again.