It took all he had to suppress his incredulity. All the tales he ever heard tell of, spoke of [Heroes] wielding the seismic powers of nature, bidden unto themselves. Terrors of fate; fetch dogs who blasted through every best-laid plan in their path, at their Destined One's subliminal command. Those stories never talked about monsters any worse than a Demonlord; only reveling in the triumphs of lethargic subservience. In his estimation, there were no roads of necessity, that must be taken above all others.
The addendum dreamt of a past, where four such beings could only wring their hands at Milowix's invalidation. They failed aught else but to confine The Lord of Death to a prison, out of color. Quintin could only imagine the bleach-barren prison with a measure of uncertainty; he had no assurances about what it really meant. Though, for all intents, it did sound fearsome, as well as decisive.
"The Lord of the Dead, Milowix, still lives."
Every time he heard them, it made the hairs on his arm stand on end. Just like the Headbearer had madly claimed; it was also written here. An echo for the ones he heard in Sozzelrift's residual shell. The name alone made his joints seize up, though strangely, not the ones with pneumatic alterations.
According to Vissitri, they were nearly at the exit. A different one from what Adventurers most commonly used. The tunnels they traversed were narrower in comparison to the main one into Sozzelrift. But, it didn't slow them down by much; they made precise maneuvers while talking too.
"Any idea what a 'prison devoid of color' is?" Quintin made an exacting pivot around a bend in the corridor without dropping speed.
[Eh, no idea. I have a few barriers that can drain some color from my surroundings, but nothing so fearsome and decisive as that.]
Up ahead, a large quantity of [Starmoss] gave him a slight pause. "What the heck, that's my impression! You can actually read minds, can't you?"
[Si-Si-Si. Think what you wish...] Vissitri stopped in his tracks, sniffing at the air for a brief moment, [We near the exit. This is the largest patch of Starmoss before it.]
They made their way near the cluster of [Starmoss], Quintin could barely contain his excitement. "I wish you'd get us there fas-"
Without warning, black vines dropped down from above. Quintin knew well that having [Sinisphere] didn't guarantee his safety, but in this instance, he was already leery. There was a brief response before that had given him a moment's pause. His evasive kick backward saved him from a total entombment, though not so fast as to avoid being caught by one of his legs.
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The bastards had suction cup ribbing that attempted to dig into his pneumatic limb. He went further after using [Pressure Points] to strengthen his legs, eventually pulling the passengers taut from the distance gained. With a great grab and pull motion, they snapped off at the tension point.
Down the hall and out of danger, Quintin had a full view of Vissitri's barrier magic at work. Green fluids streaked down on jaggedly cut rock from the compression and rotation. His fur was a lighter shade than the plant blood. He sat casually in the middle of the mixture bag, not a drop touched him there.
With a bright Ding, the system confirmed its miserable end. Quintin moved up, identifying the poor creature for future reference.
[Star Sucker] Lv. 30
HP: 1500/1500 MP: 0/0 SP: 4000/4000
—Plant Life
—Omnivore
—Stealthy
A predatory variance of the [Starmoss] strain.
Disguises itself amongst regular [Starmoss].
*Weak to fire and direct sunlight.
"Um- I planned to start a big fire, but the blender works too," he stated offhandedly.
Vissitri audibly yipped, but spoke mentally, [You humans and your fires. Now, do you realize the superiority of my 'spatial jamming' technique?]
Quintin was feeling more snarky than sick. "No offense, but I've seen enough goop to prefer ashy by now. Admittedly, it's far out, man."
There was no telling if the fluffy gremlin understood the joke or not. The barriers remained steady-strong while they passed under, to the other side. Soon after, Vissitri dispelled them. Quintin tried to dispel the sound it made; He definitely understood it.
[General Skills]:
[Mental Resistance] Lv. 1=>5
Having repeated experiences with the terror of liquids,
Your mind and body are in agreement; that's enough!
* your mind is increasingly protected
against mental attacks.
The consolation prize wasn't much, but every little bit counted as far as he was concerned. One day, he would shout at the pus-filled world to do its best, and laugh in the grotesque face of it—or so he naively imagined. More likely than not, there were levels of filth yet unknown to mankind, that no amount of [Resistance] could temper down.
The air began to lighten as they drew closer to the exit. Quintin's mood grew brighter with the promise of sunshine and the freshness of nature calling out to him. Around the bend, in the distance, warm light poured in from a wellspring of pure, sweet release. He spotted it near-instantly, overtaking Vissitri in a blur of hopeful enthusiasm.
His tank was running on fumes, he needed this win. As he neared the opening, he leapt out into the warmth of sunrise. Crisp, clean air entered his lungs for the first time in a long time. His eyes were wet, either with tears of joy or just stung by the overwhelming sensation of light through the canopy. It didn't bother him either way, he was free.
For as long as he called this place his home, he would always remember the pure bliss this singular good moment brought.
There was no better reward than the open air of freedom.