“The old man says he can get everyone up.” Gel translated brightly. “Some kind of earth magic spell he knows. But he’ll need us to– oh. Hmm. I didn’t expect him to ask me to eat him.”
“He said what?” Sean asked, hoping for some clarification as Bernard put Karson’s still-unconscious body down, squared his shoulders, and walked resolutely up to the slime warrior – who had him height-wise by at least several feet. “He wants you to eat him?”
“A part of him.” Gel corrected as the horrified looks of the nearby survivors – not to mention Daerkin and Baerlin – began to relax somewhat as the old man explained his reasoning. “Ahhh, okay. He thinks I can scour the infection out if I eat just the mushroom parts growing into him. Then he’ll be able to use his magic, and we’ll all be able to get out of here.”
“I thought we were all just going to climb out. The birdman can fly too, can’t he? Wasn’t he going to ferry people up?” Sean wasn’t sure where he had lost track of what was happening here. He hated not knowing the language, because it felt like he was always playing catch up. “Also, wouldn’t scouring deep holes through his body kill him?”
“Maybe.” Gel admitted. “I’m curious to find out, myself.”
“And he’s just asking you to do this?” Sean couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Bernard had hated them from the moment he had laid eyes on them, and yet here the old man was, pulling his robes back and thrusting his wrists forward, palms up to offer them his own infection-spotted flesh? “What happened to our plan?”
“That dried up when they realized you hadn’t been joking about it being sand all the way up. These people can’t climb sand. We might be able to if we tried hard enough, maybe even swim our way out, but them? Half of them are barely standing.”
Sean couldn’t really argue against that, Gel was right. Though he had managed to keep them away from the brunt of the fighting, he hadn’t managed to keep them from all of it. Weak as the survivors already were, there had been losses. That there hadn’t been more was probably nothing short of a miracle.
“Also, the ‘birdman’.” Gel emphasized the word with a twinge of amusement. “Can’t actually fly right now. He uses mana to do it, so he would need me to do the same thing the old guy is asking for.”
Sean eyed the paladin, who was holding one of the sun-hued potions they had found earlier, and who seemed to guess what was on his mind. The owlen simply stared back at him, unblinking.
“Let me guess, they’re going to give him that potion once you get the infection out, and hope that keeps him alive.”
“Yep.” Gel confirmed. “They’ve only got two potions left, and a total of four doses between them. Now they’re talking about who should go next if this works, so if it does they might ask us to do it again.”
“Ask you to do it again.” Sean corrected. “I can’t help them here, and with you occupied that means I can’t guard the door while you work either.”
Sean focused on his pulse sense for a second, and was relieved to find that there were no enemies currently enroute to them after the last battle. Given that baiting the whole hive to come after them was the main part of their plan however, that would likely change soon.
“We don’t have time to just sit around while you perform open-shroom surgery.” Sean pointed out. He was going to make another argument against the idea, but then he stopped himself.
It’s not my life on the line here. Sean realized. If they want to try it, and Gel’s willing to help, then what’s the worst that can happen?
By the time he had that thought however, the slime was already two steps ahead of him.
“No, we do not!” Gel agreed merrily, dropping his battle-axe to the ground and pressing a slime-tentacled-finger directly into the first of several obvious infection points. The finger immediately began melting its way into the purple mushroom stalk that had burrowed into Bernard’s skin. “Don’t worry, I’ll be quick.”
The old man’s face went red, and Bernard bit down hard on a belt he had been given he let out a muffled scream. Several of the survivors exclaimed in panic, the lizardkin and fennekians tensed, and Saren’s eyes darted between Sean and Bernard as if trying to decide whether interfering now would help – or be a death sentence..
“Whoops. Maybe I’ll be less quick.” Gel corrected, and the slime’s tentacle-finger immediately slowed its pace. Bernard’s teeth continued to clench, and Sean couldn’t deny being a little bit impressed as the old man stoically held on. For about ten more seconds.
Bernard slumped forward just as Gel’s tentacle-finger withdrew from his body. Daerkin caught him, and the old man drew in a ragged breath. He patted the lizardkin on the arm and then, with a look of resigned apprehension, lifted his shirt over his head. Underneath at least a half dozen more nubby, purple stalks emerged at odd angles from his skin.
Sean winced on the old man’s behalf.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When it was done, Bernard crumpled to the ground as Saren moved in with a potion. Gel had been forced to remove 13 different mushrooms from the old mage’s body before his mana regeneration returned to him. Keeping Bernard alive through the process however, had cost the survivors another one of precious health potions. Now they had only a single two-dose potion left. Sean barely noticed that fact however, because the slime warrior had been fighting his own battle as well.
Maybe it was the fact that they had been in close contact all this time, or the fact Sean could feel every time the old mage’s pulse quickened or slowed. Maybe it was the fact that Bernard had been nearly helpless as Gel worked, and Sean could have dispatched him with a simple twitch of the finger. Or, maybe it was because deep down, Sean’s psyche was starting to embrace the monster he was becoming.
Whatever it was, the slime warrior’s instincts had been howling at him this entire time. Howling at him to slaughter the living beings around him who were already weakened. To consume their existence and merge it with his own. To use the power of their deaths to fuel his unlife. To–
With a great effort of will, Sean forcefully shoved those thoughts back down. Once he came back to himself, Sean realized that he had put his black reaper hand on Bernard’s shoulder. Not in an aggressive way, but one of… comfort. There was a resonance there and, curiously, Sean felt the same thing he had felt when he had first received the hand.
Inevitability.
Sean stared down at Bernard, the old man’s weary eyes meeting his fiery orbs, and something like understanding passed between them. In that moment, he made up his mind. The slime warrior looked past the arrogant mage, past the paladin and lizardkin to the sand-covered mound where he had hidden their spoils from the caravan.
“Tell them where the loot is, and warn them not to open up the life bar while we’re around.” Sean instructed Gel, his voice suddenly calm as the soft end of a long night. “Make sure they know that this isn’t charity. That turning it into a weapon we can wield is one of those favors we wanted earlier.”
“Are you sure?” The slime sounded like he was almost too tired to argue. “What if they steal it?”
“They won’t.” Sean said with utter certainty. He looked up to meet Saren’s owl-like eyes, and then Daerkin’s beady lizardkin pair. “They owe us.”
Gel half-heartedly mumbled something about boiling them all in a stew if they didn’t keep their end of the bargain, but the slime still relayed the message. The survivors reacted with a mixture of shock and disbelief, though Sean couldn’t tell if that was because he was giving them literal boxes of treasure or because he really did expect them to give part of it back in weapon-form. Saren eyed him in that same peculiar way the owlen had taken to doing lately, and the slime warrior couldn’t read the paladin’s expression.
Once the treasure was revealed however, Daerkin clapped Sean on his cracked shoulder - though the lizardkin had to reach up to do it. Sean gave the smaller warrior what he hoped was a respectful clap back on his own shoulder. Bernard struggled up onto his feet, refusing Baerlin’s offered hand, and began chanting. As the old man worked, the rest of the survivors made clear they would do as he had asked – and according to Gel, several of them even promised to present him with more gifts in the future. It was a touching moment.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Until the pebbles on the tunnel floor began to rumble, and Sean’s pulse sense lit up like the front of his family home on Christmas after dad had ‘lost’ the lightshow to their neighbors the year before. There were so many pulsing red lights rushing towards them, the slime warrior couldn’t count them all. Sean turned immediately and was about to dash towards the tunnel entrance to blockade it himself when Bernard finished his chant, thrusting both hands up into the air.
A ledge of rock ripped itself out of the cavern floor beneath the feet of everyone present with a horrendous crunch. Most of their group stumbled forward. Bernard pulled his arms down slightly and then thrust them up again with a shout just as the first worker ant reached the entrance to their small room. At the old mage’s command, the newly separated ledge they were all now riding shot straight up the hole at impressive speed, displacing more sand than Sean would have thought possible.
Their hurtling platform sent a tidal wave of sand hurtling in a full 180 degree arc ahead of them as the ledge landed with a jarring crunch back on semi-solid ground. Overhead, the evening sun burned merrily across the sky. A chorus of relieved and exuberant cheers rose up from the survivors, but neither Sean nor Gel joined them. Instead the slime warrior rushed immediately to the edge of their ledge and looked down at the hole they had just emerged from.
“Should I tell them now?” Gel asked as the pair watched what had to be a flood of furious, fungal-covered ants began to rise up from the depths. Other holes appeared all over the nearby dunes, and Sean could see the blasted things climbing over one another in their haste to reach the top. “They’re so excited, it would be a shame to ruin the mome–”
“Now, Gel!” Sean interrupted. “Tell them to get to the wagon! Where’s that turtle-dude?!”
Maxway, the wagoneer ‘turtle-dude’ to which he was referring, was the lynchpin for the next phase of Sean’s brilliant plan. A phase that had two parts, but for the survivors, it really only had one: Escape!
Before the slime had even begun shouting, Sean saw the giant green-and-blue shell of the turtle man leap off their ledge and dash across the sands to the immobile, partially melted wagon with surprising grace and speed.
Damn, he can really move. Sean was glad he hadn’t had to remind Maxway of his part in the plan, and he could respect that kind of moxie. Now, he had to match it. Sean used his vantage point to survey the immediate area and let his instincts guide him as to where would be the best place to intercept the swarming ant horde. Then he adjusted his shield, rolled his shoulders, and nodded.
My turn.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“It did it.” Daerkin breathed out, his disbelief warring with his rising respect for the towering undead that had just leapt off their platform – presumably, to protect them once again. “It really did it. The blight-touched bastard actually kept its word.”
They had discussed – quietly – amongst themselves what to do should the undead decide to turn on them. Of course they had. It was a death creature, after all. It wasn’t hard to imagine that this slime-fisted, suicidal plot it had concocted was just an excuse to lead them all to their own deaths. But there hadn’t been a better plan, and now it seemed like this ‘Gel’ really did intend to fight to the last on their behalf. Daerkin could already hear what the guildmaster was going to say when he got back to tell this particular story.
“So it did.” Saren whispered, the owlen’s own astonishment morphing into a stern expression as his years of mental conditioning and training kicked in. Training which shoved everything non-essential to the side when it was time for combat. “Now, we must do our part.”
The owlen tore open the box with the bar of life-infused mana-metal with one claw, and then pressed its gleaming surface to his chest. Almost instantly, he could feel the glory of Life surge within him once more. Holy light bore through the purple stalks peppering his body like the feather-plague often did, and – at his mental direction – burned out the infection in one clean, purifying swoop. His feathers and skin began to smoke, but Saren was no freshly hatched chick.
Even when the last of it fell from his flesh, he made not a sound. Though he did nearly sag in relief when the brilliant-gold prompt appeared in his vision, announcing his cleansing.
You have been purged of all Slaveshroom Spores! The infection within you has been cleansed. All access to abilities and mana have been restored. Health and mana regeneration has resumed, but will be at 50% efficiency until you have rested due to exhaustion.
I am not done yet. Saren though, then the owlen squared his shoulders and raised his voice to thundering volume. When he spoke next it was with all the commanding authority of a seasoned paladin. A tried-and-trained leader of the enlightened races.
A true Zealot of the Gold Spire.
“Follow the plan!” Saren boomed as he spread his wings and held aloft the silver spear the undead had gifted him with. It gleamed brilliantly in the sun’s light, to the point where it almost appeared to flex of its own accord in the paladin’s hands. “Get our wounded to the wagon! Those who can fight, join me! We go now to purge this foul stain from the holy sands! For the Spire!”
With another chorus of cries, this time of battle rather than exuberance, the survivors raised their weapons and charged forth. Behind the rapidly brightening, glowing-yellow banner of a paladin holding a bar of slightly-less bright metal to his chest with one arm, and a spear raised to strike in the other.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I’m glad you told them to go in a different direction to the wagon.” Gel commented as they slew the first worker to make it to them. Like all the rest, it had seemed completely unaware of their presence thanks to the slime’s constant spore-consuming vigilance. “They’re going to draw most of the ants right past this spot, and that means more meat and experience for us! Assuming we don’t get overwhelmed before the turtle fixes their ride out of here, that is.”
“We just have to take down any sensors when they show up.” Sean pointed out, backing up a few paces to give Gel room to swing at their next target. “I think Daerkin was right. Those things are the ‘eyes’ for the hive. If one of those is out, it won’t matter if we’re clean or not.”
“By the time those are a problem it’ll be time for plan B – which is still my favorite part of the plan, by the way. We’re going to be feasting for days after this.” Gel all-but-crowed as the slime brought his clear battle-axe crashing through the head of another worker with a meaty crunch. “Wait, how are we going to signal the bird when it’s time to fly if the paladin is fighting all the way over there? What if he dies first?”
“Then we go with plan rock, then plan B.” Sean grunted, leaping back from the new ant corpse to dash over towards a soon-to-be-one. “We promised to get them to the wagon, and to take out the fungus. Everything else and everything after that is on them.”
“He’s using our metal, Sean!” Gel exclaimed. “I knew he was going to use it. He better recharge it before they have it forged!”
Despite the rapidly frantic pace of their battle against an ever-increasing amount of swarming foes, Sean couldn’t help himself.
“Recharged? What is it, some kind of battery?”
“I don’t know what that is, but yes. The paladin must have used some of it to cast a spell or something.” Gel explained even as they fought two approaching worker ants to a standstill. “Which was rather clever actually, and if they ask I’m going to say we planned for that this entire time.”
Behind them, Maxway was moving faster than any turtle logically should be able to move as he hurriedly tried to repair the wagon’s riderless movement capabilities. Sean wished they had had time to discuss it further, because the topic sounded fascinating, but all he knew for now was that it had something to do with the runes on the wagon. If those were fixed up, then the wagon would move again.
There had been some concern about if it would move with all of the passengers they were about to stuff on it, but the Kung-Fu Mamba-esque turtle had simply nodded solemnly and promised that he would keep it moving. This had drawn some skeptical looks, but apparently the turtle’s abilities were all centered around movement and wagons. Which Sean found simultaneously impressive and curious, but again, now was not the time.
Now that the ‘bait’ phase of the plan had finished, the fungus controlling the hive had both their location and an overly-obvious trail leading directly towards them comprised of a swathe of uneaten, spore-covered insect bodies and tunnel passages. Sean wasn’t sure if fungi could be upset but he would wager this one could because it was, just as obviously, exceptionally pissed at losing its captured prey. There were dozens of holes popping up around the sands now, and dozens more ants crawling up out of the ones they were already trying – and only partially succeeding – to keep a lid on.
Maybe this part of the plan could have used some revisions. An entirely unnecessarily smug part of Sean’s mind noted. The slime warrior conceded the point to himself, and as he watched the alarmingly swift rise in their number of enemies, was immensely grateful that his undead nature continually squashed his own panic at the situation.
They fought desperately, and the ever-surging waves of their attackers began to push even Saren’s group backwards. Sean was forced to give ground as well, and if it weren’t for Bernard’s battlefield-shaping magic, they would have been overrun already. As it was, they were barely able to hold on. Though not without losses.
Sean heard the first of several death screams echo across the sands from just over his shoulder, where Saren’s group was fighting, and that seemed like signal enough. The coldly logical part of him knew that waiting until the last minute was probably their best bet in the short term, but it conceded that the best long term bet was to keep as many of those they had rescued alive. Debts owed were debts owed, after all.
As luck would have it, it was also at that very moment that Maxway croaked loudly in what sounded like an exultation of victory. Sparing a quick glance behind him, Sean saw the wagon’s wheels begin to spin and more of the survivors pile onto it. Bernard stood firmly in the center of the group on the wagon, with Karson at his feet as the old man raised trembling hands to shape the field in their favor once more.
The plan was working. They were going to make it. All they had to do now was–
A glob of greenish-grey acid splattered across the old mage’s chest, scouring flesh in an instant and causing cries of terror to go up from the nearby survivors caught up in the edges of the attack. A dark black ant with a bright-green tinged mouth on a nearby hill, one of the ‘shooter’ variants according to Daerkin, leaned its head back to take another shot.
“Plan B!” Gel shouted in his mind, and Sean couldn’t tell if the slime was excited or terrified. “Definitely time for plan B!”