My mind rings twice. For a split second, everything goes dark.
Something wet squelches under my head. I groan and rub whatever it is from my hair as I… sit up? Since when was I lying down? A shooting pain lances through my leg as I try to stand, and a quick glance down shows why–my knee’s bending completely backwards. I grit my teeth and look back at Clutter, just in case, but he looks fine. Still cowering under the shields, but… well… cowering and alive.
Blood fills my mouth, and I spit out a shattered tooth with a grimace. It must’ve cut the inside of my mouth up pretty good with how much blood comes out, and a questing finger probes at my teeth until I find the empty spot. There’s a little prick of bone at the bottom, almost like another tooth already growing in, which… well, I guess I do have shark teeth. So not that much of a surprise.
I blink slowly, surprised at just how… lucid… I feel at the moment, and turn my eyes to the mound of plastic. It pulses and writhes just like before, and there doesn’t seem to be much more plastic on the ground than before.
“God damn it, that hurts.” I grumble as I lean back and throw up an overreaction of shields. “Pearl, did you see what the fu–”
“I saw everything!” She cuts me off with a glance away from me. The creak of the tree echoes in my ears threateningly, and she sneers at the source of the noise. “You don’t have to be such a jerk–it’s not Shelby’s fault the plastic is connected to your roots and siphoning magic from them. Maybe that’s something you could’ve told us in advance?”
Creaks and groans answer Pearl’s accusation seriously. She crosses her arms and taps her foot as they continue, then raises an eyebrow when they stop.
“That’s a little better. Now give us some of your sap so we can heal and get rid of your problem.”
A thick, ghastly root bursts free from the ground right next to me. I stare at it for a split second, not quite sure what to do, but Pearl grabs my attention with a desperate wave.
“Psst! Shelby! You still have those potion holders, right?” She whispers as loudly as possible. “The tree’s offering some of it’s sap and hallowed groundwater. Fill one of each.”
I nod idly and open my inventory, pulling out two empty flasks that used to be filled with potions. The root punctures the side of one flask, and I feel something flowing into it. Then it retracts, punctures the other, and a slightly different sensation fills that one. Once both are filled the root slurps back into the ground, leaving no trace that it was ever here in the first place. I turn the flasks around to check for holes, but aside from the weight in them, there’s no sign the root was ever there either.
“Identify.”
Gravekeeper Cottonwood Sap - given willingly.
Concentrated sap from a Gravekeeper Cottonwood.
A precious ingredient with few known uses.
Gravebound Groundwater - given willingly.
Groundwater from within a Gravekeeper’s influence.
A precious ingredient with few known uses.
I stare at my pair of flasks with a flat expression. “These do nothing for me.”
Pearl tilts her head to the side, seemingly surprised by that. “What? Um, the sap should be a really powerful healing potion with a really weird backlash. And the water is really refreshing.”
“Nope; just says here they’re ingredients.” I tap the side of a flask for emphasis, then send them both away. “Good thing I didn’t use the healing potion flask for these.”
I summon the flask with the last of the healing potion in it and down the rest of it. Surprisingly, my throat lets me drink everything that’s left instead of closing off prematurely. That’s a horrible sign. I wince and reach down to twist my knee and lower leg back into place so the potion can do its thing, then close my eyes as the horrible sound of bones crunching and tendons re-knitting sends shudders up my leg.
And… that’s it. Somehow, only my leg got hurt, and it was enough to knock me out. I grimace and shakily stand, not looking forward to the pain that’s going to come in a little bit, and take stock of my coins. All the shields from before I blacked out are gone, save for Clutter’s, and my projectiles that were spinning on the mound are gone too. Purification’s also gone, but the gross feelings aren’t back. It must’ve soaked into me enough to stop them from getting to me.
A root prods me on the shoulder, and I turn to stare at it. “What?”
The tree groans, creaks, and somehow seems apologetic. Pearl rolls her eyes and motions at the plastic.
“Don’t apologize to us; tell us how we’re supposed to get this dang thing out of here if it’s siphoning power directly from you.” She says in an accusatory tone, which is pretty damn deserved. “How’d those other people who fought this thing survive, anyway? Shelby’s really tough, and a concentrated eruption of plastic under her leg was still enough to pierce her shields and knock her out.”
Is that what happened? An eruption of plastic? I glance around for any signs of it, but it doesn't really look… wait, no. There’s a pile of plastic that’s almost exactly the same as all the others, except for the fact that it’s still moving. Meaning it’s connected to the mound, and that I couldn’t see it a moment ago because it wasn’t obvious.
While Pearl tries to pry a way to kill the thing out of the tree, I slowly walk over to the pool of molten plastic. It looks way hotter and deadlier than any of the other stuff I’ve seen so far, but it’s also… well… just more plastic. From what I can feel, there’s no way anything that came from this should’ve been able to demolish my shields like it did. Something must’ve happened at the moment of impact. Which was… oh, shit.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
I pull my lips into a thin line and turn to the mound. Even though I’m standing right next to the puddle that knocked me on my ass, it’s not doing anything. One of my shields shatters as a clump of plastic crashes into it, but that’s not what I’m talking about–it was doing that since it popped out of the ground.
But it only did the eruption thing when I attacked it. Like a punching bag swinging back with double the force I put into it. If I hadn’t protected myself so heavily, I definitely would’ve died there. And it sort of explains how Clutter’s old group didn’t get utterly annihilated–they weren’t strong enough to damage it for that kind of retaliation.
Still, that’s just a theory. I need to prove it if I want to actually use it to get rid of the thing. A coin spins between my fingers as I visualize the weakest projectile possible–one that’s monstrously huge, lasts for an absurdly long time, and flies as fast as humanly possible. Basically, the magical equivalent of a breeze that can only ruffle your clothes. At least that’s what I hope it does.
I glance back at Clutter once again, and surprise surprise, there’s no change. Then I take more than a few steps back to the edge of the mound’s area of influence, flip the coin up to my thumbnail, and flick it at the mound. It spins through the air, flipping over and over as my weak but huge projectile breaks free from it.
Magic barely buzzes in the shape of a sphere, tiny particles of salty magic whirling about in the breeze. It hits the mound without making a sound, then sticks there like the other one. The ground begins to shudder under my feet, just like before, but… it’s so much weaker. If the first one that knocked me flat on my ass was an earthquake, this one’s more like the initial jolt you feel when an elevator starts moving.
Plastic pools beneath my feet in a basin the size of a bottle cap. I stare down at it, which admittedly isn’t very smart, but my awareness tells me it’s not worth worrying about at all. The mound spasms like someone just sent an electric current through it, and then–
Spurt.
The piddliest, most pathetic splurt of molten plastic barely squishes out of the basin and brushes against my shield. It barely even makes a dent in the structural integrity, but there’s just enough damage for me to notice it happened. Even with this little, though, that’s a pretty impressive amount of damage. Whatever this plastic stuff is, it’s a damn good conduit for magic.
“Hey, Pearl, did you feel the thing inside the mound any clearer during that?” I ask as I step away from the burbling basin, not willing to take any extra risk.
Pearl purses her lips in concentration. “I… um… sort of? Sorry, I was kind of busy arguing with the tree. Can you do it again? I’ll watch more closely this time.”
Another tiny rumble begins beneath my feet, set off by my projectile still… well… existing. I gesture at the mound for Pearl to harden her focus, and with an accompaniment of creaks and groans from the tree, she leans forward while narrowing her eyes. The splurt of plastic under my feet barely lowers the outermost shield to four-fifths of its total durability, and I step to the side as I wait for Pearl’s verdict.
“There was a little… more of something when it happened. Honestly, it just felt like when it was throwing plastic chunks at you.” She says as she tilts her head back in thought. “But if it felt exactly the same, then does it mean it doesn’t matter how much it puts into an attack?”
I nod along in agreement. “Just the fact that it attacks is enough.”
“Yeah!” Pearl smiles and claps her hands. “It’s siphoning magic from the tree, but it must have to do something when it fires. Maybe if we can keep it firing constantly, we can get a better look at it. How many more of those projectiles can you keep up?”
“A few.” I fan my fingers out, holding four coins in each hand. My awareness strains as I push spells into them, but holds strong. “Tree guy–if you feel the plastic loosen it’s hold on you, do everything you can to push it out. Got it?”
A quick creak that Pearl doesn’t need to translate is my answer. I grin and toss all the coins out, tracing a mental path for each of them to follow towards the mound. Then it hits me. One huge blow wouldn't have been enough to shatter my shields and send me flying–but one to break them and a follow-up definitely would. And since I put two projectiles on it last time… well, that would explain that.
Hopefully that means the mound sees each separate projectile as their own thing, not one collective spell. I hold my breath as a plastic basin emerges under my feet. My second projectile hits. Then my third. Before the fourth hits another bottle cap sized basin opens up, and I let out the barely held breath–they count as separate things.
Which means I’m not going to nearly kill myself again.
One by one, the little eruptions go off. Little by little, Pearl’s concentration turns to curiosity. And, finally, her curiosity shifts to outright excitement as she hops from one foot to the other and points repeatedly at the mound.
“There! It’s there! Right in the middle–there’s something in the plastic!”
Awesome. How the hell am I going to get it? It’s not like my skin can survive molten plastic, and I… shields. Duh. I silently chide myself as Pearl urges me on while eruptions slowly work away at my outermost shield. Just as the first shield shatters I reach the mound, which doesn’t look any different, but my awareness is a totally different beast.
Where there was once a solid mound, it now feels like a pile of loose snow. And through that loose snow I can feel something perfectly round with a single barely protruding line. It doesn’t feel anything like the plastic, but it also feels like a perfect part of the plastic. Trying to think of how that doesn’t work at all just gives me a magical headache, so instead, I just thrust my arm into the plastic and start rooting around.
The resistance is immeasurable. The distance between the edge of the plastic and the thing inside is infeasible. Yet somehow, my hand glides through those impossibilities and wraps the edge of a shield around the round thing. It’s perfectly solid and immobile, yet it beats like a living heart. I give it a questing tug, just to see how stuck it is.
My back slams against the ground. I blink a few times to push away the discomfort, then slowly sit up as I scan my body for injuries. There’s none at first glance, so I carefully get to my feet and look around. Flowers and wreaths tell me I’m still in the graveyard, but there’s no giant plastic mound or hardening puddles of plastic remnants to be seen.
A giant tree appears right next to me.
“Gah!” I yelp, then twist my face into a frown. “What did you do?”
The tree creaks ever so slightly, almost like a quiet laugh. Pearl frowns, then glances down and gasps.
“Shelby. Look at your hand.”
I raise an eyebrow, then do as she says. Sure enough, there’s something in my palm–a small orb, about the size of an eyeball, with a stone wreath hovering around it. The words Marywell Den are etched into the tiny wreath, somehow confirming that this is indeed the wreath we found. As I turn, the wreath turns in the opposite direction, keeping the words etched into it facing the same way like north on a compass. I look up at the tree, a thousand questions held back by one that needs to be asked first.
“Who is Marywell Den?”