A cool and refreshing breeze caressed his skin, offering a tantalizing promise of a cold night and a reprieve from the oppressive heat of the badlands. A warm fire could always ward off the worst of the night chill, but even the best shade could offer only a pittance of respite when temperatures soared during the day. And, being so large with a body of steely muscles covered in a protective layer of dense fat, preventing heat stroke presents a challenging obstacle that many others have failed to overcome. With a deep breath, he savored the pleasant atmosphere as a setting sun struggled in vain to stave off the creeping darkness of nightfall.
Comfortable, cozy, and safe, Nabonidus savored the calm before the storm. While it would only last a few minutes in real time, his mind would venture on a journey that would take days or weeks, for an [Oracle] does not simply see the future; they live it. And not just one future, but countless futures, with as much granularity as one desires to look into the minutiae of the smallest of movements and the most seemingly inconsequential of choices of the Actors in the Scene.
Liken a glimpse into the future as playing catch with a small child who lacks the skill and coordination to reliably throw a ball to you. You look into the future of where the ball will actually go, and then move to that spot. However, the child adjusts the aim of the throw, and a new location will be where the ball will land. Rinse and repeat until the incompetence of the child matches up with your location such that misjudgment and poor aim combine in such a peculiar way as to yield miraculous success. However, each glimpse at the future of the same Scene costs progressively more mana than the last, not to mention the banality of living it over and over to find the right one. As such, an [Oracle] needs discipline, an iron will, and conviction to be successful.
But there is a secret to it, one that undoubtedly others have discovered independently, just as the ogre had. Why look to the future yourself when your future selves could do it for you? What if, instead, a future version of you looked through a thousand futures, based on a given criteria of what to look for, and gave present you circumstances that led to the desired Outcome? Look to as many versions of future you as present you needs, each delegated to their own workload, and push them mercilessly until they give you what you want or break.
The catch is that creating a future version of oneself taxes the mind and mana reserves, and so those future selves have less resources to work with. If the process is repeated, then they can yield fewer results, so a balance between the number of instances of the future and their workload compared to their resources must be sought so that each of them would ideally use every last drop of what they have before they return an answer. Easier said than done, but Nabonidus had been practicing as of late just to keep himself and the Dragon alive.
Surrendering to a meditative state within the confines of his crude hut far from the main camp of the other ogres, Nabonidus gazed into the infinite, seeking the Scenario as mandated by the inescapable grasp of Destiny.
The Dragon would fight overwhelming odds, that much was certain. An ambush, hunters, allies, but where? Where would the Scene take place? Searching, delegating, outsourcing to future versions of me. One to look in deserts, another in forests, a third in towns. A dozen more to look in a dozen more biomes, and a dozen more after that. None have returned a positive answer. Widen the search to less ideal landscapes.
An answer, a swamp or marshland of some kind. Good job, future me! A smirk, a distraction of the flesh, focus. Dismiss all future instances, start over with new directives. When and where specifically? Start with the present and work forward, as all [Oracles] do, for the distant future becomes fuzzy. Obfuscation, a shadow mires the vision, but a clue. Why hide something unless it should not be seen? Spin up twenty more future me’s. Meddling, sloppy. Delegate a future me to delegate to his future hims as to who or what tries to interfere. Headache, distraction of the flesh, not enough practice with such layering of futures, only have one future delve into the third layer like that.
“A [Prophet], skilled, but outclassed so close to the imminent Scene.”
Ah, future me came through with two answers. The Scenario would happen soon at an upcoming Scene in the very near future. Focusing on events in the next hour. Sweat, heavy breathing, distraction. Press onward, for life depends on it, most notably our own, you lazy future mes! Put your backs into it!
“I found it!”
Ah, Future-Me-14 found it! Examining his memory packet. The hydra, more hydras, a mating ritual, a honeypot, ambush, death of the Dragon. Unacceptable. Calibrating for exact timing of the True Scene. Delegating.
…
…
“Four minutes from now!”
Not good. The [Prophet] had been sneaky to hide it from me until that last moment. Assess options for acceptable Outcomes. Body getting woozy, thinking difficult, must end soon.
“Send warning at appointed time in memory packet. Warning message as follows: ‘Imminent danger! Dragon hunters approach. Threat level: deadly.’”
That’s it? Nothing else needs to be done? Too simple, too tired to keep looking, trust future self, consciousness fading.
Waiting. No other futures revealed any rebuttals. Mana reserves low. Must time message good. Think much hard.
Time now. Send message to Dragon. Message sent. No think now. Sleepy.
With a rare smile of satisfaction crossing from his lips to the world of any observer, Nabonidus took the last moment of consciousness to revel in the delight of a disaster averted before he keeled over and fell into a deep sleep. And as he slumbered, he dreamed of over a score of heads that came to make a deal with him.
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Assailed so by the Incredible Brute, our limbs trembled from the stress of enduring his blows. Would that I could say we fought with the skill and poise of the heroes of legend, but alas, we merely struggled to survive from one exchange to the next. His axe sang its way through the air as it sought purchase on our mortal coils. I could barely follow along with the melody of his blows, but I knew the energy of that song well, for it spoke of death and destruction. How long we could persist in such a stalemate before we lacked the reserves of vigor to fend off his most egregious ministrations to our anatomy, I knew not, but I would continue to fight for my Liege Lord until I perished from this world.
Skull, most virtuous and stalwart of servants to our Liege Lord, continued to swell in strength as the mantle of her power manifested. However, her form was as obsidian; hard, but fragile. While her figure bloomed, wreathed in shadow and the ravenous strands of raw terror that hovered about her like nascent wraiths, her energy reserves dwindled at an untenable rate. Now, I enjoy a good [Slug Fest] as much as the next, but the Incredible Brute showed no signs of slowing down or taking any serious damage. Even my [Tongue Lashing] to his face had only brought a small moment of reprieve, but he soon grew wise to my methods. I dare not use it again lest he grab ahold of my tongue and swing me around like a flail.
Skull has reached her zenith, and victory would be found now or never. Perilous though the gambit would be, I trusted in her familiarity with my own fighting style due to our hours of training with her and our Liege Lord. Gripping the metal opening of my scabbard, I channeled [Frog Stud] for extra strength for my plan of attack as I slowly circled around behind him. I waited and waited, continuing to draw strength in anticipation of Skull making an opening.
Stolen story; please report.
Skull managed to catch his axe on the hilt of her blade, and though it arrested his momentum for but a moment, I seized the initiative and leapt towards him, my blade forsaken as I dropped it. He may have been expecting a stab in the back, but I had something more honorable planned. Utilizing the benefits of [Wrassle Up Some Grub], I grappled him from behind, and though our struggle was short, I managed to force him to his knees as I pinned his arms to his side. I wrapped my tongue around his neck to secure his head in place, and the tip of my tongue forced his mouth open. My meager form could barely contain the Incredible Brute’s fury as he railed against my efforts to constrain him, but with luck, Skull would dispatch him before he broke free. All I could do now is trust in our camaraderie and our training to see us prevail over such evil.
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The pacing of our struggle changed the instant Hopper withdrew from direct engagements with Brick Shithouse. I ascertained that it was not through fear or terror that Hopper ceased his excursions from his distance of relative safety for a foray into the reach of that monstrous axe, and although he surely felt the effects of fatigue as much as I did, I could tell he had a plan by the gleam in his eye.
I redoubled my efforts, one final push to secure an advantage as I threw everything I had into creating an opening. A perihelion of Shadow magic escorted me as I offered Brick Shithouse free samples of my swordplay. Grasping hands of shadow, each like the desperate last attempts of the drowning to latch on to anything as the icy depths pulled them under, reached out towards him to ensnare his movements and leech his vitality for my own use. Few found purchase, as if an intangible force buffeted them away like pesky flies, but a handful succeeded and provided me with that precious trickle of energy to keep me in the fight.
His movements slowed, albeit marginally. Dodging his blows remained the preferable course of action, for even a glancing blow would wreak terrible damage upon my armor and my body underneath. Although [Dragon Knight] gave me tremendous regenerative capabilities, even it had its limits in the face of a full rearrangement of my innards. The bones in my left arm had shattered at one point, possibly an eternity ago, for the concept of time felt fuzzy in the storm of power that we each wielded against one another. Though fully healed, I remained inclined to not repeat that painful experience ever again, for not only did it hurt to have a bone shattered, but healing it slowly likewise pushed my pain tolerance to the limit.
For his part, Hopper stood by idly, his eyes ever alert on our fight, but his left hand firmly gripped the opening of his scabbard. For what spare mental effort I could offer to ponder his activities, I noticed a subtle shift in his frame. Muscles twitched, and at an accelerating rate, they began swelling in size as his already hefty frame packed on even more muscle. Almost grotesque to witness, and although his stature did not increase, his muscles bulked up to at least triple their original size. Were the situation more peaceful, I may have laughed at how ridiculous he looked, for he appeared to be almost incapable of movement with all that swelling.
What glances I caught of him showed the muscles had ceased growing, and instead, they compacted, each looking denser, as if made of solid steel. What little fat his froggy figure possessed seemingly disappeared as he showcased unrealistic body standards for males everywhere. His straw hat popped right off his head from the strain on his body, and if that fact registered in his mind, his countenance did not display even a hint of it, such was his focus.
Sensing that Hopper was fully prepared, I feinted a vertical chop to Brick Shithouse, who luckily took the bait. He let out a horizontal sweep of his axe, eagerly willing to race me to see who could hit whom first. I twisted my swing, bringing the tip of my blade down to sink into the earth, angled to block his swing. The head of his axe passed my blade, but the shaft found itself arrested where my blade met the hilt. I wrenched my blade down hard, using it as a lever to pull his axe towards the ground. Snugly caught, he pushed his axe forward and twisted the shaft to spin the head of the axe out of the trap before I could pin it to the earth. Apparently, all was in vain, for the trap had already been sprung.
With a lightning quick dash, Hopper was upon Brick Shithouse, grabbing the hulking orc from behind and pushing him down to his knees. With his arms pinned at his sides and his head pulled back, he let out a mighty warcry as he struggled to cast off Hopper. Hastening to seize the advantage of the opening on a helpless foe, I used [Wings of the Dragon] to take me aloft perhaps three stories into the air, and then quickly reorienting myself with my spectral and draconic wings, I descended upon my helpless prey with my sword aimed straight down.
His mouth wide open, Brick Shithouse found himself inescapably aware of my sword shoved down his throat, the tip of it punching through the other side of him somewhere and buried in the earth. With frenzied purpose to my most violent ministrations to his person. I twisted my blade and shook it back and forth inside him to inflict as much damage as possible. Gurgled screams of pain and rage choked their way past my blade to announce his disapproval of my actions.
Beyond reason, beyond belief, he shrugged off Hopper and pushed me away. With one shaky leg stepping foot onto the earth from his kneeling position, the other followed in dogged pursuit of the first as he stood while grabbing his axe. Blood spewed out of his mouth and somewhere below between his legs as he took a step towards me, then another, as he raised his axe high.
Not faltering in the least, I unleashed a deluge of Shadow upon him, calling upon every Ability I had to enervate his advance. When my wellspring of power ran dry, Brick Shithouse still stood tall, his axe raised above his head, motionless. As if in one final boast of his prowess to mock my victory, he had died on his feet, his body frozen in his final attack that never came.
Hopper and I paused for a moment, both exhausted and unsure what would follow. He cautiously circled around our foe and joined me with his blade in hand, ready for the next impossible feat. For a few moments, we stood there, before the rush of battle receded and joyous laughter at our victory seized us. Our mirth ceased when the sky raged and split as the earth trembled.
Like a crack in reality, the sky sundered, revealing a red and gold sky behind it as an uneven portal opened to our world. Concerned, but not afraid, I watched as an imposing figure plummeted from the sky to land directly next to Brick Shithouse.
“You have bested my grandson in battle, a most arduous feat,” pronounced the figure armored in the eastern style as he removed his helmet. I witnessed the thankfully calm visage of the most famous and esteemed of orcs, at least according to the orcs, whose likeness could be found at any shrines to their gods as a testament to what mortal orcs could achieve. The great Khan of Khans himself had descended from the heavens to claim his own.
Carefully, yet resolute in purpose, Berxerxes withdrew my zweihänder out of the gullet of his grandson, and once withdrawn, he handed it to me. Almost dazed with the majesty of it all, my body moved on its own to accept.
“He died in battle to worthy foes, servants of one most promising and powerful in their own right. May all the world know of the last battle of Bamborax. He has earned his place in the hallowed halls of Grel’la’kel. You two,” his voice boomed as he addressed us. “Warriors both, step forward to receive your spoils.”
Without thinking, we obeyed, our minds overwhelmed by the circumstances of standing before such a legendary figure. A side glance to Hopper confirmed that even a frog from the swamps knew who stood before us and the certainty of our death should we not comply.
Surprisingly, Berxerxes greeted us with a fierce but toothy smile, the kind that reaches the eyes in satisfaction. He held out his hand to shake, and in the style of warriors the world over, we gripped each other’s forearm and shook once. Immediately, I felt power flow into me, not energy to rejuvenate me, but something else. Like instinct, I knew that new Abilities had been bestowed upon me, but I would need a moment of peace to ascertain what they were. Berxerxes shook hands with Hopper as well, and without a word, he turned back to his grandson as he donned his helmet.
With one gentle and deft movement of his hand, he plucked the axe from Bamborax and slung it in place on the back of the dead orc. Hugging his fallen grandson close, the pair of them ascended quickly into the heavens and through the portal into the sky. As suddenly as it began, the portal closed, and the sky reformed as if no incursion into our mortal realm had occurred.
Whelmed, but on the cusp of overwhelmed, and now truly exhausted, I collapsed onto my backside and rested my blade at the ready as I leaned it onto my shoulder. The fight truly taken out of me by the whole ordeal, I sat and watched as Master fought one of the few foes left on the field, another red dragon.
One of Master’s traps, subtle to even my eye, as he intended for us to be able to see them, had been creeping over to us. However, as if it were aware it was no longer needed, it slowly began its exodus from our battlefield as it inexorably slid away towards the duel between dragons.
“Well fuck me!” I exclaimed to Hopper as I threw an arm around him when he plopped down beside me, his normal level of bulkiness having returned to his figure. “First Titans, then the [Herald] of the orc gods, what’s next? Actual gods!” Although I knew that literal gods could not enter our world, an avatar could, but I hoped us mere mortals would be spared such a fate for at least another five minutes or so.