Benjamin – Alpha Zone #157 level 1 – 20
Putting the annoyance of having left the den of thieving double crossers alive to the back of our minds, the power of jolly cooperation moved me's through the requisite zones as our ridiculously enhanced body brought us to our Greeny approved destination. The world continued to blur if a shifting melange of colours and blue boxes as we heedlessly pitted out durability against rock, wood, and monster alike:
You have entered Alpha Zone #156 level 1 – 20.
You have slain Goblin Spearman level 13, no experience gained due to level disparity.
Parasitic Mutator trait activated, do you wish to absorb Lesser Dexterous Hands trait y/n? 4 minutes 59 seconds remaining.
1 Manamotes acquired from Goblin Spearman.
You have entered Alpha Zone #155 level 1 – 20.
You have slain Rock Scorpion level 13, no experience gained due to level disparity.
Parasitic Mutator trait activated, do you wish to absorb Lesser Tremor Sense trait y/n? 4 minutes 59 seconds remaining.
You have slain Rock Scorpion Matriarch level 20, no experience gained due to level disparity.
6 Manamotes acquired from Rock Scorpion Matriarch.
You have slain Rock Scorpion level 12, no experience gained due to level disparity.
You have entered Alpha Zone #154 level 1 – 20.
You have slain Grew level 20, no experience gained due to level disparity.
Parasitic Mutator trait activated, do you wish to absorb Lesser Night Vision y/n? 4 minutes 59 seconds remaining.
9 Manamotes acquired from Grew.
You have entered Alpha Zone #153 level 1 – 20.
Absently rejecting the pitiful traits and attempting to collectively shake the smeared detritus of our sanic journey like a Labrador fresh from a swim. Many me’s universally fail to dismiss all of our [Plate of Jo’La’Fo]’s new and still slightly viscous multicoloured paint job.
Subsequent to our piantening, we unanimously electing to forgo another lava Jacuzzi in favor of haste and a mind visually scans the decidedly rocky Alpha Zone, while another stays alert on the not-totally-out-of the-question-chance that the chilly bin loving old bat named Gloria has somehow sent me’s into a trap.
Finding no immediate threats and roughly locating the cliff face in question, a me slowly approaches the grey rock face’s only cave like aperture as another me notes theres someone withing speaking in a clipped accent with a distinctly Japanese twang.
“Gus! You need to take more care!”
Collectively halting to see what further incriminating evidence we might glean from a stealth based eavesdropping operation we are almost instantly rewarded for intuitive plan as a second speaker with a distinctly Latin American accent counters.
“Itz fine Han, juz give 'er a potion and she’ll be ready to go in no time!”
To which the first speaker snaps.
“I know we can use a potion you idiot, but they cost Manamotes...And we’ve already used so many! Then there is the matter of its cooldown and you already used one so you could have your go…”
Still unmoved the second speaker adds.
“Look I’ll admit thatz my fault Han, I juz got a bit carried away in the moment you know? If only she hadn’t stopped healing herself...”
Sighing the first speaker amended.
“It’s fine as long as the next potion comes out of your cut and your also on double watch tonight. That way I can have a turn when she finally wakes...”
Leading the second speaker to whine.
“Come now friend, thatz not what waz agreed…besidez...a hole iz a hole azleep or awake!“
The first speaker snaps back.
“If you hadn’t killed her father to make her so uncooperative this wouldn’t be a prob-“
Having heard far too much already, many me’s don’t even need to vote on a course of action as we blur as one into the cave’s artificially lit interior.
Sighting on the two objects of our multitudinous rage. Like developmentally challenged lemmings they begin to turn in slow motion at the sound of our entrance, yet none of me allow the half dressed South American male a chance to finish opening his inhuman mouth by way of a me getting the honor of ramming our freshly painted magically metal plated fist through it:
You have slain Initiate Man at Arms Level 85, no experience gained due to level disparity.
Stolen novel; please report.
7,011 Manamotes acquired from Initiate Man at Arms.
Parasitic Mutator trait activated, do you wish to absorb Lesser Wealth Sense y/n? 4 minutes 59 seconds remaining.
In the next fractured instant we hold the one not responsible for ending Gérard is held suspended by our [Lesser Matter Manipulation] as he’s held aloft and immobile by another still unsaited me.
As the less then human thing continues its immobile suspension we eventually succeed in overcoming the near collectively consuming urge to juice the self confessed repeat rapist like a Florida orange at a juice stand. Instead of succumbing to our baser natures we opt to get some meaning from the morally deficit creature in a human skin...But when his usefulness ends...
Clamping back down on the burgeoning mental twitch to render him down, we continue to stare him square in his fear stricken eyes as one of me eases the full body lock that the thing levitating before us is under while another demands in the most decibel safe volume it can manage.
“Why?”
He desperately heaves for air for a few seconds before he gasps out.
“Was…paid…job…”
Unanimously un-surprised but somehow further disgusted, a me furthers monotonically.
“What happened to their escorts?”
He seems to weigh his answer more carefully this time as he replies far more composedly.
“You mean the two black clad mercenaries?”
Nodding stone faced confirmation, he supplies in an overly dramatic regretful tone.
“They fought like demons but after a protracted battle, they died like tr-“
Our collective restraint buckles and anymore words become irrelevant from the sub human piece of excrement.
As a direct result the mind who was already utilizing [Lesser Matter Manipulation] gains the honor of collapsing him into as small a piece of refuse that the trait will enable:
You have slain Initiate Rogue Level 87, no experience gained due to level disparity.
Bones, flesh, blood and pulped yet equally sinuous organs vie for real estate they were never designed to share as a sound like an ASMR.webm from hell rebounds of the small caves walls. The suspended sphere that was the thing pretending to be a man now resembles a small inflatable ball barely a meter across...That is if said ball was filled with swirls of undulating, reds, browns, whites and even a tinge of black from a subhuman's perforated stomach's bile.
Normally not ones to be squeamish about the left over parts of our prey, this time we're sufficiently revolted by the reconstituted blob to such an extent that we unilaterally forgo whatever pittance the thing was paid on principle alone. Instead a mind activates [Lesser Dimensional Absence] and makes it so that it looses its last less-than-substancial remnants of presence before giving the equally detestable remains of Gérard’s murderer the exact same treatment.
Once the remnants of the trash is erased from existence a sense of powerlessness washes through us as we're left to wade in the aftermath of their reprehensibly despicable choices.
Unsure what to do now the best bloody Frenchman we’ve ever known is gone and left us to care for his tortured and brutalized daughter.
Despite our flawless memory none of me seem able to recall how long we stand and watch the shallow breaths of the unconscious Giselle.
A more detestable part of us notes her beauty still somehow persists, despite the evidently bloody and swollen nakedness of her ordeal. Yet such unctuous thoughts flee and our indecisive vigil ends the second her exposed form inhales a breath like she’s just resurfaced from a particularly large and unexpected wave at the beach.
The Initiate Clerics eyes promptly follow suit as they jerk open to frantically survey her [Mage-light Stone] lit surrounds while she scrabbles backward on the caves rocky floor. This in turn leads the fragile creatures ragged and soiled remains of her [Elevant’s Essential Gear] to impede her progress as they tears audibly on the craggy and uneven stone floor.
Backing away like any of us would with an injured and frightened animal, one of me manages to proffer in our best attempt at a soothing tone.
“It’s okay Giselle...They’re gone now…They can’t hurt you...Not anymore…”
Our assurances fall on deaf ears as she screams and continues her mad scrabbling with her exposed flesh bearing the brunt on her way to back up against the wall wll while looking like shes about to hyperventilate.
One of me posits that we could just knock her out and move her to a safe location while another me points out that that would only complicate things further. My third mind however, votes for a more protracted wait and see approach.
After some more of the traumatized woman’s screaming echoing throughout the cramped caves confines, and extensive internal mass deliberation a decision is reached. Thus the triumvirate, like so many politicians, grudgingly elects to go with the wait and see approach, in the hope that she will tire of her hysterical screaming at some point.
It certainly takes longer than any of me expected, but eventually Giselle’s labored heaving for air is all that remains of the lone woman's audition tape for a horror film. Unfortunately her wild eyes still intently fixate on us in an unnervingly persecutory manner as me endeavors.
“Giselle it’s me...It's Benjamin…I came looking...I came to find your father and I fou-“
Cutting me off with an envenomed tone she half spits, half screams.
“IT WAZ YOU WAZANT IT!?! ZIS WAZ YOUR DOING YOU GODZ DAMNED FREAK!”
None of me feels the anticipated anger at the French woman’s words of hate. Instead, all-too-familiar guilt at our failure to protect her and her father from our enemies reigns, as she continues.
“I KNEW ET ALL ALONG, ZE WAY YOU WOULD LOOK AT ME…ET ALL MAKES SEN-“
Despite our multiplicative soul deep guilt, a mind protests in a soft voice that somehow stalls her eleventh leveled volume of hysterical lambasting.
“No.”
Incensed to an increased degree by my's feeble denial she begins.
“DO NOT LIE TO ME YOU MONSTER I AVE ALWA-“
Halting her once more, my minds further rebels as a me chokes out.
“I couldn’t…Not to you...Not to your father...C-Certainly never something…S-something like this…”
Something within her breaks and causes the anger to beat a hasty retreat from her face. At first one of me thinks she’s started laughing, but soon we recognize it as the sobbing of the overwrought.Brokenly, the once oh-so-proud woman we once knew settles to fixate on the uneven caves ground.
Unsure what to do as her far-too-exposed body continues to convulse, one of me pathetically offers.
“I’m g-gonna take you to your…To y-your dads place, ok?”
For the first time in all the years we’ve known the woman, she agrees to one of our suggestions without so much as a hostile slur, instead simply nodding her silent accent.
Not wanting to accidentally say something that might undo whatever magic sequence of words the me just employed did, one of us opens a portal in front of the bedraggled Giselle as many me’s ever so cautiously walk next to the floor she inhabits. Extending our hand to the woman with the unerring feeling that we're dipping it into freshly chummed great white infested waters, she confounds our trepidation by wordless acceptance of our pitiful offering.
Gingerly lifting her up, a me guides her into the [Lesser Dimensional Portal] that leads us to the living room of the floor her late father called home:
You have entered Citadel #1 ‘Keep Out’.
As my traveling companion joins us, her already shaky legs collapse under her, leading one of us to easily insert an arm under her shoulders to keep her upright. Fearful of making any further bodily contact then we already have, we tentatively direct her to the door of her old room before one of me deftly uncouples from her and leads her hands to uneasily rest in a half slide against the recently opened door’s frame.
Just barely having the courage to use words once more, a me offers.
“I-If there is anything you need just...J-Just let one of the delin-“
Her head snaps up, fear painted over her still bruised, bloody and tear streaked face as she whispers.
“Don’t...Don’t leave me…You can’t…”
Blinking in triplicate confusion any of me try to form words with our uncooperative mouth and adjoining thinking bits but utterly fail for how long we don't know.
Yet eventually one of me manages to offer weakly.
“I’ll…I’ll be in the living room if you need me…”
Before undertaking our new vigil of shame however, we head to the apartments entrance. Finding the Delinquent on guard right where we left her, she jumps at our sudden appearance, though all of me regretfully note that we’re far too shattered to derive even the smallest amount of glee from such things right now...
Wholly unsure how to broach the mind rending topic, one of me applies the rule of bandaids.
“You can go now…Toni and Peter...Or Gérard wont...They wont be coming back…”
She blinks at us uncomprehendingly for a moment before stammering.
“W-where is he then?”
Unwilling to say it outright lest doing so bring the situation further into reality, a me cravenly replies.
“Gérard’s not gonna come back love, b-best you ca-.”
However her screeched demand cuts us off.
“WHERE'S PETER?!”
The tears trickling down her reddened cheeks denote the truth of her no doubt closely attached concern for the recently deceased. All of us feel foolishness pile atop our ever growing mountain of mental shame as a me stammers.
“S-sorry mate, I didn’t realize you and h-he..”
Unconcerned with my pointless platitudes she renews.
“W-WHERE IS HE!?!”
The collective lump in our throat almost obstructs the me’s following words.
“Gone love…Monsters...Monster got to him and To-“
Unwilling to hear our further dissertation on our uselessness she draws her mace as she screams.
“ARRRRGHHHHH-”
Then makes to swing it toward me before she’s swallowed by the anti-harm countermeasures patented, bluish white flash of teleportation.
Standing alone in the entryway, three of us robotically play the conversation back and supply things that could have been handled differently…Better...But despite our navel gazing, all agree that wont change the fact that Gérard is still dead, and so is Peter and...and so is Toni...The spunky and dependable young Aboriginal girl turned woman...After all she'd gone through...All the struggle to survive in the monster filled wilderness...To end up as kill notification for some back stabbing shitheads...
Taking several long not-so-superfluous breaths in and out we still struggle to focus on the issue of the recently relocated and still living grief stricken delinquent. Knowing from experience that should we try to magically wrangle her to keep her and the other delinquents safe against their will, would only make their suffering exponentially worse. Thus yet further inaction is ratified once more, which in turn leads all of us feel more and more like an apologist centrist politician with every fresh blow of meat ball lacking failure.
Introspective hand wringing dealt with, we elect to move back into what was once Gérard’s living room filled with the eclectic paraphernalia that adorns near ever surface. Summoning a seat from Mr Pocket that can withstand our excess.
We universally take to sitting ready in wait, should his daughter sufficiently harness her grief long enough to see fit to communicate with the redundant super-weapon we’ve become.