Benjamin – Epsilon Zone #1 Level 100
You have entered Epsilon Zone #1 Level 100.
Trying to put the freshly ruined and shattered lives of those we’ve failed to protect from our minds and spectacularly failing in even that form of mental respite. We collectively endevour to instead take better stock of the chaotic scene before us us.
On what was once the serene and peaceful sand dune’d plateau we'd refused to tarnish with our clown feet, now lumbers a towering humanoid form made of sand, chasing the disorganized and ineffectual rabble of humanities ‘best’.
A me shakes our head in bemused wonder at the kiting tactic that the tens of thousands of system enhanced people are using to try and engage the titanic monster and its comparatively minute swirling minions.
The me that is mid mirth hedges that it might be best just to let this play out and not interfere at all, but a second mind doesn’t waste a second in reminding us why the fuck were here.
*GUGUGUGUGUGUGUUGUGU*
The oversized sandy humanoid figure releases a rumbling warble whilst continuing is glacial pursuit and one of me can’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of the spectacle.
Meanwhile a third me concurs with our second self and promptly moves us to the center of the sandy flat, electing to all but ignore our once fellow human’s screaming and protracted plight as they continue to kite the behemoth with their pinprick like ranged attacks.
Now sufficiently situated a me deposited our gauntlets in Mr Pocket and give those gathered a slow clap...well at least for us...After we've applied what feels like a quarter-ish application of my strength attribute sand explodes outwards, fountain-ing in all directions to flee the dome of expanding force that craters our location right down to the zones bedrock itself.
The sound of my's empowered clap echoes across the plateau, garnering the immediate attention of those present, giant sand titan not excluded, as it in turn releases another of its warbling rumbles.
*GUGUGUGUGUGUGUUGUGU*
Patiently we wait, observing those still milling around the entrance ramp of the Zone's level of attention, so that we may best time our announcement for maximum efficacy. When the number at the plateaus edge has swollen sufficiently enough that the newly arrived have begun to spill further onto the low sandy dunes, our selves are in agreement that its time to make our intentions known.
“I HAVE THREE QUESTIONS FOR YOU FUCKING DONUTS! ONE…WHO’S BRIGHT IDEA WAS IT TO ATTEMPT THIS SHIT?”
Pausing for a moment, the me lets our voice carry toward the captivated rabble before continuing.
“TWO…WITH ALL THESE PEOPLE HERE, HOW COULD YOU FUCK IT UP THIS BADLY?!”
Smiling as my's next pause allows me's to hear more than a few, none too quiet grumblings of protestations and dissentious, before the me prosecutes our next topic of interest.
“THREE…AND THIS IS THE MOST IMPORTANT ONE...WHERE… THE... FUCK… IS… CALVIN?”
Predictably more shouts and conversation sprang up as a result of my's last demand, some even starting forward in anger, but unilaterally having none of it, a me closes out.
“I AM NOTHING IF NOT A PATIENT…MAN...SO BEING THE CLEARLY INCOMPETENT RABBLE THAT YOU ARE, I WILL GIVE YOU FIVE MINUTES TO PRODUCE THE LESS THAN SEWAGE POND SCUM KNOWN AS CALVIN, BEFORE I START TO DISMEMBER EACH AND EVERYONE OF YOU, PIECE BY BLOODY PIECE!”
Ultimatum in effect a me crossed our armored arms and settled in to wait for the big sandy bastard and his mini tornados to arrive, if only so we could show these dregs why it’s best they answer our third and final question before we're required to ask more…Forcefully...And so it is that more than one of us is a little disappointed at the fact that the almost strongest, but clearly most fool hardy which humanity still has to offer, does little more than a few ‘don’t hold me back bro’s I’m gonna fight him’’s before opting to taunt us from faux safety instead.
Sadly, though somewhat predictably, all the little pretend to stand-byers do is sit on their thumbs and watch as the titan and its tornado like minions make their final if pedestrian, approach.
When the anticipated sandy amorphous fist strike nears enough to obscure the suns light, one of me opens a [Lesser Dimensional Portal] right in front of it with its exit, smack bang behind the titanic attackers own severely lacking approximation of a head. The phasic bosses own fist and head collide, producing a sound that is both a *Pock* and a *thump*, whilst both of the beings constituent body parts fragment and merge in a chaotic flurry of trillions upon trillions of sand particles.
The monster in turn releases an almost pained.
“ARROOOOOWOOOOOOOOO!”
Whilst a mind cancels our [Lesser Dimensional Portal], severing the monsters connection to its oversized and gaudy appendage, the thing falls to the dunes in a rain of limp, if gargantuan, tonnage of sand. Simultaneously another mind is more fixated on obtaining new sniny's by making boss diamonds as it opens mr pocket and retrieves [Off-Hand Zirconium Focus of Conductive Tides] just in time to do a bit of experimentation on the boss and its thousands of surrounding minions.
The mind responsible for the slap dash plan activates a maximum increase [Gravidic Focal Point] on the shimmering item just before it flings it toward the center of our recently amputated assailant as it towers over us in menace. Just before the item disappears into its rotating sandy exterior the mind grabs hold of it with [Lesser Matter Manipulation] and arrests its motion just before the approximate center of the bosses torso.
As expected, the granular form of the monolithic monster begins to implode toward the item suspended in mid air, whilst the being in question releases another, somehow more pained.
“ARROOOOOWOOOOOOOOO!”
More and more of its mass is subsumed toward the now moltonous glowing point as loud cracks accompany its ever decreasing volume. In kind, the miniature twisters that had been almost upon us begin to dissolve and swirl toward their master as if it make up for its ever accelerating loss of girth.
The globe of compressed sand around the item begins to release violent magenta arcs of lightning from the now almost 50 meters radial writhing globe. And it doesn’t take long for it’s glow to shift from orange to white as it rapidly begins to shrink whilst simultaneously emitting an ear splitting screech that somehow permeates the zone itself.
The grating sound continues as the globe shrinks and shrinks while the incandescence of its glow conversely increases, until its almost the size of the item levitating at its core:
You have acquired the title of Inconceivable Crafter (Mythic) for creating an epic item without the aid or knowledge generated from a crafting based profession.
You have contributed to the slaying of Phasic Boss, Sand Titan Al’Ish’Tul Level 100, unable to gain further experience due to Phase 1 level limitation.
You have completed the quest – Phase Conveyance (T4) – 100000 Manamotes awarded.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Planetary Phase 2 Elevation Shift initiated.
Please return to your habitations within 59 Days 23 Hours 59 Minutes 59 Seconds to ensure a comfortable transition to Phase 2 of the Elevation process.
After the blinding light dissipates from the items creative consumption of the giant sandy son of a magical beach, the plateau takes on the ambiance similar to when we first scouted it as a sedate and sandy silence settles on it once more. Meanwhile the me and architect of our new and improved shiny-shiny wholly ignores the zen like becalmed landscape as it eagerly manipulates the item in question toward our outstretched palm, to better inspect the cause for our newest title:
Off-Hand Prismatic Focus of Phasic Elements
Level Requirement: 99
Attributes: Increase magical defense by 40%, +20 Vitality, +45 Wisdom, +45 Intelligence, + 400 Maximum Mana, +150% increase to rate of Mana Regeneration, +250% Increase to Elemental Damage
Durability: 650/650
Description: An off-handed prismatic focus of phasic elements, inscribed with Prime defensive and offensive enhancement runes. A Mythic magical item created by Benjamin The Forerunner. Seeded at great depths and tempered anew at great heights by absurdist harnessing of elemental forces never before witnessed on the world of its creation or enhancement. Both inception and improvement of this ludicrous item were achieved with no aid garnered by a crafting profession.
Inwardly the many me’s groan at our deceitful boon, which is in no small part owing to the fact that we still lack any sort of elemental based attacks.
Huffing in frustration the me that is its architect ignores its recently manifested resplendence to tosses its new and enhanced form back into the shadowy depths of Mr Pocket, before all of us settle in to focus as one on our fellow ex-humans. The people in question seem to have taken to starring at us in mute shock, as a collective yet disparate whole.
All of us begin to feel the archaic remnants of our agoraphobia rearing its ugly head, leading a me to wonder why this never occurred until this point into earths systemic initiation, especially when considering our previous such public speaking engagements.
Internal debate ensues about the power of having had roles to play and suffering from grandiosity but we all eventually end up at the same inescapable fact that the past is not here and now. And no matter how we try to mentally paint it a different colour then it be, all of us still feel decidedly squirmy.
Yet just like previous iterations of such engagements, all indecision and fear evaporates when motion catches our eye, and a universally feral grin makes itself known as a begins to deal with the infinitesimal parsing of time to inspect the locus of the motion. Then we almost laugh as the two fools with weapons and shields cocked, appear to be attempting to bum rush us.
At this our collective lust for torturous vengeance burns white hot as we note the face of traitorous orchestrator Calvin, currently in the processes of pumping his woefully under-enhanced and armored legs as fast as his measly attributes can carry him.
Unilaterally, if temporarily, freed from crippling old world behavioral maledictions, our muscles ripple and warp our Armour as the object of our impending retribution brings his neatly gift wrapped self to naught but a kilometer away.
Letting the moment of destructive anicipation hang just the little bit longer, we hold the shit stains eyes in our waiting gaze for just that aching second more....
Then we act.
The power of jolly cooperation splits air and sand alike while the stone stone at our feet ruptures like a automatic shotguns rounds as were brought next to the man behind Gérard, Toni and peters unjust ends.
Wasting no time on human pleasantries like giving the syrup-esque contortions of his pathetic visage a chance to morph into whatever emotion he’d deemed fit to offer us, a me sheers the air once more to backhand him out of his painfully lethargic sprint.
Tumbling like a metallurgically coated rag doll, we're unilaterally disheartened to find that the results of our efforts hardly even mollified an iota of our near blinding rage at the duplicitous-ly traitorous cur that continues to cartwheel in slow motion away from us.
Lucky for me's, there was a familiar grandmotherly accomplice not too far behind him, and we all to gladly extol the same method of casual admonishment her way, by once more displacing the landscape and surrounding atmosphere to leave her cartwheeling in the opposite direction of her equally gymnastic ally.
We took a nano-moment to acknowledge the lack of system notification and savor the triplicate, if minute, relief of not having outright killed them before we've extracted a much more substantial measure of torturous revenge from their bags of weak and pathetic flesh.
However such thoughts were curtailed as the attractive Latin American mage that we'd previously seen with them, flashed into being and started hurling spells at us like her very life depended on it.
To be fair.
It did.
As her first lightning bolt did little more than ground itself on our armor we elected to put her out of her misery as her fresh ball of fire coasted sedately toward while a mind offered.
“They say it’s not the fall that kills you but the landing...I’ve always wanted to test that.”
And a mind activates [Lesser Matter Manipulation] to fling her out and away from us just slow enough that she does not instantly liquefy her organs, yet just fast enough that she’ll not have time to do anything more then create perty colors in her wake. Her overtaxed bones issue some decidedly nasty crackles and pops whilst we content our rage with watching the mage come human cannonball, recede out and over the Plateaus edge.
Flighty, if attractive, mage removed from view we turn our attentions back to her barely recovered allies as they unsteadily regain their bearings.
While they rise a mind initiates a game of einy meanie miney mo, to select the first to suffer and when the winner is selected we unanimously cheat by way of adding another word so the choice is the correct one
The more deserving monster in human skin.
The more Calvin one.
Moving to his location we collectively ignore the blue glowing chains springing forth from the ground as me punches through his glowing half raised and shimmering shield to grip the arm behind it.
As the arm crumples like an egg coated in tinfoil, to my multiplicative delight, much like the simile, his arm also spurts viscous fluid when the action is complete.
Yet our glee disappears and our annoyance blooms as the arms repugnant owner fails to cry out in appropriate pain, instead gritting his teeth while trying to bring his glowing mace to bear upon our unarmored skull.
Temptation gets the better of us and we let the radiant maces sluggish blow connect, while we grin once more at the look of alarm that suffuses our assailants face:
You have resisted Lesser Chains of Restraint.
Willing away the notififying confirmation of his summoned chains failing to find magical purchase, we relish the moment they they fray and fail before breaking into so many motes of light. Following the skills failure, the weakling’s strikes become less and less precise as he nears his wits end and though our armor is dented and bent in several places, he has yet to even bruise our skin let alone budge our footing.
Then his matronly ally charges us from behind, slamming her shield into our exposed back and rebounding with a resounding clang.
Having been shocked from our gloating inaction, yet still wholly undamaged, a round of internal admonishments ensues decrying our hubristic conduct and narrow minded focus.
In the meantime the terrified Calvin retreats whilst clutching his crushed arm as he impotently bellows.
“FUCKING MONSTER!”
But the Russian grandmother is made of stronger stuff it seems, as she renews her efforts to try and break…well…our anything...
Just like the previous attack her blow would likely have done nothing, yet we see no point in continuing to allow them to suffer under their delusions of free will as a me activates a two third strong increase [Lesser Field of Gravity Manipulation] and watch both our underenhanced prey try and fail to stay upright.
As they lay prone and releasing all manner of unsightly language we let our remaining humanity get the better of us by way of a me opining of the vehemently cursing Calvin in a low tone.
“Why?”
The duos tide of vitriol ceases as if the me has uttered some magical spell of silence and many me's begin to think we will have to use more extreme measures to extract our ponund truth when the young Asian man spits out.
“You want to know why you took our home? Or is it why you killed our friends? Or better YET, IS IT WHY YOU FUCKING KILLED JUDY?!”
As the spittle streaks down his chin a me counters as evenly as it can mange.
“Why did you have Gérard, Toni and Peter killed and leave Giselle to be tortured and raped?”
Clearly not expecting our answer he stammers.
“T-that’s not…They were supposed…”
Before he reaches some kind of internal resolution and screams.
“THE ONLY REASON THEY WERE BROUGHT INTO THIS IN THE FIRST FUCKING PLACE IS BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU’VE DONE! NO… NO IT’S WORSE THAN THAT…IT’S BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU ARE!”
Unanimous interest piqued, a me queries.
“Alight numbnuts…I’ll bite...What am I?”
Scorn suffuses Calvin’s face as he airs something that he has quite clearly put considerable mental effort into.
“Your hollow! You see other peoples happiness and because your incapable of creating your own, you snuff out theirs! THE ONLY THING YOUR CAPABLE OF CREATING IS DESTRUCTION AND SUFFERING AND EVERYTHING YOU TOUCH TURNS TO SHIT! YOU ARE A MONSTER THAT NEEDS TO BE ENDED, NO MATTER THE LIVES THAT ARE SACRIFICED TO DO IT! ALL BECAUSE THE COST OF LETTING YOU CONTINUE TO EXIST IS JUST TOO FUCKING HIGH! YOU’RE AN ABOMINATION AND AN EVOLUTIONARY EYESORE AND I WILL KILL YOU IF IT’S THE LAST THING I DO!”
Letting his words hang in the air.
The me's once more stand at the precipice of how best to appropriately deal with our fellow ex-man.