Demons have a surprising range between hidden and System of a Down, bouncing on a pogo stick of lies. Or should I say scythes?
Have you ever been cut by a scythe? Dryfu asked.
Well, pretty close. Such was the tearing, searing pain lancing across every inch of demon scar now that Gantus’s hiding act was over. No more playing it cool by the beach with this sack of shards.
I think you’re doing well, considering. Continue your breathing techniques and don’t give up. That’s your baseline. I’ll keep reading what the Chieftain’s wife, Lousa gave me.
Dryfu provided this champion advice from a relaxed position on the windowsill, otherwise enjoying the valley forest and its sunny day. You could have fooled Tim that he was studying.
Reading this while enjoying the view is like talking to you without moving my mouth, Dryfu continued pathing. Except less squinting in annoyance.
Apprec’ Tim thought, reeling through a gut-wrenching spasm.
The six guards encircled inside their one room tower knew at this point the many spasms Tim must endure. That didn’t stop their hands from itching close to blades and blow darts every time.
Trolls are naturally keen on danger and risks. If it were too late, you wouldn’t be breathing.
Again, with his guide's uplifting advice. Tim endured sweat, bouts of fiery spasms along his demon scars while the captured enemy ebbed and flowed like oil in Farji’s gem. Inches away and assailing him as if he were Mike Tyson trapped in a bottle. Every blow Tim absorbed with his Protection and Draw allowed him to gain the victor’s hope through attrition. He only had to endure.
Meanwhile, Dryfu studied Chronicles of the Moon Golems, an unorganized collection of tales and ramblings archived in this volume because of moon golem symbols and dialect. This edition lacked an editor, and Dryfu was showing his snooty side in having to edit and sort on the go.
Dryfu turned a threatening glare, with equal playfulness hidden beneath. He knew Tim’s appreciation in truth, with the jokes part of his coping. He reflected gratefully on Lousa’s gift. Prior to leaving to work on their hunt, she introduced herself and graciously gave it to them as thanks for the work they put into helping Frahnk and the other trolls.
Don’t worry partner. If Lousa says Gantus is in here, I’ll find it.
The intersection between Dryfu’s skill in Research and what passed on as memories clear enough for Tim to comprehend allowed him to gather Dryfu’s work so far; he spent most of the day organizing two thousand years of history, math, astrology, genealogies, and was only now getting into the recent century and the appearance of the Dimensional Rift. With that, the Moon Golems were the first to successfully set up camp near a rift. While the silo was overrun, the golems moved in, quickening the slaughter in return for spells from the demons to enchant their bodies with rift power.
In these sections, Dryfu waded through accounts of farm invasions, coups among tribes, and the rise of Gorin Three Knot to Chief Moon Bringer. Lousa said Gantus played a critical role in the plotting Gorin executed to accomplish that title.
Tim’s presence here was a gift in how it may provide a second chance to meeting Sa and learning his warding; even if the Trolls said they could also teach him, who’s to say both would not be helpful in a pursuit of higher levels in his Ward skill? The idea of training Spirit Memories with him fascinated Tim with wonder.
More important was the fact Gantus had influenced their timeline in this Spirit Memory. Tim and Dryfu were unsure exactly where the intersection of Gantus’s Haunt skill blended with Tim’s Spirit Memory and the Troll Enclave to the past they were now occupying. Not like that was challenging to wrap his head around. The key seemed to be finding how this interacted with reality and where they were being kept prisoner, if that’s what Gantus was doing. If so, Dryfu’s research could trigger Gantus’s memories of where he’d taken them, and Tim would leverage overpowering this Spirit Memory from the Haunting spell to somehow transport them there to rescue them.
Again, nothing difficult or time consuming to figure out.
“You guys know any songs?” Tim asked the guards as he twisted through the gut pain to roll over.
They gave him a look like he didn’t know what he was asking, yet party time kept itself quarantined until Lousa allowed it.
“No woman… no cry,” Chris sang in his best Bob Marley, full of the spirit and ready to reggae.
Tim smiled with him and grooved to the funky beat. He and Chris used to take drives to the parks with Marley and sunbeams through tall trees. The nostalgia provided as only it could.
Tim took what he could and renewed his determination when his next cooldown expired on Light Burn, he’d cut the demon’s legs out from under it. His priestly spirit encouraged him to not grow weary in doing this good work. Anything after that ought to be cleaned up in Farji’s gem and the last stretch of purification.
Gantus kept enough control to make this work miserable.
Tim nestled against Murphy where the neck wound fisted under Gantus’s renewed burn. Unfortunately, Murphy was bone dry on aura reserves–whether due to the Haunting or simple fatigue, Tim held no grudge as he gritted his teeth against a migraine and shivering in cold sweats. Gantus fought like a king on his way down. Tim took on the role of gravity and leaned into squishing this demon to pulp.
When I’m done with you, this fight will be my fuel in defeating your master, Tim told Gantus.
“I had you where I wanted you well before you entered my dungeon,” Gantus said, “Your blows are air through my throat.”
Tim dug to catch this seed of fear before it took root. Gantus remembered his physical death, and had his back against the ropes not to lose in this realm as well.
On they went in this battleground across mental, physical and spiritual planes, demon versus priest, as though time had no end and could snuff out at any moment.
Not entirely indifferent to his struggles, Chris taught the trolls a classic 90s stoner mix tape for all you karaoke wild cats out there. 311 got Down, down, down. The Chili Peppers gave it all away, including the esteem of their classic wardrobe, to which the trolls got too big a kick out of the similarity to their current jungle attire. Replacing socks with a front panel of cloth not much wider or secret inducing.
The misfits and their terrible singing voices cheered Tim in their act of love meant to bolster him through this tough time. This fight to purify a demon brought him to nothing. In the bowels of defeat, they changed his robes, and Chris wiped his shart stains. Then Chris schmoozed and Tim caught most of what he learned of their names and tribe. Chris’s vines formed a semi-cocoon around Tim’s head to waist, wrapping his arms with his hands gripping the sword. They pulsed healing into every demon-leeching pump.
Chris made time to make paste, smokes for all, and still held court with the senior ranked troll shakers. Their class specialized in shaking threats from the trees or sending tremors into the ground with their war hammers. For now, they equipped bow and arrow because the trees were empty save for troll towers and guards on the lookout for the first wave of attack.
Tim didn’t know whether their high rank spoke to the threat if he lost the battle with Gantus or what, but the more time they spent the more he loved them, as a priest does, seeing their fight in its similarities more than the differences. His fight to survive grew out of this love and desire to stay beside them whenever fate requested a stand.
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The day soured with his stomach as something nasty cramp and twisted his insides until much made its way outside. They worked as a team to care for Tim and as the heat of the evening faded into a cool relief in the dusk, the troll they called Re’jah gave him a wooden bowl with a broth garden mix. A chunk of meat disintegrated in the middle, yet the surface was chilled as though from the fridge.
“Thank you, Re’jah.”
The food calmed his inflamed insides and the medicine in it eased enough of the migraine to let him think he might get some rest.
With frogs chirping love songs, one of the trolls, Anyel, revealed a magic card with a baseball player on the cover. This brought up the local baseball league kept by Guardians such as Sa and the Tanners’ Guild.
Murphy let out a rubber flapping toot, sighed, and emanated a strong Aura discharge. Like a drain long clogged finding that pocket of air that clears its pipes.
Tim’s body sucked it in like oxygen at the bottom of the ocean, even with the revulsion of its odor and weakness in his stomach. Strength hit the bottom and rose to saturate a strong foundation.
Gantus must have suspected the critical battle and ramped up a new fight within.
Murphy’s aura regen restored regen in Tim, and he cycled breaths with aura and mana brewed from that to endure. Meanwhile, Anyel told stories of the Gatewalker who traded the mysteries of baseball for the hand of a noble’s daughter. From the popularity and crowd associated with their wedding to the noble’s fascination and funding grew the Vignyia Baseball League.
It was short-lived, sadly, for one Hunt and a foolish assassin who thought killing the daughter and her children would produce the leveling jewel.
The noble ended the league and disappeared from public life. Some say he died seeking revenge. Others say he retired to an island and has a replica ballpark where he eats and sleeps in mourning.
Whatever his fate, the league has reformed, but with Guardians to conceal the game from assassins who’ll likewise claim justification for their mass murder with their right to defend this world from foreign influence.
Na’kel said he loves how each race can play, but a little less how rules were created to keep them from winning. The trolls utilize a combo of shade stalking and track and attack phasing, which provides advantages across defensive range and contact swings.
Qrota stroked fresh healing paste onto Tim’s face while clarifying that handicaps in their league meant Trolls only field six players. They normally play two for the outfield and infield on top of the pitcher and catcher.
Depending on the speed and class of the team, they could get more or less players. One team only has three, the Fronli Tearbombs. They’ve won the last two years, but this year their star pitcher Herj has elbow issues and a blister on his throwing pointer finger from all the trick pitches. The favorite is the Pine Devils, who’re a conglomeration of races from tree urchins with their poison ball pitch and frung’suq and their homerun-hitting antlers.
The trolls caught Tim and Chris up on the team class tiers and how their team, the Olahama DreadHammers, or the Hammers for short, started as a joke until they realized how they could earn coin from cards and skills way more than it cost to level them up. This helped with money for hunting gear and their conditioning, though they didn’t rank high enough for this year’s tournament.
While they elaborated on the round robin tournament donating funds to the winner’s homeland, Chris and Ick discussed upgrading Tim’s Takekuma Bracer with its sole remaining enhancement slot. With Ick’s help, they planned to implement the new channel of healing vines in Tim’s body created through the healing cocoon with adding a semi auto crossbow supplier of vine arrows into Tim’s bracer.
In a moment of clarity between the migraines, Tim said, “If we’re in the past, Kari and Lank might be with Sa in the tower. Can someone…” nausea stole his voice, then his train of thought.
“We sent a message earlier,” Chris said calmly. “Just rest.”
“We need to warn them,” Tim said. “Demons…”
“Are down to the one in your sword,” Chris said. “We haven’t seen any others, which leads me to believe we’re in this memory because of you. You subconsciously need it stretched out so you can work this demon into rubble. You go with your bad self. We’re trading baseball cards. Look, a 1923 J’Thrill Cultro, MVP card.
He presented a dime sized button with a firmly centered diamond chip 2mm high on the top. Chris pressed the underside opposite the gemstone and a holograph card six inches by four showed a Duck headed hippo creature with an alligator set of choppers in a baseball jersey of black and white letters. Their team’s name, the “White Barke” was written left to right on an upward slant, a line stricken underneath like a shelf of excellence. J’Thrill’s stats and mini bio filled in the right, with highlighted accomplishments from his career bests.
“This card could buy you two levels at any nivelador in Wachamia or the HTA.”
"Why's that?" Tim asked, delirious with the after flush of the last stomach bout. Really, he needed something else to think about aside from the ice pick pains.
"Taxes," Qrota said.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
Tim appreciated Qrota's skills in cooling his demon scars. His conversation skills exhibited the same careful decisions, so he left it at that. To Chris he said, "If Q dog says we trade cards with the HTA, that's what we do."
Chris grinned back. "I'll ask for the Qrota discount."
Expecting another one-word answer, Tim asked, "Where'd you get cards?"
Qrota tucked a corner lip and shifted focus to the puss caking Tim's chest wound. It smelled as good as one might imagine. Read: worse.
"Tell you what, priest—"
"He does that despite knowing it clarifies nothing," Chris interrupted, grinning into cheeky smile territory. "He says little but makes every bit count." Chris squinted accusation and pointed at Tim's chest. "I'm ready to sew the cocoon here. Qrota, could you pinch there and there?”
Qrota stretched his knife to press a flap of the cocoon over a spurt of blood.
Chris produced a pea pod with three inside the green sheeth, with a blue rim folded along the top, its seam brimming with aura light matching the sandy swirl in Chris’s eyes. "This spell will plant the vine spool, which can absorb wood and plants through osmosis.”
“Any wood?” Tim asked.
Chris nodded. “My spell requires your mana to fuel, but its processing capacity allows it to absorb plants like I can. It won’t heal unless I give you healing plants. You can ingest those via other means if needed. For the crossbow enhancement, any wood will transform into aura through your mana channels before reemerging as aura or wood arrows slotted to fire from the bracer crossbow.”
A rivulet of pain squeezed at the touch of Qrota’s finger pressing the cocoon to absorb into Tim’s ribs.
It forced pressure like a balloon cramping his chest and slowing his heart with a righteously sharp pang.
"And you sound like you need another puff." Chris laid the pea pod on Tim's bracer. It melted and swept the blanket back over itself once submerged. The glow disappeared beneath the Takekuma Bracer, absorbing into the aura base to form a compartment dividing soil into one half, and a funnel to deposit the vine into Tim's Aura Bow skill.
"I think it worked," Tim said. He drew on the seeds and a heat source warmed his forearm. The seed produced a sprout that crept into the funnel and into the arteries feeding his wrist. A churning of strength and vibrating transformation of Tim's aura reserves, C-mana and flared his stomach cramps wicked deep.
Tim pulled out the Aura Bow and noticed the Vine Arrow channel added a ten-point increase in its durability.
Chris snapped a golden gun with his spell finger. "Thirty percent of the time, a hundred percent of the—"
"Your math makes humans sound pathetic," Qrota joked, then slopped a new lather of Chris and their paste mix. It seeped into the cracks of broken scabs and where he'd cleaned out the skin. Even though this was a dream, Tim sensed it might reflect life on the other side. If he died here... he didn't want to find out. Gantus was fighting for something.
"Until now I've been indisposed," Tim said, pointing out the obvious to set the stage for, "Chris, I came here because of a vision from the store owner. He warned me you were in over your head with the trolls."
Qrota stuck out a split tongue with a spike piercing on both sides. The guy was literally metal. Tim would bet dollars to donuts, and boy could he use one of those right now, that the glint on the tips was an enchantment, but he didn't want to ask for what. Guy might be freaky. You never know.
"So, Qrota?" Chris asked. "Should we jump out of this tree fort now, or did you want to tell them more of our plan first?"
"I don’t think the shop owner meant Qrota," Tim said. "You're cool, my man." He gave the troll a Rock blast fist bump. Then Qrota went back to puss scraping.
"No," Tim continued. "I would have guessed the Chieftain or Lousa based on what I read from the party. But Qrota is part of their tribe, and I like them. Lousa has assured they’ve taken care of us. Even if this is part of a Haunted memory, that part does not feel invented or disingenuous.”
“The Chief has been good to us too, but he also has many enemies within our tribe,” Qrota said. “Many claim how simple it would be to take back our homeland, blaming him for fear and the time they’ve spent in exile.”
Tim wondered if the potential coup would be the reason Chris is over his head, and the timeline to extraction must take place beforehand. “Thank you. I didn't want to keep it from you any longer,” he told Chris. “I bring it up with Qrota and our gang of brothers in war because I trust y'all. Once a man wipes your butt, you know you've got a friend."
"Speaking of butt, here's some skunky stuff," Chris handed Tim the doober and snapped it lit.
Tim took a hit and Qrota said, "Once you feel better, you and your brother can play a game with us. We'd drop to the bottom tier, but it'd be fun."
"I bet your back would feel better here," Chris said, encouraging Tim. "You could pitch again for real."
"If we get time. For now, we have a lot on our plate." Tim's head swirled with the interference in the spell versus Venom residue, Gantus pushing back as Tim pressed in on his territory.
"That's the only way to get the kind of cards you're looking for," Ulsra said from the back. "Plays of the day earn a post on that night's card drawing."
"Can I use this new vine-producing enhancement to shoot homerun balls before the cross the wall?" Tim asked.
The trolls shrugged and Chris said, "If you want balls, you got ‘em," Chris said.
“Baseballs.”
“Those too. Like I said, whatever you want, just not my balls.”
“Or mine.”
The vocal agreement of the trolls sounded off in near unison.
“The matter is settled. Only baseballs, and I hope we stay on the same team,” Tim finished.
The matter resolved, they enjoyed the doober and Qrota shared the plan.
Part of the reason Lousa left such high-level Shakers while she organized the tribe was, they were routing the herd of monsters through this stretch of forest. Once they arrived, it would be a free-for-all of archery shots until or hopefully avoiding a pile up enabling the toiga and frung’suq to climb into the trees. Hopefully Tim would be winning the battle with Gantus enough to contribute, and utilize his new Arrow Vine to mass produce arrows for long distance and bolts for his crossbow if they closed in.
Not long into their description on how to use his crossbow once the cocoon completed it, a wheezing breath sucked Tim into his own throat, turned him inside out, and shot him into a chute leading toward stars draped across darkness.