Chapter Six: Meeting New and Interesting Monsters

“I is Tes, and you is ta folla me. So you can talk at Korvath.” The small kobold shivered as she spoke in broken common but managed to quell her fear long enough to get her point across. She said in common, since she knew that they both spoke it, Kaali had told her so.

If spiders had eyelids, Clackhissis would have blinked. Before her stood a scruffy, filthy, tattered mess of fur, cuts, and scabs. As a hatchling, she had seen and eaten rats that had more meat on their bones than the thing before her. Her scrutiny did not go unnoticed by the tiny creature, as Clackhissis noted, the kobold standing before her starting to shy away as if she were preparing to run.

Instantly, her drive to attack overwhelmed her, and Clackhissis tried to strike the kobold, wrap her in her legs, and sup on her body fluids. She was still struggling to contain her predator side, and she had just failed what one might consider a willpower check.

Truthfully, Clackhissis would have liked to have said that the only thing that stopped her was the fact that the feeble creature before her barely presented any kind of a challenge and would hardly provide any nourishment, that she was better off saving her energy for bigger game. However, that was not the case. She ached to move, to pounce, but her legs were rooted to the ground. A flashing notification told her she had earned a Debuff called Passive Predator.

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Debuff Added Passive Predator: You have attempted to attack one that Kaali himself protects. So long as you desire to harm the god’s emissary, you will find yourself unable to move. Once you decide not to hurt her, your body will unlock. A second attempt will not only result in immobilization once more but will be accompanied by pain.

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Clackhissis calmed herself and tried not to think of sinking her fangs into the kobold’s heart, but it was hard. She found herself in a very unspider-like setting. A place she had never known existed until she’d met Cushing, and now she seemed to be living there. Her ire at her predicament snapped her out of the trance she’d been in. Neither of the others had noticed anything unusual, so she decided not to mention it to them.

“Speak with whom? I do not know a Korvath.” The spider tried to recover from her imprisoned form without giving away that she had just tried to kill one of Kaali’s wards. She didn’t know if the raggedy beast before her could hold an intelligent conversation or if it only spoke the guttural tongue, but she made an effort to engage with it as loathe as she was to do so. Something about the kobold set her hair on edge, her ties to Clackhissis’s god notwithstanding. She immediately recognized the issue. The pitiable thing more or less screamed that it was prey. The god had sent quarry to lead the hunter. The symbolism did not escape her black-and-white sensibilities.

Cushing stepped forward, bent down, and draped an arm over the kobold’s shoulder. “Oooh, I know this from when I met, er,” Cushing realized he’d never actually met Kaali and did not want to anger the god by saying he had, “Um, spoke to Kaali,” he quickly amended, “ He told me about this Korvath fella.”

The Game Warden cleared his throat and continued, “Korvath is Kaali’s Aide-de-camp. He’s the dude Kaali counts on to run the day-to-day business of the god. Korvath is his Number One. Beyond that? I’ve only heard rumors about him.” Cushing shrugged and ruffled the top of Tes’s head. Clackhissis noted that he was treating the beast like a lost dog. Mongrels bite, she thought; he’s going to learn that the hard way.

“Why should we care about this Korvath?” Clackhissis took great glee in watching how the chittering of her fangs made both the human and the mongrel tremble a little. Lesser creatures needed to know their place. It was right and just that they knew their place in the food chain.

Cushing threw his hands up in exasperation, “He’s the guy that is supposed to give us our marching orders. He’s our direct connection to Kaali. We talk to him and finally discover what we’re supposed to be doing.”

“You neglected to tell me this hours ago. Why?” Clackhissis didn’t so much ask as she did command an answer.

“Um, I kinda forgot,” Cushing said sheepishly. “You know, I got caught up meeting a giant talking spider, fighting some fish-faced monsters, then some goblins, and so on. I would have remembered eventually,” he added defensively. “All I knew was we would meet a guide to take us to him.” He shrugged. “Honestly, I kinda thought he’d be more like me and come calling our names.”

“Like an idiot?” Clackhissis asked fiercely. “There isn’t room enough in this party for two of you.”

“I get it, Cushing said, throwing his hands up defensively, “I’m sorry. Why don’t we go see what we’re supposed to do and then figure things out from there?”

Clackhissis considered this revelation. The faster they spoke to Korvath, the quicker they could be about their business. The fact that she had been saddled with the manling had been hard enough to deal with, but to be chained to a creature like a kobold went beyond disturbing. She wanted this mission over as quickly as possible, to be shed of the shackles these two represented. She yearned to hunt Icthyoids on her own. She was quite capable in that regard, and that was where her talents were best used. She was not a nursemaid or wet nurse, whichever comparison fit best. She was not an expert on bipeds, nor did she want to become one. She was a solitary hunter, and the quicker she was shorn of these obstacles, the faster she could return to her true purpose in life.

Cushing squatted down so that he did not tower over Tes. He, too, could sense her trepidation about being around them, and the shadowed spider knew that the wisp of a life form did not want to be around them any more than she wished to the pair of them at her side. They were agreed in that one regard, silently consenting to escape the others as soon as possible. Only the human seemed oblivious to their feelings. Humans, she noted, missed a great many things. She wondered how they and other humanoids, had managed to take over the world to such a large extent. It made no sense to her.

The manling looked Tes in the eyes, “Tell us where to go, little one, and we’ll follow.”

He was gentle and spoke with a genuine kindness. Clackhissis could tell that just the tone of his voice and mannerisms alone managed to calm the trembling monster. He kept one hand on Tes’shoulder, but that was all. He no longer stroked her as one would their pet; by going to her level, he had diffused her concerns and allowed her to enter a zone of trust that existed between them.

Clackhissis had to admit that he had gotten a reign on the creature quickly and waylaid any possible issues with her with just a handful of words and actions. If she compared him to a hunter, she would say that he used misdirection to lower his prey’s defenses and lure them into a false sense of security. She knew, however, that he was sincere in what he did and was not trying to deceive her. To think she had nearly given him an ounce of respect for driving prey in the direction he wanted!

Tes gave Clackhissis the side-eye and said, “The way not far. Not from here. Just a coupla hours walk, but maybe some dangers? Dunno. Tes only granted safe passage until I finded you.” She swallowed and scratched her throat, “But Tes will take you there, a’cause our god,” she looked to the spider and said, “Tells Tes ta help you.” Then, just below their range of hearing, she added, “Even though Tes scared an not wanna help.”

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SupayAu Puch, a cultist assassin in the employ of the Icthyoid, studied the PK blade that he held in his hands. It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing he’d ever lain his eyes on. The stygian blackness of the metal was only made more stunning by the luminous green runes that had been lovingly carved into the steel. His sword virtually thrummed with anti-life. He could feel its energy like a weak and withered heartbeat, pulsing, drumming, strobing through his blood vessels whenever he held it in his hands. Free of its sheath, it became a part of him, and he freely gave himself to it. It was not his instrument of destruction; he was but its conduit of death.

He lived to serve the blade now, just as he had in his other life. That life, the one in the old world, was nothing more than a barely remembered dream. He had served the blade there as well. It was a dream in which he worked as a “cleaner” for various cartels. Knives were his preferred method of collecting trash.

For this reason, he rarely used a sword for anything but performing a coup de grâce, which he knew was technically a mercy blow so as not to sully the perfection that was his sacred knife. It was only to be used as a final strike that brought certain and irrevocable death. The sword he carried, however, was something special.

He had stolen access to Darkest Knights Online from one of his marks. They had everything they’d needed to escape the Earth’s destruction but had never considered that some people out there weren’t satisfied that the world’s end would kill off their problems. They wanted to make certain that there was no escape. Au Puch, his real name long forgotten at this point, saw no reason that he should die when he had so much more of his gift to share.

His arrival in DKO had not been as much fun as he’d anticipated. Supay found that he could not kill anyone permanently, and so the thrill that he’d had IRL that had come when he’d watch the light fade from his victim’s eyes simply vanished, and it could not be rekindled no matter what he did to emulate the sensation. He was left feeling hollow and empty inside. It was true that he could perma-kill NPCs, but they were not real people. They did not count. He’d lost his purpose, his very l'amour de la vie.

Ah Puch had spiraled into a period of madness and despair until he’d been found by the legions of death and had been gifted with the ability to reclaim what had been lost to him upon entering this world by the simple gift of PK blades, his time of madness had practically stripped away everything of who and what he was saved for his calling. His vocation was his one true reason for being. For all intents and purposes, he truly was Supay Au Puch, reforged and remade the moment that he’d been given the opportunity for a new life with Lord Dagon.

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He’d taken the name Supay in tribute to his Incan ancestors; Supay was the god of Death and the Underworld. Similarly, Au Puch was the Mayan god of death. In his former life, he was the god’s avatar, its grim specter, who had lived solely to eradicate his fellow man. Entering the virtual reality of Darkest Knights, Supay had considered making his name equate with giving someone the Ban Hammer. When they were struck with the hammer, they never returned, and with his PK blades, he was the literal embodiment of giving someone the permanent boot from their digital life. Au Puch had opted not to choose so banal a name as Ban Hammer for himself and instead had gone with his intuition that had led him to take a more accurate name for himself.

Au Puch carried several PK weapons on his person at any given time, but it was his sword that made his heartbeat and blood run. Just the act of sheathing it felt like a separation to him. Even though it was just a motion away, the distance may as well have been miles in his mind. Thankfully, he kept a dagger up his sleeve, and its presence was enough to placate him and keep his mind on track.

He turned his scarred face to the Icthyoid lieutenant to his left and gave him a gap-toothed grin. He stood even with the alien fiend in height, which meant that it was roughly six foot two and trim for its species, and its lanky frame matched his own form. Au Puch admired its relatively blank face. Gaunt and withered, the warrior grinned at him with fishy lips and sunken jaundiced eyes. Its gray skin dissolved and blended in the twilight air, giving it an unworldly quality that said it did not belong there. It was just like him. They had both fought and killed their way into Ravenkist, each from a world that molded them but had been left behind without a second thought in the hope of finding better things. He and the Icthyoid were made for one another.

Their compatibility did not mean that he respected them or trusted them. Au Puch recognized a spirit similar to his own shining in their eyes, which told him they were self-serving and thought little of other beings. Other people were objects to be used or discarded, which meant that while he might walk side by side with them, he would still watch his back.

Supay was not the typical assassin. He had come from the school that believed in striking in plain sight. Hiding and skulking in shadows was not his way. Misdirection and obfuscation were within his toolbox of murder, though. He had come to his victims with a smile on his face and a blade meant for their back. People trusted smiles, and Ah Puch had practiced his for years until it no longer felt alien or plastic. His victims never saw the real him. They never saw him coming, even when he was right in front of them. They just saw his smile.

He’d been training another assassin to do the same thing, and the man did a decent job. He was not of Au Puch’s caliber, but he had earned a grudging respect from the killer nonetheless. His skills were more necromantic than weapon-based, but it did not make him less of a murderer. Au Puch had decided to tutor the man and then test himself against him in the future. A knife that was not constantly honed could not stay sharp.

The problem with his protégé was that the man liked to talk. He wobbled about like a drunken ballerina on his bowed little legs and never shut his mouth. He was annoying, but he was a powerful necromancer and showed a trace of potential. To Au Puch, that meant he was a valuable tool, nothing more.

Now, in Ravenkist, he nearly announced himself wherever he went. He wore scarlet and sanguine tones, not so that his enemies wouldn’t see him bleeding but so that ordinary people wouldn’t notice the bloodstains of others on his clothes. Even his armor was red. He had dyed his leathers to match his clothing. He wore a sleeveless leather Gambeson, studded leather bracers, and a pair of anvard-styled leather greaves that accentuated his buckled low boots. His sword was a thin Persian-styled scimitar that hung by his left leg, the hilt upside down. One misericorde, a long, narrow blade that traditionally was used to perform a coup de grace, was stowed up his right sleeve, while his left boot housed a parrying dagger that he could quickly access. They were all PK and their dark nature contrasted nicely with his colorful excesses in clothing. He mused that black and red went hand in hand, just like death and sin.

Au Puch was not a sloppy killer, but there were occasions when his foes made a mess before they died. All that mattered was that they died. Messes could be cleaned up, especially here in this new world. It was a truly fantastic thing. A bloody tunic went into a wardrobe, and a few hours later, it came out fresh and clean as newly fallen snow. In a way, he had become something of a perverbial wardrobe for the Icthyoid, a fact he found deeply amusing. When they had a problem, he was called in. When he arrived, issues disappeared, just like the mystical wardrobes cleaning out unpleasant stains.

It was an excellent symbiotic relationship.

His lieutenant was a silent and stoic being who communicated only when he had to do so. Au Puch had never bothered to learn its name. Why should he? The creature would be killed in some skirmish or another and would be replaced. There was no point in getting sentimental, but he had to admit that the way he thought of this particular Icthyoid was akin to how some people thought of their pets; if their pets were malicious rabid beasts that would tear the flesh from your bones if you turned your back on them for a moment. He couldn’t deny his fondness for the lieutenant in truth and decided that when he was killed, he would request that he be returned as a Dark Convert. Au Puch was confident that they could find a suitable body somewhere. He was absolutely positive that they could when the time came. There was never a shortage of bodies when he was around.

The Ichthyoid officer handed Supay a rolled parchment, which he immediately recognized as new orders. A chill shot up his spine; new orders meant new targets, and nothing made him happier than getting a new mess that he would have to clean. He liked to keep things neat and tidy.

He unrolled the scroll and frowned. He was not supposed to kill anyone. He was ordered to await another Icthyoid leader and assist him in any way he could. Their goal was to eliminate some agents of the Overminds before they did something to hinder Lord Dagon’s will. He sighed. He did not need a commander for a mission so simple. A handful of men, a few days' trek, and he would have this untidiness cleaned up. He was loathe to wait when there were operatives of order for him to dispose of quietly and efficiently. Supay considered his position. He could disobey and go off on his own to deal with the matter, which was how he wanted to handle it, or he could stand by and fiddlefart around until his overseer arrived.

As much as it galled him, he had agreed to specific terms when he joined the Death God’s legions. Supay Au Puch did have a code that he lived by, and part of his code was that he stuck to any bargain he made. No matter what he wanted to do, he would wait until the captain appeared and follow orders to the letter. Clients had to count on him upholding his end of the contract, which usually stipulated how they wanted a hit to appear or a death to occur.

Deadlines were also a part of the contract; it simply would not do to accept a contract and then take a year to perform it. Results were expected in a reasonable amount of time; Au Puch, for example, never took longer than twenty-four to forty-eight hours to complete a hit unless he was given a specific day and time for the event to take place. When that happened, he applied every spare moment to ensure that he would succeed.

Contracts were sacred to him.

The Ichthyoid had been very specific in their contract with him. Aleixo Montagne, a man of refinement, taste, and class, had negotiated Au Puch’s contract. It seemed he had known Supay before coming to Elgard and even offered to fill in some of his memory blanks, but Au Puch had turned him down. Supay no longer cared for who he used to be. All that mattered now was who he was currently.

His contract had stated that he would obey all orders from their command, which meant he even had to obey the ones that he didn’t like. That singular line tied his hands and chained his feet. His agreement outlined that he would wait for the captain until the sunburned from the sky and the moon fell to earth. Thankfully, he would not have to wait that long.

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Tes ran ahead, darting from tree to tree. She never went in a straight line for more than ten seconds before she would randomly dash off in another arbitrary direction. She would duck, crouch, and dart from tree to tree before restarting her sequence. Cushing stuck to their path, following the tiny monster, but Clackhissis was out of sight. As she was wont to do, Clackhissis had gone off on her own, ostensibly to watch over them as they made their way to their dungeon rendezvous. She would be the rear guard, but Cushing suspected it was because the spider could not control herself as she watched the kobold bolt to and fro.

He suspected that her instincts would make her want to strike at the tiny monster, and sooner or later, she would lose the internal war and devour Tes before she realized what she was doing. He’d felt her struggle earlier. It was as if he’d been granted some sort of empathy for monsters because he could also feel Tes’s fear radiating from her in waves the size of tsunamis every time she glanced at Clackhissis.

“Tes, why don’t you share the dungeon location on our map? We’ve grouped up. I’d kind of like to know where we are going!” He had to yell because the ball of fur was running pell-mell and was practically out of ear range. In spite of his requests, the kobold ignored him entirely and continued her duck, cover, army crawl, run, dive, and hide routine. She barely spared him a glance backward as she made her way through the forest. Cushing grew more and more frustrated. He sympathized. He truly did, but her purposeful disregard for his request was annoying.

I have really fallen in with some team, he contemplated. I have a spider that hates me just because I’m human and a kobold that fears me for the same reason. I can do nothing right in the multiple eyes of one, and my mere existence is a threat to the other. He grit his teeth as sweat runs into his eyes. He hated the heat and humidity, and his running helter-skelter through a thick forest was not helping his disposition.

He decided to take advantage of his long legs and catch up to Tes. Once he’d achieved that goal, he’d make her listen to reason and have her provide him with the dungeon’s location like she should have done before they’d started playing chase. He knew the game well. IRL, he’d had a great dog that loved to play chase, and they would run all over the place, taking turns running from and pursuing one another. She reminded him of that big dopey dog, and his anger instantly melted. The memory of his dog, Pugsley, stirred a melancholia that he hadn’t known since arriving in DKO. Yes, he missed his parents, his friends, and even some co-workers, but none of their losses hit as hard as his dog’s death.

Cushing began pumping his legs, forcing them to move faster and faster when Tes suddenly stopped and froze in place as she stared out into a clearing. His momentum carried him past her, and his attempt to stop as he ran by caused him to trip and fall face-first on the ground. Prone, face down, arms and legs spread out like Da Vinci’s Vitruvian man. Cushing winced in pain as a ton of bricks landed on his back, knocking the breath out of him.

“You leave yourself vulnerable to attack when you do foolish things like this, manling,” reverberated Clackhissis’s words in his ears. To emphasize her point, she drove the tips of her forelegs into his shoulders just enough to draw a drop of blood with their spear-like points. Then her voice dropped to a whisper, “A good hunter does not let their prey lead them. They subtly guide their quarry to where they want them to be. I watched you man-thing; she had complete control of the situation.”

“Damn it, Clackhissis, I was following her!” His hands flew to his hips, “Besides that, she isn’t prey.”

“No, but,” retorted the spider, “You were trying to catch her, failing at even that one thing.”

The spider then used her legs to reach below Cushing’s armpits and dragged him to his feet. Irritated that, once again, the arachnid had managed to chide and chastise him, he brushed clumps of grass and dirt from his helmet. He paid no mind to the minor wounds she had given him, not because he didn’t care but rather more due to the fact that he saw a small entrance to what had to be a concealed dungeon. It was innocuous and looked to be little more than a dilapidated cairn.

“There,” Tes crouched by the entrance nervously and pointed, “We is to goes there.”