51. RRRRRRRRRRAID PREP!
5 days until the festival.
Council in session. Security consultant Vimmy reports that divine surveillance wards have been triggered across no fewer than 9 floors and has spotted a few possible information leaks within compromised administration staff. Redactor Stephan has been flogged and has been replaced with an unpaid intern.
Contact has been lost with 31 operatives in lower-quarter floors. Shipments from lower-quarter floors have slowed dramatically.
Establishing contact with Floor 15.......... Connection established. No divine activity to report.
Establishing contact with Floor 10.......... Failed.
Establishing contact with Floor 5.......... Failed.
Establishing contact with Floor 1.......... Connection established. No divine activity to report. Floor 1 requests a strike team to deal with rampant gang activity. Request accepted, contingent on increased shipments.
Proposal to post quests requesting for strike teams to head to Floors 10, 5 and 1....... Accepted.
Councilor Eo submits evidence of energy fluctuations within stasis fields containing Behemoth the Unchainable and the Serpent God Totec.
Councilor Eo proposes to divert a portion of energy reserved for the impending Tower assault to reinforce stasis fields………….. Rejected.
Councilor Seph proposes to remove restrictions on remaining floor bosses in order to temporarily inflate revenue………………. Accepted.
Councilor Itar proposes to include the option to modify a floor boss’s options in the festival shop……………. Accepted.
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Tam ducked left, avoiding the sword swinging for his head. He scrambled back, trying to keep up his skill to keep his health topped off, but he wasn’t fast enough.
“What a shit stri- AH!” He tumbled back, leaving a small dribble of blood trailing behind from his leg. Tiny white spirits flew out of an intricately carved staff and into Tam. Rella continued her pursuit, alternating between swinging her sword and slapping the boy with her palm, siphoning a bit of his life force with every hit. He was continuously healed by his own skill or by TG’s new skill, Healing Spirit Stick, though it was taking its toll. A couple of minutes of sparring later, Tam slumped in exhaustion as he was drained by Rella’s relentless thirst for power.
The testing continued with a few more people jumping in and practicing avoiding Rella’s strikes while my summon… Well, my demon. I mean, the demon? Rella sucked people dry of their life force bit by bit while Tam and TG topped off their health.
TG’s new skill was cool, but the downside was that there was a hard cap to how many healing spirits could be active at once. In addition, TG himself couldn’t prioritize targets. His Healing Spirit Stick skill that he obtained from the goblin shaman, though, was pretty efficient at healing anyone that he considered an ally and that was injured within range. The broad shouldered Totem Warrior hoped that he would be able to direct his skill into becoming a totem with a rank up upgrade option as the skill would then gain bonuses from his totem-specific class buffs, but that might be too greedy of a wish.
Leaving the group to their testing, I went to see what Baz had been up to. The stocky smith had been hard at work creating armor, but anything that she produced was far too heavy for me to wear. It was a shame, as she had been able to create some really solid-looking plate armor. I stared down at dozens of sheets of gleaming metal and frowned. There were just so many of them.
“Hey, Baz,” I asked. “How did you make all of these in just a few days?” While I didn’t doubt that the smith was skilled, I couldn’t fathom how she had time to create racks of armor in addition to preparing all of the materials. She rolled her bright green eyes.
“It isn’t much of a mystery. Production lines. I’ve got a team of three working on just these sheets. We’ve got a leatherworker and a woodworker working on padding, straps, hilts and buttons. I pound out these sheets and Josh helps with the assembly.” It was a common tactic amongst larger crafting organizations, from what I had heard. The weapons and armor were produced faster and with a higher degree of mastery, as each link in the chain only needed to master a single aspect. Plus, if each person had skills that helped them with their one and only step in the process, the upgrades could compound, resulting in an end product that was vastly superior to one that was produced by a single craftsman.
I took another look around the room, noting the sets of plate armor in varying states of assembly, as well as the component parts. The smith, meanwhile, was manhandling full sets in each hand like they weighed little more than herbs. I lifted a breastplate and winced at its weight.
“You don’t have anything lighter, do you?”
“HA!” Baz barked out a laugh, tweaking the curvature of a piece of metal with her bare fingers. “I’ve got a spare nightgown, if that’s what you’re into. Otherwise, I only make real armor. None of that flimsy trash.” She molded the armor easily, as if she was playing with sand. Once it was in the right shape, her eyes flashed bright green for a moment. The metal briefly glowed green in response to her skill, then returned to its normal shiny gray. I frowned, trying to figure out how to best equip myself for the upcoming raid.
I found Thwain speaking with Yagmar after having bantered with Baz for a while. The pale Gunner, my childhood friend, was helping the [Serpent’s Hand] load surplus supplies onto the serpent altar. I watched in fascination as they sacrificed everything from half-eaten bread and broken bowls to metal ingots and decent-looking weapons. Sometimes, the objects melted into blood that flowed into the grooves of the altar, slurped up and drained away to wherever the altar sent its power. Other times, the magnificent golden dragon statue flew down and ate the offerings before returning to its intricately decorated plinth. I was far from the only one that watched, too, as a crowd was slowly gathering to watch the spectacle. Some even offered coins or trinkets to sacrifice on the altar to see if they could get a reaction from it.
Once the crowd had grown large enough, Yagmar decided that it was time for a speech. She stood proudly in front of her god’s altar and preached his virtues, his exploits and how we could avenge him, give him strength, and bring down his enemies. The crowd was whipped into a frenzy, equally enthralled and enraged by her words. I also felt it. Deep within the core of my being, something stirred. Heat blossomed. Pressure built.
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“We will fight!” Yagmar bellowed.
”Fight!” Some of the crowd yelled back
“We will win!”
”Win!” More people joined in, excited to be the loudest in the crowd.
”We will purge our enemies!”
”PURGE!” The roars of the crowd reverberated throughout the cavern system. Weapons were unsheathed, fists were raised in solidarity.
”We will give ourselves to the cause in an unforgettable sacrifice!”
”SACRIFICE!”
Cogs began turning. Flames grew brighter in everyone’s eyes. The entire base seemed to shake under the intensity of the crowd’s fervor. Then, I had an idea.
Rushing back down the stairs, I ran back to Baz’s smithy, followed by zealous chanting the entire time. I found the woman hammering away at a metal sheet once again. She didn’t so much as look up as I skidded to a halt next to her.
“Hey! How many sheets and armor sets or pieces do you think you’ll have left by the time we start the raid?” The heat in my chest had diminished until it puttered out as I ran from the altar, but the ideas running through my mind just kept snowballing.
“Few dozen sheets. Optimistically three unfinished sets. No finished sets. Won’t have time to make enough for everybody that can use ‘em. Why?” She glanced up at me curiously a few times between hammer strikes, but kept forging nonetheless. I wringed my hands nervously.
“You said Josh helps out with the assembly. Well, if he enhances the armor’s durability, Slimey can’t damage it. And if Slimey can’t damage it…” A smile bloomed on Baz’s face as she caught on. I explained to her how Slimey worked and how we usually went about during combat.
“You want to kit out your gods damned slime,” she said, impressed. Her hammer blows rained down faster as she hurried to finish pounding a sheet of metal into submission. “I’ll get right on it. It’s not like a single set on a rando would make much difference. But a slime tank… I can reinforce these sheets with a skill if I work them a little more. Then, Josh can do his thing afterwards. It should go a lot faster than making an entire set, since I won’t have to assemble any of the pieces. This is probably the craziest, simplest armor I’ve ever tried to make, but I can’t see it going wrong. Just be careful of any kind of echo or shockwave skills. Concussive skills and the like usually bypass armor, and I’m not sure if they’d be extra effective against a slime ball, or way less, but it’s probably best to avoid them until you’re sure. Other than that, though…” She trailed off, her expression turning dreamy. As a smile slowly tugged her lips upwards, I took off to rope Josh into my plans. I was sure he’d be busy, but he was essential for my plan to work.
Sure enough, the dark-haired man was sitting amidst a pile of gear, enhancing piece after piece before throwing them across the room and into another pile. He had bags under his eyes and he was obviously trying his best not to nod off. Turns out, the poor guy hadn’t slept in a few days. He had just been constantly enhancing objects and downing slime pots as needed. He had also been working on enhancing gear in other ways, though he hadn’t had much time to test out most of his theories. I explained what I needed from him, then jetted off to the kitchens to get him something to perk him up.
The kitchen was a disaster zone. Fires blazed, pots boiled and chefs shouted as everyone scrambled to output as much magical food as possible in the hour we had before the raid was scheduled to start. I tried asking for a pick-me-up a few times, but was completely ignored. Eventually, I spotted an older man with powdered cheeks and dramatically long nails rushing a pot of soup over to some prepared vials. I crossed over to him in four long strides, bugging him while he poured.
“Charm! Hey, I really need something to reinvigorate Josh. Maybe give him a mana boost, but it definitely needs to clear fatigue.”
The older chef looked at me, half in annoyance, half in gratitude. “You whisked Tam off and gave him a class, you did. Now, he’s going to go get himself killed chasing a life of adventure. True, I was about to strangle him myself since he wouldn’t stop talking, but now…” I nodded gravely. Tam was a little too eager at times, a trait that was bound to get him into trouble. Still, if he kept on the first floor for a bit while he learned the ropes, he’d turn into quite the powerhouse. Charm shook his head as he trailed off, looking blankly into the distance for a moment. “He’s a good kid, you know. And if giving you stuff makes him safer somehow, then I guess I just have to powder up a happy face, bear with it and hope he comes home safe, now, don’t I?”
I shrugged weakly, not really knowing what to say. Still, Charm walked over to a shelf and grabbed two vials. He passed them to me, looking at me seriously.
“You bring him home. Every time.” The stench of his breath was so strong that it made the room spin for a moment. I tried keeping eye contact with the old man instead of looking down at his yellow, pitted teeth. I nodded quickly a few times, fidgeting under the man's gaze. After a moment, Charm simply turned around and started a new batch of soup.
I hastily delivered both vials to Josh, but our conversation was interrupted by people charging down the hall and letting out war cries.
“For Totec!”
“For Mary-Anne!”
“For my kids!”
I looked at Josh nervously as more and more people stormed past. He looked just as surprised as I was.
“I think we need to hurry. They look like they might not wait for us.” People just kept flooding by, already brandishing weapons and screaming for blood. Some even struck sparks off of the walls with their weaponry.
“Blood for the serpent god!”
“Down with the heathens!”
“Flop! Flop! Flop!”
“Stabby time!”
“For the future generations!”
Josh agreed, hastily making his way to Baz’s smithy where he reinforced the last few remaining plates with his skill. The vials I got from Charm seemed to perk him up slightly, but didn’t seem nearly as potent as the crêpe. Maybe it had to do with the sheer amount of slime pots he had already taken to stay awake and functional for so long. Either way, two vials of murky liquid gave him just enough of a boost to rip through the pile of waiting gear as the sounds from the rampaging mob grew distant.
I thought about the heat that had been blooming in my chest as I had listened to Yagmar preach. My frown deepened. Was it the altar that was affecting people, or was the [Serpent’s Hand] using a skill that whipped everyone into a frenzy? Neither was great news. Sure, it was nice that people were excited for the raid, but was it right? Did Yagmar’s skill leave any choice in the matter or could she just control everyone under her influence? Was that why everyone had been so keen on participating in the raid in the first place?
Questions cropped up one after another as I summoned Slimey outside of the smithy and made him store the pile of metal plates that would soon be his armor. I slipped on my necklace, then entered Slimey’s body, zooming off after the mob with a wave to Baz and Josh as well as a promise to pay them back soon. It was raid day, and I didn’t want to risk waiting a moment longer, especially if the frenzied mob was just going to storm their way through the portal in a disorganized mess.
Wanting to beat the mob, I hurriedly squelched up the stairs and launched us off of a watchtower. Out in the open meadow, Slimey could move much faster than any of the normies down below that had to cram into Pyro’s newest tunnel. We barreled forwards in a straight line, ramping off hills and skipping across rivers. When we arrived at the portal that led to the church, however, we stumbled upon a curious standoff. Thwain, demon wings extended, had a pistol pressed to a blond man’s forehead. The young man, in turn, had a sword pressed against Thwain’s heart. A tiny trickle of dark blood made its way lazily down Thwain’s chest as the point of the sword effortlessly parted flesh. The air was thick with tension. The pair stared intensely at one another, each daring the other to make the first move.
It was only when I approached the duo that I recognized the blond man. In fact, I had seen him before, outside this very portal. His name was Tanner. He was a healer, and he was definitely not my biggest fan.