55. Bartholomewtated. Bartholomewtation. Bartholomew II?

I nearly slapped the portal’s roiling energy, but was stopped by a strong hand on my shoulder. I turned to see Rella’s determined gaze. Panicked, I checked over her shoulder and noted that the Bartholomew-headed monster was lurching in the opposite direction. I breathed out a sigh. We were safe, for now.

Seeing the relief on my face, Rella shook her head violently. Tugging on my arm, she said something before running off back towards the battle. I slowly walked after her, my brows furrowed. The abomination wasn’t coming after us, I couldn’t see why she would… Ah. Clarity struck my tired mind like a thunderbolt. We still had people fighting. The immediacy of the abomination’s threat had shoved the real battle to the side.

I grabbed a fallen mace and raced after Rella. The weapon’s shaft was blood soaked, and the metal head was chipped, but it was serviceable. I slowed and crouched as I passed through the smashed wall and reentered the church proper. Our side had pushed past the Church’s forces to join with the Guild’s forces and were using the sides of the blasted door frame as cover from the Archbishop’s mana cannon blasts. It wasn’t an ideal position, especially since they had to give up their flanking of the enemy force, but the eradicated floorboards and the two still-smoldering craters were more than enough proof that the inside of the church wasn’t the safest of spots to fight.

The abomination’s jerking stomps drew the attention of one of the Church’s backline mages, who turned to see what the noise was and panicked at the sight of the tiny-headed brute. She sent a flaming skull at the thing, but soon realized her mistake. Her skill slammed into the abomination’s chest and fizzled out, not even leaving a mark. Her skill did, however, manage to piss the thing off. The abomination went from an uncertain stumble to an all-out charge, rushing towards the Church’s soldiers with a roar that I felt deep in my chest.

The Church’s forces split their attention, half of them turning to face the new threat. An opportunistic raider capitalized on the distraction, downing a trio of Church members with a few well-timed scything circular blades. For a moment, it looked as if the behemoth would be held back, despite the Church’s losses. A shield of molten lava sprang up, arresting the thing’s momentum while vines wrapped around its ankles. Stone slabs slammed in from the side, sandwiching the brute. Finally, an iceberg came hurtling down from above, entombing the creature and trapping it under a literal ton of magical pale blue ice.

Everything went still. I rubbed the goosebumps off of my arms and tried to shake off the chill wafting from the iceberg. The air grew thick with mana. Evidently, the Church’s side had been holding back if they had that amount of powerful skills in reserve. I squinted. The iceberg seemed to have wobbled a little. And again. (Oh! Bartholomewmon is evolving!) All at once, fissure split the side of the glacial prison, revealing the struggling form of the behemoth beneath. He shook violently as he pushed with all his might against the twin stone slabs holding him in place. The iceberg fractured entirely, dividing into two sections, each piece slowly crashing down on each side of the fiercely struggling monstrosity.

BZZZZZZZZZZZZRT!

The world went white yet again. The floor jumped out from under me, throwing me to the ground. Another massive mana cannon blast tore out from the ceiling, colliding with Bartholomew. Stars danced in my vision as I tried to force my eyes to work again. Eventually, the cathedral swam back into sight. Yet again, there was nothing left but a smoking hole where the blast had struck. There were no traces of neither the stone slabs, nor the iceberg, nor Bartholomew. By the Tower, even some of the Church’s forces that were too close had been caught in the blast and weren’t anywhere to be seen. Not so much as a smear of blood was left behind where they once stood.

Others, probably not as fortunate, weren’t close enough to be vaporized, but were close enough to be mangled and injured by the blast. Their mouths stretched in horror and in pain, some missing arms, others missing legs, a few missing a mix of both. One man was missing half his face, though it didn’t stop him from screaming endlessly in never ending agony.

I watched the horror show unfold silently, as if in slow motion. Rella glided forward, draining victim after victim of any life force that they had left. The few that tried to resist received a sword through the chest before drying out to a husk. I looked between the battle and my looted mace, unable to feel anything but frustration. I was a sitting duck, waiting for my mana to regenerate enough to cast Slimey. I had no training with a mace. Sure, I could swing it. Heavy end goes boom. But if anyone actually fought back, I wouldn’t be fast enough. I was slow, relying on Slimey’s speed to navigate the floors. I was weak, relying on my summons to do the work for me. Pyro could one-punch slimes. Thwain could do aerial acrobatics while headshotting enemies from across the room. I had servants that fought for me. That died for me. I had to step up and get my hands dirty. I had to stop pussing around and actually get shit done myself for once.

I took two steps forward, raising my mace to at the very least help clean up the stragglers, before my skin prickled. Everyone froze for a moment before slowly turning towards the gaping hole in the cathedral’s wall. Nothing happened for a moment, but then a figure lumbered into view. It was hulking, shambling and pissed off. It was Bartholomew. And he wasn’t nearly as injured as he should be. He stomped his way into the cathedral and swung his arms at the first Church member he saw. The man formed a flickering blue energy shield to intercept the blow, but Bartholomew’s attack shattered the barrier and smashed the man into paste beneath his fists. I saw glimpses of black burn marks on Bartholomew’s forearms as he nonchalantly clobbered people one after the other. It was the only hint that he had been harmed at all as he slowly and methodically ground the enemy force underfoot.

When the last Church member’s head popped between his fingers, Bartholomew raised his cold glare towards the ceiling, where the Archbishop hovered, still channeling mana into the network of metal rods around him. I gaped, half in fascination, half in horror, as the abomination that was Bartholomew shot towards the Archbishop in a single bound and collided with the sparking barrier. It held, barely, and Bartholomew was sent hurtling back to the ground. He shattered floorboards on impact, disappearing into whatever basement the cathedral was perched upon. Then, a mere second later, he was speeding towards the ceiling yet again.

The Archbishop, seeing his shield almost fail under the second blow, redirected the mana from the mana cannon and into his barrier. Metal rods flared, causing the barrier to glow so brightly blue that it was almost completely opaque. Again and again, Bartholomew threw himself at the barrier, though with less and less success. Worse still, he seemed to be tiring. His jumps came less and less frequently and with a lot less power behind them.

Just as the abomination’s latest jump failed to even reach the impervious magical dome, I felt a soothing sensation flow over my body. I turned to see TG asking me a question while channeling his healing totem. Spirits flew from his skill and entered almost everyone around it, closing even the most horrific of wounds. TG, for his part, was in as rough a shape as anyone. He was being held upright by a struggling Burt and a single leg. No spirits flew towards his missing limb, apparently unable to regrow missing appendages.

As another healing spirit impacted my skin, my ears popped and sound returned in a rush. The cries of a dozen dying and desperate souls assaulted me, accentuated by Bartholomew crashing repeatedly back to the floor.

“Théo,” TG repeated, looking weary. “Why have you not exited through the portal? We should go. These forces are far above our caliber.” He adjusted his massive grip around Burt’s slender shoulders. The latter hid a wince, but held on nonetheless, his shirt and pants torn to shreds revealing pale skin underneath.

I dumbly shook my head. “It’s not over. Shouldn’t we--”

Burt cut me off. “Théo. Yagmar ran after the whip chick and hasn’t come back. Whatever that thing is,” he said, pointing towards Bartholomew’s pitiful jumps, “it ran out of juice ten jumps ago. The priest guy is surrounded by an impenetrable barrier and all of the Church forces are down. Who really cares if he survives?” He shuffled towards the portal, straining under TG’s weight. He wasn’t injured, thanks to TG’s skill, but he looked like he had aged a couple of decades.

“We can do it,” I pleaded. “We have the numbers and there’s a gap in the barrier. I’ve seen it.” I pointed up at the open portion of the barrier. It was small, maybe only a foot or two in diameter, but it was there. Burt stopped and looked back at me, sadness and disappointment warring for first place in his eyes.

“We’ve already lost too many people, Théo. Friends. Or did you not notice? I’m not sticking around to lose the rest.” He turned and walked away, not acknowledging my pleas to just discuss possible solutions at the very least.

Frustrated, I turned my gaze towards the Archbishop and started calculating. Time seemed to slow as a plan formed. I would summon Slimey and have him climb the half-crumbled wall nearest the Archbishop. I’d position myself on a piece of debris, perfectly calculating the angle so that once Slimey butt-slammed the plank that I’d be flung towards the ceiling. The apex of my launch would bring me cresting just above the hole in the barrier, allowing me to send a sword slash into the crack, disrupting the Archbishop’s concentration. From there, I would land inside of Slimey’s pillowy embrace, saving me from the fall damage and catching the Archbishop in my slime trap.

Resolved, I slunk towards the middle of the cathedral, careful not to be caught unaware by a hidden Church member. I sent a hand signal to Rella, informing her to follow behind me and protect my rear. I could hear Bartholomew’s wheezing as the physical exertion melded with whatever zombified process merged his head with his new body and ate him from the inside.

Finding the perfect pile of rubble, I motioned to Rella to help me drag a broken plank over and place it perfectly atop the mound. I stood on one side and concentrated, ignoring the spike of pain in my head as I struggled to summon Slimey. Eventually, and with far more effort that seemed necessary, my slime clawed its way into existence. I quickly explained the plan and, within moments, he was surging up the nearest wall.

Slimey wiggled its back half and launched itself from atop the wall, spinning and twirling as it shrank into a reasonably perfect sphere before crashing into the opposite end of the wooden plank. As his weight and momentum slammed him to the ground, my end of the wood plank shot me into the air. I flew. No, I soared. I hurtled upwards, my (face) cheeks drawing downwards, unable to keep up with the speed of the rest of my body. My toes felt like they were going to explode as blood pooled in my lower half (not in a sexy way, stop that).

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The barrier, so far away, grew larger and larger as I approached. I was not, however, the only person who thought of taking advantage of the barrier’s gap. A familiar set of gothic wings held a tall, slender man aloft, drifting him directly in front of the opening. As I drew nearer, I made out the shape of two guns, which he raised in unison. Purple and red energy streamed off of his body and drained into both guns, empowering them at the cost of his own life. I caught a few droplets of sweat with my face, ignoring them and forgetting about them as soon as they registered in my mind. Thwain was occupying more and more space in my vision, and I started to panic. Unless he moved, we were most definitely going to collide. And collide we did.

A total of four bullets left the two menacingly glowing pistols before my head tried to join Thwain’s lower intestines in a union sealed by the sacrament of holy matrimony before the cathedral’s altar. The gunshots did nothing to muffle Thwain’s squeal of surprise or my grunt of pain. In that moment, our bond grew tighter in an indescribable way. It was almost ethereal. Sure, we had always butted heads growing up, but we had always known that we’d be there for each other, in the end, despite being a pain in each other’s ass.

My neck creaked and cramped and I had to struggle to both breathe and keep hold of Thwain as I knocked him clean out of the air. Air left his… lungs… in a puff as I fumbled to grab hold. His wings disappeared, leaving me with even less to grab onto. I caught a piece of his pant leg and pulled him closer as we fell, grabbing and clinging to his damp pale chest.

I ignored Thwain’s curses as my mind raced to adjust my landing strategy. Thwain wouldn’t survive using Slimey as a cushion, but if he could get his wings back, he should be able to catch us.

“Wings?” I yelled in the Gunner’s ear as we tumbled faster and faster. The ground was fast approaching

“Heavy!” Thwain yelled back. Of course. I had a perfectly ok landing strategy, but I was impeding his own. With a grunt of effort, Thwain brought forth his demonic wings from his back and flapped, stopping our out of control spinning, but not slowing us appreciably. Without enough time to check to see if Slimey was in position, I squeezed my eyes shut and let go, stopping Thwain from being dragged down with me and activating my Slime King’s Servant’s Nephew’s Neighbour’s Necklace.

Slimey’s warm embrace met me a few seconds later, cushioning me and preventing me from splattering on the ground. I let out a relieved sigh, opening my eyes and unclenching just in time to see the Archbishop slam onto a large shadowy spike jutting from the ground. The man’s body bent over double as the spike did its damndest to pierce his bloodstained robes, but to no avail. Still, I winced at the sight. The impact must have been horrible. He lay still for half a beat before letting out a wheezing groan, his fingers twitching ever so slightly. Blood dripped from the side of his head where one of Thwain’s bullets had managed to at least clip him enough to disrupt his concentration, but evidently not enough to kill the older man.

“Marc!” A familiar voice yelled out. “He isn’t down. Get Théo out of there, now!”

An older teen appeared out of nowhere and reached towards me, stopping just before touching Slimey. “We need to go. Give me your hand,” he said. I stared dumbly at the young man, my brain trying to keep up. He waved impatiently. “You either come with me now or Em blows you to smithereens.”

Then, it clicked. Em had been using his explosion skill earlier, but of course he wasn’t alone. He had Marc, his friend that had a teleportation skill, as well as Sasha, who must be the one manipulating the shadows. I had personally brought all three of them to Floor 2 what felt like so long ago. I hesitantly dismissed Slimey and grabbed Marc’s hand just as a red ball of energy formed above the Archbishop. Instantly, the world spun violently and I was sent tumbling. My breakfast left my body so quickly and impressively that I was surprised that I didn’t gain a few skills, or at least a system prompt.

“Not far enough,” Marc called out, his eyes riveted on where we had left the Archbishop. “Through the portal!” He grabbed me and hauled me to my feet, pushing me towards the portal archway. I followed his gaze and saw a miniature sun being born. Energy was streaming out of Em and manifesting above the Archbishop, creating a truly terrifying ball of power. I thought back to the day Em received his skill. He had unleashed a blast that shook an entire floor. I couldn’t fathom how much devastation would be unleashed by this next blast. As I watched, Marc rushed over to Em, picked a bottle off the floor and dumped it into Em’s mouth. The boy doubled down on his skill, channeling even more mana into it.

“Tower’s balls, they’re feeding him mana…” My mouth dropped open as I understood why a couple dozen feet weren’t going to save me from the blast. I backed up until I was a hair away from the portal, then stopped and stared. Marc had his hand positioned right behind Em, readying himself to teleport them both as soon as Em stopped channeling his skill. A few stragglers limped their way to the portal and zipped to safety as the cathedral looked like it was catching fire. Jackis and Sparks half dragged a makeshift stretcher with Bartholomew’s gargantuan form on it, helped by no less than five others. I almost stopped them. There was no telling if the abomination would go psycho on us or not. Then again, I figured he was the reason we survived the last bit of the fight, so I just nodded as they passed and hoped he wouldn’t wake up and go berserk.

A puddle of shadows came to life and materialized into Em’s friend, Sasha. She was bleeding from more places than not as she unhesitatingly strode into the portal and was gone with a flash. Orange light filled the entire building as the temperature skyrocketed. Em convulsed, still channeling his skill, albeit barely. When I saw Marc’s hand flash forward and grip Em’s shoulder, I reached back and poked the portal. The last thing I wanted was to be in their way when they teleported to safety.

I appeared in the land of slimes once again, dragging myself to the side to make room for Em and Marc’s inevitable arrival. As soon as I was clear of the portal, it flashed once more, depositing a tumbling Marc and Em. A few people I didn’t recognise helped them move away from the portal and into one of Pyro’s tunnels, which was the only thing that saved them from being impaled by the hundreds of pieces of cathedral shrapnel that came shooting out of the portal. Pyro’s defensive dome was riddled with holes and threatened to collapse under the onslaught of debris. Any slimes that had been trying to climb atop the tunnel’s defenses were obliterated as waves and waves of wood and stone continued to shoot from the portal.

I kept well clear, not wanting to be caught by a stray piece of marble. Still, it was a terrifying sight. Even the blowback of Em’s skill was more than enough to kill people on another floor entirely. After around a minute, the shrapnel stopped shooting forth. It was followed by a heated argument on the pros and cons of going to check out the cathedral to make sure the Archbishop was truly dead and gone. One side argued that not checking was pretty much guaranteed to mean that he survived and would catch us unaware in the future. The other side argued that there wouldn’t be any traces of him, whether he survived or not. It would just be a pointless risk to enter a crumbling cathedral when a falling pillar or tons of stone could be waiting on the other side. Finally, a gruff man in what used to be overalls stepped through the portal, despite the cries against it. He reappeared a few moments later, looking pale.

“There’s just…” He wiped the sweat from his brow and took a deep breath before continuing. “The only thing left in there is the portal. Even a few of the portal stones look chipped. I didn’t even know those could be damaged. The rest is just a giant smoking hole. Nobody would have survived that.”

Satisfied, the milling crowd descended back down the tunnel towards the base and away from the horror show that was the raid. Now that it was over, people started processing what they had been through. More than one person broke down crying in the tunnel or just sat down and grew glassy-eyed and unresponsive. I ignored them, trudging back, trying to keep my eyes open long enough to find a bed. I knew I could literally fall asleep while still walking, but I had no plans of getting back up until I was forced to, so a pillow at a bare minimum would be nice. I picked up the pace, gradually ramping up to a fast walk. The sooner I got home, the sooner I could rest. And, well, I’d need all of it I could get. The Festival was coming up and I refused to be as useless during it as I was during the raid.

I managed to find a pillow and a corner and slept until my body screamed at me to get up. I downed a jug of water and trudged my way around the base. Eventually, I heard what sounded like an argument. I dragged my feet as I walked into what turned out to be a makeshift hospital.

“You think… You… Your hair is dumb,” Tam told a woman. She looked affronted, denying it and berating him. A soft green light enveloped her, causing the deep gash in her side to close slightly. She pursed her lips and nodded curtly to the Motormouth Bard, then vacated the seat. Another patient sat down. Again, Tam grunted out an insult, slurring his words and causing an even fainter light to shine around the injured man. The kid closed his eyes and seemed to nod off before startling awake and mumbling a half-assed insult at the newest person in front of him.

I walked over and dragged Tam to a bed while he protested.

“No… Fuck right off, you balding fuck. People are hurt,” Tam said as I groggily pushed him onto the cot. A slight green haze enveloped me, healing me of a few leftover bruises and soreness. I shook my head.

“You need sleep. None of these people are going to die. Get some rest and you’ll heal them to full once you’re back up to full. At this rate, you’ll just waste time half healing people over and over while burning yourself out.” I cut my sermon short as Tam started snoring, already asleep.

Time passed in a blur after the raid. A mass funeral was held, followed by individual funerals. Nobody liked the thought of their loved ones being lumped in with the rest of the crowd, believing they deserved something more personal. More than one ugly look was shot my way as Slimey had been responsible for “cleaning up” most of their bodies while we were still in the cathedral. Most families only had some belongings to bury, but held ceremonies nonetheless.

A scattered few used the experience in the raid as a catalyst, using it to fuel their meteoric rise in power as they grinded slimes and eventually goblins with fervor. Many people left, returning back to the Slums. Their drive, their lust for adventure, had dried up. The spark behind their eyes was gone. Em, Sasha and Marc left, needing to go check on their families and their school. Some people didn’t even make it that far, just sitting in a corner, alone, nought but a vacant look in their eyes.

The depressing quiet following the raid was broken as Thwain alighted on a turret and ran down the stairs, yelling for people to form up and to prepare the defenses. What started as a low buzzing grew in intensity bit by bit as people shook off the cobwebs and started getting back into the flow of things. An enemy was easier to focus on than lost loved ones, after all. I caught Thwain’s arm as he passed. He swung around and looked at me.

‘Thwain. The fuck?” I searched his face for answers. There was a spark in his eyes that hadn’t been there in weeks. He looked like he was suppressing a grin as he replied.

“Giant. Slimes. Théo.” He said. When I furrowed my brows, he elaborated. “Slimey-sized slimes are creeping in from all directions, and they’re gaining mass and speed as they go.”

Before I could formulate a response, our underground base shook violently. The sound of plates shattering rang out as well as a few surprised shouts. Weapons and armor clanged as they fell off shelves and clattered to the ground.

I hurriedly got dressed and made my way towards a set of stairs leading up one of the defensive towers. When I reached the stairs, however, a man popped into existence next to me. I startled and reached for my sword before recognizing the young man. It was Em’s friend, Marc. His clothes looked half melted off, and most of his skin didn’t look much better. What little hair he had left on his head was bloody and smeared to his scalp.

“Marc! What happened?” I asked worriedly, looking him over and fumbling for some sort of healing pill. My stomach roiled as I noted his injuries. They were far too distinctive to not know what had caused them. I was slowly becoming an expert on the subject, after all. They were undoubtedly acid burns from slimes.

“Slimes,” he gasped out before downing the flask of water I passed him. “In the Slums. They’re coming in from every portal by themselves.” He gingerly dabbed at his cracked lips with the back of his hand. “They’re swarming, Théo, and they don’t care about the usual restrictions. Portal archways don’t have safe zones around them anymore.”