Chapter 38

He, Coveted by the Blade

Asher was afraid.

Not of death, not of the impending doom or the sights that unraveled in front of him--the dismembered monsters rivened into thousands of pieces, blood soaking even the rain red. No, he didn’t fear any of those things, having made peace with death long before he came here, and having witnessed enough horrors of humanity to steel his stomach to the sights in front of him.

No, what he feared was what he was becoming.

Killing... it felt natural. It was easy to dismiss it, to justify it in him doing the right thing and defending the world against the monsters, but it was a veil, really, to something deeper growing inside of him.

His hands moved swiftly and uninterrupted, left right, and center, but it was impossible to stem the tide of the monsters. And so, he got pushed back, inch by inch, giving way. In the midst of it all, he Leveled up thrice, reaching Level 9. Selections were rather unlucky, forcing him to choose upgrades to movement speed, damage, and a new one that he hadn't seen before:

Vital Stir [Uncommon]

+10% Critical Strike Chance

Level: 1/5

The rain never stopped, abrasive and cold.

The tempestuous sea that was the ashen sky bled uncontrollably, the cascading torrents of liquid twilight the pristine tears. Each droplet felt like a shard of broken glass, breaking against the earth with deep resonance, creating a symphony that the entire battlefield--him included--was forced to dance to. The ground, wet and puddled, shimmered with a darkly iridescent sheen, part in blood and part in dirt. The spectral winds sighed here and there, drifting across as though passengers and witnesses to something that did not concern them, on their way elsewhere.

In the cacophony of wet fire, the horizon--and, indeed, all else--blurred, seemingly swallowed by the voracity of the relentless storm. And, at the heart of the onslaught, where time seemed to fragment and each droplet seemed to be suspended in the maelstrom of his making, Asher remained unyielding. Every cut of the blade spliced the heavy rain and made it undone, if only for a moment, defying the will of the heavens.

But he was transient, insignificant, in heaven's blindness; made to be overcome with a tidal wave of death.

At some point, he saw Loe join him, covering one flank. Both of them fought desperately, doing everything they could to hold the line. But the line could not be held, not by them alone.

He heard them, even though he knew, deep down, that was impossible. It was impossible to hear the swoosh of arrows through the celestial roars of thunder which reverberated through the hollow bones of the world, and through the glottal roars of the monsters besotted by death--and yet, he heard.

A moment later, a shower of arrowheads fell from the top, cleanly stabbing through the monsters. Few died, but all were injured--and that was enough. For a moment, the tide was held back, and the dam stood. But only for a moment.

Loe slipped.

It wasn’t unexpected, not really--the ground was wet, muddy, and uneven. The man wore heavy armor with a shield in one hand and a sword in another, besieged from all sides, desperately holding on. One slip-up, one missed attack, one ill-timed blink... and it was enough to send him flying toward the ground. Luckily, Art of Primordial Iai had just come off cooldown... and Asher used it immediately.

He was overcome and wholly undone--energy sparked within and burned through his veins and bled into each of his swings, ripping the world asunder with the sounds of silence. And, at its end, was a swing of the sword that echoed the soul of the weapon itself--inexorable, unremitting, indomitable. A single swing of a sword to hold back the whisper of death itself.

Asher woke up from the stupor, suppressing the pain. He realized, even in his debilitating awe of it, that it was dangerous to use it repeatedly. The burns on his arms were very much real... and they were not healing. Furthermore, his vision... blurred. What were sharp objects he could see even in the rain now attained blurry edges, eluding him.

He was being unmade by the power he could not contain. Twice, thrice more perhaps, and his arms would hurt so much he’d no longer be able to hold the sword. And he knew, deep down... that even five times might not be enough. But he had to do it. Even at the risk of his arms falling off, he’d have to swing the sword.

As the visage behind him vanished and the world regained its regalia, he shot up 6 Levels in one go. The first one was a Calling, as he’d hoped. However, there were no choices, just an option of confirmation.

Swordmaster [Legendary Calling]

-- Many throughout history claimed themselves Swordmasters, the wielders of the indisputable, but very few ever lived up to the acclaim. A Swordmaster represents a near-pinnacle of the blade, where a man and his weapon become one in nigh perfect unity. They needn't magic, they needn't blessings, they needn't anything but their blades--and the world is theirs to behold.

The following Modifications will be applied for the remainder of the Stage:

- Only Sword-related Abilities and Passives will be offered

- Every Sword-related choice will have its rarity upgraded by at least 2.

- All Sword-related Abilities deal 25% more damage, execute 25% faster, and recharge 25% faster.

- All Melee sword attacks gain 20 yards of range in the form of a sword aftershock which deals 60% of the original attack’s damage.

+100% to Base Physical Damage

+100% to Base Movement Speed

+100% to Base Attack Speed

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

+30% Critical Strike Chance

+200% Critical Strike Damage

+0,3% Leech (overheals into a Shield up to 5% of your Max Health)

- Execute any non-mutated monster below 20% Health

- Deal 50% more damage to Bosses, but take 65% more.

- Can forcibly use abilities (including the Ultimate) when on cooldown at the expense of permanent Health loss (not just for the Stage)

- Gain access to 'Perfect Parry' (Perfect Parry -- if you perfectly parry an enemy attack, gain 600% Attack Speed for the next attack while also ignoring all of the enemy's defenses; due to the limitations of Host's baseline Bloodline, you can only Parry attacks of similarly-sized creatures)

-30% Max Health

-80% to ALL resistances & defenses

+2 charges to a Dash ability

Gain access to ‘Beholder of Death’ (Beholder of Death -- Swordmasters are all acquainted with death; if at its doorsteps, submerge yourself in the sensation of the blade and become one with the world for 10 seconds. Can only ever happen once)

-You may not equip any Armor, may not use a Shield, and will gain no benefits from any Trinkets in your possession

It was a lot of it, but Asher didn’t ponder for too long. There was no reason to, as there was no choice offered. He’d become an offensive juggernaut at the expense of becoming paper-thin. He had a feeling that the 0,3% Leech would be doing some heavy carrying in keeping him alive.

He was a bit disappointed with the Perfect Parry, but not by that much--he hadn’t any plans on using it as it was simply too risky. This wasn’t a game where he could practice the timing to get it just right: one wrong move and he would be flattened into a pancake, especially with his severely destroyed defenses.

Instead of thinking too deeply about the Calling, he concentrated on the next five Levels. Three of them ended up being passive upgrades--he upgraded Health twice to make up for the reduction that came with the Calling, managing to wring it back up to 90. The other passive upgrade was to the Dawn Ripper, where he upgraded the weapon’s second effect, making it so that his 3rd attack did 60 slashes over 25 yards rather than 50 over 20.

One of the two new active abilities that he picked up was a Dash, luckily.

Sword Dash [Rare]

Effect: Dash in a targeted direction, cutting through all enemies in your path, and dealing damage. If you hit at least 2 enemies or a Boss monster, you may Dash again for the next 2 seconds.

Damage: 26

Cooldown: 9s

It was a bit disappointing considering the fact that he had both a Legendary weapon and a Calling, but it was still better than no dash. And, lastly, there was Heartrip.

Heartrip [Epic]

Effect: perfectly stab the target through its vital point, dealing massive damage and leaving a permanent debuff. Killing the target refreshes 90% of the cooldown. The attack cannot be dodged, parried, blocked, or immuned.

Damage: 244 + ‘Lethal Bleed’

Lethal Bleed: take 0,3% of your Max Health as damage every second until death. Does not stack.

Cooldown: 16s

Though it was 'just' a single-target ability, he was fine with that. In fact, he was happy about it. He already had means of dealing with the horde--in theory, at least--and was already contemplating how to fight the boss that was to come. Though Heartrip wouldn’t carry him, it was a start.

The sound of footsteps yanked him back to reality--to his side, he saw Loe standing, though there was something different about the man. His eyes, in particular, seemed to have obtained a strange, bleeding sheen to them, as though there was something locked within them, wishing to burst out.

“The mutations are here,” the man said, his voice even. The mockery seemed to be gone, Asher mused. “I’ll take the right one, you take the left. The monsters... they’ll all go to you, I reckon. I beseech you--hold your ground.”

“... let’s make the fuckers bleed enough to permanently taint this field red.”

“... yeah,” Loe grinned after a moment’s silence. “Let’s.”

Asher gripped the handle tightly and moved forward. He'd killed hundreds, but hundreds more were coming. And they were only getting stronger--in the rear, he saw twenty-tall trolls and giants appear from the obfuscating fog, their silhouettes like nightmares come to life.

Leading the charge were six creatures that clearly stood out from the rest--there was a goblin, whole five feet tall, wearing a crown cast in gold, bejeweled in ruby and amethyst. Next to it was a werewolf-like thing, nearly seven feet tall with silver hairs and gemmed eyes of spectral white, crawling down from being bipedal to all fours. There was a lizard in their midst, glossy and wet, slithering forward strangely like a snake, its scales shimmering red like fire in the darkness.

Further to the back, there was a small, amphibious creature with slimy, translucent skin and webbed limbs. It had three large, bulbous eyes that seemed to rotate around its face at will. It stood at some four feet altogether.

At the far right was a stout, rocky creature resembling a humanized boulder; it was rather short, with stout and sturdy limbs, lumbering forward unevenly and barely.

And lastly, there was a creature following them from the rear, its wings flat and thin like skin, iridescent in the darkness, shimmering ever so faintly. It was a bat, Asher noted, a two-headed one with a pair of fangs protruding far from its maw, appearing nearly eight inches long. But it didn't matter. None of it did.

Asher stepped forward with confidence... and started running. And so did the monsters.

He dashed in their midst, with Loe right behind him bringing up the rear, and started attacking. Once. Twice. Thrice. Blood flew, and he soon entrenched himself in the world and slashed violently 60 times, cutting through the dozens of monsters, even nicking the 'special' ones.

As soon as he returned, he dashed yet again, this time upward, and resumed slashing with the blade. White, milky arrays interrupted the rain and cleaved into the bat's body; the monster cried out and flapped its wings violently, but couldn't move quickly due to a downpour. Asher's eardrums burst and he took 6 damage, temporarily going deaf, but leeched it all back up within a couple of seconds.

Just before he began to fall, he used Heartrip, piercing--strangely enough--through the bat’s skull rather than its heart. He felt it crack at his fingertips, the treble of the blade like a messenger of death. The bat’s skull shattered into countless bone shards as the beast fell just as Asher landed on the ground. What welcomed him was a rapid swipe of a furry arm; as though by instinct, he moved the sword at an angle and managed to actually parry the strike. Striking in retaliation, the sword cut at the speed of sound, it felt, causing a resonant sonic boom to echo outwardly as the blade itself slashed off the werewolf’s right arm, blood spraying out.

The sonic boom bounced into Asher and flung him nearly ten yards back, causing both the lizard and the goblin king to bounce backward as well, coughing up blood. Massaging his ribs for a moment, he gripped the handle yet again and rammed forward, smiling.

He was in a trance--every strike was purposeful, clean, void of taint of hesitation. The monsters swarmed him, but he bathed in the temptation of death, taking in the deluge of cold. Glancing briefly to the side, he saw Loe slashing his sword horizontally--the metal was molten, blindingly-white in hue, plumes of fire drifting off even in the rain. The flames would not die, and neither would he.

Asher ducked and dodged the werewolf's swipe, his back perpendicular to the ground for a moment as he swung his left leg upward, kicking the beast in its shin and temporarily causing it to lose balance. He, on the other hand, used Sword Dash to stop himself from falling down, recovering and appearing about five feet above the werewolf’s head, falling down rapidly. Angling the sword perfectly, he executed the mini-charged Iai--the sword severed the air between it and the monster perfectly, cleanly perforating the other arm without pausing as Asher landed squarely, kicking up blood from beneath his feet.

The werewolf fell to its knees, bleeding from both sides, as Asher swiftly approached from the rear and slashed once again, beheading it. The head flew upward against gravity for a moment, blood splashing out against Asher's face. It made a beautiful, morbid arc on its way down and rolled just a couple of times before stopping. The body toppled over, thudding.

Gasping for breath, he had no time for recourse--the swarm had descended once again, seemingly blind to the mini-boss’ untimely demise. Still, with all of this, Asher couldn’t entrench fear into their hearts. Slowly, that realization began to worm its way into his heart--what could possibly be so much more terrifying than who he’d become? What was the whip lashing their backs and pushing them forward made of, if it was far more terrifying than death itself? He wished he wouldn’t ever have to learn the answer...