Chapter 10: Less Talky, More Dodgy

TRISTAN

Through the door, the gray stone hallway proceeded straight for twenty feet before opening up into a massive arena. Instead of being rectangular, the space he could see was more rounded, possibly even circular. Tristan couldn’t truly tell because it was just too huge. Sitting in what he expected was the exact center was a massive, brown pile of... well, ooze. It was easily taller than the Longbloom manor, the largest building in Woodsedge.

And, of course, it reeked.

Tristan definitely thought Chessa was right and the thing had an aura of stench. It was as if rotten eggs and stinky cheeses had been composted in a decaying body after being sprayed by multiple skunks. Actually, it was even worse than that, but Tristan couldn’t conceive of words bad enough to categorize the sensory input.

Because every blessed ooze just has to reek, Tristan cursed internally, creating a new level of “worst monster” in his mind that only oozes would ever occupy.

Behind him, Opie literally vomited.

“I was wrong. It did get worse,” Chessa managed between gagged breaths.

Still, they had a dungeon to clear. This monstrous pile of evil was their last hurdle. We can do this, Tristan reassured himself, stepping up to the edge of the massive arena.

Chessa placed a hand on his shoulder, whispering, “Wait a moment.”

At first Tristan didn’t understand. Chessa was looking up, almost like she had spotted something and was trying to work it out. She picked up a rock from some nearby rubble and tossed it just ahead of them.

“That didn’t do anything,” She said, picking up another rock. This time as she tossed it farther, almost up to the massive ooze in the middle, while still looking above.

Yet nothing happened, even as the rock skittered off the ground, nearly striking its side.

She waved Opie forward and pointed upward. “I think there’s a door or gate up there. I’m not sure exactly what triggers it, but it will likely drop once we engage this boss. It wasn’t here the last time I came, though it was obviously a different boss.” She looked a bit uncertain.

Opie spoke up. “Now that you mention it, I do think I see it. How fast do you think it closes? Death by crushing or death by smashing?”

Chessa rolled her eyes. “Who cares? Just avoid it. I vote for the ‘no death’ option.”

“Was that a joke?” Tristan asked. “And why does it even need a door in the first place? I know higher level people have to deal with this, but isn’t it kind of intense for a beginner’s dungeon?”

“Apparently not,” Chessa said with a grimace. “I’m guessing it’s just hammering home that the Splitting Ooze is mostly about managing the pool of poison.”

“That means don’t stand in stuff, Tristan,” Opie translated. “A door sealing the exit also means there’s no way to cheese the encounter.”

Tristan rubbed his tongue against the backs of his teeth. “I don’t think it should be a problem. Just good to know going in. We’ve just got to use the space wisely. This is only a beginner dungeon. How hard--?”

“Don’t you even fucking say it,” Opie cut him off. “We’ve already lost a minute of my big buff, so can we go?”

Chessa, wordlessly, smacked Tristan in the back of the head.

“Right,” Tristan chuckled apologetically. “I’m sure it’ll be awful. Looks like shit, smells like shit, so expect the fight to be double shit?”

Opie merely groaned.

Chessa raised her bow and nocked the first arrow. Not for the first time, Tristan noticed that its tip seemed to glisten a little. She was imbuing it with a skill, likely [True Arrow] or whatever she called it. “Ready when you are,” she said, nodding to Tristan.

“Then let’s go!” Tristan yelled, storming into the cavernous space.

“You need a better battle cry!” Opie shouted after him.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, Tristan noticed two things change. First, he heard the rumbling of the door behind him as it began to descend. Second, the gigantic ooze started to move.

Directly toward him.

Menacingly.

It elongated its front quarter, which leapt forward along the floor like a slobbering dog finding a dropped bone. Then its rear half was pulled along behind it. It reminded Tristan of an inchworm crossing a log, except with every movement it let out a trumpet-like sound that would have been comical had it not also attacked his nose.

Behind him, Opie actually started to laugh. “It’s a freaking farting ooze!” he began. “No wonder this room smells so much worse!”

Then a giant silver explosion marked the first of Chessa’s arrows beginning to land.

They were like raindrops hitting a roaring inferno. Everywhere they struck, a little bit of the ooze seemed to melt away. But there was still just so much of it left.

Tristan was trying to gauge when and how to best engage the monster. He steeled himself as he raised his sword and dagger. Time to carve some of that off myself.

But he quickly learned that dual wielding was not all it was cracked up to be, especially as he couldn’t really deal much damage with his offhand. The quality may have been upgraded, sure, but it was still just a small dagger being used against an enemy where length meant everything. Opie would have something smart to say about that, he mused.

As he darted in and out, slicing bits of ooze here and there, the repaired sword’s reach made all the difference. It could cut deeper, inflicting that much more damage against an enemy like this while making it easier to stay out of sliming range. Overall, it was just a better tool for this job.

Truly, he liked the feel of the sword more than his dagger, even if it was only a modified repair. And if this is what wielding a shortsword feels like, I can’t wait to try a two hander. He was just so many hours of forging away from that.

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Despite the superior reach of the sword, he ended up attacking just as frequently with the dagger, carving off slices of ooze every chance he got. Chessa had said they needed to deal as much damage as possible, and his offhand attacks were far better than the nothing a shield would contribute. Besides, with Opie concentrating solely on healing him, Tristan fully shrugged off the minor burns, and damage taken during his riskier attacks was quickly healed back. All that left was the soul staining smell he would probably suffer through for days to come.

If we can keep this up, it won’t be so bad at all.

Then the ooze’s tactics changed. It began to spread itself wider, trying to surround him. Pointy, spear-like projections shot out toward him, connected only by thin threads. He took one hit before realizing a few hits from those could be fatal. A chunk was gouged from his side, and the wound burned as acid corroded the nearby skin. Even with the buff Opie had cast before the fight, the hole was closing painfully slowly.

“Get out of there!” he heard Opie yell as a green-gold beam of healing energy struck him from behind. Immediately, the hole in his side began pulling itself together.

Tristan desperately wanted to take his friend’s advice, but he found it too hard to do while also focusing on dodging. A second spear nicked his shoulder as he failed to twist fully away from it. Then he barely ducked under a super thin crescent-blade of ooze that nearly took his left hand off. Luckily, he was able to lower his sword just enough, resulting in a massive CLANG of such intense vibrations he nearly lost his grip on the blade.

I’m too slow to stay in melee if it’s going to keep this up.

That left one solution: he completely abandoned dodging, turned, and ran. Yes, he took a few more slashes across his legs and back, but he was certain that he didn’t have any other way to get out of the “grasp” of the ooze.

He quickly heard Chessa shouting more. “Opie, don’t just stand there! Move out of its path!”

That was when Tristan recognized that the healer was still standing at the edge of the room, backed up against the now-sealed entrance. His face twisted by strain and determination.

Tristan tried to adjust course, but the only option was to circle around the ooze in the center of the room. He could practically smell the ooze as it followed. It slurped at the stones just behind his heels.

Glancing over his shoulder, he was starting to recognize a difference in the ooze’s appearance. It was smaller for sure, but the color had also lightened from the dark brown to merely a light tan. Recognizing the details from what he’d studied, he shouted, “It’s about to split!”

“Just keep damaging it!” Chessa shouted back from seemingly across the room.

Tristan would have loved to do as she said, but every time he stopped to swing a blade, the ooze reared up like a roaring bear or an ocean wave and tried to crash down on him.

Until it didn’t.

It suddenly receded, pulling completely back into itself and condensing to almost half its previous size in the shape of a perfectly rounded dome. Its color shifted again, too, from light tan to green. A deep, almost pristine green. The green of emeralds or a spinach field after a heavy rain.

No sooner had the palette swap finished than the ooze began sliding toward Tristan again.

Or, rather, half the ooze moved for Tristan. The other half went the other way, clearly aiming toward wherever Chessa was still pelting it with arrows. To make matters worse, the place where it had split apart was left with a green puddle of liquid putrescence that seemed to slowly expand as it dissolved whatever it touched, the stone floor included.

“Focus on your ooze, Tristan!” he heard Chessa shout. “I can kite the other one!” He saw more of her arrows strike the second ooze from the corner of his eye, continuing to move it away from him. ”But only,” she added, leaping over its newly-emerging blade, then sliding under another, “if you’re closer,” she shot another gleaming arrow at an appendage only a foot from her face, “to that acid pool! I need room to move!”

Chessa was right, of course. Looking around, Tristan realized now that he’d made a huge mistake by dragging the huge ooze back to the middle of the room before it split, even if it did relieve some pressure from Opie at the time. Now, with the acid pool spreading from the dead center of the room, everyone was severely limited in where they could go. It was doubly hard for Chessa who needed areas for evasion, and all she was left with was a shrinking doughnut around the outside. She had begun to flirt with the poisonous puddle in the center, but Tristan could tell that wasn’t sustainable as the pool only continued to spread.

Tristan brought up both blades again. He needed to hold his ground better this time. The ooze was half as massive now, after all, which meant it was only about twice his size. He could handle that. He had to handle that.

As some of the pointed tendrils shot toward him, he recognized that they were slower than before. He was able to dodge slightly and have them just miss him. It was an uphill battle, as more and more tentacles shot toward him. He got better, though, and was eventually able to counter after every attack. Each slice removed goo that would instantly begin evaporating. Even when the gunk fell toward the remaining body, it still dissolved without reintegrating.

“It doesn’t heal!” Tristan realized, shouting his discovery to his other teammates. “All our damage permanently whittles it down. We can try to outlast it--"

“LESS TALKY, MORE DODGY!” Opie shouted.

“Sorry!” Tristan called back, immediately leading his ooze back toward the noxious spot from which it had split. He got right up to the expanding edge before beginning the dance of keeping just beyond it. He only needed a little room to dodge, and should he need to dive or dip out of the way, he kept enough room to have actual options.

And then the greenish buff surrounding him vanished as the buff from Opie’s ritual expired.

Time to get serious, I guess. Tristan gritted his teeth. Thankfully with the ooze being only half its prior size, it had less speed and range, making each attack a little easier to dodge.

He began taking risks, moving less but swinging more wildly now that he’d gotten into a better position. He stabbed and slashed over and over as arrows struck the ooze.

Faster than the first phase, Tristan recognized that his ooze’s green color was nearly as pale as a lime’s rind.

“It’s working! I think this one’s almost dead!” he said as one of Opie’s spells healed him for much more than normal, returning nearly half of his missing health.

“Was that a crit?” Tristan asked.

“You’re welcome,” Opie said between huffs.

It looked like Opie was getting tired, so Tristan tossed out a reassuring, “At least it won’t split any more!”

As if in response, the ooze pulled into itself.

“WHAT?! IT’S SPLITTING AGAIN!” Chessa shouted.

“GODS-DAMN IT, TRISTAN!” Opie screamed.

The green turned black with a wheezing release of gas. Then two disgusting little oozes emerged from another pool of putrescence, which also began to eat at their available space.

“You had to jinx us! You freaking had to!” Opie yelled.

To Tristan’s horror, he realized that neither of the new oozes was even coming for him. They were both heading toward Opie; his massive heal at the split must have caught their attention. Meanwhile, Chessa’s already-limited space was cut completely off by the new pool.

“Get out of the poison! I can’t heal through that much damage!”

“It’s either that or I take hits from the ooze!” Chessa countered.

Tristan heard Opie literally scream. “BY ALL MEANS, HAVE A BATH THEN!”

At that point, Tristan knew the proverbial metal was heated, and it was time for him to strike. He ran directly between the oozes and Opie, trying to take the pressure off from onrushing monsters that didn’t seem to care.

Besides, there’s no way I’m letting these blessed oozes hurt my friends! If we can deal with these, the rest should just be clean-up.

Tristan began slashing with both hands as each ooze tried to bypass him. But he was more than just some stone in the path of a stream. He kept slicing, dealing as much damage as possible. He was exhausted and his whole body stung, but he would not let the pain stop him. Pain was nothing new to Tristan. He knew he could take it. He was a Blacksmith, and if there was one thing they could do better than anyone, it was endure.