230. [BOLERO] Los Fieles

  [Shield] to block the sword swing, [Fan] to push the Revenant away from Antler-girl, followed by [Lance] to gap-close and re-engage.

  Duck under the sweeping arc of a second attack, sweep the enemy right back with a low-whipping [Staff]. With the Revenant off-balance, knock it down with a [Pauldron] barge, then finish the sequence with an earthward [Cestus] for meaty damage.

  Back off a step and watch the Stamina bar. Pirouette around a lunging thrust and, in the same motion, hit them in the back with a [Blade] of the NINEFOLD variety.

  A spinning counter from the Revenant. Interrupt it with a [Cudgel] headbutt from zero range. Poise-break! Widen the stance, then finish the whole thing off with a classic [Cestus] to the chest.

  That did it. The smiting blow. Using all eight of NINEFOLD’s fundamental techniques. All in a day’s work for an Aracnido grunt.

  [13,400 ?]

  Gods, it felt good to actually smite something… after so long rolling with the Realm’s gimmicky punches! And what do you know, even the smitee got in on the festive occasion, acknowledging Zacarias with a strange salute before fading into Souldust. Fists to antler bases, then crossed over the chest. It fit the description Serac gave of the Day-siders’ stuffy custom.

  Zacarias interpreted the gesture in his own way, somewhat tending toward romanticism. These Revenants might be indiscriminate in their aggro logic, but they’ve retained some remnant of culture and identity. I’m guessing fucker was an alright dude before he ended up in one of these sarcophagi.

  With the immediate threat dealt with, the next order of business was to sweep a damsel off her feet. Only… by the time Zacarias turned around with what he believed to be a winning smile, Antler-girl had already taken off. She ‘galloped’ down the hallway in relentless hurry, gait somewhat weighed down by the pitchfork in her hand.

  “Yo, hold up! You nearly got cleaved in half by that thing and you still wanna do this alone?”

  Antler-girl ignored him and ran on. Dainty but strong-headed. But also too slow to outrun a NINEFOLD master. Zacarias caught up to her easily, then slowed his pace to match the woman’s.

  “At least tell me why you’re in such a hurry. Who knows? A mountain for you might be a molehill for me.”

  Antler-girl glanced in Zacarias’s direction, seeming to notice him for the first time. She then skidded to an abrupt stop, her doe eyes bulging in astonishment.

  “You…” she murmured weakly. “Another outrealmer? Just what is happening to this city?”

  ‘Another’, eh? Zacarias noted wryly. Guess Serac failed to keep a low profile after all. That’s our Princess, alright.

  “Name’s Zacko,” he introduced himself via the path of least resistance. “You might’ve met my friend already. I think she went by—what was it—Deacon Edin while she was here?”

  That did it. The trust-earning name drop. Princess has that effect on people, everywhere she goes.

  “My name is Peridot aft’Sheeran.” Antler-girl spoke at sonic speed, anxiety back in full force. “If you’re with Sister Edin, you might be able to help me. It’s—”

  “It’s Drumlin, isn’t it?” Zacarias put the pieces together, surprising himself with how closely he’d paid attention to Serac’s stories. “He’s off trying to kill himself again, in the name of protecting you and the rest of ‘the herd’?”

  “Yes!” Peridot exclaimed with violent release, deer nostrils flared. “And I’m sick of it! I refuse to hide and wait while Drumlin plays the hero. Do you know what he told me? That he had to do this. That something in here told him to!”

  Peridot scoffed as she pointed to the left side of her abdomen, just below the ribs. Zacarias raised an eyebrow at the unexpected marriage between Serac’s stories and his own rudimentary knowledge of anatomy.

  “Uh, hate to break it to ya, Antler-girl. But your idiot boyfriend might actually be onto something. Stranger things have happened, and at least this strange thing follows its own fucked-up logic. Go on, lead the way.”

  Peridot did. Though she herself acted only on the knowledge that Drumlin had wanted to get as far away from the farm folk—from her—as possible. And so, Peridot led the astonishingly in-the-know outrealmer deeper and deeper into the Catacombs.

  They found what they were looking for soon enough. More violent commotion down the hallway, this time with the added visual component of aura flares. A Wayfarer at work. Zacarias ran ahead of Peridot and burst onto the scene, taking in the important bits in a matter of Ksanas.

  First, a paunchy Mriga man in a priestly robe. [Designation: DRUMLIN aft’RAFFERTY]. Down to half Health already but very much alive. He fought with a classic spear-and-shield—very hoplite-coded—though, evidently, not with much success at the minute.

  And no wonder. For a bulk of his magic and fighting prowess had been extracted and remanifested as the enemy before him. An axe-wielding, roided-up, minotaur-looking thing that filled the whole frame of the hallway. Very labyrinth-coded and rather appropriate for an underground maze.

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  [Designation: FINNBENNACH]

  [Aberrant Race: Gloamspawn]

  [Aberrant Class: Dungeon Boss]

  More pieces for Zacarias to fit into the larger picture.

  Previously knowing Drumlin only as a corpse from Serac’s story, he nevertheless intuited this FINNBENNACH to be the Bishop’s Oathborn. Whatever the Keeper’s SKYVEILS had done to this Realm, it apparently included ripping Wayfarers’ stands straight out of their person and into the open. And if Drumlin’s born-again spleen had indeed foretold of the calamity, perhaps the man had the right idea about planting himself in the basement.

  He’d been dead wrong, however, about trying to go it alone, especially in his severely nerfed state. Well, the cavalry had arrived. Zacarias knew nothing about this misadventuring Mriga couple, other than that Serac cared about their well-being. And that was a good enough reason for him to flex some NINEFOLD muscles.

  [Dreamer Aspect: THE FIRST DAO—STEEL OF REFINEMENT]

  Flying blades to grab the minotaur’s aggro. A Buddha-faced nod to the flat-footed Mriga pikeman. Idiot boyfriend though he might be, Drumlin was still a KL-47 Wayfarer: quick on the uptake and instinctual in battle. The impromptu partnership rapidly settled into a sensible rhythm. Zacarias to dodge-tank and Drumlin to look good in front of his girlfriend.

  FINNBENNACH didn’t make things easy, of course. Its axe was an auric projection of Primal magic, driven and thrown every which way by a muscly minotaur’s strength and savagery. Zacarias not only had to dodge it with precision but also bait it away from his pikeman partner. Slow and steady was the way to go, whittling down the minotaur with a long string of chip damage.

  At some point, FINNBENNACH lost its patience. It went into ‘phase two’, as was only the wont of bosses up and down Mount Meru. A deafening roar to send forth a stream of mighty wind. It caught Zacarias mid-air where he had no way to react, slamming him painfully against the wall for some horizontal fall damage.

  Drumlin fared better but not by much. A timely shield to block the worst of it, but the wind pinned him to the floor, leaving him vulnerable to a crushing swing of the axe. The attack Poise-broke him through the shield, forcing him to his knees.

  Not good, Zacko thought with a stab of guilt. I can get back into it, but this might be Drumlin done. Sorry, Antler-girl. Hope you didn’t stick around to see—

  “Rraaarrgh!”

  A roar of pain and rage as FINNBENNACH staggered mid-finisher, thereby missing its defenseless target altogether. It then reached for its own back, frantically trying to remove the pitchfork that was stuck in there real good! The best part was it couldn’t. Its arms were too short and too roided-up!

  Zacarias let out a hearty guffaw, truncated in the interest of urgency. For one Ksana, he locked eyes with a horror-stricken Peridot, already shrinking away from the scene of her turn as idiot girlfriend. Only for a Ksana, however. Zacarias pushed off the wall with [Gears], ready to finish the fight before more young fools could put themselves at risk.

  “Raarrgh!”

  A roar of rage and determination as Drumlin rose with spear in hand, Poise-mended in record time. In one swift yet controlled motion, he stuck the spear into the exposed underside of FINNBENNACH’s neck. The blade tore straight through the minotaur’s skull, to emerge as a third horn atop its crown.

  Ouch. Zacarias winced in genuine sympathy for FINNBENNACH and Drumlin both. If he knew anything about Tidereigner Wayfarers, it was the mutual devotion between Oathkeeper and Oathborn (Serac the outrealmer clearly didn’t get the memo!).

  And yet, some things trumped even loyalties forged in blood and oath. Zacarias knew that too. Perhaps better than most.

  FINNBENNACH fell to its minotaur knees and extended a muscly arm, as if to wrap it around its Oathkeeper. But before it could touch Drumlin, it faded into Souldust.

  [40,190 ?]

  An excellent haul despite ‘losing out’ on the smiting blow. And a decent return on [Dreamer Aspect]’s Karma spend. Even as he sympathized with the plight of Oathkeepers having to put down their own Oathborns, the Manusya had to wonder: hang on… did the Keeper’s shenanigans give its people an infinite Karma glitch?

  Best not think about it too hard. Especially when there were young fools that needed some clear-headed guidance. But after Zacarias looked up and saw what said young fools were doing, he turned his back to give them some semblance of privacy.

  Clear-headed guidance can wait, he thought with a wry smile. And no need to thank me, Antler-bro. I did what any wing-Wayfarer would’ve done in the same position.

  As Zacarias waited for his companions to cool off, his mind wandered again. Back across the veils and onto another pair of young fools he knew and kind of liked. You know, these Day- and Night-siders should really get together some time. Double dates can be pretty fun, and who knows? They might have a lot more in common than they’d ever imagined.

  And why not? They were both, after all, descendants of the same, twice-lit city.

  The climb out of the Catacombs was a much quieter affair. Peridot obediently hid behind Drumlin’s shield as Zacarias did most of the Revenant-smiting. All kinds of fucked up though the situation might be, there was an obvious silver lining. Namely, Karma-farming was back on the menu.

  But just as Zacarias had started to enjoy this new, fucked-up version of Tidereign, he was hit with a wake-up call. The trio made their way outside, only to walk into a large-scale nightmare-in-progress.

  The SKIES were low and thick with rippling VEILS. The sun flickered indecisively as moonlight leaked into the distorted reality.

  Even Dawnwick’s physical fixtures were fair game to the nightmare-ization. Packed earth ceded to cobblestone. Houses of bare clay merged with brick buildings to form accidental duplexes. The very ground fissured, shifted, and slid as a Realm tried and failed to accommodate the two halves of itself.

  … Yeah, Zacarias mused as his veneer of nonchalance hung on for dear life. When we young fools dreamed about breaking down barriers, I don’t think any of us pictured something like this…

  The city had fallen into pure chaos. Mrigas ran about in wild panic, dodging SKYVEILS and landslides and everything else in between. Out here, sounds of violent commotion filled the cracks in the distorted air, as Wayfarers and Anchoreds alike fought off Revenants and Gloamspawns rent from their own devoted selves.

  Gods and their mind games. Immortals and their tantrums. And for what? To test the people’s faith? Faith in the universe. In themselves. In each other.

  Welp. Zacarias resigned himself to another long day of work. Whatever is meant to come of this, I know at least one thing for sure. This ain’t gonna be a one-Upheaver job…

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