Chapter 96

  Barrier Guardian, Part V (Dance Macabre, 2 of 3)

  The world burns.

  One moment I’m standing victorious, fist-pumping with my favorite slime buddy, and the next I’m being devoured by dark flames.

  WHOOOSH!

  I’m engulfed.

  There’s no time to scream. No time to even flinch. The flames tear across the clearing, devouring the trees, the earth, the air. And me.

  My System-generated gear is surprisingly unphased by the flames, which gives my brain a half-second delay before I realize I’m on fire. My skin blackens in seconds. I see the flesh on my arms bubble and slough off like overcooked meat. My muscles char and crack, sinew splitting down to the bone. I watch it happen. I watch my own damn ulna as fire eats away the rest of me.

  The pain is only there for a flash. Bright, white hot pain. Before it’s gone.

  Gone.

  Because, I realize, I’m in shock. Because my body has decided that continuing to feel anything is no longer in its best interest. Because all of the parts that it needs to feel anything has been burned away entirely.

  My knees give out and I hit the scorched earth. I should be dead.

  But my Health bar isn’t empty. In fact, it doesn’t look half bad, which means there’s some level of System-empowered regeneration keeping my vital organs going. My brain, heart, lungs, eyes all seem to be generally unharmed by the blast.

  Still, my consciousness is barely holding on. I’m about to let it fade when warmth washes over me.

  Gentle, glowing warmth. Not the cruel, searing heat of the Harbinger’s fire, but something cleaner. Kinder. Healing magic.

  Liv, I think.

  “Don’t worry, Joe, I’ve got you!” she calls out, her voice slicing through the screaming static in my brain like a lifeline. I don’t see her—I can’t turn my head that far—but I feel her. I feel her spell wrap itself around me, ribbons of magic cradling me in a gentle embrace wrapped in divine energy and first aid fairy dust. The ribbons begin to lace themselves around the husk of my body and weave together new bones, muscle and sinew.

  My Health bar rockets up like it’s chasing a high. As soon as it’s topped off, I feel Liv’s magic go into overdrive.

  The muscles in my arms re-form in real time, knitting together like ghostly scaffolding filled in by red clay. Veins pulse and ligaments reattach. Skin crawls across the exposed meat, pink and raw and new.

  I flex my fingers. I have fingers again. Man, I’ll never get use to this. Probably a good idea not to. Can’t get too complacent. Too dependent on healing magic. Still, right now, I’m very thankful Liv decided to follow us into the Gate. Having a Bonafide healer is a game-changer.

  The ambient heat still swirls around me like a dying sun’s breath, but I’m alive. Alive and pissed off.

  I spin to check on Jelly Boy.

  The little guy’s singed—his normally sky-blue goo is darker, charred in places like overcooked pudding—but he’s okay. Already wobbling upright, half-regenerating. Honestly, he doesn’t even look like he had been scorched nearly half as bad as me.

  “Wait,” I mutter. “Are… are slimes resistant to fire damage?”

  I rack my brain. I swear I read that somewhere in a System pop-up, but now’s not the time to open his ally information and go lore-diving.

  I need to focus.

  The last of Liv’s healing magic does its work on Jelly Boy, and his color brightens to its normal hue.

  “Jelly Boy!” I exclaim.

  He responds with a shake of his body, like a dog after a long bath.

  “Go to Liv! Guard her like your life depends on it!” I bark. “If I can pull this thing away from this area, come join me. Recover your mana and use what you have left for defense. Okay?”

  He perks up, gives a fast little blorp-blorp, then salutes me by morphing the top of his jelly body into a curved wedge resembling a hand at a ninety degree angle. With nothing more to exchange, he bounces away through the blackened terrain, each leap a perfect little splop, his form gleaming faintly under the soot-covered sky.

  Good boy.

  The Harbinger looms over the burning swamp, flames still licking from its carved mouth, its head tilted ever so slightly… like it’s noticed I’m still alive and is flummoxed at the possibility.

  I spit out a gob of ash and blood and set my jaw.

  “Round two, you overgrown seasonal decoration.”

  I adjust the brim of my wizard’s cap.

  “Alright, jackass,” I mutter through grit teeth, still tasting ash, “Let’s see what else you’ve got!”

  I thrust my left hand forward, feeling the tether of magic still snaking from my navel to the still-active Wizard’s Fist—Righty, bless his overly-aggressive soul. I flex my left bicep and channel the [Wizard’s Fist] spell one more time. Again, I double up with [No Pain, No Gain], sacrificing a slice of Health and a splash of Stamina to increase the spell’s power.

  Lefty materializes beside his twin, bloated with aether, spectral and glowing, fist the size of my entire torso.

  “Go,” I whisper, and both fists rocket forward like twin freight trains built of frustration and testosterone.

  They crash into the Headless Harbinger with catastrophic force. One slams the rider in the chest. The other punches its thigh. Its knee buckles and its entire torso bends backward. Bark explodes from nearby trees. Shockwaves ripple out in concentric rings.

  But the Harbinger is unphased, frozen in the position of impact. Its aura shifts and the lantern in its hand pulses. Shadows snake out, as the aura blooms like a plague, drinking in light. The color is sucked out of my Wizard’s Fists, like ink in reverse. My mental link to the fists trembles. Then, from within the swirling miasma surrounding the Headless Harbinger, a sword forms, hovering midair. The Guardian takes it with its free hand—long, black, and serrated like the edge of a carving knife.

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  The Harbinger slashes the air. A single, precise cut.

  Lefty and Righty explode in twin geysers of silver mist.

  “No—!” I shout. I don’t have time to hesitate. I’m booking it, trying to make as much distance between me and Liv as possible.

  The Guardian slowly rights itself, standing and torso snapping back into place. Its head—jack-o-lantern face now carved into that goddamn smirk—twists unnaturally, following my position. No body movement. Just the gourd, turning slowly until it locks onto me. My stomach drops.

  I pick up the pace, pumping as much as I can into slicing through the thick brush of the swamp. I want to give myself some cover, but not so much as to lose its attention.

  I send a barrage of [Force Blasts] backward as I run, each shot crackling with blue energy. They strike the Harbinger’s armor and fizzle uselessly against its body. The thing doesn’t even flinch at the impact.

  Then, the Harbinger bends its knees, and leaps.

  It’s suddenly airborne, soaring overhead like a bird of preay, sword held high.

  I prepare to dodge.

  I see it, clear as day. Despite its speed, the attack is too telegraphed.

  But then the shadows of its lantern stretch out ahead of the monster’s descent and all light is bleached from my surroundings. I feel the weight of the darkness, pressing against my skull like a migraine made of gravity. My body slows.

  I can’t dodge the slash when it finally comes. The Harbinger lands and its attack connects with my back point blank. The trees within fifty years of me are severed, filling the air with gigantic splinters. I feel my Slashing Resistance trigger, even a touch of Bludgeoning Resistance. Instead of being bisected, I’m simply sent flying through the air, head over foot.

  I crash into the muck with a splat, rolling twice before coming to a stop facedown in something that smells absolutely disgusting.

  “Ughhh,” I groan into the sludge.

  I feel it before I see it. A System ping flutters across my vision like a half-formed thought.

  You are being [Repaired] by Ally Olivia.

  Stamina recovered!

  The green line of my Stamina bar shoots back to full, and just in time. I use the burst of available gas in the tank to leap to my feet and keep moving.

  I spare a thought for Liv. Wherever she is, she’s still able to target me with her spells. We never got the chance to full test the range capabilities of her spellcasting. So, either she’s a spell sniper, or I’m still far too close to her for comfort. If another inferno comes, I’m hoping it’s the former.

  I spare a moment to glance over my shoulder.

  Inside the Harbinger’s carved grin, black fire stirs like ink being transmuting into boiling oil. The flame takes shape, condensing into a single, massive arrow, jagged and twisting, burning with heat I can feel from here.

  “Oh no.”

  It launches. I dive, roll, scramble as the swamp around me ignites.

  Even though it doesn’t hit me directly. The inferno washes over me, accompanied by a searing pain.

  The burning swamp around me drowns out the scream of agony that tears itself from my throat. The heat wraps around my body like a blanket made of razor searing razor blades. My skin blisters and pops.

  Despite the burns, my Health is still going strong and I can feel my body healing itself.

  What do I do? … What do I do?!

  No time.

  The Guardian’s on me. Its sword, dark and jagged and awful, falls like the weight of inevitability. The movement is slow and deliberate.

  I move, pushing my body through the pain of the burns.

  But the aura catches me again. Light is sapped away and for some reason, despite wanting to move, to dodge, I can’t. I slow and a familiar nothingness drowns me. I leap, but it’s like trying to sprint through molasses and it’s too late.

  I don’t make it.

  Slash!

  Again, the blade connects. And again, I’m sent on a nice trip through the air. Saved only by my Resistances blunting the impact. Still, this time, I feel bones crack. Luckily, none of them are my spine.

  I crash down again, harder this time. My shoulder screams, but I roll onto my feet and let adrenaline take over, willing myself to move.

  Then it hits me.

  The aura. The lantern. That’s why I can’t dodge. That’s what Walter and Preston had warned us about. The aura of the lantern makes the Harbinger’s attacks practically impossible to dodge. If I want to take it down, it will need to be from a distance.

  But what happened to Lefty and Righty?

  It seems like the Harbinger’s sword can strike magical constructs. So, what options do I have?

  “Shitshitshit—” I mutter repeatedly, only stopping to coughing up a mouthful of blackened phlegm and blood.

  I have to move. Get away from the Harbinger and its lantern’s aura.

  I pump my arms and legs, letting my body burn away at my remaining Stamina. The swamp is a hellscape now. Trees are torches. Water hisses to steam. The air tastes like pennies and charcoal.

  My stride hits a hitch and I stagger when I feel the familiar pulse of the System.

  Ping!

  SYSTEM MESSAGE: Sufficient amount of Fire Mana absorbed [Behemoth Cap]!

  What do you know of destruction, mortal?

  “Wha—?!”

  BOOM!

  The world flips as another fire-lance from the Harbinger’s jack-o’-lantern mouth detonates right behind me, a wall of flame licking up my back and punting me forward like a human-sized piece of refuse.

  I hit the ground hard, my breath flying from my lungs and I scorpion-tail before unspooling and barrel rolling into a heap. Everything hurts but seems to be in the right place, once again thanks to those mundane Resistances.

  My vision’s a kaleidoscope of fire and soot. I want to stand to my feet, but my body decides to release a long, pained groan, instead.

  What do you know of destruction?

  It’s that voice again. It’s deep, and ancient sounding. A heavy baritone with a practically bestial growl. It’s not the System. And it’s definitely not me.

  I blink. Flames dance across my peripheral, and in the center of my blurred vision are two booted feet. The Harbinger marches forward, inexorable as Monday morning. Blade in one hand, lantern in the other.

  I close my eyes, and visions flood my mind.

  No. Not visions. Feelings.

  Hate. Rage.

  The white-hot desire to tear down everything that ever tried to contain you. Laws. Family. “Expectations.” A world that never gave you a shot but still demanded your loyalty. The younger son, the spare Abascal. It’s all there, screaming inside me like a furnace.

  Illrune, you will always be a failure!

  These aren’t my memories. These aren’t my feelings.

  It’s… They’re…

  Illrune.

  The name hits like a hammer to the soul. I don't know who that is, but I know that’s where this is all coming from. All these emotions. The desire to destroy those who would dare to keep me down, make me smaller than. Less than! It’s like I’ve been plugged into an emotional USB port and now I’m surfing someone else’s trauma.

  I feel Illrune’s hatred boiling in my blood. Though I can’t help but empathize, it doesn’t fit right. Like someone else’s shirt, three sizes too small and put on backwards.

  I squeeze my eyes shut harder.

  What do I know of destruction?

  I push the emotions of whoever this Illrune is aside, and something else… Not something foreign, but oh so intimate, bubbles up to the surface.

  Not the glorious, burn-it-all-down brand of destruction that Illrune dreams of. Not the revolution or the vengeance or the crusade.

  No. This is the small brand of destruction. The silent, everyday destruction that suffocates you slowly.

  The kind where you stop showing up to things. Where you ignore your mom’s calls and sink so deep into your bed that you forget what daylight feels like. Where the fridge is empty and you pretend that means you aren’t hungry. Where you quit before anyone can fire you. Where you don’t even try, because trying means failing, and failing means pain. Where you go home… No, you’re taken home. Spirited away because your family doesn’t trust that they’ll ever hear from you again if they don’t come get you right now.

  Self-destruction.

  Oh, yes. I know destruction.

  It just used to wear my name.

  My eyes peel open. Through my blurred vision, I see the color leech itself from the air and the Harbinger raise its blade high over its head. Everything seems to be moving more slowly than before.

  Move, Joseph!

  But why can’t I move?!

  I let my eyes close again. I try and breathe.

  But that’s not me anymore. The thought feels like a whisper.

  That self-destructive hopelessness? I left it behind… Or—at the very least—I try to leave it behind. Every. Single. Day. God dammit, I try.

  The sound of metal plates slamming against an iron rack ring through my ears.

  Didn’t you find solace in a new form of destruction?

  That’s right. What’s weightlifting but recreation and self-discovery through intentional destruction?

  Repetition, after repetition. Destroying your body through breaking down muscle, providing it with the opportunity to regrow. Stronger than before.

  I know destruction, you bastard!

  Bench press to failure. Squats to failure. Deadlifts to failure.

  I KNOW DESTRUCTION!

  I grit my teeth, pushing up from the scorched earth with arms shaking and skin sizzling. My bones protest, my jorts ride up into forbidden territory, and my wizard’s cap seems to be laughing, a deep, majestic chuckle.

  I glare up at the flaming pumpkin skull staring down at me, ready to bring down its blade once more.

  I spit blood and burnt swamp water.

  And then I laugh. Just a breath at first. Then louder, more hysterical.

  SYSTEM MESSAGE: You have successfully attuned to Behemoth Cap. You have gained access to the Maw of Shogmoth.