Erik stepped past the threshold, walking into the mist. It twisted and curled around him with every new movement, brushed to and fro by the slight wind of his passage.
It was cold. Wet, even.
The dead spores that coated the floor muffled Erik’s footfalls, and the live ones that drifted through the air would have done the same to his breaths - if only he had been willing to breathe.
He wasn’t. Not unless he had to.
Water dripped down Erik’s face, sliding around the edge of his heavily-squinted eye. His right eye twitched, and a warmth flared through his muscles, wiping away the beginnings of infection.
It was strange, he thought, walking through the mists. They had a way of dampening sound and covering sight, leaving nothing but a world of quiet green. It made him thankful for the rope around his waist; it would have been easy to get turned around, if it came to a fight.
And there would be one, he was sure. Already he was starting to hear things, things that made his already soft steps become even softer. Scuffling and grunting and bumping, mixed with the steady drip-drip caused by the water vapor in the air.
Whatever caused the mists must have released that as well; it made sense, in a way. The controlled people - and monsters as well, he assumed - would probably still need basic sustenance to function; their captor provided that.
It was good, in a way. Erik had worried about that, though he hadn’t had the heart to mention it to Valera. The normally-upbeat woman was walking on a razor’s edge of emotion after the death of that child, and it would have taken very little to cut through her heart.
The mist swirled again as he pushed forward more quickly, letting the warmth flowing through his muscles - the invigorating effect that came with the Little Guardian Statue - lengthen his stride.
Each swirl of the mist revealed something new; a display of intricate carvings here, a shelf of broken pieces there, each marked with price of purchase. It was a shop, Erik supposed, though one that had seen better days. Just like the rest of the broken city.
It was depressing to see how quickly things could fall to ruin. Some of his father’s stories had prepared him for it, but seeing it with his own eyes…reality felt much harsher. Much, for lack of better words, more real.
This world is not ours. Not anymore, his father had once said.
Harsh words for a harsh reality. They rang true. Erik wished that they didn’t.
He followed the swell and eddy of the spore-mist deeper into the shop, searching for its source. With any luck, he’d be able to destroy the thing with little trouble. Monsters that hadn’t Ascended tended to excel at a single thing and not much more than that; with such a dangerous ability, he doubted that this one was any different.
Besides, another pulse of warmth reminded him, even if there are any Ascended, we have our own.
He tried his best to ignore the memory of a great dragon and her blood-formed minions. With the null-water that isolated Verdant Grove from the World Dungeon around it, they should only have the Nature Core’s creatures to contend with. For the moment, at least. Later, things might be different.
The mist swirled again, and something crashed into his side. The armored Seeker gasped in surprise as bones cracked like kindling, snapping under the force of the sudden blow. Not his, though.
Something else’s - someone else’s.
An old man gasped at his feet, breathing out tiny puffs of green mist that melded with the spores around it. Dirty fingers scrabbled at Erik’s armored legs, overlong nails keening as they ran against mana-infused armor. His arms were twisted and broken, shoulders pulled out of place in a manner that made the seasoned Seeker’s stomach twist and turn.
The broken man didn’t seem to care, still scraping and scratching with heedless abandon.
It was horrifying enough that Erik didn’t immediately notice the burning in his lungs, the way that the organs had started to pulse as the invading spores anchored themselves in his flesh and took control, forcing a new wave of invaders down his throat - and those took root as well, forcing the Seeker’s lungs to desperately heave against his will.
He forced his mouth shut, clamping down hard. His lungs kept heaving against his will, desperately trying to suck air through firmly-closed lips. His chest burned, the heated sensation mixing with the warmth of the Guardian Statue’s constant attempts at healing. His vision started to close at the edges, green mist shifting to black.
The infected Seeker reached down, catching a shattered arm, and started to stumble away. Nails scraped against metal, searching for the gaps in his armor. They found none; he was thankful for that, at least.
Erik trudged through the spore-mist with his unwilling passenger, the rope around his waist the only sign that he was moving in the right direction. Heavy-clad feet slid across the field of spores that coated the ground, slipping slightly as the ground shifted beneath them.
The man at his side thrashed and jerked, scrambling and scrabbling.
The Seeker tried to ignore it. He tried to ignore the way that the man’s body twisted and broke in his grasp, bones snapping as muscles pulled them past their limits. He tried to ignore the way that fingers bled, flesh ripping against unwavering metal. He tried to ignore the way that - that this thing could be him, if he didn’t get out.
His lungs desperately heaved, and his lips twitched themselves open against his will. Air flowed in, a sweet relief. Spores flowed in, a bitter despair.
They rooted themselves further, digging through flesh.
He tried to move faster, and an uncontrolled twitch sent him toppling to the ground as it shifted underneath him. The old man, limbs broken and shattered, lunged for him.
Fractured limbs slapped ineffectually at the shield at his back, only shattering themselves further.
Erik pulled himself up, taking the broken man into his arms again, twitching and jerking all the while.
It was hard to think, with the way that his chest burned and his lungs heaved. Something tugged at his waist, pulling sharply. He followed it, foot coming down heavy.
It pulled again, and he stepped forward again.
And again.
Until finally, mercifully, he breathed clean air at last.
It had never felt more relieving.
I hissed in fury as Will stumbled back out of the nest, falling over the moment he escaped from the mists. One of his hands came up, yanking away the ragged bits of skin that had been draped over his lower face and revealing the abomination below. The Coreless’ face was covered in the corruption, disgusting veins spreading out from lips turned a near-solid green and black. Little flakes of green spilled out with his gasping breaths, puffing into the air.
One hand held tight to a thrashing Coreless, its skin covered in horrible hues.
“Erik!” the-female-who-was-not-Needle cried out.
“I - I’ll be fine,” he coughed in response, puffing out more spores. “I can already feel it starting to heal, now that I’m not breathing the damn stuff in and replacing it with more. Skies above, that was awful. Someone hurry up and take this guy off my hands.”
“You weren’t supposed to be breathing,” the-female-who-was-not-Needle replied, making noises of [worry], while The Unrepentant One pulled the still-thrashing Coreless from Will’s unyielding grasp.
“Yeah, I messed up. And it turns out, the stuff forces you to hyperventilate once it gets in your lungs. Makes thi-” he coughed again, expelling another burst of green mist, “things a lot more dangerous than we expected. Spreads quicker. I think he was the only one in there, though. Give me a while to heal up and I’ll see if I can find the source this time.”
“Erik…” she replied, her tone flat and still filled with [worry].
“It’ll be fine, really,” he rasped, motioning towards the captured Coreless. “Worry about him instead.”
The-female-who-was-not-Needle’s gaze snapped in the thrashing Coreless’ direction, as if only now noticing his existence. She nodded vacantly, stumbling forward and reaching for the [Little Guardian’s Totem] around her neck, pulling it free.
Before I knew it, she had knelt at the captured Coreless’ side, pressing the mana-lit carving against green-black flesh.
Emotions slammed into me with more urgency than ever before in a silent scream.
[TERROR/HELPLESSNESS/DESPAIR/PAIN]
And then, as the minutes continued to tick by and his desperate thrashing began to still, something came that was even stronger than the others before it: [GRATITUDE].
When the-female-who-was-not-Needle finally placed the [Little Guardian’s Totem] back against her flesh again, I felt it from her too.
Zendran
Discord
(Make sure to select a role to view the server's channels)
Patreon to read 30 chapters ahead.
Erik stepped past the threshold, walking into the mist. It twisted and curled around him with every new movement, brushed to and fro by the slight wind of his passage.
It was cold. Wet, even.
The dead spores that coated the floor muffled Erik’s footfalls, and the live ones that drifted through the air would have done the same to his breaths - if only he had been willing to breathe.
He wasn’t. Not unless he had to.
Water dripped down Erik’s face, sliding around the edge of his heavily-squinted eye. His right eye twitched, and a warmth flared through his muscles, wiping away the beginnings of infection.
It was strange, he thought, walking through the mists. They had a way of dampening sound and covering sight, leaving nothing but a world of quiet green. It made him thankful for the rope around his waist; it would have been easy to get turned around, if it came to a fight.
And there would be one, he was sure. Already he was starting to hear things, things that made his already soft steps become even softer. Scuffling and grunting and bumping, mixed with the steady drip-drip caused by the water vapor in the air.
Whatever caused the mists must have released that as well; it made sense, in a way. The controlled people - and monsters as well, he assumed - would probably still need basic sustenance to function; their captor provided that.
It was good, in a way. Erik had worried about that, though he hadn’t had the heart to mention it to Valera. The normally-upbeat woman was walking on a razor’s edge of emotion after the death of that child, and it would have taken very little to cut through her heart.
The mist swirled again as he pushed forward more quickly, letting the warmth flowing through his muscles - the invigorating effect that came with the Little Guardian Statue - lengthen his stride.
Each swirl of the mist revealed something new; a display of intricate carvings here, a shelf of broken pieces there, each marked with price of purchase. It was a shop, Erik supposed, though one that had seen better days. Just like the rest of the broken city.
It was depressing to see how quickly things could fall to ruin. Some of his father’s stories had prepared him for it, but seeing it with his own eyes…reality felt much harsher. Much, for lack of better words, more real.
This world is not ours. Not anymore, his father had once said.
Harsh words for a harsh reality. They rang true. Erik wished that they didn’t.
He followed the swell and eddy of the spore-mist deeper into the shop, searching for its source. With any luck, he’d be able to destroy the thing with little trouble. Monsters that hadn’t Ascended tended to excel at a single thing and not much more than that; with such a dangerous ability, he doubted that this one was any different.
Besides, another pulse of warmth reminded him, even if there are any Ascended, we have our own.
He tried his best to ignore the memory of a great dragon and her blood-formed minions. With the null-water that isolated Verdant Grove from the World Dungeon around it, they should only have the Nature Core’s creatures to contend with. For the moment, at least. Later, things might be different.
The mist swirled again, and something crashed into his side. The armored Seeker gasped in surprise as bones cracked like kindling, snapping under the force of the sudden blow. Not his, though.
Something else’s - someone else’s.
An old man gasped at his feet, breathing out tiny puffs of green mist that melded with the spores around it. Dirty fingers scrabbled at Erik’s armored legs, overlong nails keening as they ran against mana-infused armor. His arms were twisted and broken, shoulders pulled out of place in a manner that made the seasoned Seeker’s stomach twist and turn.
The broken man didn’t seem to care, still scraping and scratching with heedless abandon.
It was horrifying enough that Erik didn’t immediately notice the burning in his lungs, the way that the organs had started to pulse as the invading spores anchored themselves in his flesh and took control, forcing a new wave of invaders down his throat - and those took root as well, forcing the Seeker’s lungs to desperately heave against his will.
He forced his mouth shut, clamping down hard. His lungs kept heaving against his will, desperately trying to suck air through firmly-closed lips. His chest burned, the heated sensation mixing with the warmth of the Guardian Statue’s constant attempts at healing. His vision started to close at the edges, green mist shifting to black.
The infected Seeker reached down, catching a shattered arm, and started to stumble away. Nails scraped against metal, searching for the gaps in his armor. They found none; he was thankful for that, at least.
Erik trudged through the spore-mist with his unwilling passenger, the rope around his waist the only sign that he was moving in the right direction. Heavy-clad feet slid across the field of spores that coated the ground, slipping slightly as the ground shifted beneath them.
The man at his side thrashed and jerked, scrambling and scrabbling.
The Seeker tried to ignore it. He tried to ignore the way that the man’s body twisted and broke in his grasp, bones snapping as muscles pulled them past their limits. He tried to ignore the way that fingers bled, flesh ripping against unwavering metal. He tried to ignore the way that - that this thing could be him, if he didn’t get out.
His lungs desperately heaved, and his lips twitched themselves open against his will. Air flowed in, a sweet relief. Spores flowed in, a bitter despair.
They rooted themselves further, digging through flesh.
He tried to move faster, and an uncontrolled twitch sent him toppling to the ground as it shifted underneath him. The old man, limbs broken and shattered, lunged for him.
Fractured limbs slapped ineffectually at the shield at his back, only shattering themselves further.
Erik pulled himself up, taking the broken man into his arms again, twitching and jerking all the while.
It was hard to think, with the way that his chest burned and his lungs heaved. Something tugged at his waist, pulling sharply. He followed it, foot coming down heavy.
It pulled again, and he stepped forward again.
And again.
Until finally, mercifully, he breathed clean air at last.
It had never felt more relieving.
I hissed in fury as Will stumbled back out of the nest, falling over the moment he escaped from the mists. One of his hands came up, yanking away the ragged bits of skin that had been draped over his lower face and revealing the abomination below. The Coreless’ face was covered in the corruption, disgusting veins spreading out from lips turned a near-solid green and black. Little flakes of green spilled out with his gasping breaths, puffing into the air.
One hand held tight to a thrashing Coreless, its skin covered in horrible hues.
“Erik!” the-female-who-was-not-Needle cried out.
“I - I’ll be fine,” he coughed in response, puffing out more spores. “I can already feel it starting to heal, now that I’m not breathing the damn stuff in and replacing it with more. Skies above, that was awful. Someone hurry up and take this guy off my hands.”
“You weren’t supposed to be breathing,” the-female-who-was-not-Needle replied, making noises of [worry], while The Unrepentant One pulled the still-thrashing Coreless from Will’s unyielding grasp.
“Yeah, I messed up. And it turns out, the stuff forces you to hyperventilate once it gets in your lungs. Makes thi-” he coughed again, expelling another burst of green mist, “things a lot more dangerous than we expected. Spreads quicker. I think he was the only one in there, though. Give me a while to heal up and I’ll see if I can find the source this time.”
“Erik…” she replied, her tone flat and still filled with [worry].
“It’ll be fine, really,” he rasped, motioning towards the captured Coreless. “Worry about him instead.”
The-female-who-was-not-Needle’s gaze snapped in the thrashing Coreless’ direction, as if only now noticing his existence. She nodded vacantly, stumbling forward and reaching for the [Little Guardian’s Totem] around her neck, pulling it free.
Before I knew it, she had knelt at the captured Coreless’ side, pressing the mana-lit carving against green-black flesh.
Emotions slammed into me with more urgency than ever before in a silent scream.
[TERROR/HELPLESSNESS/DESPAIR/PAIN]
And then, as the minutes continued to tick by and his desperate thrashing began to still, something came that was even stronger than the others before it: [GRATITUDE].
When the-female-who-was-not-Needle finally placed the [Little Guardian’s Totem] back against her flesh again, I felt it from her too.
Zendran
Discord
(Make sure to select a role to view the server's channels)
Patreon to read 30 chapters ahead.
