It was weird, having to send out a thought-hiss in order to actually hiss. Still, I did it. In a fight, there were certain things that were necessary. Taunting was among them. It was important to aim for loss of morale. In a perfect world, that loss would lead a lesser creation to understand its origins, gratefully accepting the opportunity to serve the Great Core instead.
Sadly, the world was far from perfect.
Even with [Sound Shaping] pushing the hiss to what should have been debilitating levels, the spore-mist around me swallowed the brunt of my taunt. The corrupted Coreless’ ears bled, but he didn’t stagger. The spores within him forced the Coreless to attack again, still choosing to serve their Lesser Core.
It was a shame, but not an unexpected one.
The Grateful One twisted to the side in a forceful spin as another corrupted Coreless, this one attacking with nothing but teeth and nail, barged in. Her hand met its back as it moved past, pressing the momentum of her spin into a push that sent the corrupted tumbling. A great burst of dead spore-flesh puffed upwards, hiding the momentarily-defeated Coreless.
Others were there to take its place, and The Grateful One met each in turn. Her ore-flesh fangs stayed latched to her sides, strapped tight enough that they didn’t inhibit any motion. It didn’t seem to matter; with the unnatural way that The Grateful One could move, the corrupted couldn’t seem to touch her.
She slipped around strikes and bites, always just a scale’s breadth away from disaster - a disaster that never came. Her feet met theirs midmotion, punishing the attacking Coreless for their dependence on inferior legs and sending them toppling to the ground. Her hands pushed and pulled, always using the enemy’s momentum against them in a dangerous dance.
It was beautiful, a feat worthy of one of the Great Core’s disciples. I was sure that she had been blessed, made something better as a reward for her faith. The only thing holding her back now was the hideousness of her Coreless form, all gangly arms and unwieldy legs.
The male Coreless’ ore-flesh came for us again; this time, The Grateful One dipped underneath it, throwing herself backwards with a spine-cracking jerk that sent her further than a Coreless should have been capable of. A quick use of [Clinging Grasp] held me firm enough that I was able to send a set of thought-hissed instructions; the spore-roots that infested me twitched, forcing my fangs to sink through The Grateful One’s flesh. A drop of vitality came dripping down my fangs. I may not have been able to heal myself, but the same restriction didn’t apply to The Grateful One. She didn’t need [Spore Puppeteer] to keep herself under control. She somehow resisted the Lesser Core’s control on her own. It was yet another sign of the Great Core’s favor. The other Coreless weren’t so lucky.
My Coreless came back up before the healing even finished, throwing herself upward again and lashing out with a handful of dead spore-flesh that soared towards the nearest corrupted’s face. She must have understood the necessity of a good taunt as well, mocking the spores that controlled the other Coreless by assaulting them with the corpses of their own brethren.
It was surprisingly effective; the corrupted Coreless balked, eyes blinking furiously. The Grateful One took the advantage, one foot lashing out to meet the taunted Coreless’ knee. It shattered with a crack, and I felt a flash of both [pain] and [apology] from The Grateful One’s connection before it disappeared.
The corrupted fell in a great puff of dead spore-flesh that obscured my vision.
She burst through it, jumping over the hobbled Coreless and landing atop one that had been waiting behind. Her weight brought it down, and she rolled across her snake-free shoulder to keep her momentum going.
I wasn’t ready for that. I got spore carcass in my mouth.
Once, when she was smaller, Elara had fallen from the roof of her family’s house. Okay, she hadn’t fallen. She had jumped. A bunch of boys had told her that she couldn’t do it, she proved them wrong, she broke her ankle, then she told her parents that she fell. Off a roof that she had no reason to be on. It didn’t work out as well as she’d hoped.
The point was that Elara had spent a while falling - and in that moment, the fall had seemed to last far longer than it should have. Also, the lecture that followed seemed to last far longer than it should have, but that was for a different reason.
During the fall, time had stretched beyond comprehension. What had really been only a brief moment had seemed far longer and she had more than enough time to realize exactly why jumping - falling - had been a terrible idea. Her mind had felt like it was on overdrive, drinking in information faster than it had any right to. Seeing the ground come closer, noting the way that her legs were not in the correct position to meet it, comprehending how badly things had been about to go for her - it had all come in the blink of an eye, only reverting back to normal once she hit the ground.
Still, even after that, her heart had continued to race.
A plume of dead spores burst in Elara’s vision, spreading through the air in slow motion as time continued its plodding crawl - only, this time, Elara wasn’t falling.
She was in control, pulling the strings to force the same effect. Her heart raced, pumping and pumping and pumping, playing to a rhythm that filled her chest to bursting until Elara shut off those sensations. It was unhealthy - dangerous, even - but she could still feel the remnants of whatever the Little Guardian had done to her. She was healing faster than she was hurting herself.
A mixture of spores and the everpresent water vapor slapped against her skin as Elara rolled, each running unpleasantly across her cheeks. It was more unpleasant than she would’ve liked, the sensations extended beyond reason - seeming almost unending within the scope of her expanded perception.
Elara’s feet hit the ground again, well-tuned muscles thrusting her upwards. Every sense felt intensified beyond comprehension in the same way that it had during that fall so long ago; with time stretched out as it was, she caught the flash of light in the corner of her eyes, a thrust of a spear intended for her unguarded flank.
She twisted aside, feeling the tweak of muscles pushed well past their limits finally giving up. Stretching, splitting, shredding - and immediately starting to reform again as the healing began.
The spear shot past her, appearing slower than she knew it really was, and she made another grab for it.
Rowan - or the puppet that was Rowan, because the Seeker himself would never have been quite so unwieldy - tried to pull the spear back. The wooden shaft, well-oiled by long use, slid smoothly against her palm. It finally caught closer to the tip, where a strip of mana-lit metal pressed against her skin. It carved a brief line of fire before she pushed the sensation away, enhanced metal ripping through flesh far too easily.
Elara pulled at her strings again, clamping down on the pain that she knew would be coming, and yanked with all her strength.
Her muscles shredded under the strain, arm going limp. The spear flew, thumping against the spore-covered ground behind her. Blood welled from Elara’s injured hand, though she quickly did what she could to slow it down, rushing the clotting process. There was another bite at her shoulder, a slight pain packaged in two fangs.
“Thanks again,” she murmured as her damaged body began to regenerate faster, unsure if the snake at her shoulder could even hear her.
Elara started to move again, careful to keep herself between the puppets and the fallen spear somewhere behind her. It would have been easier if she was fighting monsters - if she didn’t know that there were human minds trapped in those puppet bodies. She would have been able to use her weapons without worry of what might happen. The puppeteer didn’t care if their puppet was bleeding to death; it would just keep pulling on strings until it couldn’t anymore.
But she recognized these people; not what they were, but even who they were. Who they could be again, as long as Elara kept them alive. As long as she brought them back, just like she had been brought back.
There was a bite on her shoulder again, a set of tiny fangs delivering what assistance they could.
A few seconds later, her body felt more powerful than before, bolstered by drops of liquid gold.
Zendran
Shoutout:
Today's shoutout goes to my friend KrazeKode, author of The 3rd Law of Cultivation: Qi = MC^2, a lighthearted story about a guy who is transmigrated into a Xianxia and decides to make the best of his situation by pursuing his love for Science. At nearly 8k followers over on RoyalRoad, it's currently one of the most popular of its type. Check it out!
If you wish to subscribe to my Patreon for early access to 30 chapters ahead, please wait until tomorrow so that you don't get charged twice in quick succession.
Discord
(Make sure to select a role to view the server's channels)
It was weird, having to send out a thought-hiss in order to actually hiss. Still, I did it. In a fight, there were certain things that were necessary. Taunting was among them. It was important to aim for loss of morale. In a perfect world, that loss would lead a lesser creation to understand its origins, gratefully accepting the opportunity to serve the Great Core instead.
Sadly, the world was far from perfect.
Even with [Sound Shaping] pushing the hiss to what should have been debilitating levels, the spore-mist around me swallowed the brunt of my taunt. The corrupted Coreless’ ears bled, but he didn’t stagger. The spores within him forced the Coreless to attack again, still choosing to serve their Lesser Core.
It was a shame, but not an unexpected one.
The Grateful One twisted to the side in a forceful spin as another corrupted Coreless, this one attacking with nothing but teeth and nail, barged in. Her hand met its back as it moved past, pressing the momentum of her spin into a push that sent the corrupted tumbling. A great burst of dead spore-flesh puffed upwards, hiding the momentarily-defeated Coreless.
Others were there to take its place, and The Grateful One met each in turn. Her ore-flesh fangs stayed latched to her sides, strapped tight enough that they didn’t inhibit any motion. It didn’t seem to matter; with the unnatural way that The Grateful One could move, the corrupted couldn’t seem to touch her.
She slipped around strikes and bites, always just a scale’s breadth away from disaster - a disaster that never came. Her feet met theirs midmotion, punishing the attacking Coreless for their dependence on inferior legs and sending them toppling to the ground. Her hands pushed and pulled, always using the enemy’s momentum against them in a dangerous dance.
It was beautiful, a feat worthy of one of the Great Core’s disciples. I was sure that she had been blessed, made something better as a reward for her faith. The only thing holding her back now was the hideousness of her Coreless form, all gangly arms and unwieldy legs.
The male Coreless’ ore-flesh came for us again; this time, The Grateful One dipped underneath it, throwing herself backwards with a spine-cracking jerk that sent her further than a Coreless should have been capable of. A quick use of [Clinging Grasp] held me firm enough that I was able to send a set of thought-hissed instructions; the spore-roots that infested me twitched, forcing my fangs to sink through The Grateful One’s flesh. A drop of vitality came dripping down my fangs. I may not have been able to heal myself, but the same restriction didn’t apply to The Grateful One. She didn’t need [Spore Puppeteer] to keep herself under control. She somehow resisted the Lesser Core’s control on her own. It was yet another sign of the Great Core’s favor. The other Coreless weren’t so lucky.
My Coreless came back up before the healing even finished, throwing herself upward again and lashing out with a handful of dead spore-flesh that soared towards the nearest corrupted’s face. She must have understood the necessity of a good taunt as well, mocking the spores that controlled the other Coreless by assaulting them with the corpses of their own brethren.
It was surprisingly effective; the corrupted Coreless balked, eyes blinking furiously. The Grateful One took the advantage, one foot lashing out to meet the taunted Coreless’ knee. It shattered with a crack, and I felt a flash of both [pain] and [apology] from The Grateful One’s connection before it disappeared.
The corrupted fell in a great puff of dead spore-flesh that obscured my vision.
She burst through it, jumping over the hobbled Coreless and landing atop one that had been waiting behind. Her weight brought it down, and she rolled across her snake-free shoulder to keep her momentum going.
I wasn’t ready for that. I got spore carcass in my mouth.
Once, when she was smaller, Elara had fallen from the roof of her family’s house. Okay, she hadn’t fallen. She had jumped. A bunch of boys had told her that she couldn’t do it, she proved them wrong, she broke her ankle, then she told her parents that she fell. Off a roof that she had no reason to be on. It didn’t work out as well as she’d hoped.
The point was that Elara had spent a while falling - and in that moment, the fall had seemed to last far longer than it should have. Also, the lecture that followed seemed to last far longer than it should have, but that was for a different reason.
During the fall, time had stretched beyond comprehension. What had really been only a brief moment had seemed far longer and she had more than enough time to realize exactly why jumping - falling - had been a terrible idea. Her mind had felt like it was on overdrive, drinking in information faster than it had any right to. Seeing the ground come closer, noting the way that her legs were not in the correct position to meet it, comprehending how badly things had been about to go for her - it had all come in the blink of an eye, only reverting back to normal once she hit the ground.
Still, even after that, her heart had continued to race.
A plume of dead spores burst in Elara’s vision, spreading through the air in slow motion as time continued its plodding crawl - only, this time, Elara wasn’t falling.
She was in control, pulling the strings to force the same effect. Her heart raced, pumping and pumping and pumping, playing to a rhythm that filled her chest to bursting until Elara shut off those sensations. It was unhealthy - dangerous, even - but she could still feel the remnants of whatever the Little Guardian had done to her. She was healing faster than she was hurting herself.
A mixture of spores and the everpresent water vapor slapped against her skin as Elara rolled, each running unpleasantly across her cheeks. It was more unpleasant than she would’ve liked, the sensations extended beyond reason - seeming almost unending within the scope of her expanded perception.
Elara’s feet hit the ground again, well-tuned muscles thrusting her upwards. Every sense felt intensified beyond comprehension in the same way that it had during that fall so long ago; with time stretched out as it was, she caught the flash of light in the corner of her eyes, a thrust of a spear intended for her unguarded flank.
She twisted aside, feeling the tweak of muscles pushed well past their limits finally giving up. Stretching, splitting, shredding - and immediately starting to reform again as the healing began.
The spear shot past her, appearing slower than she knew it really was, and she made another grab for it.
Rowan - or the puppet that was Rowan, because the Seeker himself would never have been quite so unwieldy - tried to pull the spear back. The wooden shaft, well-oiled by long use, slid smoothly against her palm. It finally caught closer to the tip, where a strip of mana-lit metal pressed against her skin. It carved a brief line of fire before she pushed the sensation away, enhanced metal ripping through flesh far too easily.
Elara pulled at her strings again, clamping down on the pain that she knew would be coming, and yanked with all her strength.
Her muscles shredded under the strain, arm going limp. The spear flew, thumping against the spore-covered ground behind her. Blood welled from Elara’s injured hand, though she quickly did what she could to slow it down, rushing the clotting process. There was another bite at her shoulder, a slight pain packaged in two fangs.
“Thanks again,” she murmured as her damaged body began to regenerate faster, unsure if the snake at her shoulder could even hear her.
Elara started to move again, careful to keep herself between the puppets and the fallen spear somewhere behind her. It would have been easier if she was fighting monsters - if she didn’t know that there were human minds trapped in those puppet bodies. She would have been able to use her weapons without worry of what might happen. The puppeteer didn’t care if their puppet was bleeding to death; it would just keep pulling on strings until it couldn’t anymore.
But she recognized these people; not what they were, but even who they were. Who they could be again, as long as Elara kept them alive. As long as she brought them back, just like she had been brought back.
There was a bite on her shoulder again, a set of tiny fangs delivering what assistance they could.
A few seconds later, her body felt more powerful than before, bolstered by drops of liquid gold.
Zendran
Shoutout:
Today's shoutout goes to my friend KrazeKode, author of The 3rd Law of Cultivation: Qi = MC^2, a lighthearted story about a guy who is transmigrated into a Xianxia and decides to make the best of his situation by pursuing his love for Science. At nearly 8k followers over on RoyalRoad, it's currently one of the most popular of its type. Check it out!
If you wish to subscribe to my Patreon for early access to 30 chapters ahead, please wait until tomorrow so that you don't get charged twice in quick succession.
Discord
(Make sure to select a role to view the server's channels)
