Chapter 108

  Hollowroot Bastion, Part III

  Actually, fuck this guy! I sidestep the reanimated Russian corpse and make a dash for the World Seed.

  The reanimated Russian raises an arm like it’s going to grab me, but I’m already past the point where fear gets a vote. For a second, I consider using my full Strength and trying to punch through him. But at that very moment a notification flashes in the bottom left corner of my HUD.

  [Range of Motion]: Cooldown has ended.

  I trigger the Skill and the world fractures into those silver-blue ghost frames again—ten versions of me, dancing around the Russian’s corpse and to the World Seed’s bubble. I pick the one that slips past him on the left, skims the altar steps, and ends at the bubble.

  Reality snaps. And I teleport. The world lurches as my mind tries to orient itself, but I’m one step from floating sphere containing the World Seed. The Seed pulses inside the bubble like a frail heartbeat, trying to claw its way back into being. It exudes a sensation that washes over me, thanks for my [Aura Sense]. It feels wrong.

  “Okay,” I hiss, reaching out. “Quick and—”

  As soon as my fingers touch the bubble, pain detonates through my arm. It’s a pain unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. I look in terror as the tips of my fingers begin to unravel into a thousand threads, each thread being pulled towards and then away from the World Seed. I feel nerves light up in a perfect map of agony, and for a split second I’m convinced my entire arm is about to peel off like a glove.

  I jerk back with a strangled sound.

  A System message slams into my vision, brutally calm.

  SYSTEM MESSAGE:

  Attempt to Claim [Fractured World Seed Fragment] Failed!

  . . .

  In order to Claim [Fractured World Seed Fragment] attempt with sufficient Will, or use a Container of sufficient Strength.

  “A container?” I gasp, staring at my hand in horror as my Health kicks into overdrive and the threads of my fingers weave themselves back together. “What kind of—”

  Something slams into my back. My ribs fold and my feet leave the ground. I spin and slam into the stone steps, breath exploding out of me in a wet grunt. The Russian corpse is on me. His fingers are tangled in my hair as his hand pushes my face into the stone of the altar’s steps. Before I can lift my face from the destroyed stone, hands are around my ankles and I’m being swung in circles and hurled through the air like a discus.

  I twist my body, righting myself mid-flight, only to see the Russian appear in front of me. A small black tear opens in the air and he’s suddenly elsewhere. Red rain boots kicking me in the back of the head, ending my flight and crashing me into the cold, hard earth. My cape being ripped at and tossing me back through the air, only to catch a knee to the spine.

  “What the f—” I start, cut off by blade-like chop to my throat. The Russian follows it with a flying knee, but this time I react just in time. I cast [Slimy Shield] and a disc of blue slime jiggles into existence, catching the corpse’s knee, slowing the blow and giving me a breath to stumble away from my opponent and give myself some time to think.

  I keep the altar, and the World Seed, in my sight. Think, Joe. Fucking think! I taste blood and panic. I need a container. Something that’s capable of holding a fractured seed of power that birthed an entire iteration of the System. Cool. Those are totally just lying around! But I need to come up with a solution. All while dealing with this Russian.

  A red stiletto heel stabs me in the chest as fishnet covered legs slam into me, rocketing through the air. They’re carrying Jelly Boy, whose blank eyes look like two obsidian stones floating within the lifeless Jell-O mold that’s become his body.

  Oh, right. I forgot about JB and Liv…!

  Liv’s in the distance, hands lifted before her, green-gold magic gathering, but it’s twisted now. Her face is blank. Her eyes are cold, unapologetic. Luckily, she’s a healer and even though they’re technically my opponents right now, I’m fine with Liv healing Jelly Boy. Just in case what I’m about to do hurts the poor guy.

  I grab onto the ankle of his humanoid leg, tearing the heel out of my chest and feeling my sternum stitch itself back together. I don’t relinquish my grip as I take Jelly Boy by the leg and whip him over my head, slamming him into the ground. Debris fills the air from the impact.

  My [Perception] immediately flares and my eyes widen as two slime-formed circular buzz saws zip towards me. I duck and they fly over my head, only for another gruesome black portal to appear at my side. The slime saws roar from the portal and I relinquish my hold of Jelly Boy’s ankle, leaping over the saws’ trajectory.

  The Russian is charging me, body covered in a green glow matching the power formed around Liv’s hands.

  It’s a three-on-one beatdown. And I am not winning. This is going to be so much harder than I thought.

  A portal strike from the Russian knocks me sideways, and Jelly Boy’s heel catches my shoulder, sending lightning pain down my arm. I scramble back, coughing, vision tunneling.

  “Lefty! Righty!” I choke out, and my voice comes out raw and desperate. I flex my biceps, striking the pose and casting [Wizard’s Fist] twice.

  Twin clouds of silvery mist burst into existence.

  The spectral fists rocket toward Liv.

  “Stop!” I bark, the word ripping out of me like a command from somewhere deeper than my throat.

  They freeze midair. Just… hovering. Lefty taps Righty on the wrist, mimicking pointing to a watch. I push the command mentally, hard enough my temples throb. I need my instructions to be clear:

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  Focus on the Russian. Only the Russian. If you have to fight with Liv or Jelly Boy, DON’T hurt them!

  Lefty and Righty obey. They whip around like guided missiles, both slamming into the Russian’s abdomen, just as he’s stepping through another one of his portals.

  Liv cancels her spell and comes at me like she’s been doing this her whole life. Which is deeply unfair, because I’ve seen my sister run. And it was like watching a newborn giraffe. Now she’s clearing the distance between us in no time. And she’s throwing punches, moving with crisp angles and efficient footwork. Hands up, chin tucked, throwing short, fast strikes that hurt, even through my resistances. Her face is blank, eyes dead, but her body is like the World Seed didn’t just hijack her, it optimized her. So much for not needing to worry about the healer as a combatant.

  “Liv—stop!” I bark, but she doesn’t even flinch. The blows keep on coming. I block and weave, shoving her away from me when I can, dodging when I can’t.

  I shove Liv back with a forearm, barely blocking a kick from Jelly Boy that would’ve taken my knee sideways. My brain is sprinting. I need space. I need time. I need a “pause menu” button the System conveniently forgot to include.

  Fine.

  If I can’t outfight them, I can outnumber them.

  “Multiplicity,” I snarl, flexing and casting.

  [Wizard’s Fist]

  Skill: [Multiplicity]

  The air erupts.

  Not two hands. Not four. Twenty!

  They bloom in a ring of cold, silvery mist. Twenty smaller spectral fists, each one weaker, less precise, but I don’t need raw power. I need a fucking army. They buzz around me like angry ghost bees, ready to swarm.

  I point between Liv and Jelly Boy.

  “Keep them back,” I command, teeth clenched. “Do not kill them. Do not break bones. Just… just bully them, I guess. And keep them away from me! Please!”

  The fists surge forward. Palms and knuckles shoving, slapping, pinning, knocking away. A flurry of controlled chaos that forces Liv to defend, forces Jelly Boy to dodge, and buys me the precious seconds I need.

  But then reality reminds me it hates me.

  Because Lefty and Righty—my big boys, my heavy hitters—are getting played. They chase the Russian corpse, but they can’t keep up. Every time they close in, a portal snaps open and he’s gone, reappearing two steps away, then behind them, then above, then inside the space they were about to punch.

  I realize he’s not only dodging my Wizard’s Fists. He’s making his way in my direction. He’s close enough I can see the faint red glow in his eyes through the ski mask. I cast [Force Grab].

  The spectral hand slams into him and clamps tight around his torso. The tether yanks at my navel, taut as a steel cable, and the Russian jerks, pinned in mid-step, legs kicking uselessly.

  “Got you,” I hiss.

  Lefty cracks him across the jaw. Righty’s there to slam an open palm his shoulder with a sickening crack.

  I spin, spot my Full Metal Staff near the base of the altar. I back pedal, pushing through the resistance ripping at my navel from the [Force Grab] connection to the Russian’s body, which doesn’t move, despite taking the beating from Lefty and Righty.

  I snatch up my staff with both hands. The familiar weight grounds me. The faintly glowing plates hum faintly. The staff starts siphoning Stamina automatically, storing it like a greedy little battery. I mentally turn it off with a simple command. Now is not the time to fuel the staff. No, now it’s time for it to fuel me.

  “Now,” I pant, turning back toward the bubble containing the nuclear World Seed. “Now now now—”

  I sprint.

  And I run straight through a black portal.

  I don’t even see it until I’m in it.

  It’s like stepping through a cold, oily sheet of nothingness, and then—WHAM!

  I slam into Liv. Her body hits mine like a car crash. My staff clatters against stone. Her hands lash out, and nails claw at my eyes. I’m able to get a hand up before she could blind me. I see her blank face inches from mine, and for a horrifying second I’m not sure if I’m about to hug her or headbutt her.

  Behind me, the portal I just ran through snaps shut like a guillotine. And with it, the Force Grab tether flickers, severed by the closing portal. How does that even work?! I think in dismay.

  “God dammit!” I snarl, stumbling back, as my shove Liv away from me. My heart is hammering.

  My army of miniature fists are still wrestling Jelly Boy into non-lethal submission. And the World Seed is still right there, pulsing, waiting. Taunting me!

  I’m at my wits’ end, staring down the ugliest math problem the System has ever handed me: How do you win a fight when the rules keep changing under your feet?

  I’m out of clever. Definitely out of patience.

  I need something to help me. Something to keep the Russian off my back so I can finally think about how to Claim the World Seed. I need… I need… I need an ally. A real one. One that isn’t a thrall puppet. I grab my staff again. I think I have an idea. This is probably going to end terribly. But it’s all I’ve got.

  I trigger [No Pain, No Gain].

  My body protests immediately—like my muscles are filing a grievance with HR. My Health dips and Stamina plummets as I decide to pump a decent chunk into upcasting the spell I’m about to trigger.

  I focus on my Full Metal Staff, and I pull.

  I draw on the Stamina I’ve been storing in it for days—weeks. The plates on each side flare a deeper, brighter blue. I feel the stored energy surge up my arms like liquid lightning. I burn it immediately. A plate on the left side crumbles into gray dust, dissolving with a hiss. A plate on the right side follows. Fwoosh! Gone, vaporized. Leaving behind the faint, metallic scent of magic in their wake.

  The staff becomes lighter in my hands, but what it gives me is heavier than steel. Power. Immediately accessible power. And I’m ready to put it to use. I mentally focus the excess Stamina, pouring it into [No Pain, No Gain]. The spell I’m about to cast is going to be huge.

  “Let’s go,” I breathe.

  [Lesser Summoning: Interplanar Ally]

  The air tears open in front of me. This time, to my immense relief, it’s not another of the Russian’s black gates. No, this is my magic: a door carved from memory and debt and a promise I actually kept. The portal is a pool of cold water, like looking through the surface of a lake at moonlight. The scent of brine and deep earth rolls out of it, thick and real.

  A figure steps through. A humanoid body built like an NFL linebacker, with grayish skin stretched over boulder-like shoulders. The figure’s head is cephalopodic, tentacles hanging like a beard, and its eyes are a stormy gray-blue that flick to the altar and then to me. They flash with recognition.

  “What is the matter of this?” Yomhalde screams, voice booming with indignation and surprise. “Where am I? Who dares summon me—”

  His gaze locks onto me. His tentacles lift slightly, like he’s sniffing the air with them.

  “Landling?... Joseph,” he says, tone shifting. Recognition and something like respect replacing the righteous anger.

  “Yomhalde,” I blurt, voice too fast, too tight. “Hi. Sorry. Emergency. That portal thing? It’s a long story. I need help. There’s a thing! A World Seed. It’s doing… World Seed stuff, my sister and my slime got mind-controlled, and that guy in the tutu is a teleporting corpse trying to stop me from Claiming the World Seed!”

  Yomhalde stares at me for exactly one second.

  I sigh.

  “I need you to fight that guy!” I stab a finger towards the Russian.

  Tomhalde turns his face towards the charging Russian, portals blinking behind him.

  Then, the cephalopod nods, slow and solemn, like I just delivered a formal battle briefing instead of word vomiting my trauma into the air.

  “You helped me,” he says. “When my people starved. When I was lost. You fed me and promised aid to my tribe. I am honor-bound to assist you, and join you as a comrade in this conflict.”

  He places a hand—big, heavy, and cold as a fish—on my shoulder.

  “It is an honor to fight beside you, landling Joseph.”

  “Oh thank God,” I breathe.

  Yomhalde lifts one arm. Mana ripples around his forearm like water, moving, dancing through the air. The mana condenses, forming a trident, its prongs gleaming with a cold blue sheen, etched with symbols that look like waves and shark teeth. He grips its shaft, twirling it with a flourish and taking a battle stance.

  The teleporting corpse stands between us and the altar, red eyes glowing through the ski mask. He shifts his stance as if deciding which of us to attack first.

  I plant my feet, staff humming in my palms. I can mentally sense Lefty and Righty, accompanied by my twenty little fists, engaging with Live and Jelly Boy and keeping them busy at the edge of the World Seed’s courtyard.

  Yomhalde steps forward, trident angled low, tentacle beard swaying and writhing.

  Together, we face the masked Russian—tutu, fishnets, clown boots and all—standing guard before the pulsing bubble of the World Seed.

  “Alright,” I growl, blood pounding in my ears. “Ready?”

  “It will be my honor to lend you my lance, landling!”