Blessed Time: The Complete Series: (A LitRPG Adventure Box Set), page 28
Silently, the hand withdrew, its work done. Micah took in Elsewhere once more. Its beauty and untapped potential still called to him, but he wasn’t ready. He knew that now. One day, he might join the ageless entities that lurked here, but for now, there were mortal hopes and ambitions that he could not set aside.
With a flicker of will, his former body condensed from the mist. He merged back into it and willed himself through the portal as it guttered out.
Micah fell to the grass of the grove, gasping for breath as he tried to frantically fill his empty lungs. Marveling, he looked at his hands, not even noticing that the great tree that he’d used to power the ritual was nothing more than a sapling. They were without blemish. Every scar and stain was gone. He’d been born anew by his own hand.
He closed his eyes, a smile spread across his baby-smooth face. In the darkness, he glowed just as bright with the power of elsewhere as the Brensens. Instinctively, he knew that his summoning would no longer be limited. He was no longer just an entity of Karell. He existed with a foot in both worlds.
THIRTY-NINE
BEING SOCIAL
The Onkert slammed one of the scale wolves against the dungeon wall. Micah lashed out with his spear, willing mana into it to make it wrap around the wolf on top of Will. The monster clawed and bit ineffectually at Will’s stone face and throat while the portly man screamed in panic. It wouldn't be able to harm Will through his blessing until he ran out of mana, but Micah was getting a headache from the man’s shrill yells.
He yanked the wolf closer to him with his right arm, taking advantage of his increased Body attribute to overpower the burly animal. With his left, Micah cast Paralytic Sting and jabbed his fingers into the soft spot in its scales right under its right foreleg.
The green glow flowed from his hand into the rust-colored monster, stunning it. Micah flicked his wrist, releasing the wolf from the spear entangling it, and kicked the limp beast over onto its back. Planting his foot on its chest, he thrust the spear into its throat. The wolf shuddered and kicked twice before it went still.
Micah glanced over to the rest of the party. Trevor was holding one of the wolves at bay with a series of lightning-fast jabs from his spear, drawing its attention while Drekt stepped into position with practiced ease, his cleaver raised to finish the creature off. Jo danced back and forth, darting in and out of the shadows to drag her shortswords across the fourth monster’s flanks. Meanwhile, Sarah put arrow after arrow into any wolf that presented her with an opening, with smooth efficiency.
He reached down and helped Will to his feet, grunting and struggling against Will’s weight. The man wasn’t light in any form, but turning his skin to stone didn’t help matters. Will reached down and picked up his hammer, his lower lip vibrating as he tried to calm himself.
“Micah, it—it—” Will blubbered at him.
“I saw,” Micah replied, his eyes on the other fights just in case another party member needed emergency intervention or a quick heal. “You have to watch out for the tail on scale wolves. They’re heavily muscled and prehensile. Not enough to harm someone wearing proper armor, but more than enough to loop around an ankle and pull you to the ground. That’s a useful blessing you have there—it saved you a fair amount of bleeding and pain today.”
The Onkert leaned forward, ripping the wolf’s throat out before dropping the limp body to the dungeon’s floor. Drekt slammed his cleaver down to a startled yelp as he nearly bisected the animal. Micah frowned slightly and thrust forward with his spear, slamming a spike of wind into the final monster’s haunch and disrupting a knee-high sweep of its tail that likely would have caught Jo.
An arrow sprouted from the back of the stunned creature’s neck as Sarah shot it again. The wolf twisted around to snap at the attack, exposing itself to another pair of slashes from Jo. It flopped to the ground, the tendon in both forelegs severed by her sudden attack.
“—bit my throat, Micah!” He tuned back in to Will’s breathy rambling. Micah knew he should be annoyed, but for some reason, the man’s panicked account was endearing after his years of solitude. “I was stronger than it, but it just kept squirming away from me. I did everything I could, but it kept just biting me. If it wasn’t for my blessing, I would have died, Micah!”
“I would have healed you in time, Will.” Micah smiled at him. “Don’t get me wrong, it would have hurt like all of the hells at once, and the feeling of the flesh of your throat magically knitting shut while your breath whistles out of you isn’t something you’d forget easily, but other than that, you’d be fine.”
The rest of the party began to circle around Will and Micah, their eyes straying to where the Onkert crunched and chewed its way through the scale wolf. As far as Micah could tell, the daemons didn’t actually need to eat. For them, it was more a matter of pleasure. They enjoyed the taste of blood and flesh, the act of taking life.
“Thanks for the save on Will, Micah.” Trevor grinned at him before crouching down next to the corpse of the scale wolf that Micah had paralyzed and slain. “That’s a clean stab there. How’d you manage it?”
“His spear bent around it.” Sarah frowned slightly as she looked from the Onkert to Micah. “He pulled it off of Will in one quick motion before he stunned it and killed it.”
“What she said.” Micah chuckled weakly. “He looked like he was having a bit of a rough go of it, so I stepped in just in case.”
Drekt frowned and picked up the corpse with some difficulty. Jo whistled as the big man’s biceps bulged with effort.
“What level are you again, Micah?” Trevor asked a bit uneasily as he looked from Drekt to Micah. “Hells, how did you find a spellcasting class that improves your physical attributes? I thought you were just bragging earlier, but it looks like you have the levels to back it up.”
“Summoning isn’t really a class thing.” Micah scratched the back of his neck. “It’s more a matter of studying and research. My class is more of a healing and support caster. Usually, I just go into a dungeon with one or two daemons and let them do the hard work while I keep them in fighting shape.”
Micah shrugged. “As for my attributes, there are rituals that let you fortify them. They’re hard to pull off, but you know me. I always have my nose in one book or another. If you put in enough work, it’s not that crazy to augment yourself. As far as I can tell, most nobles have the rituals cast on them just after they receive their blessings.”
“Leave it to you to find a way to end up in better shape than me just from reading some books.” Trevor burst out laughing. “I knew I should have tried to get an apprenticeship with Keeper Ansom.”
“Did you say that you’ve been hitting dungeons on your own?” Drekt asked, dropping the monster corpse he’d been struggling with. “That sounds fairly dangerous, even with the strength of that daemon you’ve displayed for us. If you get outnumbered badly enough, something could slip past your summon and an accident could still happen.”
“I’ve had to heal myself a couple of times,” Micah replied, chuckling. There was some truth to that. Admittedly, it’d only happened in very high-level dungeons, but an area-of-effect attack that would just scratch a Brensen might cripple him.
Had crippled him. His conversation with Will about healing a torn throat wasn’t a matter of speculation. He vividly remembered the moment. A monster had shattered a nearby boulder and he’d taken a face full of shrapnel. He still had nightmares about having to hold his throat together, the blood pumping out of him, as he struggled to push enough oxygen past his vocal cords to croak out the words to Augmented Mending.
“That sounds traumatic,” Drekt rumbled, wiping some of the viscera from his cleaver. “It also sounds needlessly lonely and dangerous. Why not join a guild? You’re clearly powerful enough to warrant special treatment.”
“There’s special treatment”—Micah smiled halfheartedly—“and then there’s too special of treatment. I don’t want to be treated with kid gloves. It would make me soft and prone to mistakes.” Micah’s eye settled on Will as the large man whined animatedly to Sarah.
“Plus,” Micah continued, “if you reveal a blessing past a certain level, people take notice. Sometimes it makes them want to be your friend, and sometimes it makes powerful people think that you’ll grow into a threat. The nobility aren’t dumb. They won’t let a potential problem turn into an actual problem. Potential problems have a tendency to die of fortuitous accidents.”
“Wait.” Trevor’s eyes widened. “Is that why you’re always so cagey about your blessing and level?”
“Maybe I just like being a man of mystery,” Micah said, winking back at Trevor. “Didn’t you tell me that the ladies were into men who kept them guessing?”
“How is that working for you?” Jo asked, her voice barely concealing a smirk. “As far as I can tell, Trevor’s idea of being mysterious is to keep a girl guessing as to whether he’s cheating on her with her best friend or her neighbor.”
“You wound me to the quick, madame,” Trevor gasped and grabbed his chest. “To hear my honor so openly impugned, I don’t know if I will ever recover fully.”
“I’m pretty sure the answer is both,” Micah snorted. “I don’t remember how many times he forced his ‘cute brother and sister’ to run interference with a jilted lover while he escaped out his bedroom window.”
Jo burst into laughter, a clear tinkling of bells that filled the dungeon. A second later, both Trevor and Micah joined her. Drekt even managed to crack a smile.
This was what he’d been missing. The camaraderie, the mutual aid, a cure for the loneliness. As great as Telivern was, it couldn’t fill the emptiness that Micah had carried around with him since he’d joined the Golden Drakes in his last life.
“But seriously,” Jo said, intruding upon his thoughts. Micah’s breath caught in his throat as he realized how close to him she was standing. Maybe it was her stealth skills, maybe it was her blessing, or maybe it was just good old-fashioned inattentiveness on his part, but at some point, she’d approached within a hair's breadth of him. “How is that man of mystery thing working out for you? You’re attractive, powerful, and not attached to any of the guilds. It sounds to me like you should be beating off the ladies with a stick.”
“That’s our Jo.” Drekt chuckled. “If she sees something she wants, she just goes ahead and takes it.”
“Could you at least try to avoid picking up my brother in front of me?” Trevor groaned. “Or, I don’t know, at least wait until we’re out of the dungeon? It just seems so wrong to try and pick up boys in a dungeon.”
Micah opened his mouth to reply, but just blushed instead.
FORTY
LEGION
The five Brensens flitted about the Decrepit Behemoth, digging their skeletal claws into dark red armor and ripping it off piece by piece. The gigantic monster tried to swipe at its assailants, but they easily hopped out of the clumsy monster’s way with a series of angry squawks.
The flames powering the beast stoked higher, bringing the temperature in the room to a sweltering level. The daemons didn’t seem to notice as yet another plate of armor clanged to the ground, hints of the Behemoth’s blood visible where the plate had been bolted to the creature’s bone.
It screamed, more out of frustration than pain. Surely the Behemoth was in pain, but more than anything, the humiliation angered it. It was supposed to be the master of the Cavern of Rust, apex predator and feared by everything it saw. Even if something were capable of defeating it, the battle would be dangerous and the victor wouldn’t emerge unscathed.
Instead, the daemons were toying with it. Piece by piece, they ripped off its armor, taking chunks of bone and flesh with it. Periodically, they would pause their torment to swoop at the Behemoth and rip another furrow in its comparatively thin flesh, but it was clear to everyone in the room that they were enjoying themselves.
Micah knew that he should be troubled by the Brensens’ bloodthirsty nature, but truth be told, it barely bothered him. He could feel their excitement as they inflicted pain on the creature. He could almost taste the rich copper of its blood wetting his beak.
He shook his head briefly. Ever since his excursion to Elsewhere, he’d found himself becoming more and more in tune with the daemons. They were far from being able to converse with each other, but Micah found their alien emotions and senses bleeding over into his own more often.
Strangely, when he picked up feedback from the daemons, it wasn’t anywhere near as disruptive as it should be. Seeing flashes of an object from five different directions simultaneously, festooned in purples and reds that shouldn’t be visible to the human, should’ve turned him into a gibbering wreck. At a minimum, he should be suffering from migraines.
Instead, his feelings were more paternal. He disapproved of the Brensens’ actions. There wasn’t really any reason to torment the Behemoth like this. That said, the daemons and he walked a very solitary path. Blowing off steam every now and again wasn’t the worst thing on Karell.
Telivern grunted worriedly, pushing its head against Micah’s shoulder.
Discontent. Wrongness.
“Okay,” Micah responded, not looking away from the battle. “I get it, buddy. I’ll tell them to hurry it up so we can get back to the grove.”
Micah took a deep breath and centered himself before casting Haste on his daemons. Even after selecting Chronomancer as his level 20 class specialty, the fifth-tier spell drained almost a third of his reserves.
Even so, it was worth it. A smile blossomed onto Micah’s face as the daemons blurred into motion. Their strikes came faster and harder, ripping great gouts of flesh and ichor from the Behemoth as it tried to defend itself by spitting a stream of metal quills. The Brensens easily flapped and jumped aside, squawking and cackling at the boss while their brethren continued to tear deeper and deeper.
Finally, the Behemoth slumped to the ground, spilling its life into the dungeon floor. Almost immediately the Brensens began wetting their beaks as they ripped off and devoured strips of its flesh. Turning away from the grisly buffet, Micah tried to ignore the slimy taste of the dungeon boss in the back of his throat.
Disgust. Repulsion.
“I know, buddy,” Micah replied as he walked toward the dungeon’s altar, eager to see what he’d receive this time. For the past couple of weeks, they’d raided the Cavern of Rust every other day. Not every reward was useful to Micah, but he’d gained experience and a handful of higher-tier spells. He still wasn’t a Battlemage by any extent, but another third-tier spell and a pair of fourth-tier spells certainly helped round out his repertoire.
Telivern snorted behind Micah. He looked back at the deer. It stood tall in the dirty chamber, pure white and glowing faintly, a halo of energy rippling around its horns. It cocked its head slightly, concern in its large black eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Micah replied, running a hand through his hair. “There’s just so much going on right now between the level-ups, the summoning, and dating Jo, I just haven’t had the same sort of free time as before. I swear we’ll have a chance to hang out soon. Just you and me, like the old days.”
It snorted, pawing the dungeon floor with its hoof before it looked back up at Micah.
“I don’t like the Brensens that much either.” Micah leaned against his spear, making eye contact with the deer. “It’s just that we need them. There’s a storm coming. Monsters by the hundreds, if not the thousands. If we don’t stop them, they’re going to overrun everything. What they don’t kill, they’ll warp and twist into mindless abominations of magic and fell alchemy.”
He sighed. “I don’t have the power on my own to fight them. Even with the Brensens, it probably won’t be enough. I’m going to need more of them. Hells”—he shifted slightly—“I’m probably going to need to up the ante and summon a Luoca. Maybe two or three. I just don’t know if I have it in me to tackle the ritual. A couple more levels and my Mind attribute should be sufficient.”
Telivern walked toward Micah. Its hooves clattered against the dungeon floor, the steady click-click of its measured pace the only sound audible over the wet tearing and cracking of the Brensens devouring the Decrepit Behemoth. Micah closed his eyes as Telivern approached.
The five daemons shone like stars, orange and red with tethers of ephemeral fire connected to Micah himself. He willed his perception downward, to the small, swirling portal of energy and flame deep within his chest. The chains of power flowed directly into it and back into Elsewhere itself.
The deer stepped into the range of his mind’s eye. Unlike the daemons, it shone a gentle green and blue. Slowly, it swam forward in the inky darkness until its snout was in his hand once more. Looking down, he winced. He glowed a dim orange. A smoldering coal next to the bonfire of the daemons, but it would be a lie and an excuse to deny his senses.
There was no doubt that the ritual had changed him on a deep level. Something more than just the night terrors that interrupted his sleep as he felt the fingers of a great and unfathomable mind reach out to mark him. The taint of Elsewhere was upon him. Otherwise, Micah would be completely incapable of maintaining more than a handful of simultaneous summons.
Concern. Discontent.
“I’m worried too, Telivern,” he said quietly, running his free hand through his friend's fur. “I’m changing and I know it, but I can’t find any another way. The levels I’ve gained are beyond anything I could possibly earn on my own. This power I’m borrowing from Elsewhere isn’t without cost. I know it. You know it.”
Tears began to flow down his face as his hand balled in Telivern’s fur.
“I keep trying to tell myself that everything is normal.” He buried his face in the great buck’s fur. “I keep saying that I’ve faced down problems beyond mortal comprehension. That I’ve been broken down time and time again only to come out whole. But this is different. I can feel my humanity starting to slip away.”
