Apocalypse Healer 2: A LitRPG Adventure, page 32
The streams of green mist entered his body, fueling the Venomized Reservoirs, but William didn’t store the power. He glanced at the notification blinking to life in the corner of his vision and amplified his Skill Runes.
“Fly lower,” he commanded the Venocria.
The monster obeyed at once, lowering its altitude to skim just above the Sanctuary, revealing the terror William’s Cohorte was causing up close.
Some Protectors were doing a good job of defending their lives.
A pack of Blight Kobolds charged at the Protectors, their clubs smashing against the defenders’ shields, their claws scraping their armor. The Protectors were forced into retreat, but magical projectiles and augmented arrows whistled past the defenses, tearing through the Blight Kobolds one by one. The tide of the small battle shifted as the Kobolds fell, and William watched in silence as the Protectors’ expressions lit up.
The Blight Kobolds died like flies, and it did not take long before the last one dropped dead. Only one Protector, a defender who had grown overconfident, fell when he pushed forward to face the last of the Blight Kobolds without sufficient support. The group’s Cleric tried to save their fallen comrade, but the victorious smiles vanished as the defender suddenly pounced on her, sinking his teeth deep into her neck.
William heard no scream as the woman died. However, the other Protectors screamed and shouted, and one of them responded quickly, embedding two arrows into their heads. The Venin Infected died, for good this time, on the spot. However, the miasma oozing from the Blight Kobolds’ corpses had spread. The Protectors didn’t seem to notice the miasma, at least, not until it was too late.
William shook his head and turned away to study the Sanctuary’s situation. More monsters joined the Cohorte, but he was still not satisfied. Their numbers were great, but William could not help but think that their strength was lacking.
Spiders would have been much easier, he grumbled inwardly. Empowering the broodmothers was enough to create an army of decently strong creatures, but who was he to find fault in his Master’s plan? He was but a pawn, and he acted accordingly.
The remaining residents and Protectors fell back as monsters flooded the alleys and streets, slowly driving them toward the Panthea. No more than half an hour passed before the survivors were confined in the Panthea. The only thing separating them from the ferocious monsters and the mist that flooded the Sanctuary’s streets was the Sacred Dome.
William whistled, and the Venocria moved. It pressed its wings tightly against its body and shot toward the ground in an instant. The leathery wings swung open in their glory, slowing their dive as they reached the ground. A simple yet smoothly executed maneuver through the Sanctuary brought them toward the wide-open plaza where hundreds of monsters were already waiting for him. William jumped from the Venocria’s back and landed softly on a Mutant Giant Infected.
“Poor souls,” William muttered, devoid of mercy. He straightened his robe and strode slowly toward the entrance to the Panthea, studying the Protectors with glee. While the residents looked like they were about to collapse from fear at any moment, some Protectors stared at him in hatred. Did they know he was the aggressor, the pest that was going to eradicate them all? William shrugged at the thought. It was of no importance. Not really. None of the Protectors would live to tell the tale.
Unsurprisingly, one of the dwarves charged him. He rushed outside the Panthea with surprising speed, probably a Skill Rune increasing the dwarf’s speed for a moment, but William did not move. A tingling sensation appeared in the back of his head when the dwarf shouted at him, but it was too weak to attract his attention.
The dwarf swung his mace at him, and William felt the Bond of the Cohorte tensing. William lifted two fingers in a lighthearted manner, and a wall of acid burst out of the cobbled street. The dwarf screamed as he charged through the wall, catching William’s attention. That was foolish, he thought, shaking his head as the mace melted before his eyes. The dwarf’s skin and flesh followed. The Protector still hadn’t reached him when his sizzling bones fell to the ground.
“Idiot,” he hissed. Then again, this wasn’t a new reaction. This kind of response to his invasion shouldn’t surprise him anymore. But he could not help himself. Every time he encountered a Protector consumed by rage, William wondered how they had survived to become Protectors. Or how they had reached the Peak of the Bronze Rank, occasionally also the Silver Rank, when they behaved like lowly beasts.
The monsters around him stirred, and a small pack inched closer and pushed past him, snapping toward the Panthea, but William stopped them with a mental command. Most obeyed immediately, but one of the larger creatures, an Undead Giant, did not. William felt the Mark burn the Undead Giant’s Soul as its massive club cleaved downward, hitting an invisible wall—the Sacred Dome surrounding the Panthea.
“I willed you to stop,” William snapped. “That was not a request. It was an order!”
The Undead Giant turned, its killing intent directed at him.
William cocked an eyebrow. His lips parted, and the whisper of a Word of Power escaped his lips.
“Die.”
It sounded like the hiss of a serpent as it resounded in his ears, yet the Word of Power belonged to him. It was a gift, but it felt more like a punishment. His nightmare, all of it, began with the Words of Power, after all. William winced, thinking back to that time, but his eyes remained cold as the Undead Giant’s features contorted.
The monster’s killing intent dispersed instantly, only for its head to burst apart, drenching the surroundings in brain matter and venomous miasma.
The Undead Giant dropped to the ground. Not even a second later, the first monster arrived at the corpse, gnawing on the giant’s flesh.
William looked at the creatures in disgust as more and more monsters of the Cohorte charged at the corpse, pushing others aside to claim a piece of the Undead Giant and its miasma. However, his disgust quickly gave way to a thin smile as he turned to the men and women trembling behind the Sacred Dome. Some had seemed strong and composed just moments ago, but their confidence had quickly faded.
“I give you one chance at survival. Grant me free entry to the Panthea, and I will let you leave,” William offered. He knew the offer was generous. The Panthea might be protected now, but it would not last forever. Either the Protectors and residents would forsake their gods and live to tell the tale, or they would remain loyal and learn the bitter truth of their beloved Pantheon. William liked both ideas.
Nobody moved behind the Sacred Dome. They kept staring at him, fear and hatred burning in their eyes. William walked past the monsters feasting on the giant corpse and pressed his hand firmly against the translucent barrier that protected the Panthea from the greatest harm.
“I will swear an Oath if you will not trust me,” he added, watching as some residents stirred. Unfortunately, all he received in response were curses.
Looks like I won’t be able to feast on as much Divinity as expected, he thought with a sigh.
“I gave you a chance. It’s not my fault nobody took it,” William shrugged, turning to the Cohorte and hissing, “Attack!”
The Cohorte responded immediately. Its monsters lunged at the Panthea from all sides, clawing, kicking, and biting the translucent barrier, while William stepped back, watching terror flood the eyes of those who finally realized they were about to die. He ignored their screams and scoffed as they ran toward the Panthea’s main temple, as if that would change anything. It was to no avail. William knew better. Their Pantheon would not protect them.
If anything… William mused, his attention drifting to a Blight Kobold slipping through a small gap in the dome. It shrieked excitedly, rushed toward the nearest survivors, and attacked. More Kobolds and other monsters followed, tearing the gap wider. At first, the opening expanded, but it wasn’t long before it collapsed entirely.
The failure of the barrier, which was meant to protect the Pantheon’s most devout followers, brought a smile to William’s face.
“That’s what you get for trusting the Pantheon,” he spat at the residents, who stared at the flood of monsters in horror. Some froze, while others continued to run. But there was nowhere to run to.
The residents may not have been responsible for weakening—no, removing—the Sacred Defense Dome, but the gods certainly were. One, or more likely, multiple, transcendent beings of the Pantheon must have retracted their Divinity, weakening the dome.
What a shame. William would have loved to devour more. Still, some of the gods’ Divinity remained. They couldn’t retract everything. Not right away, at least. While it wasn’t the best-case scenario, it was good enough to nurture and expand his army. And, of course, to grow stronger himself.
But he couldn’t devour the Divinity right away. The Sanctuary had to be conquered first, only then could he claim his prize.
“You did well, my youngest.”
Zephir’s voice rumbled in William’s head, making him shudder.
His Master was always present, everywhere, at all times. But that didn’t ease the tension and fear that bubbled deep inside him whenever Zephir spoke.
“Your next target,” Zephir hissed, and the image of another settlement formed in William’s mind. One more Sanctuary. But something about the image was odd. William could see a Familia, but there was no Panthea. And most surprisingly, the Sanctuary was surrounded by towering walls armed with watchtowers. It shouldn’t have been surprising, but the towns and Sanctuaries he and his Cohorte had destroyed hadn’t been protected by walls.
“A Sanctuary created by one of my friends.”
Zephir had friends? That was a greater surprise than the walls and towers.
“Obliterate it. You’re near it. Closer than my Child. My Child is on the way to remove the Fool. He is also there, but I want you to finish the dwarves first. Claim the Rift and sacrifice the Core to me!”
William shuddered as his Master’s desires and emotions flooded him. Greed. Impatience. Anger?
“Once you’re done, end the Healer!”
43
THE FLOW
Domain of the Slumbering Dwarves…
Torb didn’t expect to see his Patron again. Not so soon, at least. But he had been mistaken. Fortress’ silhouette loomed before him, its deep, earthy hue weighing heavily on his shoulders.
“You have to prepare for the inevitable,” Fortress said, his voice resounding through the ginormous mountain range surrounding them.
Where were they? Torb wondered, turning around, only to tense up as the pressure on him increased significantly.
“Prepare? For what?”
A heavy sigh resounded, and the mountain range trembled violently, sending rocks flying as if resonating with the sigh.
“Enemies from the past have returned. His disciple is on the way, and so are his underlings. If you don’t act, the Sanctuary will fall. There is little time for preparations. Still, you must do something. Reinforce the defenses, access the treasury, and supply Arc’s Protectors with the Attribute Armaments. Equip the Mountain Defenders and the remaining forces with Aspects and make sure they improve their Skills, Rank, and understanding of the Aspects in the following days,” Fortress commanded slowly.
However, while his Patron God sounded calm as he issued several orders in an unhurried manner, Torb shuddered. Fortress was not known for speaking much. It had already been a great surprise when Fortress said so much after they acquired the Rift. But this time, there was no pleasant occasion that might excuse his unusual behavior. This time, trouble awaited them. Or so it seemed.
But to equip the Protectors with Attribute Armaments and retrieve the Aspects from the treasury, that was another matter. Torb shuddered, his senses telling him that something had gone terribly wrong.
“We hired as many Protectors as we could,” Torb hesitated for a moment before he spoke up. “Can… can you send reinforcements? More Mountain Defenders, or maybe the Stone Legion?”
Another mountain-shaking sigh echoed. “Unfortunately, I cannot. The System blocked any attempts to send reinforcements. I have already interfered too much. Talking to you, warning you, is all the System allowed.”
Torb looked up as the Patron God bent down. “Everything turned out different than anticipated. But this is not your fault.”
“I am glad you are not alone,” Fortress said, but his strong voice sounded more like a whisper as the words resounded. The Patron God’s silhouette was dissipating. “You can always ask others for help, Prime Champion. Ask–...”
Torb could not hear what Fortress said. The mountain range collapsed, and Fortress disappeared.
It felt like an eternity had passed, but not much time could have gone by as his eyes shot wide open. He jumped to his feet, his head flicking left and right.
“Fortress?” he exclaimed, but there was no one. Torb was in his office, alone.
Did I fall asleep? he asked himself, his hair standing on end.
Was it just a dream? Possible. But it felt so real.
Torb shuddered, his eyes drifting to the window, unraveling the flourishing plaza of the Dwarven Sanctuary. It was already close to evening, but the city was still bustling with activity.
“Someone is coming,” he muttered. “An… old enemy…”
Something had to be done, Torb thought, holding tightly onto every word Fortress had said to him.
“I won’t disappoint you, Fortress!” he declared, sending a silent prayer to his Patron as he walked out of the office with a determined gait.
It was time to reinforce the Sanctuary. A great fight awaited them.
Dwarven Sanctuary – Familia building…
Melach pressed his hands firmly against the massive crystal and closed his eyes. He sent a wave of mana into the crystals, using his family’s decrypted code. The crystal pulsated, sending waves that felt like electric currents through his hands.
One. Two. Three…
Melach tapped his feet impatiently when nobody responded after what felt like an eternity. But it could have been only a few seconds when a weary yet familiar voice reverberated through his mind.
“Head Butler Eronian of the Ystera Household speaking. How may I help you?”
“It’s me,” Melach muttered, failing to control his voice. He trembled, unsure of what awaited him.
“Young Master? Is that really you?” the head butler exclaimed. “H-how have you been, Young Master?”
Melach hesitated for a moment. What was he supposed to say? He was alive, had made friends with a dwarf—now Fortress’ Prime Champion—and with humans whose behavior suggested the Nightar Tree had stripped them of their sanity. But he and his friends were strong. They had survived various catastrophes, allowing them to surpass their limits.
“I… am fine—alive,” Melach answered with a smile.
“That’s all that matters. Yes. Being alive, being fine, is all that matters. I am grateful to hear your voice again, Young Master,” Eronian said, sounding like he was on the verge of tears. “Should I report to your family at once, or do you wish me to tell them something?”
“I call upon the Mirror of Truth to disclose my Feats as the youngest heir of the Ystera Household. The Will of Ystra shall appraise my achievements, marking them in the Scroll of Melach Ystera,” Melach said composedly, his voice void of emotions.
There was silence for a moment, but it felt like the silence stretched forever as Head Butler Eronian didn’t answer. A rumbling filled his head suddenly, and the head butler excused himself.
Silence filled his mind, and anxiety settled in his chest.
“Melach! Are you well? Why did you not call us earlier? There was no need to ignore us this long—not after everything we heard about the Earthen Union!” The stern voice of his mother echoed in his mind, making him flinch. Still, he smiled.
"You foolish child. Who cares about tradition when your life is in peril? You should have returned when the Earthen Union awakened prematurely. We did not prepare you for this!" Another familiar voice—his sister—rang out. She sounded angry, but Melach knew this all too well. She was worried, maybe even afraid. For his well-being.
Melach smiled, listening to the ramblings of his mother and sister, but his lips twitched when footsteps echoed through his mind. At last, a third voice, hoarse and void of emotion, rang out.
"You survived. Good. The Mirror of Truth has been prepared. The Ritual shall begin," the man,his father, said neutrally. "Prove your worth as a Child of Ystra."
Melach heard his mother and sister grumble, but their voices were mere whispers compared to his father’s commanding tone. He swallowed and circulated mana through his wildly palpitating heart. At last, Melach shared everything there was to know about his journey in the newly integrated world, starting from the day he arrived.
He heard the echo of his voice, but that was all. Silence stretched far and deep as his quiet voice overshadowed everything. Melach could not tell how much time had passed, but his throat was parched, and his lips were cracked once his story concluded. His part of the Ritual had been completed, yet nothing happened on the other side. Melach waited in silence, nibbling on his brittle lips as no one uttered a word.
Suddenly, Melach heard the gasps of several people, probably his mother and sister, but they did not say anything.
At last, his father’s voice rang out again. "The Ritual has concluded. The Will of Ystra has heard you. Your achievements have been marked. Congratulations."
Congratulations? Was that it? Melach wondered, his tension giving way to confusion.
"We knew you would make it," his father said suddenly, with a trace of—was that pride?—in his voice. "News of the Earthen Union has reached us, and so has Arc’s destruction. Many young ones succumbed to the barrage of incidents occurring in the Earthen Union, and we could not be certain you would make it. I—we—are glad you made it out alive."
