HH 7 - Heroslayer

You have slain a Level 20 [Hero]!

+2,000 XP

[Handyman] has advanced to Level 2!

[Handyman] has advanced to Level 3!

[Handyman] has advanced to Level 4!

XP to Level 5: 100/1500

You gain the following attributes: 

+27 Strength

+27 Agility

+27 Speed

+30 Fortitude

+21 Intelligence

+18 Wisdom

+15 Charisma

+12 Luck

Status:

Castor Nameless

Class: [Eternal Handyman] - Level 4

Displayed Class: [Handyman] - Level 4

Attributes:

Strength: 37 

(+1 Spec Point available!)

Agility: 37 

(+1 Spec Point available!)

Speed: 37 

(+1 Spec Point available!)

Fortitude: 41 

(+2 Spec Points available!)

Intelligence: 29 

(+2 Spec Points available!)

Wisdom: 25 

(+2 Spec Points available!)

Charisma: 21 

(+2 Spec Points available!)

Luck: 17 

(+1 Spec Point available!)

Vital Stats:

Health: 1 / 2,460

HP Regen: 41 / Hour

Stamina: 385 / 410

SP Regen: 41 / Hour

Mana: 2 / 250

MP Regen: 25 / Hour

Bonus Lift Capacity: +7,400 lbs.

Armor Capacity: 0 / 37

Movement: +57

Dodge: +148

Blessings: 0 / 17

Critical Strike: +17

Debuffs:

Grievous Wound (Left Arm)

Grievous Wound (Right Arm)

Grievous Wound (Left Leg)

Grievous Wound (Right Leg)

Blood Loss (Severe)

Defenses:

Physical: 37

Dimensional: 41

Spiritual: 25

Divine: 17

Mystical: 0

Passive Skills:

Industrial Transmutation

Active Skills:

Adhesive

Animate Object

Intrinsic Skills:

Maintenance - Level 100

Spiritual - Level 100

Feats:

Class Advancement - Tier 9

Demonic Immortality

Heroslayer - Tier 1

Languages:

Abyssal

Ancient Common

Deathspeak

Demontongue

Notable Equipment:

Quadratic Toolbox (Rare)

Dimensional Keyring (Rare)

Dwarven Concrete Breastplate (Dogshit, Broken)

New Feat!

Heroslayer

You have slain a [Hero], earning the adoration of those who hate them and the loathing of those who love them. Your infamy increases.

Demonic Immortality has prevented lethal damage! Your soul darkens.

Castor was lost in the black for what felt like only a second. When he returned, a wall of System messages filled his vision and he felt hot, sharp hands on his face. 

Something was tugging at his neck, a pricking pressure like a rat was gnawing on it. His body wouldn’t respond. His heart beat only once every few seconds. Even his eyelids felt like they were made of iron, resisting every attempt at opening them.

Noise swelled around him. Muffled voices became clear, but meaning in the strings of syllables remained elusive. Castor’s health fluttered, moving up to 2, then dropping back to 1. Finally, it ticked up to 2 and held steady. Then, it moved up to 3.

Castor’s eyes snapped open, finding Gully holding either side of his head and staring down at him from an uncomfortably close distance. Castor tried to scooch back, but his limbs wouldn’t move. Another demon sat on the ground beside him, holding a bloody needle and thread in his claws.

A fierce smile stretched across Gully’s muzzle, baring his teeth. His many eyes opened wider than Castor had ever seen and the demon let go of his skull. Gul’thraxis stood to his full height, neck stretching and all four arms raising toward the sky.

“HE’S ALIIIIIIVE!” The demon roared, and thousands of demons in the stands roared back, triumphant. 

Obsidian shards clinked and shifted from the vibration, making it appear as though the very earth danced along in celebration. Castor’s vision blurred from the raw force of the swell.

A demon beside Gully handed him a chalice and Gully stood imperiously over Castor, smiling wickedly down at the human.

“And now, the first spoils of your battle!” he shouted, holding the chalice aloft. The demons in the stands stomped and rattled their talons, the ground churning like boulders were falling from the sky.

Gully leaned down and pressed the edge of the chalice to Castor’s lips, pouring a stream of golden mud into the human’s mouth. The grit made Castor’s throat burn and it crunched between his teeth. He tried to resist, but Gully reached down and forced his jaw open with trivial ease. Another demon rubbed at his throat, like a man might do to force a dog to swallow its medicine.

Castor had no choice but to gulp down the foul substance. Shards of the obsidian were mixed in, and his esophagus became a pillar of burning heat that spread down to his belly. It flowed into his gut and radiated out through his torso. When it met his hips and shoulders, Castor was overwhelmed by an itching sensation.

You have consumed a partial dose of a Potion of Full Restore. Effect will be halved due to dosage. Effect is further halved from impurities.

Castor’s body was aflame as the potion thrust its vitality into him. His health, stamina, and mana rapidly climbed up to a quarter of their full values. Finally able to turn his head, he watched as flesh and bone sprouted from the stumps where his limbs had been severed. By the time the potion had done its work, his arms and legs were back, but they were thin and feeble.

Castor tried to talk, but something in his throat caught. He rolled to the side and coughed, dislodging fetid blood and tissue. He vomited yet more blood, chunks of dead and damaged organs flowing out behind it. After a minute of this, he rolled onto his back, gasping.

“What the shit?” he said to no one in particular.

“Gahhhhh!” Gully roared again to the sky. He looked back down at Castor, eyes gleaming. “Brooooooo!” he said, dropping down onto all sixes like a hellhound. “You fucking won bro!”

Castor blinked, his eyelids moving at half speed. He thought over the last moments of the fight, fragmented as they were.

“Did I get my head cut off?” he asked.

“That [Hero] decapitated the shit out of you! He cut your whole fucking body off! Arms? Gone! Legs? Gone! I mean, fiery catshit man, your dick flew halfway across the damned arena!”

“I see,” said Castor. He was hearing the words, but they would take time to process. “I’m alive, though.”

Gully slapped him on the chest, knocking the wind out of him. “Whatever that abomination you made to put over your torso was, it took the brunt of the [Hero]’s ultimate attack. It got cut to pieces and your chest still got sliced up pretty bad, but it kept your torso in one… chunk. You were hamburger, man! These fucks wanted to drop down from the stands and fucking eat you but I knew, I knew you hadn’t kicked it, so I kept ‘em back. Nobody eats a Heroslayer, and that’s a fucking law, man!”

“Oh,” said Castor. “Thanks. What did you make me drink?”

“That was the potion you knocked out of the [Hero]’s hand. Mmmmph!” Gully trembled and reached up to squeeze one of his eight nipples. “When that chain of yours slapped it away, Dark Lord be-low. I fucking came. Shit!” He blew out a steaming breath. “We scooped it up off the ground. Even half-wasted, muddy, and full of broken glass that shit is worth a thousand times its weight in gold, including the dirt and glass. Since you killed the [Hero] all his shit is yours.” Gully stopped and scratched his chin. “I, uh, hope you don’t mind that I made you drink it. You were in bad shape.”

“It’s fine,” said Castor, confused by Gully’s trepidation. Then again, ownership was nearly ten-tenths of demonic law. Castor might have been able to bend Gully over a barrel for abusing his property. Not that he would. He appreciated having arms and legs, and demons responded to incentives more than anything.

The other fractional percentage of demon law had to do with Heroslayers, apparently.

Gully's smile suddenly vanished, and the Wrath Demon spun around. He dropped his forehead to the ground, along with the other handful of demons that were in the pit with him. Castor followed the angle of their supplications to see [Demon Lord] Bythraxomonius striding across the field.

Lord Bythrax was nine feet tall, lean, and wore an utterly black suit that annihilated all dust and detritus that dared to blemish its surface on contact. His cloven feet were wrapped in violet, skin-leather boots with spurs on the back that jangled as he walked. He had a wide-brimmed hat with holes for his deer-like horns to pass through. The fur and features of his face were similar to a goat, with the key exception that he had mouths for eyes.

Lord Bythrax walked in a straight line to Castor, stepping on the back of one demon too foolish to move from the lord’s path before he’d prostrated himself. The [Demon Lord] paused and bent down, holding out a hand to Castor.

Castor looked at the hand, uncertain what to do. He reached out and cautiously accepted, stopping before making contact and looking up, making sure that Lord Benthrax wasn’t fucking with him. When he gripped it with his thin, feeble hand, the lord hefted him to his feet like he weighed as much as a bag of helium.

He reached out and steadied the [Handyman], who struggled to keep his balance on his pitiful legs. Once Castor was secured, Lord Bythrax took a step back, looked him up and down. He held out his hands, and brought them together in a loud clap.

“Butt! Ass! Naked!” said the [Demon Lord], clapping along with each word. “Carlton, I could not be-lieve my toothy eyes when you zipped out with your prick out to face down a [Hero] with those pendulous wrecking balls swinging in the wind! Hoooo!” Lord Bythrax had gotten Castor’s name wrong on the first day, and no one had ever corrected him. The [Demon Lord] had since heard Castor’s real name several thousand times and never corrected himself, either, as a [Demon Lord] is never wrong. 

Lord Bythrax pulled out a handkerchief and tilted his hat back to dab at his forehead. “If I had a heart it would’ve been thumpin’ along like a rabid rabbit humpin’ its favorite friend at the end there,” he said. The lord looked down at one of the bowing demons and tossed the soiled handkerchief onto their back.

Lord Bythrax turned to look at the fallen [Hero]. “Oh me oh my,” he said before heaving a sigh. He turned back to look at Castor. “Good work. You’re fired.”

Castor furrowed his brow. “I’m fired?”

“Yes, you’re fired.” 

The lord held out his hand, palm up. The was a gout of flame and a book appeared, its cover unadorned and somehow blacker than the [Demon Lord]’s suit. He opened it to the exact page he wanted while maintaining heavy ‘eye’ contact with Castor, then spun it around and held it out for the human to see. Castor tried to read the text, but the font was so small, it looked like it had been written by ants.

“Back in the day, everyone wanted to control as many Heroslayers as they could,” said Lord Bythrax. “There was lots of fighting, death, biological warfare. One [Demon Lord] even got the heavens involved. It was an absolute mess. After two-thirds of all demons walking the physical plane had been killed back to Hell, the [Demon King]s decided Heroslayers were more trouble than they were worth. They forbade any [Demon Lord] from keeping a Heroslayer in their employ. So, you’re fired.”

He snapped the book shut and shrugged. “Also,” he continued, “now that you’re up and walkin’, I can stop supressin’ this [Hero]’s Death Pact.”

Lord Bythrax snapped his fingers, and a holy light descended over the [Hero]’s body. A ghostly manifestation of the kid rose up from his corpse and a chill wind blew throughout the arena. The skin of the bowing demons started to hiss and smoke, but each one stayed planted, foreheads to the ground. 

The [Hero] pointed a finger at Castor, and when he spoke, a mark was burned into the [Handyman]’s soul.

“You have sinned against Natysis, goddess of nature and life, and threatened to bring cataclysm to this world! As retribution, you shall face the Eternal Hunt. All who worship the Divine One shall know your face and name. Any who slay you shall be taken into the bosom of her embrace. So it is, and so it shall ever be!”

The [Hero]’s spirit threw out their arms into a t-pose, and ascended into the light. It was all very dramatic, and Castor couldn’t help but think the little speech would have been more impressive had the [Hero] not sounded like he hadn’t yet made it to the other side of puberty.

“Shit,” said Castor.

“Accurate,” said the lord. “It’s no secret the [Hero] came to my castle, so I expect an army of [Crusader]s, [Paladin]s, and [Priest]s to come knockin’ just as soon as they can marshall their forces. Because of your status as a Heroslayer I can’t force you to ‘leave’.” Lord Bythrax made air quotes. “But what I can do is encourage you, in the strongest of terms, to get the fuck out of my castle. As soon as possible.”

“Lord Bythraxomonious,” said Castor, “there is nothing I would like to do more than get the fuck out of your castle.”

“Good. Now that’s settled, how much do you want for the [Hero]’s corpse.”

“Just the corpse? Not the loot?”

“Flesh and blood and bone,” said Lord Bythrax. “Keep the gear. It’s low-level trash, anyway. Tell you what. I’ll give you everything you ever picked up during your time working maintenance. The full contents of your toolbox, everything in that closet you work out of, and any other supplies you’ve left laying about. I’ll also order Gul’thraxis here to give you an escort around the place until you’ve got all your shit, and to make sure you make it out of my realm safe and without anybody takin’ advantage of you.” 

Lord Bythrax thought for a moment. “I’ll also send a message to the bank to let them know you get VIP treatment on your account. Anything else you want?”

Castor had no desire to lug the [Hero]’s corpse around, so he had no problem selling it to the lord. He looked down at himself.

“A dozen healing potions with at least five-thousand points of regeneration,” said Castor. “And some fucking clothes, please. Something nice and sturdy, but nothing fancy-looking.”

“Done,” said the lord. He snapped his fingers and two parcels appeared at Castor’s feet. “Do we have a deal?”

Castor thought he could argue for more, but after two-thousand years of enslavement–and a hundred years of unintentional employment–the only thing Castor wanted was to leave.

“Deal.”

“Pleasure doin’ business,” said Lord Bythrax. “Now get the fuck out.”