Book 5: Chapter 10 - A Reckoning

Sorry guys for the delay! I am a bit busy with my Rising Stars run on Royal Road. I need to milk that as much as possible. The ironic thing is, is the fact that I made the story to get more eyes on Gilgamesh! Sorry about that but bear with me!

Still, I have been told that offering an entire book ahead at $3.50 by other authors is still a steal. I might need to think about my pricing structure a bit. I sort of chose $3.50 as a bit of a meme price anyway!

Chapter 10 - A Reckoning

"Revenge arises from fleeting passion, while vengeance springs from the enduring foundation of justice. Injuries are repaid in anger, but crimes demand solemn reparation in virtue and order. Thus, one must discern between the fire of impulse and the balance of righteousness, for only the latter restores harmony to the world."

- The Human Question, by Gideon de Salavia 378 A.C.

And so the slaughter continued and my weapon drunk deeply of their lives and suffering. I fought against the Guild, nipping away at them, the Djinn and I settling into some uneasy truce. I grinned maliciously to myself as my Asura gauge slowly ticked up, just a little more and I could walk a few more steps on that liberating path.

Canis, fighting a war on two fronts could not send enough against me, choosing instead to focus on slaying the Djinn. That is what you get when you put higher ideals before the most basic goal of personal survival. There would be a victor here but it would not be the Adventurer’s Guild.

Canis, the fool, found himself fighting on two fronts. He could not spare enough men to quench my bloodlust, choosing instead to focus his might on slaying the Djinn. Such is the folly of those who place lofty ideals above the primal instinct of survival. There would be a victor here, but it would not be the Adventurer's Guild.

Guildmaster Canis and his lot were hard-pressed but relentless. The dome had made sure that there would be no running away from this field this day from any side, including his own. His forces made progress against the Djinn—magical assaults chipping away at Zariyah's form, each spell tearing wisps of energy from her tempestuous body. I needed him to continue, to weaken Zariyah for our eventual confrontation, but not to the point of her demise. All the while, I had to defend myself, ensuring the Guild did not rob me of my prize. It was a perilous dance, a game of steel and sorcery, and like Canis, I was striving to maintain a delicate balance between opposing forces.

What the pitiful Guildmaster failed to realize was that this chaos suited me perfectly. His attempts to fell me with a thousand cuts were laughable; to even graze me, they would need to muster overwhelming might in a single, devastating blow. But Canis was too blinded by his own hubris to see the futility of his tactics.

He had erred gravely in bringing me into this fray—a mistake compounded by the treacherous betrayal within his own ranks. Fools, all of them, playing at games beyond their ken. It was a pity, really, that they underestimated me so. Alone, I possessed might enough to tip the scales of this battle.

However, even fools can learn, given enough time. Canis began sending his elite warriors against me—battle-hardened veterans adorned with exotic armaments and enchanted gear immune to my Rust spell. They came at me in disciplined waves, each attack force rotating to allow the others to rest. It was a delaying tactic, a futile attempt to wear me down.

Even as he spent the lives of the dross distracting Zariyah.

They must have thought me an unyielding automaton, tireless and inexorable. In truth, they were not far off. My Greater Drain siphoned their very life force, replenishing my stamina with every blow I landed. With each fallen foe, my cup overflowed.

The Geomancers regrouped, their chants rising above the clamor of battle. They wove their magics together, and a dome of Earth, smaller but no less potent than before, enclosed Zariyah in yet another cage. The howl of frustration from the Djinn was only slightly muffled by its new container. With the Djinn temporarily contained, the Guild's focus shifted entirely to me.

A chill ran down my spine. This could be bad... very bad indeed.

It was time to unleash more of my power. I called upon Frenzied Strikes, each swing of my weapon fueled by a wild fury. The Asura gauge—my inner reservoir of wrath—swelled with each foe I felled. I needed to reach its zenith to stand against the combined might of these would-be heroes.

I surrendered myself to the carnage, lost in a dance of death. My weapon guided me as much as I wielded it, its hunger palpable. What ancient magics drove it, I did not know, but with each life it claimed, whispers seeped into my mind—secrets both forgotten and forbidden. The greatest revelation of all was that death was not an end, but a beginning. Only the Void—my other aspect—could deliver a true, final ending. A death beyond death.

A paradox so exquisite it teetered on the edge of madness—a madness I was all too willing to embrace.

Amidst the chaos, I was prevailing against all odds. It was as if fate itself had tipped its scales in my favor. Blades that should have found flesh missed by a hair's breadth; my own strikes landed with uncanny precision. It was a dance leading inexorably to one conclusion.

And like all dances, the rhythm changes, and new partners emerge from the shadows. A different tune began to play.

Canis, pushed to his limits, despair etched into every line of his face, bellowed across the battlefield, "WHY? Why, damn you!"

His words were but wind in a storm, lost amid the roar of battle and the euphoria that coursed through me. The Greater Drain not only fueled my body but ignited my senses, each moment a symphony of blissful carnage.

He wanted to know why. The answer was simple: because I could. Because it was right. Because I had the unassailable justice of self-defense on my side, and they refused to yield.

Guildmaster Canis strode toward me, hatred and despair warring in his eyes. "You treacherous cur," he spat, his voice dripping with self-righteous venom. "Are you so consumed by bloodlust that you..."

"Your men struck at me first," I retorted, my voice echoing from within my dark helm. "And at this very moment, your men attack a weak and defenseless girl."

He had no clever retort, no hollow denial to offer. Horror etched itself deeper into his features as the truth settled in. Bereft of words, he reached for his weapon—a silent admission of his own moral bankruptcy.

I looked at the sword at his hip, its shape and form familiar to me.

His sword was elegant, I'll grant him that. An archaic blade of eastern design—single-edged, with a curved, wickedly sharp tip. It was akin to Fen's weapon, but a pale imitation crafted from inferior metals and wielded by a lesser man.

Still, his sword, like the rest of his gear, was of sufficient quality—perhaps even enchanted—to resist my raw magic. This would be a test of skill in the old-fashioned way. His magical trinkets might level the field somewhat, but I too wielded a weapon of power.

He drew the blade with practiced ease—a flash of silver that caught the eye. For a moment, it distracted me, and I felt the slightest prick at the back of my knee.

I glanced down to find a diminutive figure, smaller than even a dwarf, had stabbed me with a needle-like dagger. What did they hope to achieve with such a pathetic attack? The wound, which could barely be called a wound, was insignificant.

Then I felt it—a searing fire spreading from where the blade has kissed flesh, an insidious pain that threatened to override my defenses. The blade had been poisoned.

The weapon of cowards, women, and the weak.

"You pathetic wretch..." I snarled, but before I could finish, Canis and his escort lunged at me.

I rolled to my left—an awkward move, but effective. My weight crushed the diminutive assassin beneath me who was not fast enough to get away. My evasive action had elicited a shriek that was music to my ears. A fitting recompense for the inconvenience he had inflicted upon me.

My Mimic shield sprang to motion, its monstrous eye glaring as it intercepted their strikes. Meanwhile, the poison coursed through me, battling against my god-given regenerative powers—and winning. My health waned, my leg aflame with a cold fire, both pained and numb, unable to bear my weight.

Like a crazed madman I was forced to hope about ungracefully on one leg.

Thinking swiftly, I began to summon a spell I rarely used—Purify. The incantation echoed in my mind, but it seemed to drag, taking longer than usual. Was it the armor? The pain? The chaos of combat? Perhaps a cruel combination of all these factors. The opaque nature of the game's systems was infuriating!

I swung Bellringer in wide, sweeping arcs, my Mimic shield—its eye wide open—blocking unseen strikes. It was enough to buy me precious moments. Holiness itself filled me as a great cleansing song of raw purity to wash away my sins. The spell completed, and a cleansing warmth flooded through me as Purify burned away at the toxins and poisons. My health began to tick up once more. Canis, you have failed, I mused with savage glee.

Later, I would need to discover what manner of poison could challenge my regeneration so.

With a satisfied smirk, I noted the sour twist in Canis's expression—a mix of confusion and frustration as his gambit failed. I gave a quick glance at the men with him, gauging the threat they posed. The men at his side, visors down, looked like second-rate automatons marching to their doom. Not much then.

At first, I resisted the urge to taunt him; it seemed unnecessary. But sometimes, you had to take satisfaction where you could.

I called out to him, "Canis, Canis, is that the best you can do? Was that your only ploy? Avaria's Justice cannot be so easily undone! I have come for you and your little band of infidels!"

Canis snarled, his eyes blazing with a mixture of rage and desperation. "You underestimate me," he spat, raising his blade. “Underestimate us, the followers of the Mother!” 

The air between us crackled with tension as his men circled around, tightening the noose.

I felt the weight of their gazes, the collective hatred of a dozen warriors who had lost comrades to my hand. Good. Let them come.

With a roar, Canis charged, his sword slicing through the air with deadly intent. I met his strike with Bellringer, the clash of metal ringing out like a bell tolling doom. Sparks flew as our weapons locked, the force of his blow pushing me back a step.

Around us, his men surged forward. I spun, bringing Bellringer around in a wide arc, forcing them to keep their distance. My Mimic shield shifted, its eye darting to and fro, anticipating their moves.

Canis pressed the attack, his blade a blur of silver. He was skilled, I'll give him that. Each strike was precise, aimed to exploit any weakness. My armor, however, was not so weak and I had no intention of giving him the satisfaction.

Our duel became a dance—a deadly waltz of steel and fury. He lunged; I parried with the haft of my weapon or blocked with my shield. He slashed; I dodged. Each movement was a calculated gamble, each breath a measured beat in our reckoning.

Yet the man was cheating. I had learned that his blade could at times, seemingly pass through the metal of armor, not all the way, and kiss the flesh beneath. Did the weapon have a form of armor piercing? I had wondered why he had drawn such a light blade against a man in full armor.

Behind him, I caught a glimpse of the Geomancers, their hands weaving intricate patterns as prayed to the Earth itself, preparing another combined spell. The ground beneath my feet trembled—a warning of what was to come.

And something did happen, but not by the Geomancers’ hands. A thunderous blast echoed as a small part of the great dome they had raised fractured violently, shards of stone and earth inwards. All eyes turned to the source of the destruction.

Through the jagged gap emerged a figure, wreathed in a sickly green aura that seemed to poison the very air around him. Rooted to his spine were grotesque tentacles of bone, writhing and lashing like furious, living appendages.

And I laughed—dark and triumphant—for the day was done for the Guild. The Necromancer had arrived to claim his pound of flesh.