Book 7: Chapter 6 - An Ending of Sorts (RAW) (Patreon)

Chapter 6 - An Ending of Sorts

The Nidhogg frame continues to outperform every projected combat metric, though I hesitate to call that success.

Its chassis incorporates synthetic xeno draconis composites, vat-grown artificial muscle fibers, and layered armor plating that has achieved a thirty-three percent durability increase over plates harvested from natural alien corpses or standard HEA alloys. The prototype meson cannons remain unstable under sustained fire, but their output is extraordinary. The thermobaric Malice Striker missile system also performed within acceptable lethality margins.

The true breakthrough, however, is the “Cells.” These semi-autonomous drone units can be released in swarms, extending the pilot’s battlefield awareness and engagement range far beyond conventional NEX limits. In theory, one pilot becomes an entire hunting pack.

In practice, however, the human mind was never meant to command so many extensions of itself. Three test pilots have already died of cardiovascular failure. A fourth survived, but suffered permanent neural degradation after prolonged Cell synchronization. The interface does not merely strain the mind; it devours the body’s ability to keep pace with command input.

- Unknown Researcher.

New emptiness was all that remained as the last of the Angel—or Angels—left this plane. There were no experience points gained, I presumed, because they had possessed no true souls. They had been summoned constructs, twisted ideas given temporary form by the reality-altering energy that was Mana. The same energy that flowed through all things in this world, even the dead.

I let my armor dissolve from me, and my vision narrowed as the third eye vanished from my helm. The Mimic retreated, peeling away and seeping into the flesh and bones of my arm until only my basic underclothes remained. The chill found me at once. So did the ash beneath my bare feet, the stink of scorched and now rotting flowers. 

Being so joined to the monster that lived within felt unclean, like a violation, and I still felt its unwanted touch across my body.

“I was used,” I declared, though my voice sounded distant even to my own ears. “Manipulated. Of course I was. It is just as the script demands. To go against it is as futile as screaming at the tides, Larynda. Our only choice is how we execute the result, or how we accept it.” 

The last words were mine, and not entirely mine.

Larynda looked at me as if I had just grown a tail. “You all right there? I mean to say, Damien’s been leading you on like… You could have died, you could.”

It was, bless her, the honest truth of my situation. I smiled faintly despite myself, realizing she had slipped back into the speech patterns of earlier years, a sure sign of great stress and emotion.

“It does not matter. What is done is done. I have prevailed. No, we have prevailed,” I corrected. “Now all that remains is the cleanup. It serves us little to create new battles to fight when I am only just recovering from this one.”

There had been a time not so long ago when vengeance would have ruled the roost. A time when I would have gone hunting the moment her words confirmed what some part of me already knew. But what good was vengeance when the only reward was a few experience points and another corpse to step over? It all felt small. Messy. Insufficient and meaningless.

“Damien…” Larynda said, breaking the silence. “He…”

“I know. I mean… I can guess,” was all I could croak as the adrenaline and battle fever began to leave me.

I knew, and found, to my surprise, that I did not care much at all one way or another.

That, however, was not enough for Larynda. “No, you don’t, Gil! You don’t. He tied me up to keep me from helping you!”

“To stop you from interfering, as part of the plan,” I replied tiredly, turning to look at the Manticore.

“What plan! To send you against something like that…” was the last I heard as something else took my  full attention.

Its purpose ended, the creature had begun to panic. Where once its eyes had sparked with molten fire, now they dimmed. Its stance, once haughty and proud, sagged beneath a weight no claw could tear apart. It seemed diminished, as if whatever force had called it into this world had already begun to reclaim the debt. Then I saw that its hide was turning to pitted stone. The change began at the extremities, a gray plague creeping over claw, wing, and serpent-tail before racing inward. The curse accelerated with every heartbeat, consuming the beast’s flesh, fur, and scales.

Larynda dropped her staff and covered her mouth with one hand.

Then a crackling sound filled the ruined garden as the stone curse claimed the last of the monster fully, forcing it into deathly, frozen stillness. Now, from its serpent’s tail to bat-like wings, from paws to its great, proud head, a solid edifice of rock. For one moment, it looked almost sad.

Then a deep, snapping sound came from within it, and the Manticore shattered into dust. Moments later, its remains were borne away upon the wind.

And of the demoness Iasis, the giver of this gift, there was nothing left save the echo of an echo of her condescending laughter. So like that, the creature was gone. Nothing remained of it but a last parting message and gift.

You have gained Summon Manticore.

I found that I had become inured to such weird and strange things where gods or magic was involved. 

Besides this new gift, or skill, were symbols whose meaning I did not know. They shifted and changed with the flow of time, and to my inner sight they seemed almost alive. A countdown, if my instincts did not deceive me. A cooldown of sorts that I could not measure.

Of course, summoning a Manticore would have its limits. Such power and utility would need to be constrained lest mortals stray into the realm of the gods. Gifts from those above were always narrow in scope and costly in what they took, I thought to myself.

“Larynda, I need a few moments,” I said weakly, searching for somewhere to lean against. “Just a little time.”

I found it in the form of a damaged stone fountain that still gurgled clean water despite the ruin around it. I dragged myself there and washed my face, ignoring the reflection that trembled in the disturbed water. Larynda followed with Bubbles floating just behind her; the girl’s expression caught somewhere between sadness, anxiety, and raw worry.

There, in the relative quiet, with the sounds of a panicked citadel still rising all around us, I remained for a while.

There were matters yet unfinished. The quest to liberate the citadel still remained, along with whatever experience points the game might deign to offer for the completion of that farce. It seemed one man alone, unless he was willing to slaughter everyone inside, could neither take nor hold a fortress by himself. Perhaps I could have called back the shades of the dead and raised an army from freshly made corpses, but I found I no longer had the stomach for it now that I had stepped from the Path.

In truth, I did not have the stomach for much of anything. Better to give the place to Damien and complete the quest by proxy.

It was all so frustrating, the depths to which one had to sink for a moment’s peace. No, not peace. I saw that clearly now. Peace could never live in my shadow. But perhaps there could be a form of liberty, however mean and narrow. The road I walked seemed to stretch far beyond this broken citadel.

The mist-wreathed mountains called to me from somewhere distant. From a place of dry desert and rasping sounds, I remembered something still stirring, still fighting against the Dream. And far, far away, across a distance too great to measure, something pulled at me—or perhaps I pulled at it—across the leagues of what I imagined to be new possibilities.

Questlines. New questlines. I could almost feel them taking shape now. I was aware of them with a certainty only prophets and madmen were meant to possess. It made sense, as it always did. The world would never lack for hooks to sink into me.

“You said we must visit Quas to learn more of the elixir that will grant me years,” I said to Larynda, my voice hollow with the realization of what the next stage of my journey would entail.

She looked at me as if I had spat out a non sequitur. “Gil, that’s… I mean, of course, Quas is good, but did you hear what I said earlier?”

“And first we must deal with Damien,” I continued. “I have held my end of the bargain, and so has he. To the letter, if not entirely to the spirit. That is commendable, I think, for a land such as this one.”

I tried to keep the bitterness from my voice. I failed.

“So you’re just going to give this place to him?” she shot back. “Just like that? After he sent you here to die.”

I ran a hand through my short, wet hair. “Just like that, Larynda. This place is meaningless. We have only claim enough to take it, not to keep it. I could no more hold this fortress than I could hold sand or water in my fingers. A lesson, I think, in futility. Best leave the lording to would-be lords. Better to leave someone in guilt and debt.”

She looked as though she wanted to roll her eyes, but the weight of the moment stopped her. Instead, she sat on the edge of the fountain near me and waited.

***

We made our way back through the town, Larynda leading Bubbles by the reins.

The streets had not yet decided whether they wished to be panicked or merely curious. Doors stood half open. Curtains twitched in upper windows. Men and women who had survived by learning not to notice too much found themselves noticing despite their better instincts. A child began to point before his mother seized his wrist and pulled him back into the safety of a doorway.

I could hardly blame them, for it felt almost like I had lived this moment before.

Larynda walked beside me, Bubbles drifting after her with placid dignity, its strange body gliding a little above the stones of the road. And I, Gilgamesh, former First Tamkar of Al-Lazar, breaker of monsters, wore only my underclothes and carried a knife.

A few guards looked at us oddly as we passed. One of them opened his mouth, perhaps to ask a question, perhaps to make the mistake of giving an order. His older companion caught him by the elbow and gave a small shake of the head. Wisdom, it seemed, still lived in this town..

No doubt descriptions were already winging their way through town. A berserker warrior. A monster in dark armor. A thing with too many eyes that had slaughtered the lord’s household knights, battled beasts, and fought heaven beneath a ruined sky.

The picture I currently painted was rather different.

All they saw was a tired youth, barefoot in the ash, blood dried in places where I could not remember being cut. Too pale, perhaps. Too quiet. A little too steady for a man who should have been shaking.

That, more than the knife, made them look studiously away.

So we returned to the inn where Damien awaited us, finding him in the common room surrounded by several of his officers. The room had the strained hush of a place pretending not to know history had just happened nearby. Tankards sat untouched. A serving girl hovered near the back wall, unsure whether to work or flee. Men who had been speaking fell silent as we entered.

I knew a few of Damien’s officers by sight: wiry, thin Raedric, and stocky Nassain among them. I nodded to them because courtesy costs less than fresh murder.

“Bloody hells, Gilgamesh,” Raedric guffawed, though the sound felt tense and forced to my ears. “You look rather less than you did when you began this labor. I did not think it was true…”

“One man against many,” Nassain continued for him, his voice flat, “and against the women of that Great House.”

“I have seen him do more,” Damien added, a forced grin spreading across his face.

“It is done,” I said simply, cutting through the nonsense and focusing on de Savant. “I would recommend you secure the fortress while the gates are still open and panic reins. Secure it, and the rest becomes almost fait accompli that it belongs to you.”

“My sisters?” he asked, raw ambition that had finally flowered so clear in his eyes.

“They are for you to deal with as you see fit,” I answered with a small, uncaring shrug.

For a moment, I considered how easy it would be, even weakened as I was, to tear their heads from their bodies. Raedric first, just because. Nassain next, then Damien last, because he deserved time enough to understand the shape of his terror.

But that scenario would be messy, and I had endured my fair share of messy for one day. In that moment, all I wanted was fresh water, a bed, and good supply of silence added to a few hours to set aside my burdens.

“It is done,” I repeated, voice laced with exhaustion, “and I hope you remember your word. What happens now is yours to decide. I truly care not. But should you lay hands on Larynda again for any reason, know that it will mark you as my enemy. I do not want to add your name to that list.”

His officers’ hands moved instinctively toward their weapons, but to Damien’s credit, he remained outwardly relaxed.

“Of course, Gilgamesh,” he said. “I meant no harm. I merely wished you to have no distraction from your… mission. You have a way of achieving things beyond—”

They all looked like they expected a dramatic reckoning, but my sloth and apathy saved them.

“Thank you. That is enough.” I raised a hand, cutting him off before he could drown us both in polished excuses. “I have held my end of the bargain. Now you must do what you need to do. I will retire, rest, and prepare for whatever tomorrow brings. We will be leaving. Descriptions of me aside, I do not think it would be wise for me to remain if you wish to keep your hands clean. What happened here, shall we say, was an act of the Goddess.”

And with that, I turned away, uncaring if they stabbed me in the back. If they so much as dared, it would be a trivial thing to return the favor.