Chapter 68 (Patreon)

Sweet mother of mercy, Rob thought. That’s a lot of messages.

Reached Level 36!
5 Stat Points Gained!

Berserker Level Increased! 31 → 32

Reached Level 37!
5 Stat Points Gained!

Berserker Level Increased! 32 → 33

Berserker Level Increased! 33 → 34

Reached Level 38!
5 Stat Points Gained!

Berserker Level Increased! 34 → 35

Headsman Level Increased! 3 → 4

Heat Resistance Level Increased! 4 → 5

Heat Resistance Level Increased! 5 → 6

Passive Skill Learned!
Name: Pyromania (RARE)
Prerequisite: Deal extreme amounts of damage to enemies and/or terrain using fire without casting spells. Express a deep-seated and borderline unhealthy interest in fire.
Description: Acquiring this Skill automatically puts you on a special FBI watch list. Deal 20% extra damage when using fire that isn’t cast from spells. This fire also burns 20% hotter and spreads 20% faster.

The list went on, totaling up the alternating damage and healing numbers he’d received as a result of the Riardin Special 2.0. Not A Scratch blocked a huge initial burst of damage that would have damn near killed him, and after that, the continuous heat and combustive force fought a losing battle against Lifesurge, Lifesteal, Heat Resistance, and Tough Skin. His Skills’ victory had been overwhelming, and his Status Screen proclaimed their triumph loud and clear.

HP: 893 / 893 (913 / 913; Battle Fever +2)
Stamina: 1 / 300 (21 / 320; Battle Fever +2)
MP: -3 / 200 (17 / 220; Battle Fever +2)

Status Effects: Leveling High (Mild), Melancholia, Corruption (-7), Last Legs (Advanced), Pyromania (Moderate), Mana Exhaustion (Moderate)

Full health, baby! He’d taken an explosion on the chin and come out better than before! His burns were gone and his legs were back, and outside of his ruined clothes – which he quickly used Inventory to change out of – he looked spick and span. Actually, losing his legs worked out great, as he got to upgrade Regrow Limb, and the loss of HP triggered Blood for Blood and made the explosion even stronger! Wasn’t that just fucking hilarious? He got maimed and benefited from it. Only on Elatra. World of horrors and wonders and delicious Levels.

Am I laughing? He was laughing. Kind of loudly, too. Should stop that.

Aside from the vines, the Sporekings had also been effectively taken out of commission. They were still active, but much in the same way that toddlers in a playpen were active, aimlessly ambling about the room with unfettered curiosity. They apparently possessed a base level of intelligence beyond the Dungeon’s directives, but ‘base’ was as far as it went. As they were now, they were little more than walking bags of EXP. And without coordination or a killer instinct, they would be easy prey. Worth less Experience than before, when they were more dangerous, but the three of them combined should be enough to bump him up another Level. All he had to do was get up, walk over, summon his Broken Shortsword, and get to work.

Rob considered it. A moment later, he shook his head. No, he thought. That would be uncalled for. As tantalizing as the prospect was, he’d already gotten three Levels from exploding the Organic Devourer. Someone else should get the EXP. Maybe Malika, to bring her closer to parity with the rest of the Party?

That was the last thought he had before Battle Fever wore off. His +2 bonuses to Endurance and Magic wore off with it, putting him at 0 Stamina and 0 MP. As if a switch had been flipped, Rob passed out. The domain of dreams welcomed him, and fortunately, its denizens were much more accommodating than the Dreamthief had been.

–

Orn’tol sighed as he watched Rob’s alert gaze fade as the Human slumped to the floor and promptly fell asleep. Five months ago, he might have been worried.

“Is he going to be alright?” Meyneth asked. Malika nodded furiously behind her, hands quivering from the aftershocks of the explosion. Both were eyeing Rob with obvious concern.

Oh, to be young and innocent, Orn’tol thought. “Rob will be well after several hours,” he assured.

Meyneth frowned. “He’s passed out again. That can’t be healthy. And according to his Status, he’s suffering from the Advanced versions of Last Legs and Mana Exhaustion.”

Orn’tol shrugged. “True. But he’s not suffering from brain damage. That’s a fair bit better than the prior times he’s fallen unconscious.”

Meyneth was about to protest further, but her objections were preempted by Rob letting out a loud snore that was nearly as loud as the explosion that had killed the Devourer. Taleya started bawling with laughter, and Orn’tol offered Meyneth a sheepish smile.

“Consider it a form of trust we’re extending to him,” he explained. “Mana Exhaustion has proven to affect him to a lesser degree than most others.”

“Orn’tol has the right of it,” Vul’to wheezed. He was trying to come across as soothing, but his efforts were thwarted by the way his voice hitched. “Truth be told, I’m in a much worse state than he is and I’ll be fine as well, and oh gods does this hurt.”

Meyneth redirected her concern from Rob to Vul’to. “I’ll accept that Rob will recover, but you can’t possibly expect me to look at the state you’re in and not be worried.”

“The Potions stemmed the worst of the internal bleeding,” Vul’to said, grimacing. “And shared Regeneration will renew my health. In a certain sense, I should consider myself fortunate. Most people without access to an expert Healer would be crippled for life by these wounds.”

He lowered his eyes. “I shudder to think what we would have done without Rob’s Vitality buffs,” Vul’to murmured. “Despite receiving the benefits of multiple Skills that reduce damage, in addition to Regeneration continuously restoring our HP, we were still forced to consume each and every Potion in our reserves. We owe the Artificer a deep debt of gratitude for creating the EXP Share.”

The notion was disquieting and delivered a mild sting to Orn’tol’s pride, but he couldn’t argue with Vul’to’s logic. They simply weren’t strong enough to expunge the Dungeon without Rob’s buffs. Killing the Organic Devourer would have been a distant dream; it was far more likely that they would have fallen before reaching the Core room at all.

Orn’tol glanced at his ruined arm. Despite the pain, he clenched his hand into a contorted fist. I can’t abide by this. Victory by utilizing an enormous advantage that no one else in the world possessed was scarcely a victory at all. It proved that they were too weak to stand on their own. Taleya was correct in her assertion that their group’s leveling progression was absurd, but what did that matter when their own strength failed them when it mattered most? They might not be so lucky next time. Rob couldn’t be around for every fight.

Orn’tol drew his bow, ignoring how the pressure of nocking an arrow made his ruined hand scream. He needed power. He needed Levels.

Killing the Sporekings was a start.

“Hold on,” Keira said, gently pushing his arms down. “There’s no reason to be hasty.”

Orn’tol frowned. “What do you mean by hasty? I’m merely acquiring the EXP that has been so freely given to us.”

Keira hesitated. “Must we? I mean...look at them.”

One Sporeking was clapping its hand together, body shaking in silent laughter. The second Sporeking had taken to tracing indentations on the wall. The third was napping.

“They’re like infants,” Keira said. “It’s plain as day that their previous behavior was influenced – if not outright controlled – by the Dungeon. As they are now, they pose little threat.”

Taleya scoffed. “Where was this conscience of yours when you were smashing them into a fine paste?”

Keira crossed her arms. “That was when they could fight back. Those were fair duels.”

“Against you, I’m not so sure,” Orn’tol muttered under his breath.

“I heard that!” Keira exclaimed, mildly upset. “You...”

She paused, and all at once, her fervor vanished like a candle snuffed out by a gust of wind. “You’re right, of course,” she sighed. “I know they’re monsters, and that my reticence is nonsensical. But killing defenseless creatures who’ve done no wrong – even monsters – is a step too far for me. It would be unwise if I become too intimately familiar with that feeling. I won’t judge whoever kills them, but forgive me if I choose to remove myself from the proceedings.”

Meyneth’s eyebrows shot up to the top of her forehead. “Surprising,” she stated.

Keira arched an eyebrow in return. “How so?” The Dragonkin flinched and seemed about to retreat into her shell before recovering her composure a second later.

“You’re not quite so similar to Queen Ragnavi as I assumed,” she explained. Keira blinked, mouth slightly open, unsure of how to interpret that statement.

“Does anyone else have any compunctions against killing the Sporekings?” Taleya asked, receiving a round of shaken heads in response. “Wonderful. You have until that finishes forming to decide who gets the EXP.”

She pointed up at the ceiling. A small orb hovered at the top, emitting a full red glow that prickled Orn’tol’s eyes. Its glow was no different than the colored aura of certain Active Skills, but despite the Dungeon Core’s unassuming appearance, a deep sense of wrong coiled in his chest the longer he stared at it. Observing the orb inspired the feeling of gnashing teeth glimpsed in the shadows, of coming home to discover that items weren’t in the same place they were when you left, of calling a person’s name and hearing naught but whispers on the wind. It was malice and unease given form.

Morbid curiosity kept his eyes glued to the nascent Dungeon Core. Red particles materialized in the air and were drawn to the center, adding to its mass bit by bit with the sound of rushing air.

“I’ve never laid eyes on a Dungeon Core before,” Meyneth remarked, in a tone of perturbed awe. “Now that I have, it’s easy for me to comprehend why Dungeons exist solely to spread death and encroach upon the world.”

“I would say that you get used to it,” Taleya said. “But my Deception isn’t nearly high enough.”

Orn’tol tore his gaze away from the Core; his eyes were beginning to sting, and he was worried about the small part of him that was entranced by its terrible beauty. The Dreamthief had already given him his fill of a foreign power influencing his mind.

“The EXP should go to Malika,” he stated, partially in an attempt to distract the others from the Core. “She’s nearly caught up with our Levels.”

“That wouldn’t be fair,” Malika complained. “I already obtained EXP from three Sporekings earlier. The next three should be spread among the rest of the Party.”

“Malika,” Orn’tol said, in a tone of conviction. “I almost lost you earlier. After how much grief you’ve rightfully given me in regards to putting my life in danger, it’s only fair that you take steps to ensure your own survival.”

It was a low blow, but an effective one. Aside from Malika herself, none of the others were going to request EXP after he’d made a plea like that. Malika quieted, an instant of terrified remembrance flashing across her face. “Okay,” she said, in a small voice.

Guilt pierced his heart. Orn’tol walked over and wrapped her in the best big brother hug he had to offer.  She returned the embrace, holding him tight as she shivered.

They stayed that way until the Core had finished forming. The others made scattered attempts at conversation, but by then the rush of combat-induced adrenaline had begun to wane, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness that was unique to staring death in the face and making it blink. Rob’s snoring set the ambiance as they watched the Core lower to the ground, having expanded to two feet in diameter.

Orn’tol couldn’t help but shudder as he observed its descent. There was a malevolent intelligence in that seemingly inanimate orb. One that desired no less than to infect the entire world with misery and decay.

That was when the Party collectively realized that – with Rob’s Storage lost to them until he awoke from hibernation – one of them would have to physically transport the Core outside the Dungeon for safe destruction. By touching it. With their hands.

“I’ll be carrying Rob on our way back to the entrance,” Keira smoothly interjected. “He’s too tall for anyone besides Meyneth to easily move him, and between her and myself, I believe Rob would feel most comfortable in my arms. No offense meant, Meyneth.”

“None taken,” she replied. “And in that same vein, I’ll have to be the one to carry Vul’to. He’s nearly as tall as Rob, which leaves me best-suited to the task.” Vul’to blushed a little; the others took mercy and decided not to comment.

Taleya rolled her eyes. “Trainees,” she huffed. “Sometimes I forget how inexperienced you people are. It’s a Dungeon Core, not a Mine. Touching it is unpleasant, but that’s all. You’ll need to learn to steel your resolve for the future, but I’ll show mercy this time.”

She strode over to the Core and picked it up, turning to face the Party with a smirk. “See? It’s hardly worth worrying about.”

Her words would have been more convincing without the tightened muscles in her face and the white knuckles on her grip.

Keira and Meyneth collected their respective parcels, and the Party moved to the exit. The Organic Devourer’s demise had re-opened the wall of darkness, proof that they’d conquered the best the Dungeon had to offer. From here on out, it would be a simple matter of retracing their steps back to the Dungeon entrance and tending to the Rangers’ enervated forms. With the Devourer gone, the drain effect inflicted upon them should be gone as well.

Should. If for some reason the Devourer’s death had failed to halt the Dreamthieves, then it was likely that the Party would return to a graveyard.

Orn’tol put the thought out of his mind. They’d done all they could. The rest was up to fate.

Malika hesitated as, one by one, Riardin’s Rangers passed through the wall of darkness. Orn’tol waited with her, standing patiently as she observed the Sporekings with mournful eyes. Two of the great big mushroom men had discovered each other’s existence and were touching the tips of their fingers together. Orn’tol put a hand on her shoulder, and after a few seconds more, Malika sighed.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. A thin wave of fire shot out from her palms, blanketing the area in floating embers. Orn’tol hurried her past the wall of darkness as the Sporekings’ plant-flesh started to swell. While the two of them had plenty of time to run before the explosion of fumes reached them, he didn’t want Malika to witness the sight of harmless creatures slaughtered by her hands.

She’d gone through more than enough for one day.

–

Elder Alessia opened her eyes. That on its own was a welcome surprise. When the dream had begun to rip apart at the seams, reality tearing asunder and a sharp pain piercing through her skull, she’d assumed that her time had come. Granted, witnessing the specters of the past that had made a show of her grief subsequently melting into screaming puddles had nearly been worth the agony. If she was to die, at least she would die knowing that she had defied them to her last.

Yet here she was. Lothren’s Hallowed Halls would have to wait longer for her arrival.

“The pain of living never felt like such a relief,” she murmured. A glance at her Character Sheet informed her that she’d dropped below 10% HP and Stamina, which would explain the tired aches covering every inch of her body. Alessia pushed herself to her feet with a great degree of effort, limbs shaking as if she was suffering from a nasty bout of morning sickness. To her displeasure, a cursory examination revealed that her clothes had been stained with a red-green liquid, with bits of that same residue stuck to her skin. More of the liquid had collected in a puddle below her. As she turned around to survey the room, feet splashing, she did her best not to fly into an apoplectic rage at what she saw.

The Rangers were sprawled out onto the floor in varying heaps, unmoving. Each one was laying in their own puddle of red-green liquid, bodies twisted in uncomfortable positions. Behind them stood a row of large, oblong-shaped plants that had withered to a dull gray color and split open at the front.

Our captors, I presume. Alessia suppressed the vengeful glee welling up inside her, delaying her gratification for later. She didn’t want to experience it too soon; not when it might turn from sweet to bitter should her fears come to pass.

The deaths of their jailers didn’t guarantee the survival of her allies.

Alessia hobbled over to the nearest Ranger, cursing the weakness in her legs. She carefully knelt beside the brave soldier who had risked her life for the sake of her brethren, and after a moment’s hesitation, checked her heart and her mouth. A sliver of Alessia’s tension faded when she found a beat and a breath.

Alive.

She moved to the next, checking him as well. The Ranger’s breathing was shallow, but stable, and his condition appeared to be in no immediate danger of worsening.

Alive.

She moved on to the next Ranger.

Alive.

Next.

Alive. Next. Alive. Next. Alive.

Only when the final body had been inspected – a Healer, this time – did Alessia allow herself to feel the disbelieving joy that had grown with each person she checked. Alive. Alive. All of them were alive.

Alessia collapsed to her knees and rubbed her eyes. She’d long since lost the capacity for tears, but the habit remained.

Their survival hadn’t been an impossibility. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have happened. Nor would she call it a miracle – that was a word she regarded with some contempt. There were no miracles, just incredible feats achieved through risk and effort. She would not degrade an accomplishment by attaching it to a term implying that luck had been the deciding factor.

But – to put it mildly – she hadn’t expected this outcome. Not in the slightest.

Her head snapped up as she heard voices in the distance. Alessia composed herself in an attempt to present a stature befitting of an Elder, managing to smooth most of the wrinkles out of her leathers right before the Blightkillers’ Party marched into the room.

All eight were there. Six walking, two carried. Vul’to was injured but conscious. She pushed down the swell of revulsion she felt at seeing Rob and examined him closely. He was still, but the rise and fall of his chest indicated his survival. Taleya held the Dungeon Core in her hands, signifying their complete and total victory.

Alessia gave the startled crew of miscreants a proud smile. It was the least of what they deserved.

“You’ve won.”

--

This announcement will bring no joy to anyone, including myself, but I've made a twitter account for Outcast. This is theoretically good for advertising the story, but I have no idea how to use twitter so, uh, good luck to me. More importantly, it's there for emergency updates to the posting schedule in case something major in my life happens that I don't have time to post on every platform. I know there's a good number of people who catch each chapter right as it comes out, and I would hate to keep people waiting in the dark.

To make tweetland slightly less miserable, I'll also be holding a giveaway, because this forces me to commit to the idea and actually use the damn thing! Five random people that Follow the twitter account before August 29th will be given a free Patreon subscription for the month of September. It'll be for the highest tier. And if you're already a Patron and happen to be chosen, you'll get a free subscription for September and October. Give it a shot if you want free stuff. If nobody follows the account I'll be able to procrastinate and not use it. Force me to be productive. Thank you.

--

Link to Changes, Character Sheet, Skill Sheet 

Thanks for reading!