Outcast Chapter 247 (Book 6 Chapter 32) (Patreon)

Author's Note:

Thanks for everyone's support and understanding after the announcement last chapter. It meant a lot to read.

As a reminder, here's the current status of the alliance:

Group 1: Rob, Duran
Group 2: Vul'to, Meyneth, Zamira Diplomacy, Sylpeiros, all the coalition soldiers, a couple Dragonkin soldiers
Group 3: Keira, Orn'tol, Malika, Faelynn, Alessia, the Dragon Queen, most of the Dragonkin soldiers

--

Three Days Later

If he thought it might help, Rob would've plucked out his eyes right then and there.

Unfortunately, Sense Corruption meant he would still be able to perceive the atrocity before him now.

A dense, whirling maelstrom of Corruption threatened to pull him in, positioned hundreds of feet away yet far too close for comfort. Rob's eyes watered as he gazed upon it, the air tasting foul on his tongue. The maelstrom's Corruption had compressed so tightly that it was visible to the naked eye, forming a spherical half-orb larger than a football field. Its internal currents writhed and twisted, as if alive, hungry, yearning to devour all that existed.

Rob nearly turned around and walked away. This was...so much worse than any other type of Corruption he'd encountered before. The maelstrom contained enough baneful energy to empower five fully-grown Blights – attempting to cleanse it would be like attempting to cleanse a hole in reality. Even if his body somehow survived being in close proximity, it would take weeks worth of Purging to eradicate the dense mass he saw now. Rob wanted nothing more than to take a rain check and go absolutely anywhere else.

But that wasn't an option. Not with the Beacon shining directly above the maelstrom, or the Enchanted Compass pointing straight forward, leaving zero room for doubt. It was apparent that he and Duran had officially arrived at their destination.

Hooray.

With a tired grimace, Rob activated his radio once again. "Checking in. Status report."

"No changes," Keira answered. "It is still a gargantuan orb of decay and ruination."

"Swell." He glanced from side to side. "Has anyone caught a glimpse of the other groups?"

Rob was met with a chorus of 'No's, causing him to bite back a sigh. While he hadn't expected anything different, it was frustrating nonetheless. They'd all been anticipating a happy reunion today, everyone set to arrive at the rendezvous point around the same time...but despite each of their groups reporting the same sight in the same location, none of them could fucking find each other, even after circling the maelstrom in opposite directions.

It was like they were occupying similar spaces in adjacent realities. As Duran put it: their communal perception of the Deadlands hadn't fully aligned. Riardin's Rangers could be just 20 feet away, yet they were essentially a world apart.

Nothing's ever easy, Rob fumed. What was the point of destroying those Corrupted Loci if we still get hamstrung by crap like this? Actually, would this place be even *worse* if I hadn't? Now that's a scary thought.

The radio crackled to life. "Like a waking nightmare," someone muttered. Rob didn't recognize their voice, so they were probably a Dragonkin soldier. "I assumed that trekking through the Deadlands had inured me to being surrounded with Corruption, but that mass is..." They shuddered. "Calling it abominable wouldn't do it justice. Tylrud's teeth, what is it?"

"I can answer that," Rob said, immediately cutting in. "My Enchanted Compass is pointing in its direction, meaning it's either a Dungeon, or that the Corruption is covering the entrance to a Dungeon. The remaining Blights likely gathered their forces in there – hence the maelstrom to prevent us from going Dungeon diving."

"But for what purpose have they gathered?"

According to Kismet, they're merging with the Dungeons in order to power up, gain resistance to Purge Corruption, and ascend to a higher form of existence.

"Not sure," is what Rob said. "I'll let you know if I sense anything new." He couldn't think of an excuse to explain what he'd learned from Kismet. People outside Riardin's Rangers weren't In The Know just yet.

Didn't really matter, anyway. He'd only spoken up to stop the Dragon Queen from potentially butting in. A quiet Ragnavi was a content Ragnavi...or at least a Ragnavi who wasn't working herself up into a frenzy over nothing.

There would be less crushed heads that way.

A familiar sense of regret ambushed Rob as he remembered what Keira had told him two days ago. What Ragnavi had done the minute she ended their conversation. If he'd spoken differently, said the right words, would that Dragonkin soldier still be alive? Duran had tried to placate him by reminding Rob that it wasn't a soldier on their side, but in truth, neither of them were heartless enough to accept that logic.

...It's fine. Rob breathed deep. Won't have any reason to keep her around after we kill the Blight today. I'll just move the requisite backstabbing up on our itinerary. Then we'll *all* be free of her – including her people.

At that moment, his murderous ruminations were interrupted by Faelynn speaking up over the radio. "I don't mean to incite a panic," she began, definitely panicking, "but another of my anti-Corruption Amulets has burnt out. While plenty more remain...if we are going to take action, I'd prefer we do it sooner rather than later."

That was a very fair point. Even from a distance, the Corruptive maelstrom was accelerating the rate of their Amulets' failure. Rob couldn't afford to waste time brooding. Especially since Leveling High seemed to be resonating with–

Leveling High's containment has reduced from 70% to 65%!

Yeah, as if I needed MORE motivation to stay the hell away. Rob's mouth curled into a deep frown, his fists clenched. Only one way I can think of to fix this. Don't like it, but oh well. Bitter medicine is still medicine. Just have to make sure it doesn't end up being a poison pill.

With grim determination, he took his finger off the radio's Talk button, released his tension with a long exhale, and turned his gaze skyward.

"Kismet."

A foreign presence intruded upon his mind. So you have finally–

"Stop. No small talk." Never again. "There's a problem. You need to help me clear this Corruption."
The god hesitated, its presence exuding contemplative surprise. That much is your end of the bargain. We provide the Beacon, and you Purge.

Rob didn't bother mincing words. "I'm not strong enough. If I get too close, my body will disintegrate. High Vitality and anti-Corruption Amulets won't mean jack shit. Even if by some miracle I survived, by the time I cleansed all of...this, the Blights' ascension would be complete."

How can you be certain?

"Because whatever's down there terrifies me." He glanced at the maelstrom, prompting cold goosebumps to race up his back. "Maybe you can't feel it in the gods' realm, but here, everyone can. That Corruption is just a smokescreen for what the Blights are forming inside their Dungeon. If we wait too long, then that's game. A thousand of me wouldn't be able to stop it."

Waves of discontent emanated from Kismet. Then you must devise a solution. Beyond some minor indiscretions, my kind do not take direct action on the mortal planes.

Rob barely managed to keep his composure. His voice took on a low, eerie tone, like a subtle breeze in an abandoned graveyard. "What the Skills showed me proves otherwise."

The Humans hung themselves, Kismet retorted, almost defensively. I merely gave them rope and encouragement. Less mana was spent in that endeavor than you presume. Unleashing the amount of power which you are now suggesting cannot be done.

"Can't? Or won't?"

After a long pause, the god answered. It...would not be possible outside the Deadlands, but that accursed realm's framework of reality is more malleable, its dimensional barriers flimsy. Our self-imposed rules and restrictions hold less sway there.

"Then get to work," Rob ordered. "In case you've forgotten, it's your asses on the line, too."

You ask too much of–

Rob couldn't have timed what came next better if he'd tried. Suddenly, one section at the top of the maelstrom ceased its roiling chaos, coming to a halt. Gradually, it shaped itself into a pointed, sharp-edged protrusion, jutting upwards towards the sky.

Like a spear aimed at the heavens.

Both Rob and Kismet froze as they waited for something to happen. Nothing did – for now. It was only a matter of time. The maelstrom's statement of intent was as obvious as it was ominous.

"Help me clear the Corruption," Rob repeated, with urgent severity. "If you don't, we're dead."

I have informed you of what happens when our mana comes into contact with that of the Blight. It is annihilated. Permanently. To recuperate, we would be forced to harvest multiple worlds, rather than indulge in their revelries. That is akin to the highest form of torture you can inflict upon us.

"Just answer this – do you have enough juice to get the job done?"

It took Kismet a few pensive seconds to respond. Yes. We would, however, be left further weakened. A turn of events that benefits you, naturally.

"Won't deny that." Rob narrowed his eyes. "It's also not why I'm asking. I'd be making this request even if clearing the Corruption somehow made you stronger."

The fucked up part was that he was telling the truth. When Kismet realized that, the god's presence shifted, its anxiety spiking from mild to severe. Like the difference between perfunctory warning lights and loud alarms blaring at DEFCON 1. Understood. I shall require a moment to speak with my brethren.

"Don't take too lon–"

We are finished.

Rob arched an eyebrow. He almost made a comment about how people usually weren't literal when they asked for 'a moment', but stuck to his vow of no small talk with genocidal deities. "What did they say?"

Your request is...accepted. Kismet's voice sounded terse. Most have agreed of its necessity. None are happy at the expenditure. All dislike you more than ever.

Before Rob could respond, ripples began spreading across the Beacon's quivering surface. With an abhorrent scraping noise like nails dragged against rusted metal, it split open, revealing a core of incandescent mana. When combined with the maelstrom, having both in the same field of vision nearly gave Rob sensory overload, his consciousness wavering as it struggled to process seeing opposite powers of the eldritch and the divine in one location.

As he blinked repeatedly, steadying his balance, a large portal opened up above the Beacon. Streams of mana flowed down, infusing the Beacon's core with radiance. It grew and grew, building up a staggering amount of energy, its light shining like a nascent star. The only reason Rob wasn't that impressed was because the Cataclysm flashback was still fresh in his mind. Even so, this display took an easy second place.

I recommend you step back.

Rob was already a safe distance from the maelstrom. Nevertheless, he wisely chose to heed Kismet's advice, pulling Duran further away. Thanks to Sense Mana, he could feel how the Beacon's core was filled to bursting. It continued swelling until its imposing aura was a match for the Corruption.

Moments later, the hammer of gods descended.

Incomprehensible sensations invaded Rob's body and mind. For a brief, overwhelming instant, sight could be tasted, sounds could be seen, and touch could be smelt. By the time his brain rebooted, that disarray had been replaced with a perpetual screech in an incomprehensible language. No words were spoken, yet they were, and no meaning was gleaned, except it was, emotions of passionate fervor broadcast to whoever would listen.

In that same tumultuous instant, an immense surge of pressure rushed through the air, knocking Rob and Duran flat on their backs. It took them several long seconds to recover the breath that had been forced out of their lungs. Bones trembling, Rob rose up and focused his attention on what was transpiring in front of him, wanting to discern as much as he could about the gods' capabilities.

All he found was a humbling sense of awe. He stood there, an ant watching a meteor shower, as godlike energy clashed with corrosive entropy. The best way he could describe it to himself was like a tidal wave pouring into a vat of lava, both attacker and defender obliterated by coming into contact with each other – but even that was doing it a disservice. If the Cataclysm had been an event of destruction, then this was an event of unmaking; atoms erased in defiance of all the known laws of the universe.

"Rob," Duran managed to croak out. "Could the gods have done this to you whenever they chose?"

"According to Kismet, no. Not something this big. A smaller-scale smiting, though...maybe." He swallowed a lump in his throat. "I uh...think I should've exercised more restraint when antagonizing them."

Worryingly, Elder Duran didn't answer.

--

Unsurprisingly, Elder Alessia couldn't speak.

How could she, when confronted with the most astonishing display of power since the Cataclysm itself? Everyone in her group had been stunned into a long, protracted silence, their gazes fixated on the divine miracle unfolding before them. Hearing the gods' Edict or following their Beacon was nothing compared to seeing them launch an assault upon the Blight with oceans of resplendent mana.

No one in Elatra had ever witnessed a sight such as this, and in all likelihood, no one ever would again. It was remarkable, it was breathtaking, it was...

Awful. Alessia grit her teeth so tightly that they nearly cracked. She shoved aside any semblance of awe in her mind, as if the feeling was an unwanted interloper, hatred and resentment quickly rushing to fill its void. What a cruel irony this is, to make me wish that the Blight was putting up a better fight. Like an insidious saboteur, despondence crept up beside her other emotions, growing bolder with every second that she watched the gods' incomprehensible strength.

We're supposed to kill *that*?

It had put the enormity of their mission into stark perspective. Oh, it was all well and good to claim that they would rid Elatra of its divine oppression. Burn the poison, cut out the rot, and so on, and so forth. In those moments of righteous fury, anything felt possible.

Yet heroic boasts cost nothing to make – and were worth even less. In reality, this was what awaited Riardin's Rangers. This devastating, calamitous force, enough to make hardened soldiers feel like worms wriggling in dirt. The gods were apparently restricted from wielding this much energy in Elatra proper, but that would change if a Party of fighters invaded the divine realms.

There, the gods' full power could be brought to bear.

Alessia glanced to the side. She took in the awestruck faces of Keira, Orn'tol, Malika, and Faelynn. Each one so startlingly young, still with centuries of life left to experience.

I am sending them to their deaths. No mortal could ever hope to survive against something like this. She struggled to fathom how even a full Party of Level 99 combatants would last for longer than seconds. If Riardin's Rangers sallied forth to fight the gods, none would return.

And Alessia, too low-Level to make any sort of difference when it truly mattered, would merely sit on the sidelines and watch.

Just as she'd watched so many others die eight years ago.

NO. Determination roaring within, Alessia crushed her doubts with the efficiency of an Assassin silencing a hapless drunkard. That can't be how it ends. It WON'T be how it ends. We've come too far to hand our futures over to insatiable tyrants.

Compelling her taut muscles to relax, the Elder exhaled, clearing her mind as best she could. Think, Alessia. Riardin's Rangers still have room to grow stronger. They will come up with ways to combat the gods. Trust in their capacity to exceed even your wildest expectations. Your job is not to join them on the field of battle – it is to support them in any possible way. With your knowledge and years, what can *you* do?

She looked up at the Beacon. Above it, there was a portal opened in mid-air, a torrent of mana rushing out. With muted shock, Alessia realized that this portal was connected to the divine realms. Theoretically, if all of Riardin's Rangers possessed wings, they could fly up, enter the portal, and challenge the gods at this very instant.

Not that they would. Rob's group of miscreants weren't remotely prepared for that confrontation yet. Nevertheless, there was something in that line of thinking that begged her attention, almost as if–

An idea struck her like a bolt of lightning.

Without saying a word, Alessia cast Flight on herself and shot forward. She ignored her allies' cries of surprise, drifting upwards so that they couldn't catch up and pull her back. Only Queen Ragnavi could fly through the air, and she would sooner let Alessia dive right into the gods' destructive mana then lift a finger to save her.

Have to be quick. As Alessia drew closer, one-by-one, her anti-Corruption Amulets began to fail. While the maelstrom was diminished from what it had once been, shrinking under the gods' assault, it was still pervasive and horrid, like a beating heart of pestilence within the core of the Deadlands. She didn't have long before the rest of her Amulets gave out.

No matter. That was the least-reckless part of what came next.

Alessia's skin prickled as she drew near the clash of deities. It was somehow even more impressive when viewed at a close distance. Many scholars would have committed murder to witness this sight – a sight which currently held little interest for her. Instead, Alessia's gaze drifted higher, towards the portal connected to the divine realms. Where the gods had hid for millennia like the wretched cowards they were.

But not for much longer.

I trust Riardin's Rangers, she affirmed. One day, they will be capable of slaying the gods. However...unless they can enter the divine realms, they'll never get the chance. That had always been one of the largest impediments to their plan. Even if Riardin's Rangers became invincible weapons of destruction, a sword was useless against an enemy it could not strike.

The dimension mages had partially solved that problem. In theory, they could open a portal to the divine realms. To do that, however, they needed the gods' mana signature. A root source of divinity to study, trace, and follow.

Alessia was only happy to oblige.

2 Almighty Damage Sustained!

Far enough. She stopped right at her body's limit – when the air itself was starting to physically harm her. Any closer, and she'd be torn to shreds like a leaf in a hurricane.

As Alessia gathered her mana, she idly contemplated the sheer improbability of what she was about to attempt. Snatching a sliver of divinity would require more luck than winning dozens of coin tosses in a row. First, she would need to propel herself upwards with Flight and gravity magic, avoiding the center of the gods' clash where its effects were strongest. Actually, the Flight spell was more similar to hovering than true aerial movement, and wasn't intended for its caster to ascend hundreds of feet skyward.

She'd also need to pass right by the edge of the portal, at risk of being vaporized if she misjudged her aim by even an inch. The slightest lack of precision would result in her immediate and painful demise. Finally, she would have to steal a fragment from the energy stream gushing out of the portal, divesting mana from the gods themselves in the brief second she was within range. It went without saying that such a feat had never been attempted before.

A manic grin spread across Alessia's face. Good thing, then, that she was an expert mage with centuries of experience with handling mana. Good thing that the Flight spell and gravity magic were her specialties. Good thing that she'd spent enough time around Riardin's Rangers to adopt some of their carefree impudence in the face of danger.

There might not be anyone in the entire world who was better-suited to accomplishing this task than her.

Mana Burst. Gravity: Inversion. Extended Flight. Spells and Skills flowed through Alessia's mind, coalescing into energy at the base of her feet. Rising at a steady pace wouldn't suffice; she needed to fling upwards like a catapult. She pushed almost all of her MP into the spell, coming close to passing out from mana exhaustion as its condensed energy grew further.

Alessia wasn't a believer in fate or providence. Those sort of naivetes had perished along with over half of Elatra's population. Still, she had to admit...it felt like she'd spent her life preparing for this one moment. Like this was her opportunity to make a difference – to change the world for the better.

She would not squander it.

Go.

With that casual thought, Alessia was sent flying. The ground fled beneath as she soared up and up, gravity temporarily bent to her will. Wind pummeled her like blows from a swarm of enemies, twisting her body every which way, reducing her to a flailing mess of limbs. There was nary an ounce of grace left in the Elder's composure.

But it *worked*. Alessia cackled as she ascended higher, excitement coursing in her veins. Is this how Rob feels whenever one of his harebrained schemes succeeds? No wonder he's such a madman. Fortunately, the mania kept her awake long enough to cast Mana Surge, restoring a portion of her MP and staving off an impending bout of mana exhaustion. Going through all this setup only to fall unconscious whilst mid-air would have been highly embarrassing.

Narrowing her eyes so the wind wouldn't slice them to ribbons, Alessia tried to get a glimpse of how far up she was. As best she could surmise, she'd traveled halfway to the portal in a matter of seconds, rising over a hundred feet with no signs of stopping. This is beyond my estimates, the Elder pondered. I may have invented a new spell.

If everything went well, that would merely be the second-most impressive feat she achieved today.

The view from her current elevation made for an interesting memory to pack away for later perusal. Few non-Harpies had experienced this sort of perspective. Although admittedly, her enjoyment was marred both by the Deadlands being an empty wasteland, and by how her body's endless rotation was inducing a fair degree of nausea.

5 Almighty Damage Sustained!

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Her flesh being ripped asunder was also somewhat of a distraction. While she was mostly avoiding the epicenter of the gods' clash, drawing closer to the portal still brought her closer to energies that could destroy her in less than an instant. A member of Riardin's Rangers might have been able to shrug off this kind of damage, but Alessia was a Level 47 mage, with the appropriate Vitality therein. Even considering her rapid pace of ascent, surviving this endeavor wasn't at all guaranteed.

I would hardly be the first to die a senseless death, she mused, continuing to rise higher. Most people do. Divine energies tore at her skin and muscles. For every singular story of heroism, there are fifty failures buried and forgotten. Blood poured from countless wounds. War, the Cataclysm, the Blight...it never ends. Her thoughts began to slow. Our history is built upon eras of suffering, with little hope for a brighter tomorrow.

Alessia forced her eyes wide open. The portal was right in front of her, a shimmering halo of divine mana, streams of energy surging outwards.

Yet that is not always how it has to be. Not always–

She reached out her hand.

–And not fucking today.

Indescribable pain racked her body. Alessia screamed her throat raw as mortal flesh met godlike radiance. Her flight slowed to a crawl, as if the portal's mana stream had anchored her in place. She grasped and fumbled, trying to seize the mana as it quite literally slipped through her fingers, its essence unlike anything she'd ever felt.

Don't. Need much. She bared her teeth, blood and saliva trickling from the corners of her mouth. Just. A sliver. JUST. A SLIVER–

Something was watching her.

She could sense it. There was an awareness, a gaze, regarding her from within the god's portal. Like a shocked onlooker staring through a window.

Alessia turned her head towards the portal and stared right back. When she spoke, it was with the gravitas of an executioner announcing an assigned date.

"They'll be coming for you soon."

With one final scream, she ripped her hand free – and a fragment of godly mana with it. At once, momentum resumed, sending her flying through the air with jarring abruptness. The rate of new wounds appearing on her body decreased as inertia pushed her further and further away.

Alessia laughed as she tumbled limply, uncaring of the litany of system messages rushing down her vision, or of the ground rushing up equally fast to meet her. It is done. She cast another gravity spell to slow her descent, leaving just enough MP remaining so that she wouldn't slip into unconsciousness. I'll survive the fall. Should be able to get this to Malika before I bleed out. Nothing else matters.

Without warning, a blur crashed into her. Strong yet surprisingly gentle arms caught Alessia out of the air. The Elder peered up in a daze of confusion – jolting wide awake as she locked eyes with the Ragnavi, the Queen flying in a winged, half-transformed state.

Neither of them spoke a word. For a moment, Alessia thought Ragnavi might wring her neck. Then the Dragon Queen turned around, flying back towards their group's original location. "Interesting," she muttered.

"Why?" Alessia rasped, the inside of her throat feeling like a skinned potato.

"Because that was the most ridiculous sight I've witnessed in years, and it would have been a shame if you'd expired before explaining yourself." The Dragon Queen inclined her head. "What is that?"

Alessia glanced at her hand – or rather, her lack thereof. In its place, hovering above her cauterized stump, was an orb of light so brilliant that it hurt to look at.

Contemplating how much to say, she decided that lying to a murderer with sky-high social Skills would be an unseemly way to die after surviving a brush with divinity. "I stole it from the gods."

Ragnavi shook her head with a sort of knowing disbelief, as if she recognized that Alessia was being truthful but hadn't yet processed it. "There are easier ways to make a name for yourself. Couldn't you have used the Human's authority to secure a comfortable livelihood?"

"Isn't why." Alessia coughed, flecks of blood sent spattering into the wind. "Will explain when reach allies. Voice rough."

Miraculously, Ragnavi nodded, seeming to accept the Elder's excuse. It gave Alessia a few moments of solitude to peruse her list of system notifications. Aside from the various damages that had been inflicted, one message stood out to her.

Permanent Soul Damage Sustained!

And in her Character Sheet:
Status Effects: Soul-Burnt (Right Hand)

Same as what happened to Rob when he attempted to choke a god. Her mouth curled into a feeble grin. The Fiends should regrow it. And if they can't...it is of little consequence. One hand was a meager price to pay.

Alessia's return flight to her allies went much more smoothly than her ascent to the portal. A swarm of anxious faces greeted her, ready to barrage her with questions and worries. Their words died on their lips when they noticed the great treasure she'd brought back, plundered straight from the enemy's coffers.

As if it was a newborn babe, Alessia carefully handed the sliver of divinity over to Malika. The Archmage took it in both hands, her eyes examining it with an intense, ravenous curiosity. "Is this..."

"Yes. It is theirs." Alessia gestured her stump towards the portal. "Study this mana signature well. Present it to the dimension mages. This will lead us to the gods' domain."

"What for?" asked a Dragonkin soldier, his query mirrored in the inquisitive gazes of everyone except for Riardin's Rangers.

The Alessia of ten minutes prior would have obfuscated the truth and invented a convincing falsehood. The Alessia of now had just got done flinging herself hundreds of feet towards certain death, and her standards for what deserved caution were...mildly skewed. Thoughts buzzing, she gave the soldier a beatific smile and replied in a tone of perfect, unruffled serenity.

"Why, to slay them, of course."

Silence reigned.

"Also – would you mind fetching some Potions? Before I succumb to my injuries, preferably."

--

Thanks for reading!