Heavy Metal: Chapter 92 – Underground Cult. (Patreon)

“⎾⏧☊⎎⎾☊🜅 ⏧⍲☊ ℚ⍴⌾ℇ⏎⎎⍲ ℚ⏙⍴⌾ ”

Strange chants echoed from a distant corridor, their rhythm interrupted by the clank of metal footsteps. Rusty was on the move, his metallic frame tensing as he shoved a few corpses out of his path and arrived in the middle of a dead-end corridor. Before him lay a row of closed cells, each apparently requiring a key to open. Inside, he could make out battered people - some chained to the walls, others curled up on the cold floor.

“We don’t have much time, Rusty, If you’re going to decide, it has to be now, but in my lordly opinion, we should leave.”

Rusty hesitated, unsure how to proceed. Aburdon had always prioritized their survival above all else - a view Rusty largely agreed with. Yet he couldn’t help but wonder if giving these people a chance might be the better option. He had no clear escape plan from this place, nor any idea how many cultists lay in wait below. Releasing the prisoners would certainly create a diversion, but it would be impossible without the keys. The bars, though rusty, were forged from an unfamiliar metal that resisted his attempts to store or manipulate it.

He was a monster forged from metal, with the peculiar ability to store it. However, there were limits; one was that he couldn’t store alloys or metals above his own grade. Since arriving in the city, he’d explored various smithies and shops selling all kinds of equipment. He had seen weapons made from strange materials, and after some research, he realized that metals, like monsters and adventurers, also had their own rankings.

The bronze that formed his initial body was on the lower end, around F-rank. Iron and even steel were a step above, at E-rank. But there were metals with far superior properties, much like his own Twilight Iron, which was edging into D-rank classification. As an E-rank monster, he was unable to store any metals ranked above his own level, meaning that this rusty metal had to be at least D-rank. Breaking it with his own strength or weapons would be challenging. To open those cells, he would need the keys - and he already knew where to find them.

“One of those cultists had a keychain on them. I could probably snatch it while they’re chanting, but sneaking up on them would be best…”

“ („• ֊ •„)੭ “

“Oh, you can help me sneak up on them?”

“ (૭ ｡•̀ ᵕ •́｡ )૭ “

“You’ve learned a silencing spell that will help me? Why that’s great Gleam!”

“ (,,>﹏<,,) “

“But you don’t have enough mana to cast it right now? Oh, that’s fine, I still have some potions left!”

Rusty’s satchel had been taken, along with all his belongings, during the scuffle with the mage. Fortunately, he still had access to his personal stash tab and storage system, where a few items remained. His supply of metal and items was running low as he had converted much of what he could into coins. This meant he would need to be cautious in the upcoming confrontation, as he could only heal himself a few more times.

“◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜”

From his stash, he retrieved a small vial containing a vibrant blue liquid and carefully poured it over Gleam, aiming at her head. She chirped happily as her silvery body absorbed the restorative energies from the potion. Instantly, her MP began to rise, and she readied herself to cast her silencing spell.

With a gentle wiggle of her antennae, Gleam cast a pale white light around him, extinguishing all sound in his immediate area. Ordinarily, his every movement was accompanied by metallic echoes, even after he’d gotten rid of all the rust. But with the spell active, there was nothing but silence.

The spell reminded him of the mage he’d faced before arriving here. During that fight, he had realized just how vulnerable his otherwise sturdy body was to magical energies. When a fireball had struck his shield, he’d been stunned for several seconds, even though the shield had absorbed most of the impact. Something within the spell had disrupted the mana flowing through his body and his monster core. It seemed that living armors like him had a particular weakness to magical attacks - a fact he would need to remember in the future.

“If you’re set on helping these lesser beings, perhaps it would be better to use your previous form,” 

Aburdon suggested while making his way into Rusty’s armor.

“Hm?” 

Rusty replied, momentarily distracted. The dim light in the corridor kept him hidden from the prisoners, who hadn’t yet noticed his presence. Aburdon halted him from venturing further, explaining his reasoning.

“While I don’t support this plan of yours, if you’re going to go through with it, there’s a more effective way.”

“Oh? Like what?” 

“Well, didn’t you buy a few health potions?”

“Yes, I did, I have a few in my storage.” 

“Excellent. Then we’ll use them - but for that, it would be best to switch to your adventurer form.”

“... Ah, you’re right! That would work much better.” 

Rusty agreed, quickly catching on to Aburdon’s plan. After stepping back, he switched to the loadout featuring the Twilight Iron version of his Albert armor. The human body was not within this one and he could still use all of his elemental skills. Aburdon clearly wanted him to heal some of the stronger prisoners before unleashing them on the cultists. If they were outnumbered, Rusty could make up for that by empowering these fighters, and maybe even one of the prisoners knew a way out of this place. It was, indeed, a far better strategy than the haphazard plan he’d been considering.

“Let’s go then!”

“ ( ง '̀ - '́ )ง “ 

Gleam clung to his shoulder as the two finally emerged from the shade. With the silencing spell active, they slipped through undetected. From the corner of his visor, Rusty spotted Layla, who still seemed dazed. For now, she’d have to wait as he needed to get the keys first.

Quickly, he moved down the corridor toward the source of the strange chanting. The two cultists who had carried his body earlier were still there, engrossed in their ritual. They knelt before a grotesque patchwork of flesh, emitting an eerie screeching noise. The air in the room crackled with dark, vile energy that Rusty couldn’t fully comprehend. But one thing was clear: the cultists were far too absorbed in their ritual to notice him standing there, bow drawn and arrow ready.

He aimed at the first cultist and activated his skill, ‘Power Shot’. It enhanced the speed of the arrow, turning it slightly red as it flew towards the target. The silence spell cast by Gleam meant that even the release of his bowstring wouldn’t alert the cultists, who were fully entranced by their ritual.

The arrow pierced through the air, finding its mark in the back of one cultist’s head with deadly accuracy. The force of the impact drove the cultist forward, impaling him against the twisted statue they were worshiping. A dark spray of blood erupted, coating the statue in a fresh crimson streak. The remaining cultist gasped, his chant cut short as he stumbled backward, eyes widening in horror as he saw his companion's lifeless body slumped against the altar. Before he could react, Rusty had already knocked a second arrow, ready to silence him too.

“( •̀ ᗜ •́ )…!!” 

Gleam’s tiny antennae twitched in excitement as she watched Rusty let the second arrow fly. Regretfully it was a bit short of the intended target and embedded itself into the man’s shoulder with a sickening thud. The man cried out, clutching at the wound. The element of surprise was gone now, and he scrambled to reach the dagger at his belt.

“ ( •̀ - •́ ) “

But Gleam was quicker. She extended her forelegs, her mandibles clicking as she summoned a mana bolt, hurling the crackling sphere of energy directly at the cultist. The spell collided with his chest, sending him staggering backward, his grasp on the dagger loosening.

Seizing the moment, Rusty dashed forward, drawing his sword in a swift, fluid motion. The cultist barely had time to look up before Rusty plunged the blade straight through his chest, pinning him to the ground. The cultist gasped, his eyes wide with shock before he slumped over, lifeless.

“Good work, Gleam, did your casting speed increase?”

“ ( •̀ ᴗ •́ )و “ 

“You didn’t have much to do so you tried to train your mana manipulation skills? That’s great!”

Rusty praised his friend as he pulled his sword free. Gleam chirped softly in reply, her antennae twitching as she settled back on his shoulder. Rusty bent down to inspect the cultist’s belt and quickly located the keychain they’d noticed earlier. He held it up, the metallic keys clinking softly in the silence. Aburdon materialized beside him, his black form inspecting the keys. 

“One of these must unlock the main exit. But there may be other doors we haven’t seen yet.”

Rusty nodded and pocketed the keychain, then glanced at the bodies of the fallen cultists. Their blood was pooling around the monstrous statue, which, disturbingly, seemed to be absorbing it. He had never seen anything like it before, but instinctively felt it was best to pull them away from the statue. 

After dragging the bodies aside, he searched through their belongings and found a replacement spatial satchel similar to his old one. Inside, he discovered an assortment of strange items - dried bones, human hands, and other unsettling objects. Deciding to discard anything that might alarm the other races, he emptied the satchel of its grotesque contents, then attached it securely to his belt.

“We can still turn around Rusty, are you sure you want to do this?”

Rusty paused, considering his options. He had the keys and could try to escape alone. He still had a bit of mana left and a few potions - perhaps just enough to conceal himself in the shadows. The place was littered with bodies, rubble, and thick webs. This meant that it might be possible to find a hidden corner. However, he knew there were trackers more skilled than Gleam, so hiding carried a high risk. Eventually, someone would come across the cultists and search the area for him.

Helping the others escape seemed like a safer bet. He could always abandon his body to hide away during the initial confrontation. Rusty was more worried about Gleam sticking out as a sore thumb and perhaps having those people act as a distraction was the best option.

"Yes, some of them might know the way out and a few of them looked strong."

“Don’t come crying back to me when your plan backfired!”

“I won’t, now Gleam, remember to stick close to me, they will think that you are my tamed beast.”

“ ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) “

The plan was set, and it was time to act. Rusty retraced his steps back to the prisoners and moved toward the cell where he’d spotted a few promising individuals. He instructed Aburdon to assess them and decide who should be prioritized. With only three low-quality healing potions, they needed to make each one count.

“If we’re choosing, then that woman over there is probably the best option. She seems to be a priest, so she might be able to heal more of these lesser beings. Then, that man looks to be the strongest of them all”

To Rusty’s surprise, the person Aburdon had singled out was in the same cell as his acquaintance. He pointed him towards two people, one a lady priest and the other a musclebound warrior. The man looked to be in terrible shape and bound by several layers of shackles. 

Rusty approached the cell, the keys clinking softly in his metallic grip. The prisoners’ eyes widened as they noticed him - a hulking suit of darkened iron armor with a glimmering, insect-like creature perched on his shoulder. They stared in both hope and fear, unsure of his intentions. Gleam wiggled her antennae at them, the mana inside of her body emitting a gentle glow that eased their minds.

The priestess, an elven woman with matted silver hair, leaned weakly against the wall. Despite her exhaustion, her gaze was sharp and alert. Beside her lay a tall, muscular human warrior, his body battered and bruised. Though unconscious, the raw abrasions on his wrists and ankles hinted at his attempts to break free from his bonds. Layla, the one familiar face in the cell, was slumped against the bars. As Rusty opened the door, she recognized him almost instantly.

“T-that armor… Mr. Alb..e..rt?”

Her voice was faint, and though her wounds were severe, she was alive. The young woman appeared delirious from her injuries, barely able to keep her head up. She was barely keeping her head straight so for the time being, he decided to use the first potion on her.The other prisoners watched him warily, likely assuming he was part of the cult. With Layla’s help, though, he could change that perception. If she vouched for him, he could more easily gain their trust - a suggestion Aburdon had wisely offered.

“Yes, it’s me… here, drink this.”

From his storage, he withdrew a vial of thick, shimmering red liquid and held it to her lips. Layla drank in small, labored gulps, the color returning to her cheeks as the potion took effect. She blinked rapidly, trying to focus her vision, and then gasped as her strength returned enough for her to sit up.

“Why… why are you here?”

“I’ll explain later, for now, we need more help…”

With Layla beginning to look steadier, he turned his attention to the priestess. Her eyes met his as he approached, narrowing slightly in appraisal.

“Can you heal the others?” 

He asked, offering her the second potion. She nodded, though her voice was weak. 

“If I regain my strength but my holy p-power is…”

“I also have a mana potion, this should be enough, right?”

He uncorked the potion and carefully tilted it to her lips. She drank slowly, visibly relieved as the restorative liquid coursed through her. Once some of her injuries had been healed, he handed her a mana potion to help her restore some of that holy power she was speaking about. Her breathing steadied, and though she was still weakened, she had enough strength now to drink the other potion by herself. 

“Thank you,” 

She said while Rusty moved over to the third person, the warrior lying on the floor. Rusty crouched down, prying open the warrior’s mouth, and began carefully pouring the last potion down his throat. Just as the liquid touched his tongue, the warrior’s eyes shot open. He lunged forward as if waiting for this opportunity but was held back by the shackles still binding his hands. 

“You bast… huh?” 

The warrior coughed, coughing up some of the potion. His gaze darted around the room, taking in the priestess, Layla, and then Rusty, whose imposing armor was the last thing he expected to see.

“Easy, friend, save that strength for those people that brought you here…”

Rusty responded while taking a step back to go through the keys. The man was confused but he wasn’t an enemy and now that he had some help, it was time to conquer this underground dungeon filled with cultists.