Chapter 112 - Rescue (Patreon)

Tucker knelt beside the beaker, eyeing the concoction on which he had spent the past eighteen hours working. The liquid contained within the glass was thick, almost solid, and a deep, angry red with tendrils of darkness running through it. He tapped the glass, listening to the sound before thinking to himself, “Almost ready. Another hour, and you’ll do what I couldn’t.”

The potion was so different from anything else he’d ever created. Until now, Tucker had always been focused on achieving very specific effects. Usually, with the offensive potions that filled his various grenades, he veered toward flashy explosions – the bigger and more bombastic, the better. Part of that was due to the fact that they were expensive, both in terms of ingredients and time investment. An eye-catching explosion that disintegrated a person or monster functioned as quite the deterrent. However, there was a part of Tucker that just liked seeing things blow up. It had been present in his old life, and that characteristic had persisted when he’d been reborn.

A small smile turned up the corners of his mouth as he remembered going out into the woods and setting off truly massive explosions with his friends. Growing up, he’d become enamored with bottle rockets and cherry bombs, and that fascination had carried on through adulthood. It was one of the reasons that he’d become a chemist back on Earth, and it had definitely pushed him into alchemy after his rebirth into the Radiant Isles.

But the blood-red potion was different. Once he set it loose, there would be no explosion. No visible effect at all. Just the genocide of an entire race. When he’d robbed them of their fertility, Tucker had already committed a delayed genocide. But now, he intended to finish the job. He only needed the giants to leave him alone for another few hours, and he would rid the world of their frozen blight.

Shaking his head, Tucker wondered just how desperate the frost giants had become. He’d already seen evidence of other cultures having visited the monster’s city. The runes on the walls were evidence enough of that. More than that, though, Tucker smelled death, and not the natural sort. After spending years working amidst Micayne’s undead horde, Tucker could recognize that metaphysical stench from a mile away. Had the frost giants turned to their neighbor for help? And if so, what was the cost? Surely, as desperate as they clearly were, it would not have been a very fair deal. Not that Tucker cared. Spending eternity as undead, unthinking monsters was a fitting end for the giants who had killed so many innocents. Tucker’s only real regret was that he hadn’t acted more decisively his first time in Hvitgard.

Back then, though, he’d been terrified of the finality represented by his latest creation. He’d known the recipe, even then. He had been too afraid to use it, though, and not just because he’d be killing an entire race of sapient creatures. That was part of it, but his real fear came from the fact that it would kill him as well. In retrospect, it was small price to pay. In the grand scheme of things, his life was worthless – especially when weighed against all the damage the Jotuns had wrought. But like always, he’d thought he could outsmart the situation. Thus, the infertility plan, which had gone off without a hitch. Because of his actions, the Jotuns were doomed to extinction. However, in the interim, a portion of the warrior population had become even more vicious than ever, killing untold thousands and pushing further into the Red Wastes than ever before.

That was Tucker’s fault. He felt the sting of every death, but even so, he’d fooled himself into believing that he had done all he could. Now, though, he had the opportunity to finish the job. And it would only cost him his life – a good trade, by all accounts.

“Is it ready?” rumbled his captor. She was the same Jotun scout who’d captured and carried him into Hvitgard. Wearing only a loincloth, Tucker straightened to his full height and knuckled his back. It wasn’t often that he felt small, but in the company of the frost giant jailor in the corner of the room, he felt entirely insignificant. “Are you finished at last?”

“No,” Tucker said, glaring at the creature. Against his wishes, his idiotic companions had chosen to release the giantess, and she had rewarded their compassion with betrayal. For Tucker, it had been expected, though he hadn’t anticipated that Gerd would act so quickly. Instead, he had expected her to retreat back to Hvitgard only to return with a full contingent of warriors. When she’d snuck up and waylaid him while he was picking herbs, he’d had no opportunity to react. Another mistake to add to the ledger, Tucker thought. But it soon wouldn’t matter. He would end it all. He would make it right. His work was already done. The potion only had to settle, and then it would activate on its own. He only had to wait, now.

“It does not look like a curative potion,” the Jotun said, rising to her feet. She stepped forward, her long legs covering the ground in one step until she loomed over him. Kneeling smoothly, Gerd inspected the potion. “It looks angry.”

The giantess didn’t know how right she was. With a base of wyrm blood, combined with the essence of a wraith, and infused with basilisk venom, the potion was fittingly called [Burning Death]. Once it was finished, it would not only be a deadly poison that would bring an end to the frost giant population, but it would do so in the most agonizing way possible. Tucker had never felt it before, but every description he’d read said that the effects were akin to having one’s veins incinerated from the inside out. He had even made it extra strong, just so he that he could rest knowing that the job was done. But he hadn’t chosen this particular potion because of its potency. Rather, he had picked it because it was one of the few poisons that could completely bypass resistances – a necessity, given the Jotuns’ hardy constitutions. That effect meant that he couldn’t rely on his [Alchemist’s Constitution] to see him through, either. Deploying the potion would mean that he would feel its effects just as surely as the giants; he would die right alongside them. A fitting end for a life poorly led.

“It’ll do the job,” he said. “I don’t –”

A loud thud shook the wall as something heavy struck the building. The Jotun scout immediately reacted, pushing Tucker to the floor. His shoulder collided with the table, but thankfully, it didn’t affect the beaker. However, it did come very close to breaking something. He hit the floor without an ounce of grace, rolling to a stop a second later. In the split second since he’d pushed from his feet, the giantess had grabbed her enormous crossbow – more of an arbalest, really – and pointed it at the heavy, metal-banded, wooden door.

“Rise, and I will kill you, Dark One,” she growled.

An empty threat, considering what awaited Tucker even if everything went according to plan. Still, he remained on the flagged stone floor, staring past the giantess as another impact rocked the sturdy wall. Only a second later, an enormous, clawed hand erupted through the door, shattering it and sending splinters flying through the air. Gerd didn’t hesitate before sending an arrow through to the other side, where it hit blue-tinged, rotting flesh.

Tucker instantly knew what he was looking at. “Oh, my God…what did you do?” he muttered, backing away as he put everything together. The smell of death that had pervaded the Jotun city, the runes on the outer walls, and the most damning evidence of all – a frost giant zombie that was currently trying to clamor through the remains of the door – all coalesced into a single notion. The giants had made a deal with Abraham Micayne. Probably, he had promised to help them overcome their infertility, and in return, he got access to their dead. It should have been a mutually beneficial arrangement, but in the years where he’d worked as the lich’s slave, Tucker had seen how Micayne held up his end of bargains. One settlement after another – human and monster alike – had fallen prey to Micayne’s promises. And each of them, in turn, had eventually been turned toward undeath and joined his unliving army. He’d conquered the entirety of Farindale forest, and it seemed that he’d spent some time expanding his influence north.

“We did what we had to, Dark One,” the giantess spat, loading another bolt into her crossbow. She fired again, and this one was more effective. The projectile ripped into the zombie’s face, its head exploding from the force. Turning in his direction, she added, “You did this to us.”

Tucker had no interest in arguing the point. Instead, he climbed to his feet and summoned one of his grenades. He’d been stripped of everything – his clothes, his meager weapons, and his dignity, but because of his spatial storage, he was never truly disarmed. The space had its limitations; it could only store potions, but that was more than most had.

Without a second thought, he activated the grenade and tossed it through the door. A moment later, an explosion of fire swept through the door, the heat enveloping the giantess. She let out a rumbling howl of pain, but Tucker ignored it. Instead, he stepped forward, another, almost identical grenade already in his hand. He tossed that one as well. The [Conflagration Grenade] was far from the most effective weapon at his disposal, but against zombies, they were better than just about anything aside from the much rarer [Blessed Grenade]he’d used in the battle in the tower that had been his home during the years of his enslavement.

After a final whimper, Gerd went silent. Burned beyond all recognition, her death was a fortunate side effect of the grenades’ deployment. The giantess deserved a slower death, though. He’d looked forward to watching her scream while her very blood boiled. Now, though, there was a chance that he could escape with his life. Not a good chance, given how many zombies he expected to encounter, but even a slight opportunity was better than the fatalistic future he’d envisioned for himself only moments before. Stepping over the giantess, Tucker approached the door.

What he saw outside nearly took his breath away. There were Jotun corpses everywhere. Blackened and charred, there were almost a dozen of them. He’d felt the influx of experience, but he had never expected the grenades to have been so wholly effective. Perhaps some of the frost giants’ natural vulnerability to fire had been transferred into undeath. Whatever the case, he didn’t have much time to think about it, because there were plenty more still alive. Or as close to alive as a zombie ever got.

“Tucker!” came a familiar voice. He whipped his head around to see the blonde archer, Abby, who was steadily firing arrow after arrow into the horde of zombified giants. Most were ineffective, but some managed to find eye sockets and penetrate into the creatures’ brains. That was enough to put them down. “Are you okay? Where are your clothes?”

Tucker pushed his dreadlocked hair out of his face, calling, “Not the time! Where’s Zeke?”

“Distracting the other giants,” came a raspy voice from beside him. Tucker turned to see Talia, who was standing over a Jotun zombie’s twitching remains. It had been eviscerated to the point where, if he hadn’t already known what it was, he’d have been hard pressed to figure it out. Her claws, which seemed longer and sharper than ever before, dripped a combination of green-tinged fluid and dark blue, half-congealed zombie blood. “You could’ve warned me about the explosion. I was almost caught in it.”

“Sorry,” he said, unnerved by the girl. She seemed more lifelike than normal, but there was still something unnatural about her expressions as well as her mannerisms. Coupled with the grotesque appearance of her gore-covered claws, as well as the blue Jotun blood covering her chest, and she cut a terrifying figure. “Didn’t know you were out here.”

She nodded her head in assent, saying, “We need to go. Do you need anything? Your clothes, perhaps?”

Tucker shook his head. “They burned them,” he said, eyeing the zombies. They were almost upon them. Summoning his second-to-last [Conflagration Grenade], Tucker tossed it into the mass of undead Jotuns. It exploded with an impressive fireball, a wave of flame sweeping through the creatures. It made a respectable dent in the horde, but it would do little more the delay their demise. “Besides, I don’t think we have time.”

“Then we must escape,” Talia said. Without another word, the revenant girl took off, leading the way away from the undead army. As she went, Abby redoubled her efforts, slowing the monsters down and covering their retreat. Tucker took that opportunity to follow, his bare feet slapping against the cobbled street as he raced past the archer. Once they reached a goodly distance, Tucker turned and, with a mighty heave, tossed his last [Conflagration Grenade] into the surging mass of Jotun zombies. It exploded with a satisfying inferno of magical fire, burning the vulnerable undead frost giants to a crisp. Though it barely made a difference in the number of undead giants, it was enough to ensure Abby’s own escape, and the three of them raced out of the cavern and into an adjacent tunnel.

Abby soon overtook them, muttering, “Thanks. It would’ve been close without your distraction.”

“No problem,” Tucker said. He’d just killed dozens of the zombies, and she’d called it a distraction. He wanted to argue, but he couldn’t really make a case for it. Instead, he followed as well as he could; like most in the new world, his stats made physical exertion much easier than it had been on Earth. However, that didn’t mean he liked running. Avoiding an unpleasant death at the hands of a horde of zombies was enough to push that dislike to the side, though.

The three of them raced through the tunnels, seeing few frost giants along the way. Most of the ones they did encounter – civilians, Tucker knew – failed to even look up as they passed by, though a few warriors or guards tried to stop them. They failed, mostly falling to Talia’s furious claws. As he saw her rip apart those warriors, aided by Abby’s well-placed arrows, Tucker felt almost completely superfluous. He could’ve wrought untold damage. He had the means. His stores had gotten low, but there were enough grenades in his spatial storage to kill a few frost giants. However, doing so would have put his companions in danger. It was one of the reasons he usually preferred to go it alone. His grenades weren’t selective. They would affect anyone in their blast radius, whether he wanted them to or not. Some, like the [Blessed Grenades], only affected a specific type of creature, but those were incredibly expensive and difficult to make, using rare ingredients and taking a truly ridiculous amount of time to brew. And given that he’d never expected to encounter frost giants again, he was unprepared for the situation.

“C’mon!” Abby said, grabbing his thick wrist and dragging him along. “We don’t have time for you to freak out.”

“I wasn’t freaking out,” he muttered, following the woman. He suddenly realized that she thought he had been staring at Talia’s handiwork, which, while disturbing, was no worse than some of the things he’d seen while enslaved to Micayne. Still, he didn’t have time to explain, so he followed along as they slowly wound their way up to the surface.

Finally, they reached the gates, and Tucker’s heart dropped.

“Well, that’s a complication,” Abby said, staring at the wall of Jotun warriors before them. The frost giants stood just outside the gate, facing in. The one in the front was even bigger and better armed than all the others. Of course, Tucker recognized him.

“Give us the Dark One, and we shall make your deaths quick!” the leader said, stepping forward. His white beard stretched all the way to his belt, and he hefted an enormous axe on his shoulder. The entire right side of his face was a massive collection of pulsing scars.

“I didn’t think you survived, Brynjar!” Tucker called. “I pity your wife having to endure your company all these years!”

The giant roared, obviously losing all reason. He had call for it, given that Tucker had taken his infertility potion a step further with the Jotun leader. Not only was Brynjar infertile, but he was incapable of performing his duties as a man and husband as well. Tucker had taken everything from the Jotun, and for good reason. Brynjar was the driving force behind the Jotun tradition of raiding, and so, he was responsible for thousands of innocent deaths. As far as Tucker was concerned, he’d gotten off easy.

“You piss everyone off, don’t you?” Abby said.

“I guess so,” Tucker agreed, summoning a grenade. It wouldn’t be as effective as the [Conflagration Grenade], but the [Storm’s Fury] would be better than nothing. Even as he cocked his arm back, a figure in rust-red armor crashed into the middle of the Jotun line. Following shortly behind Zeke was a furious dire bear. “Hope they can take a little lightning.”

Tucker tossed the latest grenade into the midst of the giants, and when the glass globe shattered, lightning arced out in a wide radius, jumping from one figure to another. Thousands of electric tendrils engulfed the Jotuns, sending them into violent spasms. Thankfully, Zeke wasn’t as affected as the giants. On the other side of the coin, neither was Brynjar, who shrugged the magical explosion off like it was little more than an inconvenience.

Just then, Abby joined the fight, firing her conjured arrows even more quickly than ever before. Meanwhile, Talia sprinted forward, her arms stretched out behind her and her claws extended. Tucker readied another grenade, this one with a much smaller yield whose explosion would be a lot more localized. With a toss of the glass globe, the battle began in earnest.