Drip-Fed – Fists and Fortune Finale 1 – Confrontation (Patreon)

The plaza of the evacuated town was inhabited by a hundred adventurers. 100 people, of varying degrees of power, scattered among all the Classes that were taught and teaching on this island. A hundred people, staring to the east. They attempted to see anything move against the backdrop of the sky. It was quite difficult, as grey as the clouds made everything.

For an Autumn Leaf, it was a normal day. No rain yet, although it looked like that could change at any moment. It was noon and still the world saw no ray of sunlight. Gold and brown trees prevented the world from becoming too monotone, between the grey clouds and the greyish blue ocean.

Even though both rationality and instinct agreed that it was a terrible idea, Apexus felt the urge to fly up and extend his vision. Such energy should not be wasted. Neither did he want to be isolated like that. Instead, he stood with everyone else, around the rim of the pit, ready to take his assigned position.

“The Church isn’t going to show up in time, are they?” one of the adventurers asked.

“Anohal may be… is an enigmatic dick,” Mehily responded for them. “But you have my word that he would not abandon a cause he has pledged his support to. Either something has delayed them or he plans to arrive at the last moment, to not alert the demon.”

“A sound strategy, from his position.” Maltos stroked his beard. “Much agreement as I have with the Church, their size makes them too eager to prioritize destroying the wicked over protecting the good.” The old teacher nodded respectfully at the priestess. “Not a statement of disrespect, I assure. It is inevitable, in the role they fill.”

Mehily responded with a deep nod, almost a bow. At this very moment, Maltos was more of an impressive figure than ever before. Standing tall, he seemed to refuse the burden of age on his shoulders. The spots on his skin were lesser than ever, his long, grey-white hair combed orderly and bound behind his neck. More than the additional care he took in presenting himself, his regalia elevated him even above the other teachers.

He wore a robe of white over a red shirt. A belt made from gemstone beads wrapped three times around his hips. The loose, light brown pants were covered in silver embroidery, resembling flowing waters. His shoes sat tightly, leather secured by many straps, each deliberately fastened. Most impressive about his equipment was a pair of silver gloves, fingerless, and decorated with the symbol of the lotus flower – the symbol of the Progenitor.

Other teachers were greatly armed themselves. Pronthin wore a robe of godless grey silk, radiating with undeterminable holy power. Vulk was covered in a plate armour of a colour too close to white to be steel and too grey to be Mithril. In his hands, he held a tower shield and a halberd. Mai wore a bodysuit that was outwardly unassuming, covering curves that had been reduced to their bare minimum. The Infiltrator had maximized her appearance for flexibility and speed. In her hand, she held the Runeblade that Reysha had trained with. Six additional weapons, four of them daggers, two of them short swords, were attached to her at varying points. Beyond them, the mentors of the other Classes were equipped with the finest items they still had from their adventuring days.

The students and other volunteers were not nearly as decked out. Many of them only had the most basic equipment, which was as much as they could procure in the time they had. It would have to suffice. Apexus himself was not armed at all, only wearing his typical robe and pants.

“It is coming.”

Those three words by the Rogue teacher caused everyone’s attention to immediately shift to the horizon. No one saw anything at first. Apexus’ keen eyes spotted it before many of the others. The small dot, moving unnervingly in the sky. Erratically it went left to right. It did not fly. It scaled the invisible veins of the Leaf. A horizontal climb that brought it ever closer.

“In position!” Maltos shouted and everyone sprung to action. What was kilometres away now would not remain so for long.

Adventurers, in a hurry, separated into the groups they were assigned to. Warriors, Knights, and Paladins jumped behind the thick wooden wall. They armed themselves with spears awaiting them along the dirt walls. Apexus and Aclysia stood in the centre of the dirt pit. They still did not know who exactly the Deathhound was tracking, only that it wouldn’t have been Reysha. With them was Maltos.

The teachers that were experts in melee combat stood in a loose circle around them. Sturdier folks like Vulk took the front, nimble ones hid in their shadow as best they could. Behind walls around the edge of the pit, the various casters and ranged attackers took position, and hid as best they could. Doubtlessly the Deathhound spotted them as he approached, yet this would at least obscure their numbers and exact movements.

Nervousness grew. Apexus could almost taste the suspense on his lips. Aclysia reached for his hand. For one moment, the humanoid chimera took his eye off the monster and beheld his beloved angel.

“You will need both hands,” Maltos softly advised them from the side, his own eyes never lifting off the target.

“I know,” Apexus assured him, pushing Aclysia’s hand back. A trembling breath from the metal fairy was the last sign of distress she allowed herself. She spread her wings and hovered readily on the spot. The verdant feathers of her darling similarly spread, his entire body shifting into a ready position.

Above them, far above them, Turlesh came to a stop.

Like a spider on strings visible only to the most acute vision, he hung above. The claws of his digitigrade legs and his coiling tail held him in place. Four arms were spread out, ready to catch any attack coming its way in its claws. Three long fingers and two comparatively short thumbs twitched readily at the end of each of the limbs. The neckless head reared slowly, like a caterpillar that could open at the middle section. The muscles that could pull each individual yellowy white, thick canine trembled excitedly. It created a chittering sound, equally sized protrusions rattling against each other. Strands of saliva fell from the deep, messy maw. As the drops hit the floor, they sizzled, turning dirt into a half-melted acidic sludge.

Four eyes moved individually, pitch black irises in a red sclera. It was the most outstanding colour on its dark grey hide, glistening like polished leather in the weak light of the cloudy day. The two slits at the front of the creature's head widened and narrowed, as it took victorious huffs of its prey’s scent. The eyes all slotted in on Apexus. Turlesh dropped from twenty metres high.

The earth trembled under the impact of the Deathhound’s weight. It landed on all six of its primary limbs. A humanoid three metres from head to toe, it crawled left to right in front of the three people at the centre of the crater. Amusedly, it growled at the teachers it got close to, and who backed off wisely. Its long, prehensile tail slammed into the dirt. Segment for segment, the maw opened, until the entirety of its teeth were parted, halfway down its smooth, long head. An entire forearm would have fit into the fleshy, grey depth. A long tongue whipped through the air, extending far past that maw. Drops of spit landed on Vulk’s plate armour, etching a trail into the surface of the enchanted metal as it ran down.

Apexus could hear the shivering behind the walls, the trembles from adventurers now seeing what they truly faced. The Deathhound heard it too and gorged himself on the reaction. Prowling, he forced each of the teachers to back off, increasing the size of the circle around him. “Little things, wise things, none of you too bright,” Turlesh cackled, its stretched voice threatening and oddly melodious.

No response was had and Turlesh’s attention shifted towards the three people it had not yet approached. There was the angel, her fear in every breath. There was the old man, unknown and unmoved. There was the prey, annoyingly the same.

Apexus stared straight at the Deathhound. The fear of the superior predator, he harnessed it. He let his core tap into the resources for stress situations, but no panic clouded his mind. Breathing slowly and deliberately, his eyes directed only by will, he faced the terror. This clear and manifest threat was before him, a danger that he could face straightforwardly after beating the instincts of starvation.

Turlesh growled, smelling the lack of fear from his prey. “Foooound you againnnnn,” he hissed, moving towards the humanoid chimera. Rising to his standing height, the demon towered above Apexus, above everyone. It stretched even further, extending its digitigrade legs, and its head, until his eyes were level with the edge of the pit. Deeply, it growled and sunk back into a hunched posture. “No barrier to protect you thissss time. All the changes in the infinite, demon skin, angel blessing, or Church protection, will not hide you from me. What a delicious welcome I had on this Leaf.”

Its breath cascaded over Apexus’ face, as the implication of the words sank in. The reinforcements of the Church had attempted to face the demon on their own and been wiped out. The breath stunk sweet and sour, of decay and dissolving flesh. Only the front most of its teeth moved when it spoke. “May I ask your name?” Apexus requested, setting a calm example.

A displeased hiss whistled out between barely parted teeth. “Turlesh, hound of the Empress of Blood and her chosen Master,” he introduced himself. “I shall bring you to him. Drag you by your bones through the branches of the Omniverse. He wants you alive and tormented and I oblige. I am no Terlash. I am obedient. You are my order.”

“You have a choice, Turlesh. You can leave. You can walk the road of redemption,” Apexus said to the Deathhound.

“Re-… demption…?” the Deathhound said the word slowly. Stunned, he covered its eyes with two of its hands, falling back on the other two. On the floor, trembling, it looked almost like he was prostrating himself. “Hehe…hehehe…HAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!” The mad laughter of the demon made a mockery of that concept, as it beat the floor with one of its palms. “YOU ARE OURS!” the demon roared at the end, turning its head to stare at each of the adventurers in turn. “ALL OF YOU CREATURES, LIVING ABOVE THE ROOTS! BRIGHT LIGHTS! SHELTERED MINDS! CHATTLE LIVES! YOU LIVE AT THE BENEFIT OF OUR WAR AGAINST THE PARASYTES!” The Deathhound turned its head around, bitterly and quietly growling, “Redemption is a demon’s hunger sated. An order followed. Follow. No more time of Master wasted. Wasting Master’s time is a sin.”

Turlesh returned to his hunched stance. All around, the teachers slowly closed into their original positions again. Aclysia carefully backed off. Maltos readied himself. Apexus was always ready. “I will not follow,” the humanoid chimera said.

Teeth clattered. A deep cackle rose within the creature’s throat. Four eyes moved manically, rolling around as he took in everything around him. All focused on various parts of Apexus. “Those first,” he growled and reached for the bright wings with his right arms.

Apexus only reacted in time due to the monster’s arrogance. Legs apart, posture ready, he moved at a speed far exceeding that which the monster associated with the slime it had previously known. Energy flowed from deep within, from the magical cortex through the pathways he had developed. The guided flow went through meridians carefully chosen, on its path to his palms. A gentle, dense stream of energy extended from his hands. They were like pockets of jet streams.

On contact with Turlesh’s arms, Apexus felt the force he was redirecting shooting up his arms. It was like touching a red hot iron and keeping the fist clenched. The initial shock. The continued pain. The heat surging up the limbs. Clenching his jaw, keeping his concentration, Apexus turned his entire body in a fluid gesture, while muscles strained and bones creaked under the distributed energy. The entire world felt like it was moving underwater. Turlesh’s arms were pushed to the side, leaving him wide open.

Maltos dived under his much taller student’s arms, emerging under the Deathhound. His eyes radiated with divine, golden light. The beads around his waist glowed with the same – as did the palm he brought forwards in one straight motion.

It sounded like a massive bell was rung, the impact of his flat hand on the demon’s exposed chest. Radiance rippled out from the demon’s back, while he lurched over forwards. Then, Apexus’ senses returned to normal. He collapsed to one knee, just as Turlesh was catapulted backwards. Every part of him burned from the exhaustion of his magical cortex, from muscle damage that was swiftly getting repaired.

“To your position!” Maltos shouted, as he set after the Deathhound.

Turlesh landed on four of his limbs two metres away. Two of his eyes stared ahead, the other two followed the paths of the sword and the axe swinging at him. He caught both edges in his palm, growling deeply when his leathery hide was cut into. Black mist rose from the wounds, the demon blood drying rapidly, forming a crust on the blades.

“FUTILE FIGHTERS! NAÏVE SACRIFICERS! DIVINE FOLLOWERS!” Turlesh snapped at Maltos with its disgusting maw, but before the teeth could close around the old Monk’s head, a Faithless Bolt slammed into its head from above. At the edge of the pit, Pronthin stood, his hand raised in reverence to the veins of the Omniverse.

Then Maltos’ palm slammed into the underside of the demon’s head. Teeth slammed together with force. It was only the first of many attacks. Each rippled with divine light. The teachings of Monk were just as readily combined with that of Faith, perhaps even more so, than that of a Knight. Attack for attack, Maltos delivered, keeping the demon from gathering his bearings. Any opening the Monk would have had was covered by the stream of aggressions from the other teachers.

Apexus and Aclysia did as ordered. The metal fairy flew towards the other Priests, ready to join them in whatever Pronthin or Maltos demanded they did. Apexus hurried on shaking legs behind the wooden wall, joining the other students. Out there, their teachers fought at a speed they could not hope to help with.

Blow after blow, the Deathhound took, flailing its deadly limbs at the coordinated adventurers. Black mist rose from the many gashes it sustained, most of them shallow and healing swiftly. A swipe of arms and tail drove everyone back for one moment. There was a calm. Then they all rushed forwards again.

The battle for the party’s future was in full swing.