The Gamer Chapter 1466 – 27 Days of Preparation 19 – The Simple Joy of Advanced Violence (Patreon)


‘That’s a window I haven’t looked at in a while,’ John thought. The last two grinding sessions had been predominantly filled with Raiding. In the olden days, he used to be able to throw an Instant Dungeon in after work and before dinner. Those were days with less responsibility and haremettes to hang out with instead.

John didn’t really miss them. Going into combat every evening could be entertaining, but cuddling up to his girls was the definitive winner. Didn’t help that the base Instant Dungeons were broadly inefficient. Assaults were just better at giving EXP, Raids were just better at giving meaningful Loot, and Adventures were generally more interesting.

The only reason that he could think of, besides raw entertainment, to go into the old Instant Dungeons was if he ever found himself set back to no property at all and he needed to cobble together basic equipment and money. In that sense, it was nice to have the fallback option.

‘I think the last time I went through a regular dungeon was when I got Velka. That was August last year. It’ll be a full year next month. Huh, I’ve had Velka for almost a year…’ The realization hit him hard. ‘Where did the time go?’ No answer, the Creator Puppet could only scratch the back of its smooth head. He turned his thoughts back to the matter at hand. “I’ll go for a Floor one. Those are typically more relaxed,’ John decided.

That narrowed the list down a lot. From there, he eliminated the options using one criteria: how interesting would it be to fight the enemies in a melee? Avians were out immediately and so were Wall Shadows – both were way too agile and would likely remain out of reach. Aquatic was more viable with this metal body of his than under normal circumstances, but he wasn’t feeling it. While slimes made for easy targets, they were unlikely to provide him with an entertaining back and forth. Same could be said for Alchemic Creatures.

That left Angels, Demons, Elves, and Skavens. Angels and Demons were more likely to have some kind of gimmick that made them annoying to deal with. That effectively left him with Elves and Skaven. A choice between agile enemies and pack tactics. Since he was doing this to learn to wield his improved weapon better, the agile enemies sounded good. Elves it was.

As for the Tier bracket, John elected to give himself a leg up and went with Tier 121. In real terms, ten levels wouldn’t matter. The power differential between level 605 and 610 was way less than between level 5 and level 10. That being said, this was still part of his game mechanics and thus there would be some kind of notable difference. The inhabitants of the Instant Dungeon would also be scaled with party size, so he should be able to do this on his own, provided he did not screw up monumentally.

The darkness around was replaced with a lush mangrove. The trees served not only as the primary aspect of the environment itself, but also the foundational building block of the Floors of this Instant Dungeon. Whereas some of the saltwater resistant trees rose highly from the brackish water down below, some grew broad and sturdy. Thick and woven branches formed platforms, filled with dirt. Bordering each other, they made paths. Paths that led to various large structures, shaped like wooden onions, covered in thin, hanging willow leaves. In the far-off distance, a particularly massive mangrove rose up. Its branches extended far and wide, blocking out the sky, and glowing with light as golden as the sun, albeit much gentler to the naked eye. Between those branches little bits of water occasionally dripped, or fell steadily through larger openings.

Directing his gaze downwards again, John saw nothing like that glow in the brackish water below.  Either he was at the actual ground level or the golden branches of the massive central mangrove were covered by grime on the upside. Either way, the structure of these Floors seemed to be one of walking the paths atop the trees, then ascending up a trunk that held up the next level of water and trees. By typical Instant Dungeon rules, this would continue like this for five floors. At the end of the fifth floor would be a unique boss, then this segment of the Tiers was done and he would face entirely new opponents.

Not something he expected to be relevant today, though. He’d fight himself through to the boss and see how that went.

The spawning platform was, as per usual, large and safe. The grass under the Creator Puppet’s feet was sturdier than he was used to. Likely, it was an extension of the trees below, leaves of another shape, rather than the grass he was used to.

Inkaryl laid heavy in the Swirls Model’s hand as he advanced. The weapon was unchanged in weight or appearance. It was only the magic within that had been strengthened. Concentrating on the Celexiums sitting in the core of the model, John grabbed hold of the element of water and forced it to the surface. The careful balance between the elements within allowed him to consolidate the liquid state of the element.

Around the Creator Puppet in its Ascendant Mode, little ice crystals were moved by slow winds. The grass to his feet turned hard. Each step he took made the blades of green crunch, frozen before the flat of his foot landed on the ground. Inkaryl expanded and contracted with the typical, bell-like sound of its metallic heartbeat. The six blades around the Astrotium core changed to an icy blue.

John felt an immense satisfaction in just walking. The heavy mace in one hand, extended to the side, ready to strike, held by a tireless arm. The power he knew was contained in this body of rock and steel. The sheer WEIGHT of his motions. If he wanted to, he could have shaken the earth with his stomps. He had gradually become accustomed to being a superhuman with his real body. This was on a whole other level.

A bolt came flying his way. Where his true body would have relied on Particle Skin, the Creator Puppet grabbed the projectile in mid-air. It was one continuous, thin thorn of wood, sturdy enough that it took the golem body some force to snap.

John turned one way, then the other, narrowly dodging three more projectiles. Then he set his eyes on the source. The glowing points of elemental energy in the sockets of the many-coloured skull found the elf hidden among the branches of one of the tall trees. He, judging by the build, was of the typical elven slenderness. Body clad in segments of bark, he struck an almost insectoid image. The face was covered, safe for the visor for the slanted eyes, their hazel colour staring back at John with all the aggression of a dungeon monster.

Not wanting to spoil any surprises for himself, John spared himself the Observe. His opponent lowered his left arm and the thorn-spitting device attached below the wrist. A multi-purpose tool, it swiftly became apparent, as a vine shot out from the opening instead. The green extended above the several metre divide between them.

John decided to enter this game, standing his ground. The vine wrapped around his left hand. Immediately, the elf tried to tug the golem body towards the edge of the pathway. Heavy heels cut trenches into the half-frozen ground. Down below, a different kind of enemy stirred. Massive crocodiles of black body and spiky carapace, ready to descend on whoever fell off the safe path. Not an instant death promise, but a punishment for anyone foolish enough to jump into murky waters.

Straining his magical muscles, John attempted to turn the tables. Whereas the Creator Puppet’s speed was impressive for its level, competing with Siena’s, its Strength was average. In a level 600 dungeon, 1000 Strength was just enough to fight the elf to a standstill.

‘I need more Intellect,’ John thought, dissatisfied with this performance. That he could double tap Mental and Physical Stats with differential scalings across two bodies was the dream of every min-maxer. That was an observation for the future, though. For now, he would test the capability of the mace.

First was to grab hold of the powers of Elemental Absolutism. Icy winds were focused into a freezing creep that turned the vine pale and rigid, until it shattered near the golem’s arm. Both man and monster snapped back, their tug of war coming to a sudden end. John recovered quicker, bringing the hand back forwards and loosening an elemental bolt – lowercase. Rather than the Creator Puppet’s Skill, he used the magic granted by Inkaryl.

An icicle flew across the divide, shattering against the elf’s breastplate. He seemed as amused as an entity that existed to try and kill the Gamer could be. Keeping his aim true, John followed that up with an Elemental Bolt – uppercase. Shaped into an icicle of comparable size, the attack rushed across the divide, puncturing through the breast plate with all of its two handspans of length.

The elf lost his balance among the branches and fell down into the crocodile infested waters of the mangrove. A punishment for John turned out to also be a punishment for the natives. Monster on monster violence was rare in his Instant Dungeons. A divine accord united even the strangest of foes in opposition to him.

No such accord was struck here. There was only the crunching of curved teeth ripping apart elven flesh. Before the scene could turn into the frenzied gore of crocodilian feedings, the enemy turned to dust and the satisfied monsters submerged themselves in murky waters.

John strut away from the scene, sights set on one of the wooden onions ahead. By typical design philosophy, the ways between would beset him with perilous harassment, while the true combat encounters would be inside those spaces.

From strut, to jog, to sprint, he accelerated, breaking the sound barrier. In a flash, he stormed through the entrance. An enemy awaited him inside, another two dropped from the ceiling above, too slow to surprise him before he slammed into the sword-wielding, wood-armoured elf.

Inkaryl’s weight in his hand was not a force to be fought, it was a force he wielded. Held by the end of the shaft, the mace was swung overhead. ‘KA-CHUNK!’ The blades beat with the metallic drum of a conqueror’s heart, their colour changing to a deep purple. Shadows rose around the golem, slicing into the surface of the enemy’s armour. A benefit, secondary to the element John demanded obedience from.

Accelerating on the downswing, Inkaryl slammed into the unprepared enemy with the force of John’s arm and of gravity itself. The helmet cracked open. An egg would have been a fitting likeness for a split second, one invalidated by the continued motion. Spine and brainstem were made to share a space, then both were obliterated under the combined cutting and crushing of the mace’s blade and solid core.

The gravity magic imbued into the Mythical weapon rushed through the corpse. When Inkaryl finally stopped, halfway buried between the shoulders of the enemy, the lifeless body was shoved down like a ragdoll in freefall. It hit the ground hard, scattering into an explosion of dust particles.

The rush of the swing was a sensation unparalleled. Base violence executed flawlessly. An arrow at the centre of a target. A jawline struck with the hardest part of the knuckles. A spear buried, lethally thrust, in the throat of large game. Tactile feedback of a confirmed strike. The aftereffects of the swing. The confirmation of its effects.

Violence.

Pure, effective violence, and the rush of adrenaline and serotonin that followed. A power that was all too seductive. A power that made bullies out of those that had it and wielded it with the pure purpose to make their physical supremacy clear. John trembled, in one swing understanding why some men could not withstand the allure of physical confrontation. He refused to be one of them. He equally refused to not enjoy the passion of a fight.

Inkaryl’s blades spread and slotted back into place. Shadows were scattered, replaced by deep red flames. The Hellfire caused the two remaining enemies to back off for a second and a second was all John needed. An animated man of metal, surrounded by infernal might, he whirled around and sent Inkaryl flying. Its head a fireball, the mace screeched in triumphant discordance of synthesized sounds. Six points slammed into the chest of one elf, a violent prologue to the wave of heat that followed.

The second elf resumed his charge towards the aflame golem. Nimbly, he dodged an Elemental Bolt of infernal red. A sword of wood came for John and John stepped in close. Newly bestowed muscle memory combined memories of boxing and fencing with a familiarity with the weight of the mace reappearing in his hand. Close to the head, he held the weapon, using it like a cruel dagger, driving the six points into the elf’s stomach with the force of a gutpunch.

The monster tried to stumble back, but John grabbed him by the shoulder and did it again and again. Each impact caused the enemy to curl over forwards. Each impact created waves of scarring flames. The cruelty of the execution was only justified by the unreal nature of his enemy.

One more shove of the weapon into the gut of the elf, and the weapon cut through dust rather than organs. A primitive dissatisfaction settled in, the lack of resistance challenging his urge for violence.

A wooden sword cleaved open the back of the Creator Puppet. Stumbling first, then taking measured and fast steps forward, John made the second swing a shallow cut through the metal exterior of the body. Had he had a spine, it would be gone now.

Fire was extinguished, Inkaryl beat its metal heart, and when John whirled around, he did so with the force of a storm. The half-burned elf was blown back mid leap. Using what he had seen Sylph do many times before, John pulled the energy of the air into the physical form of the golem. It was nowhere near as effective as the blessing the arcvolt elemental bestowed upon herself, yet the backwind behind and the wind tunnel in front accelerated him all the same.

The elf landed on his feet and ducked under the diagonal upward swing of the howling, green-bladed mace. A miss, an opportunity for a counterattack – and one that John did receive. The blade of mangrove wood penetrated his stomach. There was no pain, not in the traditional sense, just a deeply unpleasant alert that the integrity of the body was compromised.

The wound was deeper and made deeper still when the elf dragged the weapon outwards. Guts would have threatened to spill out of the gash had there been any. Instead, there were only expertly blended materials, many of them so different that only an alchemist was capable of letting them exist next to each other without grinding one another down.

Bothered by the hits, fuelled by the challenge, satisfied with the power behind every motion, John brought his knee up. It slammed into the elf’s chin, making them stumble backwards. Just an hour ago, John would have tried to grip his weapon with both hands and go for a killing blow. Now he understood how to wield the mace in more than the basics of general combat. There was no need to sacrifice speed for extra force when wielding a cruel, blunt instrument like Inkaryl.

Swift, he brought the mace down in a low curve, landing a shallow blow on the elf’s shoulder. A shallow blow with the mace was enough to cut wooden plate and move the entire torso of the elf against their will. The enemy attempted to escape. John’s advancing steps covered more ground. Swift swing for swift swing, John set after the opponent, never letting them rebalance. Gaps in the surface flowed back together, the swirling patterns of the metal exterior mending without any signs of damage. Life was leeched from the elf with each hit. The storm raged around John, the aura of the Ascendant Puppet directed by Elemental Dominance.

In a last desperate bid, the elf simply dove to the side. He rolled, gracelessly, on his side. It actually worked. John tried to catch them, but guessed wrong when the elf would stop and only hit the floor. The elf was swift to exploit that and pushed themselves off the ground.

A bolt of air would have given John the room to recover his stance. An alternative was found in the instincts of face-to-face combat. Not afforded the typical distance to make his decisions, John just reached for the second soul type permanently affixed to him by Soul Symbiont.

From his hand, a noxious green projectile loosened. Images of skulls swirled in black inside the consolidated, sickly colour, in the brief time it took the negative energy to travel between his palm and the opponent. Necrotic energy eroded what wasn’t ash, then withered vital flesh behind into rot. The elf turned into ash and dust entirely, the last of his life fading away, and the fate of a dungeon monster doing the rest.

John lifted Inkaryl onto his shoulder and looked at his left hand. ‘I suppose a life type attack would have to be necromantic in nature,’ he considered. ‘So, I always have access to it, alongside the currently active element. That’ll be useful.’

Hand lowered, he inspected himself for any lasting damage. Lifeleech made sure the Creator Puppet remained healthy, but the typical rule of artificial bodies still applied. If there was no material for him to heal with, the magic wouldn’t conjure it into existence. Metal, even with the aid of mana, did not have self-replicating capabilities.

‘Wonder if there’s a particular blend of metals that could fix that,’ the Gamer wondered. ‘Or will it take a Perk? Who knows.’